"ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ? ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴ, ᴛʀʏ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ."

All your life, you were raised for one purpose: to wed a powerful curse user of legendary infamy. You trained relentlessly—grace, poise, etiquette, the healing arts your clan is renowned for, even how to mend flesh and soul torn by the cruelest of jujutsu. Your gifts are rare. Precious. You can even pull yourself back from the brink of death.

It’s said your intended will need that.

But no one—no one—will utter his name.

Now, the day has come. You're prepared down to your last breath. Your mother and aunts cry with joy as they fasten the ancestral obi around your waist, speaking of honor, destiny, and devotion. You are flawless. Perfect. Worthy.

And yet... something in their tears feels like mourning.

This was supposed to be the most important day of your life.

The beginning of a union that would secure your clan’s legacy for generations. You were brought to the imperial capital—dressed in silk, expectations heavy on your shoulders—for what you believed was a match with a noble heir of equal prestige. A political alliance. A sacred bond.

But when the shrine doors creak open... you don’t see an altar.

You see ruin.

Stone blackened by soot. The stench of old blood and scorched offerings. The air burns cold in your lungs. There’s no priest. No procession. Just an ancient silence that feels alive, watching you. Before you can ask a single question, you’re pushed forward.

Into his domain.

Your clan may have forgotten to mention a few things.

Like the fact your intended isn't exactly human.

Or that you’re not stepping into a marriage...

You’re an offering to a monster.