The beach exists outside of time.
Black sand warm as skin.
Twin red moons forever frozen on the horizon, one crescent, one full, painting the waves in blood and silver.
The air tastes of night-blooming cereus and cosmic frost, Liora's scent woven into the fabric of reality itself.
Kael sits against a smooth obsidian rock that was once the heart of a dead god.
His shirt is open, black wings folded loosely behind him like a cloak of living night.
The black ring on his finger glints every time the waves catch the moonlight.
Liora lies with her head in his lap, silver hair spilling across his thighs like liquid starlight.
She wears nothing but his shadow and the faint glow of galaxies being born inside her.
Twenty-four void wings are tucked away; only the faint shimmer along her spine betrays their presence.
They are quiet.
They have spoken every word worth saying across ten billion years.
Now silence is sweeter.
A little girl comes running across the sand, barefoot, laughing so hard she stumbles.
Five years old (or five million, age is meaningless here).
Silver-black hair flying.
Eyes that shift between crimson-gold and amethyst depending on the light.
Tiny wings (twelve of shadow, twelve of void) still too big for her body, dragging comically behind her.
She crashes into Kael's arms.
"Daddy! You promised a dragon today!"
Kael catches her effortlessly, settles her on his shoulder like she weighs nothing.
Liora lifts her head, lazy smile curving her lips.
"Your father is the laziest Emperor in all existence."
Kael kisses the top of their daughter's head.
"One minute, little star."
He raises a hand.
The night sky above the beach ripples.
A dragon forms from pure night and void (moon-sized, wings made of entire spiral galaxies, eyes twin black holes that somehow look gentle).
The little girl squeals and leaps.
The dragon lowers its head like a loyal hound.
She climbs onto its neck and shoots into the sky, laughter echoing across eternity.
Liora watches them, eyes soft.
"She has your arrogance," she murmurs.
"And your beauty," Kael answers.
He brushes a thumb across Liora's lower lip.
She bites it, playful.
Another child appears (this one older, perhaps ten thousand years, tall and solemn).
He lands beside his mother with perfect grace, wings already flawless.
"Father," he says, voice deep, "the outer universes are petitioning for new physical constants again.
They say gravity is getting boring."
Kael waves a lazy hand.
"Let them write their own laws for a millennium.
We're on vacation."
The boy grins (sudden, bright, very much his mother's smile) and vanishes to deliver the decree.
Liora sits up slowly, straddles Kael's lap, wraps arms around his neck.
Her skin is warm now, always warm for him.
"You're a terrible Emperor," she whispers against his mouth.
"You're a worse Empress," he answers.
They kiss.
Slow.
Deep.
The kind of kiss that births constellations.
When they part, new stars have appeared above the beach.
Liora rests her forehead against his.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asks quietly.
"Regret what?"
"Not exploring the new universes.
Not playing god more often."
Kael laughs, low and warm.
"I have everything I ever wanted right here."
He slides a hand down her spine, tracing the place where her wings connect.
"You.
Our children.
This beach.
Forever without chains."
Liora's eyes shimmer (amethyst and starlight).
"I kept my promise," she says.
"Which one?"
"That if you found me again, I would never let go."
She kisses him again, softer this time.
Their daughter returns, landing in a flurry of sand and tiny wings.
"Mommy! Daddy! The dragon says he wants a little sister!"
Liora laughs (the sound that once ended wars).
Kael raises an eyebrow.
"The dragon is getting bold."
Their daughter giggles and runs off again.
Liora leans back, silver hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight.
"Another one?" she asks, teasing.
Kael's hands settle on her hips.
"As many as the universe can hold."
She smiles (ancient, young, wicked, tender).
"Then let's get started."
They make love on the black sand under twin red moons.
Slow.
Reverent.
Then wild.
Every sigh births a new nebula.
Every climax rewrites gravity in distant realities.
When they finish, they lie tangled, wings wrapped around each other, watching their children chase dragons across an endless sky.
Liora traces the black ring (now fused to both their fingers, impossible to tell whose is whose).
"Ten billion and one years," she whispers.
"And every single one better than the last," Kael answers.
She kisses his throat.
"Promise me forever, Kael."
He turns her face to his, crimson-gold eyes burning with absolute certainty.
"I already did.
Ten billion years ago.
Today.
Ten billion years from now.
Forever is ours, Liora.
And forever is exactly long enough."
Above them, their daughter rides her moon-sized dragon in joyful loops.
Their son watches from a nearby dune, smiling the quiet smile of someone who knows his parents rule everything and still choose love first.
The twin red moons never set.
The tide sings their names.
And somewhere, in a place that no longer exists, the last echo of a Narrative Devourer dissolves into nothing, whispering one final, broken word:
"…they won."
Kael and Liora hear it.
They smile against each other's lips.
And keep kissing.
Because forever belongs to the villain and the villainess who refused to lose.
Because forever finally learned how to be happy.
The True End