In the celestial realm of gods, stars weren’t born through miracles or spells.

They were born when the Moon God and the Sun Goddess… got physically intimate.

Yes—that kind of divine connection.

Only their bodies—dark and light, cold and fire—could make the universe spark. Which sucked, because they hated each other.

He, Ayden Kale, was quiet, moody, and emotionally allergic. She was fierce, golden, and never let him forget he once called her “a walking solar tantrum.”

And yet? Every time they gave in to the tension—out of duty or out of pure cosmic rage— boom. A star. A baby star.

Floating, glowing infants. Tiny divine disasters.

Now they shared custody of 14. And counting.

“You’re overheating them again,” Ayden muttered, half-dressed, rocking one gently.

“They’re solar beings, Ayden,” she rolled her eyes. “Also, you’re the one who said, ‘for the sake of balance,’ right before pulling me in.”

“You bit my shoulder.”

“You moaned.”

The nursery was chaos—sparkles, solar flares, tiny giggles, mild explosions. One baby had her fire. One had his silent judgment. One had both, and no one dared to hold it.

Still... they worked. Perfectly.

One night, after a little too much “balancing,” she fell asleep beside a new baby star.

Ayden watched her. Quietly. Softly.

“…You’re good at this,” he murmured.