The world had grown silent. For once, no blades clashed, no sky split apart, no ancient voices whispered from the void. Just the soft hum of life returning to the land.
Lucien and Selene wandered through villages that once cowered beneath godly terror. People bowed, whispered their names, but the two rarely lingered in the spotlight. They passed through as shadows — he, the pale figure who had carved the impossible, and she, the luminous presence at his side, eyes like starlight that made even ruined lands feel warm again.
At night, they chose solitude over celebration. The two would walk the outskirts of cities, fields of grass stretching under star-laden skies, the world quiet enough that they could hear each other's breaths.
Selene teased him often, her wit sharp as her blade. "The Sole Exception who can tear gods apart… and yet you still can't cook a meal without burning it."
Lucien smirked, his eyes narrowing just enough to give away that rare softness he only showed her. "I don't need to cook. I need to win."
"Mm. And what if I challenged you to survive my cooking?"
"…Then I might finally lose."
Their laughter broke the silence of the night, carried away with the wind.
But in between the humor, there were the quieter moments. Selene would reach for his hand without words, and he never pulled away. Sometimes he would tell her fragments of the White, pieces of the eternity where he had died a thousand times. She listened, never flinching, her presence grounding him when memories grew heavy.
Months passed in this rhythm — wandering, resting, living. The weight of saving a world did not vanish, but for once, they allowed themselves to taste what normality felt like.
And then came the night when laughter gave way to silence, silence gave way to closeness, and closeness gave way to something neither of them could put into words. The world had called them warriors, revenants, monsters, saviors — but here, in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through a quiet cabin, they were only Lucien and Selene.
Time moved forward.
Seasons shifted.
And with it, a new life stirred.
Selene's hand on her stomach, Lucien's pale eyes widening as realization struck — for the first time, the one who had faced unending death stood stunned, powerless in the presence of life. He didn't speak at first. He simply knelt, pressing his forehead against her, silence holding more meaning than any oath.
Selene smiled, the kind of smile that cut through scars and battles.
"You've conquered gods," she whispered. "Now try being a father."
Lucien's lips curved faintly, but there was steel beneath his voice.
"I'll do what I've always done. Survive… and protect what's mine."
The days that followed were different. He trained less, stayed close more. She teased him endlessly about his stiffness, the way he froze every time she stumbled, how his hand lingered protectively on her back. Yet he never complained.
And when their child finally came into the world, the cries were not drowned by battle, nor silenced by gods. They were raw, human, alive. Lucien held the newborn as if afraid the world itself might try to steal them away — pale eyes burning not with vengeance, not with bloodlust, but with something even more unshakable.
Love.
For once, there was no enemy to fight. No blade to raise. Only a family to hold.