My Legendary Children Think I Need a Wife (I Just Want to Catalog Rock

I saved humanity from the Abyss. They repaid me with exile and attempted murder. So I did what any rational god-level being would do: created my own realm, populated it with dragons and titans, and spent the next 800 years perfecting my rock collection in blissful solitude. My children—legendary heroes across a dozen realms—think I have a problem. Just because I've cataloged 16,000 individual stones and alphabetized forests doesn't mean I'm lonely. I'm efficient. But they've launched "Operation Get Father Laid," and suddenly I'm being shoved into markets, libraries, and social gatherings like some awkward teenager. Here's the thing: I actually do need partners. My realm requires new hybrid species to thrive—half-elves, half-dragons, the works. So I approach qualified candidates with a simple proposal: "Your genetic traits are optimal. Will you help me create superior offspring?" Apparently, this is not how courtship works. A slow burn romance of a emotionally stunted god who is a down bad introvert