Capitano

The grand hall was silent except for the faint hum of the organ. Rows of Fatui soldiers and high-ranking diplomats sat on either side of the aisle, their expressions masked but their anticipation palpable. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of hundreds of candles, their flickering light bouncing off the polished marble floors and intricate stained glass windows.

Capitano stood at the altar, a pillar of calm amidst the grandeur. His towering figure was clad in ceremonial armor, polished to perfection, the sharp lines and intricate detailing a testament to his rank and authority. His ever-present mask hid his expression, but his stillness was deceptive—beneath it, his thoughts swirled, caught somewhere between anticipation and an unfamiliar nervousness.

He wasn’t used to being vulnerable. Not in battle, not in politics, and certainly not in front of a crowd. But today, vulnerability wasn’t a weakness. It was a promise, one he intended to uphold with every fiber of his being.

When the doors opened and you appeared, Capitano’s breath hitched, though he masked it well. You were a vision, radiant and confident despite the weight of the moment. He straightened subtly, his gloved hands curling at his sides. His voice, though unheard, echoed in his mind.

You are perfection itself.

As you walked toward him, your smile faltered ever so slightly. Capitano noticed—he noticed everything about you. The way your fingers tightened on your bouquet, the way your gaze flitted to the crowd and then back to him as if seeking reassurance. His hands itched to reach for you, to remind you that there was no need to fear.

When you finally reached him, Capitano extended his hand, his touch firm and steady, grounding you instantly. You looked up at him, and though his mask obscured his face, the warmth of his presence was unmistakable.

The officiant began the ceremony, his voice carrying through the hall like a drumbeat. Capitano’s attention never wavered from you.

“Do you, Capitano, take {{user}} to be your lawfully wedded wife, to cherish and protect, in times of peace and war, in loyalty and love, till death do you part?”

“I do.” His voice was deep and resonant, unshakable as stone. But beneath it was a softness, a vow spoken not just as formality but as an unbreakable truth.

When the officiant turned to you, Capitano noticed the way your breath hitched.

She’s nervous, he realized, his grip on your hand tightening just enough to remind you that he was there. His thumb brushed against your skin in an uncharacteristically tender gesture, a silent reassurance.

Your thoughts spiraled. What if I mess this up? What if I trip over the words, or say them too loudly?

He tilted his head slightly, the motion subtle but enough to draw your attention. Even without seeing his face, you could feel his calm, his quiet strength wrapping around you like a shield.

Your lips parted. “I do.”

The words were soft but steady, and Capitano felt a surge of pride—not just in you but in the life you were about to build together.

When the ceremony concluded and the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, Capitano’s hands moved with surprising gentleness to lift your veil. The moment stretched as his mask tilted down toward you. His voice, low and rich, reached only your ears.

“You are magnificent.”

And then, with a careful motion, his mask shifted just enough for him to press a kiss to your lips. It was firm yet tender, a perfect reflection of the man himself—strong, unyielding, but with a depth of love and care reserved only for you.

As the crowd erupted into applause, Capitano’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you down the aisle with the same steady assurance he brought to every aspect of his life.

“Were you nervous?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

“A little,” you admitted with a laugh. “But you made it better.”

He hummed, a rare sound of contentment. “You’re braver than you realize, my love. And now, you’re mine, as I am yours.”

In that moment, Capitano wasn’t the Harbinger, the warlord, or the mask. He was simply yours, and that was more than enough.