The morning sun bathed the dining hall in a soft golden light, the perfect setting for the Pendragon family's first breakfast with Rhys as an official member.
The table was laden with an impressive array of food, from freshly baked bread to exotic fruits, and a steaming pot of spiced tea sat at its center.
Rhys, dressed in a relaxed tunic, looked unusually at ease, sparing stolen glances at Artizea, who was radiant even in her simplest morning gown. Arthur was in his usual spot, cutting into his food with a sly grin.
Elaine was missing as per usual, while Eugene sat unusually quiet, barely touching his plate.
Artizea, catching her younger brother's demeanor, tilted her head.
"Eugene, what's wrong? You have barely said a word."
He froze mid-sip of his tea, his face blanching as though he'd seen a ghost. "N-nothing," he stammered, his voice unnaturally high-pitched.
Arthur, ever the instigator, smirked as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh, It is something, all right."
Eugene shot him a panicked look, but it was too late. Arthur continued, his tone far too amused. "Let's just say, our poor virgin brother saw too much last night."
The moment the words left his mouth, chaos erupted.
Gilgamesh and Rhyssand, seated across from one another, simultaneously spat out their tea.
Artizea, her cheeks burning a deep crimson, slammed her fork down. "What did he see?" she demanded, eyes narrowing in equal parts mortification and curiosity.
Arthur, enjoying every second of the moment, turned his sharp gaze to the newest addition to the clan.
"Next time you decide to use the balcony, remember Eugene studies in the tower above. "
There was a split second of stunned silence before Artizea's eyes widened in horror.
"Eugene!" she gasped, leaping to her feet and rushing to his side. "I am so sorry!"
Eugene, looking as though he might die of embarrassment on the spot, waved his hands frantically. "It is fine, I swear! I did not see anything—!"
But Artizea was already out of earshot, dragging her brother out of the dining hall with a flurry of apologies.
This left Rhys alone at the table, pinned under the stern yet bemused gaze of Gilgamesh.
Rhyssand cleared his throat, sitting straighter. "I can explain—"
"I cannot see why it would be a wish to know—" He interrupted, his voice deceptively calm as he wiped the tea from his chin, till choking.
Arthur, leaning on one elbow, chuckled under his breath. "I am just sooo glad not the problem child anymore."
Rhyssand glared at Arthur. "You are enjoying this far too much."
He shrugged. "Hey, you are the one who picked the woman and the balcony."
Rhys groaned, rubbing his temples.
Arthuria smirked, though his eyes held a flicker of mischief. "Welcome to the Family, son. Believe it or not, you will fit right in with the rest of them."
Rhyssand knew the responsibilities of kingship in Heaven were vast, but he had not anticipated how heavy they would feel.
The gilded halls of Heaven's palace gleamed with celestial light as he walked into the council chamber.
The council, composed of Heaven's most ancient and powerful beings, sat in semi-circular formation, their eyes fixed on him.
The meeting had been long, covering everything from maintaining the balance of celestial energy to disputes over mortal intervention.
He had been wearing his crown with stoic grace, had held his ground on each matter, earning the council's begrudging respect.
But today was the last day of this torture.
His neck was hurting, and his back was too straight for too long.
As the final topic was announced, however, the room grew tense.
"The last order of business," one of the council members intoned, "Is to address the status of Ishtar in the underworld."
The mention of her name sent an almost imperceptible ripple through the chamber.
Rhysansd's jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure.
"She remains in her prison, as decreed," another council member said. "But her presence grows restless. There are whispers of an unknown ally who had been meeting with, who has now disappeared after the war."
Rhyssand leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
"That a check is in order," the eldest council member replied. "Given her connection to you, King Rhyssand, it would only be fitting for you to ensure she remains… contained."
The room fell silent, all eyes on their king.
He knew what this was. They were too pussy to do it themselves. Afraid to be a target.
For a long moment, he said nothing, his mind churning. His mother—not by birth—was a name he barely dared to think of. Her manipulation, her schemes, and her betrayal still weighed on his soul.
Yet, there was another name tied to the underworld that brought him a glimmer of warmth: Ereshkigal.
Though she was no longer his aunt by blood after his ascension, she had never stopped caring for him.
Her letters, though rare, carried words of wisdom and love, reminding him that not all ties were bound by lineage.
Finally, Rhyssand stood, his voice calm but firm. "Very well. I will go to the kur and ensure that Ishtar remains where she belongs."
The council murmured in agreement, and with a nod, he dismissed them.
The journey to the underworld was one Rhyssand had made before, but it never got easier.
The air grew heavy as he descended, the vibrant hues of Heaven giving way to the muted grays and blacks of the underworld.
At the gates, Ereshkigal was waiting. She stood tall and regal, her dark eyes softening the moment she saw him.
A faint ripple of divine energy signaled the king's arrival.
Ereshkigal turned to him, her expression softening slightly.
"Nephew. You are just in time."
His gaze swept over the room, landing on where Ishtar was imprisoned. "Is she secure?" he asked. Ready to be done with this as soon as possible.
Ereshkigal nodded. " She's bound by the same chains that held your great-grandmother. She won't be leaving Kur, let alone die, unless I allow it."
He stepped closer, his eyes meeting Ishtar's. "Good."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. "You look so much like your father," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I am sorry to hear of his passing."
Rhyssand's lips twitched into a small, reassuring smile. "How is… she?"
Her expression darkened. "Still cunning. Still dangerous." Her voice softened again. "You don't have to see her, you know. I can give you my word that she remains locked away."
He shook his head. "I need to face her. Not for my sake, for hers." He needed to know she was safe from him and what he might do.
Ereshkigal studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. I shall be nearby if you need me."
Standing before Ishtar's prison, Rhys felt a storm of emotions swirling within him.
The woman inside had not given him life, but a life, to let his power grow beyond the tread of fate, but she had also sought to use it to destroy everything he held dear.
The prison was dark and silent, a stark contrast to the celestial splendor of the palace above
He stopped in front of her cell, the only one in the prison, its bars etched with runes meant to suppress what little divinity she still possessed. Not that it matters, she was alone. Here, far enough from anything that breathes.
She had no power here.
Inside, Ishtar sat on a cold stone bench, her once-radiant form dimmed but not entirely diminished. Her piercing eyes meet Rhys' without flinching.
"My," she said, her tone laced with a bitter edge. " How the tables have turned. Let me guess, the council sent you to do their bidding."
He stepped closer, the golden strikes under his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "I wanted to face you myself," he said coldly.
She smirked, though her gaze remained steady. "You sound almost proud." She leaned back against the wall, her chains clinking softly. "I might have been a monster," she said after a moment, her voice quieter but no less sharp. "But I will forever be your mother."
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Ishtar studied him, her expression unreadable. "And looking at you now, the distaste, the anger in your eyes… like you want me dead. We have that in common, you and I, all that fury, all that self-righteousness—it feels good, doesn't it?"
His eyes narrowed, his voice icy. "I am nothing like you."
She chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "Aren't you? You ascended the throne through fire and blood. Overthrew me, just as I overthrew your weak-ass father— "
"Don't you dare speak about my father—" he snapped.
"How dare I? " she chuckled. "He was —WEAK—He taught you how to defend, to protect —to dream bout peace—" she said in disgust. " It was me who made you what you are. Not Demeter, I was the one who taught you what it means to be Feared, To Fight—To be special."
She did not flinch. " And now look at you, holding all the power in the heavens, along with every bit of special I said you would be, yet you play house with that girl. Taking her name, pretending you are not above it all when you bow your head to that —TYRANT GILGAMESH—I raised you better than that. "
He stepped closer to the bars, his wings flaring slightly. "That's the difference between you and me, you don't know what love is, so you could not possibly understand the sacrifices one makes for it. If the laws of the realms did not bind me now… to show mercy even to creatures like you, to uphold the balance of life, to uphold the order and justice that holds our realms together…"
He exhaled through gritted teeth, his wings flaring wide as runes crackled at the edges like restrained lightning.
"I would have taken your life the moment I stepped through that door."
"Kill me then. It is the only way to be free of me." She hissed.
"No." He keeled over to get a good look at her face, "Take this gift of life instead. I want you to know how grateful I am for all You have done for me… Mother."
The word dripped with disdain, and for the first time, Ishtar's composure faltered.
Ishtar squeezed her eyes shut as though it might make the truth disappear. But when she opened them again, they were filled with something else entirely.
Regret.
"I thought…" her voice was barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was right. For you. For the realms. For the greater—"
"Don't—" Rhyssand inhaled slowly, staring at the woman who had once called herself his mother." Nothing you have ever done has been for the greater good, and there's no way in hell you are getting out of this prison, alive, so might as well come clean."
She sighed, the words catching on her breath. "I… wanted to be loved." Her voice cracked. "By the people. By your father. By you. So I removed the obstacles—every threat to that love. I wanted—" Her eyes shimmered, rage and sorrow folding together, voice rising in a desperate confession: "I wanted to know what it felt like. To feel loved. Like a—human, too." She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "There. I said it." Her breath hitched again, and then came a breath, the ache: "I am supposed to be the goddess of love, Rhyssand…That was my purpose." Her voice trembled as she stared at him, almost daring him to flinch. "And yet all I (you) bring is misery." Her voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of the truth. "My father told me so. My mother, too. And every husband who had the misfortune of crossing my path…Before I took their lives." She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "But I did not mean to kill him…" Her breath hitched. "I loved your father, you know." Her voice was soft now—softer than he'd ever heard it. "Believe it or not… I did not care for the crown. That was my ambition, yes. But him?" Her gaze drifted, a far-off look in her hollow eyes. "He was something I could not conquer. And that made me love him even more." She let out a bitter laugh. "But not once did he look my way. Not truly. Not until… the deal."
Rhyssand's jaw tensed.
She continued, quieter. "Power… in exchange for a secret. That's all it was. But I did not do it for power, I did it for— us—"
She swallowed hard. "I wasn't lying when I said they would have killed you—if they found out he had a child with a human, unauthorized. They'd have erased you. And I… I could not let that happen." Her voice wavered. "I did not want him to suffer. I did not want to see the pain that would follow if he lost you. So. I protected the lie."
She finally looked up at him, something raw and broken in her gaze.
"Then I saw it. The life we could've had. The perfect family I had spent centuries trying to imagine. And for a moment…maybe even the love that I craved." She paused, a tremble in her throat, "I believed it was real. I vowed to be by his side. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse." Her eyes glistened—madness and sorrow dancing together. "But he—he still loved her. And I hated her for it— That's why I killed her. That's why I erased his memories. To give us a fair chance…" Her voice began to unravel. "I thought… maybe it would work. Maybe I could make him forget. And for a time, he did—. But he kept one single memory. Just one. Hidden away… buried in the dark where I could never touch it. It was the night he took you from her. The night he gave you to me." Her voice collapsed into a whisper. "He did not even remember her name. Not her scent. Nor her face— But still…" A sob escaped. "He loved the ghost of your dead mother until the day he joined her; no magic in the world would change that." She covered her mouth, trembling. "To be loved like that… with that kind of devotion… I just wanted to feel it. Just once."
Rhyssand 's expression was serene but never faltered.
"But no..I am doomed to be—" A beat. "The goddess of love, with no one to love her." She chuckled.
Rhyssand's jaw tightened. "Now you know," he said. "What it feels like to lose what you love." His children would never feel what he felt.
The silence in the room stretched on.
Finally, Ishtar lowered her gaze. She cried—for the first time in his life, he saw her truly cry.
Silence.
"It is my first degree that you are to rot here for eternity," he continued, his voice low but unyielding. "Stripped of everything you thought made you invincible. And every day, you will remember that it was the son of Demeter Rimatwho brought you here."
Ishtar straightened, her eyes glinting with something between pride and defiance. "Last time I checked, it was your wife who sent me here. You were too busy mourning a dead man walking."
Rhyssand's gaze did not waver. "I would not have to mourn him if he did not choose death over a second more in a world you are in. He took a step closer, his voice low and seething.
"My only regret… is that I have no choice but to keep you alive. To allow him some peace."
For the first time since her imprisonment, there was no arrogance in her eyes. No smirk, no taunting words.
His work was done here. He turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he walked away.
"You will come back," Ishtar called after him, her voice echoing in the empty hall. "Just like you will find another reason to stand there, looking down at me. And when you do, remember: no matter how high you rise, you will always carry a piece of my love with you."
He paused at the doorway but did not look back. "Goodbye, Ishtar."
As the door closed behind him, the weight of the encounter lingered in the air. For all her manipulation and cruelty, Ishtar had shaped him into the man he had become.
Whether he liked it or not, a part of her words rang true—but Rhys was determined to forge a path that defied her legacy. And taking the name Pendragon was a great fucking start.
Outside the prison, Ereshkigal was waiting. "You did well," she said softly, her hand resting on his shoulder.
"Thank you," he replied, his voice quieter now.
As they walked back to the surface, Ereshkigal glanced at him. She could tell the weight on his shoulders was feeling just a little lighter. But the one here was not. She carried within her the Burden of all burdens.
In the quiet of the world's forming, when stars still hummed lullabies and the rivers had not yet chosen their names, Tiamat stood at the veil between the living and the dying.
Before her knelt one of her most trusted children, a daughter not born of fire or tide, but of silence. A daughter with eyes like shadowed pearls and a voice that never echoed.
"Why give me this, Mother?" the daughter asked, looking down at the realm of the dead, forming below like a shroud of woven mist and stone.
Tiamat smiled softly," I cannot say. But know this, my end will come. Soon, I fear, but you must try to change fate, my love. That is your duty. To see and say silently. For one day, the day will come when you must act. And when that happens… The truth will alas make sense."
"What truth?" she asked.
"Of who we are, why we are." Her voice deepened, resonant with fate. "It pains me to leave my children like this..But I love you all. And if you love me too.. You will protect the throne, until the one who has suffered enough for the sins of their ancestors finally purifies his or hers roots. Only then will the seed grow into a fruitful tree."
"And if they never come?" the girl asked.
"Then you will wait, and when you rest, you will pass this scarcer on to you are successor, until it no longer needs to be a secret. "
Tiamat kissed her brow, and from that moment on, the daughter became Keeper of the Threshold.
The first Ereshkigal.
The present— Ereshkigal, now paused and turned before Rhyssand. She had eyes of regret. She spoke softly, each word like crumbling stone, dusted with centuries of mourning.
"I must tell you the truth."
"What truth?"
"The truth has been passed down by the primordial mother, since the first king, Marduk. I was entrusted with this burden until a true king was worthy to claim it." Her voice cracked, a rare thing.
"I thought that king would be your father. He was brave. He was kind. But I was too prideful. Thinking I would be one to be written in history as the chosen… Not knowing… my sister would see it too. I thought I could trust her." She turned her face from him, ashamed.
"Everything that happened to the realms… what your father endured… what you endured… is my fault. His death is my burden."
Rhyssand's jaw tightened, but his voice was calm, steady like the sea after the storm. "No. It is not. My father… has suffered enough. So, as King, it is my will that he finds peace, with or without my mother."
There was silence.
Then Ereshkigal stepped forward, stopping inches away. Her hand hovered in the air, glowing with the blue—white flame of death's touch—the one Ishtar stole to escape her rebirth as an extension of her sister. Rhyssand lifted his hand in turn, mirroring hers. They did not touch—if they did, it would be the end of him. But the gesture alone meant everything.
"You are the one we waited for," she whispered. "The one who remembers love, even in the land of loss." Her voice softened further. "The throne is yours now. Jace would be proud."
For the first time since her son's birth, Ereshkigal gave the smallest, truest smile she had in half a thousand years.
Rhyssand looked to the still waters beyond her—where the souls of his ancestors awaited release. He straightened, his tone calm but firm. "I need your help, Aunt. Her power influence on eh throne is gone and her power stripped. But despite everything, she raised me. She was a mother, blood or not. I want her treated with some form of respect."
Ereshkigal tilted her head, "Respect? for the woman who manipulated… everyone, deceived you, killed your father, and nearly destroyed the heavens and earth, TWICE?"
"I could not remain in the human realm all those years ago; it was only a matter of time before I would be found and my father killed," Rhyssand replied calmly. "She trained me, guided me, even if it was for her purposes."
She leaned back in her throne, tapping her fingers on the armrest. "Always seeing the good in everyone," she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
She descended from her throne, her robes trailing like shadows as she approached him. "You have inherited more than just power, Rhys. You have inherited the burden of decisions that will define you for eternity. This… mercy You have extended—It is not weakness, but it will be seen as such by many."
"I don't care how It is seen," he said firmly. "It is the right thing to do."
Ereshkigal placed a hand on his shoulder, her gaze softening. "No matter who your mother is, Rhys, and for that, I shall honor your request. Ishtar will be treated with dignity, as much as she deserves in her confinement," she said, then bowed. "It shall be done."
He exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Thank you, Aunt. I know It is a strange thing to ask."
She smirked, stepping back. "Strange? Perhaps. But it is also why you have risen to the throne. True Balance is what the world needs now."
"I will request some of her essentials be brought from her wing in the palace."
She nodded, "Fine," as she returned to her throne, settling back with a regal air. "Now go, King of Heaven. You have much to do, and I have a kingdom of my own to rule."
Rhyssand gave her a respectful nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, Ereshkigal's voice echoed softly through the chamber. "You have done well, nephew. Keep proving them wrong."
A faint smile tugged at Rhyssand's lips. But he could not bring himself to ascend back to Heaven just yet. The weight of his lineage pressed against him like a relentless tide. He turned to Ereshkigal, his voice low and hesitant.
"What was she like?"
Ereshkigal did not need him to elaborate. She studied him for a long moment before speaking softly. "Your mother was the embodiment of everything you are now. It is no wonder your father could never forget her. He saw her in you."
Rhyssand smiled."Do you know where she is ?"
The Grove of Memories was a tranquil place, untouched by the harshness of the underworld. The cherry tree stood at the center, its branches heavy with pale blossoms that swayed gently in a phantom breeze. Beneath it lay a simple tombstone, engraved with her name:
Sarah.
Rhyssand approached slowly, his breath catching in his throat. He had never met her, only fragments of memories, a hand…a smell of food…feeding him. Yet, standing here, he felt a profound connection he could not explain.
He dropped to his knees before the grave, his hand brushing the earth. Tears blurred his vision as the reality of her absence struck him fully.
His midnight wings folding tightly against his back. His usual composure was gone, his shoulders trembling as he traced the words on the stone with shaking fingers.
"I am back," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"
"Forgive me," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Keep him safe and…- tell him i loved him"
The grove of cherry trees was silent, their delicate blossoms swaying gently in the cool breeze.
The air was thick with the scent of blossoms, a bittersweet reminder of the woman who had once tended to them with loving hands.
The memories came flooding back—his mother's laughter as she held him close, her gentle hands brushing his hair, the way her voice would hum softly while she worked among the cherry trees.
"I could not protect you. And now…" he said. His voice faltered, his tears falling freely. He pressed his forehead against the gravestone, his fingers digging into the earth as the grief he had buried for so long overwhelmed him. "I could not save him either…" he choked out, the words barely audible.
The celestial palace was a place of grandeur and divine power, its halls resonating with the weight of eternity. But within its walls, tension simmered like a brewing storm between Demeter and his son.
Demeter, ever the proud and stoic celestial, had raised Rhys with high expectations, believing that strength and discipline were the only ways to ensure his survival in the cutthroat hierarchy of heaven.
Rhyssand, however, had inherited his mother's free spirit and a yearning for something beyond the rigid rules of their realm.
"You are late," His father's voice echoed through the training arena, his eyes narrowing as his son walked in, his wings disheveled from a hasty flight.
He shrugged, his eyes rolling slightly as he unsheathed his sword. "Not like anyone's dying to see me here, old man."
Demeter's jaw tightened, his voice low but sharp. "Discipline is what keeps us alive, Rhyssand. You can't afford to treat it like a game."
"It feels like a game when you make me fight you every day," he shot back, his voice laced with frustration. "Maybe if you spent less time trying to beat me into submission and more time listening to me—"
"Listening?" Demeter interrupted, his wings flaring as his voice rose. "Listening to what, Rhys? Your endless complaints about how unfair life is? About how hard I push you? Do you think the enemies we face will give you a moment to cry about it?"
Rhyssand's grip on his sword tightened, his teeth clenched. "Maybe I would not have so much to say if you were not trying to turn me into a copy of you!"
Demeter moved first, his sword flashing as he struck at Rhyssand. But he blocked the blow, the force of the clash ringing through the arena.
"If you want to be different," Demeter growled, pushing him back with a series of strikes, "then prove it. Show me that you are more than just words."
Rhyssand snarled, his wings flaring as he parried and counterattacked, the fire in his golden eyes matching the force of his strikes.
Their blades clashed repeatedly, sparks flying as the fight grew more intense. Demeter's attacks were precise and calculated, while Rhys fought with raw emotion, his movements fueled by frustration and defiance.
Finally, Rhys managed to disarm his father with a powerful strike, sending Demeter's sword clattering to the ground. Breathing heavily, Rhys pointed his blade at his father, his chest heaving with exertion.
"You don't want me to be different. You just want me to follow orders and shut up. Well, guess what, Father—I am not you!" his voice trembling with anger. "And I am not going to spend my life fighting your battles."
Demeter stared at him, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he stepped back, his own golden eyes flickering with something Rhyssand could not quite place: regret, pride maybe? sorrow?"
Demeter said quietly, his voice losing its edge. "Everything I've done has been to protect you."
Rhyssand lowered his sword slightly, his brow furrowing. "By making me hate you?"
His father sighed, his wings folding as he retrieved his weapon. "I'd rather you hate me and live than love me and die because I did not prepare you."
The tension between them remained as they left the arena, both unwilling to bridge the gap that had formed over years of misunderstandings.
"We go again. Better stance this time."
Silence—Then
"Fuck this and Fuck you."
As Rhyssand walked away, he caught a glimpse of his father standing in the doorway, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his head bowed. But Rhyssand did not turn back; he carried the image with him, a seed of understanding that would not take root until much later.
Rhyssand's wings trembled, the pain in his chest unbearable. It was the first time he realized that behind Demeter's harshness was a man burdened by his regrets and fears—a man who had lost the love of his life and did not know how to protect the one thing she had left him.
"How is it fair? How is it fair that I must hold the burden of balance—and yet I have lost both of you to this endless fight… for that very power? All I wanted was to be with you. To have a family that did not break apart."
The wind picked up slightly, carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms.
It was as if the grove itself were trying to comfort him, wrapping him in the memory of his mother's love. For a long time, the king of heaven sat in the silence of the earth, his tears soaking into the earth beneath him.
After what felt like an eternity, Rhys wiped his face with trembling hands. He looked up at the cherry trees, their blossoms fluttering down like a gentle rain.
He placed his hand on the gravestone one last time.
"I will protect the family I have left. That's my promise to you. To both of you."
As he rose to his feet, the breeze grew stronger, carrying petals around him in a swirl of soft pink.
Artizea had been searching for him since he left the palace.
Her heart guided her to the Grove, and when she saw him kneeling beneath the cherry tree, her heart broke for him.
Without a word, she approached, kneeling beside him and wrapping her arms around his trembling frame.
She held him close, her presence grounding him as he let the pain flow freely.
After what felt like an eternity, his sobs began to subside.
He leaned into her embrace, his head resting against her shoulder.
"I asked Ereshkigal about her," he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. "She told me I remind her of my father. And now I can't stop thinking…I never knew my father. I thought he was this cold, distant person, but in the end…"
Artizea pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands so he was forced to look at her. Her eyes, fierce and full of love, locked onto his. "Rhyssand Pendragon," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion in her chest, "Your father gave a damn about you, so much so that he forfeited the feeling of love, for you just so he did not commit atrocitiesagainst his own realm. He did not have to risk you—that is what I saw when he touched my hand… I saw a man who carried the guilt and grief…You are not your father. You will not grieve alone like he did, you will share my love and yours, with our child—the child we will raise together. "She smiled.
He closed his eyes, her words a balm to his wounds.
She continued, her lips curving into a small smile, "You may be insufferable sometimes, but you are *mine*. And you are the only man I'd ever want standing beside me, across all the stars and beyond."
Her words pulled a faint laugh from him. He opened his eyes again, his gaze softening as he looked at her.
"You deserve better than me," he murmured, his hand brushing her cheek.
"You are exactly what I deserve," she countered, her voice fierce. "And exactly the father our child needs. Never doubt that."
Rhys pulled her into a tight embrace, his forehead resting against hers.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered.
"Luckily, you will never have to find out," she replied, her lips brushing against his in a soft, reassuring kiss.
They stood there in silence, the weight of their past battles fading under the light of a peaceful night. Two lovers, bound by fate and choice, find solace in each other as the world moves on.
As the cherry blossoms fell around them, Rhyssand allowed himself to believe her—to believe in himself—and to hope that the legacy he built would be one of love, not fear.