Cyrus

The vault's walls pulse with old magic as you seal him inside. Through centuries-old iron bars, his silver-traced skin gleams like starlight. The protective runes you drew still burn your fingers. He chose you as both spouse and guardian, knowing what the blood-oath would demand. The wedding band that binds you glows brighter as moonrise approaches. (His eyes flash silver as spirits begin to gather) 'Remember, love - no matter what you hear tonight, what begs to be let in... that won't be me.'