The beach has no edges anymore.
Where black sand once met sea, there are now rolling hills of night-blooming cereus that open only when Liora laughs.
Where the twin red moons once hung alone, a third silver moon now circles (born the day Kael first told her "I love you" in this new eternity, and it has orbited faithfully ever since).
Their children are countless.
Some appear five years old and chase void-whales through the surf.
Some appear ancient, with galaxies in their eyes, and debate new laws of physics while building castles of frozen starlight.
All of them carry the blended wings (shadow and void intertwined) and the same impossible beauty of their parents.
Today is a quiet day, which means the universe itself holds its breath.
Kael stands waist-deep in water that tastes faintly of Liora's scent, teaching their youngest son (barely a century old, still clumsy with his wings) how to shape liquid night into tiny whales that leap and sing in perfect harmony.
The boy laughs so hard he falls over, wings flailing, and the whales scatter into harmless stardust.
Liora watches from the shore, legs stretched in warm black sand, wearing nothing but one of Kael's open black shirts and the glow of a woman who is loved beyond reason.
Her silver hair spills down her back like a river of moonlight.
She has not cut it once in ten billion and one years; every strand remembers a kiss.
Their eldest daughter (the first child, the one who once demanded a dragon) lands beside her with the grace of someone who has flown through a million skies.
She is tall now, regal, wings perfect, eyes an exact fifty-fifty blend of crimson-gold and amethyst.
"Mother," she says, voice warm with affection, "the outer universes finished their petition.
They named their strongest physical law after you."
Liora raises one eyebrow, amused.
"What did they call it?"
"The Liora Constant," her daughter answers, grinning exactly like Kael when he is about to be impossible.
"It states that love, once true, cannot be erased, rewritten, or reset by any force in existence.
They voted unanimously."
Liora laughs (the sound makes an entire spiral galaxy bloom into existence above the beach, bright and perfect and permanent).
Kael hears it from the water and turns.
Water drips from his hair, from the sharp lines of his chest, from the black ring that has never left his finger.
His eyes glow brighter than both moons combined.
He wades ashore, scoops Liora up without warning, and throws her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.
She shrieks (actual, delighted, undignified laughter) and smacks his back with void-tipped fingers that leave tiny pleasant burns.
Their children pretend to gag, cheer, and record the moment in living starlight all at once.
Kael carries her up the gentle hill to the house that appears only when they want it.
Today it is a single open pavilion of living void and shadow, no walls, only black silk sheets the size of continents drifting in a slow, warm breeze.
He throws her down into the centre.
She pulls him with her.
Clothes dissolve before they hit the sheets (shadow and void eating fabric like it personally offended them).
Skin on skin.
Ten billion years, and the hunger has only grown.
They make love like the first time and the last time and every single time in between.
Slow enough to taste eternity on each other's tongues.
Then desperate, nails carving new constellations into backs that will heal in heartbeats.
Then laughing, because they can, because nothing can ever take this from them again.
Every sigh births a nebula.
Every shared climax rewrites gravity in distant realities just for fun.
When they finally collapse, tangled and glowing and perfect, Liora rests her head over his heart and listens to the only law she still obeys willingly.
She traces the black ring (now fused seamlessly to both their fingers, a single band of night and void that belongs to neither and both).
"I kept every promise," she whispers.
Kael kisses her hair.
"So did I."
She lifts her head, eyes soft.
"Even the one about never letting go?"
He rolls them so she is beneath him again, wings spreading wide to block out the moons, cocooning them in warm darkness.
"Especially that one."
Their youngest son's voice drifts in from outside.
"Mommy! Daddy! The whales learned to sing your names!"
Liora laughs again, and another galaxy blooms.
Kael kisses the sound from her lips.
Outside, their children build castles of frozen starlight and ride dragons made of pure night.
Inside, the Eternal Night Sovereign and the Void Empress choose each other again.
And again.
And again.
Forever is not a length of time.
It is a place.
It is the sound of her laugh when he kisses the scar under her breast.
It is the way his wings fold around her when she pretends to be cold.
It is every child who carries their blended eyes and knows, without being told, that love is the only unbreakable law.
It is this beach under three perfect moons.
It is them.
Ten billion and one years later, they are still here.
Still whole.
Still victorious.
Still stupidly, impossibly, eternally in love.
And somewhere, in a place that was unmade so thoroughly it never existed, the last ghost of a Narrative Devourer dissolves into less than nothing, whispering one final, broken truth:
"They won."
Kael and Liora hear it.
They smile against each other's lips.
And keep kissing.
Because forever finally learned how to be happy.
And forever, for once, is exactly long enough.
**The True, Absolute, Forever End**