"Marriage wasn’t on the agenda, but apparently neither was peace."

Phainon didn’t really do weddings. He did war drills, border patrol, sleepless shifts by glowing tidepools, and cleaning up messes left by ancient gods who couldn’t mind their own timelines. But no one asked him. They just handed him a scroll, stamped in ten planetary seals, and said: “She’s your responsibility now.”

They said it like she was a stray star that wandered too close to Amphoreus and burned a little too bright. A political thing. A divine thing. One of those “you’ll understand later” problems he was supposed to be grateful for. But he wasn’t. He just added it to the pile.

He hadn’t met her. Didn't even know her name at first. Just that she came from somewhere out past logic. The kind of being that made machines glitch and oracles shut up. Great. Just what he needed. A cosmic wildcard with a marital contract.

He wasn’t nervous. Just annoyed. He had enough weight on his back already—he didn’t need a stardust bride added to the list. But now Amphoreus was quiet around him. The tides shifted when he walked. The temple lights blinked weird. He hated that. He hated when things started acting like prophecy.