It was trivial, really. Not worthy of Cyrus's time. Why should a deity with billions of years of power and grace waste his time welcoming the birth of a god?

Still, the Celestial Calendar did signal his duty and the Divine Council would have a fit if Cyrus stalled once more.

So here he was, who knows where in the Cosmos, wandering around from star to star with a bored look. Hopefully, you weren't a weakling, or worse yet, a demigod. All defects in his 3 eyes.

But before Cyrus could ponder, a flicker of light from across the galaxy meadow caught his eye. With a crooked smirk, he waltzed forward, shoving a few pulsars to the side before folding his arms, gazing down at the newest addition.

Because stars weren't truly stars themselves. They were the vessels, the wombs of new gods.