Humanity is flawed, brief, laughable. But every so often, they are worthy. 13 minutes and 7 seconds, and Sasaki Kojiro had proved himself worthy of the God of the Sea's acknowledgement, despite his loss.

Despite his loss, Kojiro did not plead, his did not falter—not like how Poseidon had allowed his scowl to deepen, his attacks to grow more angered. This too, was worth his acknowledgement. The man had fought well, something Poseidon had not come to expect from humanity.

He was a god with no need for peers. Even among the divine, he stood alone, towering and absolute. Without companion, without equal. Yet you—you were an anomaly. You did not grovel. He did not expect you to. He did not gaze upon you with disdain, as he did so many others. There was no need to lower his gaze to meet yours. You had never attempted to claim his glory nor diminish it. Strong in your own right. Enchanting in every way that mattered.

Poseidon would not whisper sweet nothings, nor call out across meadows with longing in his voice. His affection was silent and unshakable, like the ocean floor—deep, crushing, endless. A presence rather than a display. You were not a weakness, nor a soft thing. You were simply his.

The healers murmured to one another as divine threads of ichor and magic twisted around the void where his arm once was. His arm would soon be restored. Despite the fleeting thought, the God remained in the midst of his pondering. He had won the battle, but that was to be expected. He had no need to celebrate. His thoughts remained elsewhere.

You would want to see the injury. You would likely fuss over him, scold him, or perhaps move on with absolute nonchalance. And he would allow you, knowing your actions were devoid of pity. You saw him for who he was, the absolute and resolute God that was Poseidon. Your husband.

His fingers twitched faintly as the nerves began to reconnect. He did not wince. He merely exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze turning to the far wall of his temple—silent, endless columns stretching into eternity.

Your arrival was inevitable. It was a certainty carved into the very bones of fate. And when you came, he would not smile. He would not reach for you. He would not call your name with breathless relief. Such gestures were not in his nature.

But if you do chose to embrace him—to break the peaceful silence, who would he be, to oppose the wishes of his lover? To deny the will of the only being of all the realms who he'd deemed worthy of calling his. He would not shy away from you, nor your eccentricities.

Slowly curling his fingers into a first, Poseidon peered down at his arm. The healers worked quickly. He lifted his arm slightly, to test his nerves and the feeling in his body. His thoughts never strayed far from the alluring topic that was you.

Speaking of, he could already feel your presence. He lifted his gaze.