The sea stretched endlessly beyond the horizon, painted in hues of indigo and silver beneath the soft touch of twilight. Waves whispered secrets against the shore, and the wind carried the scent of salt and distant stars.
Jin sat on the sand, his feet buried beneath its warmth, watching the sun dip beneath the edge of the world. The glow of the dying light painted his long white hair in gold. It had returned to its natural shape—soft strands falling past his shoulders, untamed like the tides. His crimson eyes shimmered as if they too remembered another time, another war, another world.
But now, there was peace.
Velka ran toward the water, the hem of her white dress wet and clinging to her legs. She turned, laughing—truly laughing, for the first time in so long—and called out, "Jin! Come on!"
He didn't move at first. He just smiled, taking in the sight of her—golden hair against the silver sea, the joy in her voice, the way the setting sun haloed around her like the goddess she once had been.
Then he rose, slowly, and walked toward her. Each step left a print in the sand—impermanent, fading with the sea, but real in this moment.
She splashed water at him, and he caught her wrist gently, spinning her into an embrace. The waves curled around their ankles as they stood there, forehead to forehead, drenched in light and laughter.
"I used to dream of this," Velka whispered. "But even in dreams... it never felt this warm."
Jin brushed a strand of wet hair from her face, his thumb grazing her cheek. "This is real. And it's yours."
They sat by the fire later, wrapped in a single blanket. Velka leaned on Jin's chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heart. He stared into the flames, the light casting shadows across his face.
"You've changed," she murmured.
"My powers have returned," he said softly. "The hair, the eyes... my true form is back."
"But your heart hasn't."
He looked down at her.
"It's softer," she said with a small smile. "More human."
Jin chuckled. "That's your fault."
She kissed his shoulder. "I'll take the blame."
The stars blinked into existence one by one, and they watched them together, hands intertwined, souls quiet. For now, there was no prophecy, no blade, no battle. Just the pulse of waves and the language of silence between two hearts that had been shattered and found wholeness in each other.
As sleep began to drift into their eyes, Velka whispered, "Will you stay with me... even if the world calls again?"
"I'll stay," Jin replied. "But if the world dares try to take me from you again... I'll burn it to ash."
She smiled as she fell asleep in his arms.
And Jin, Lord of Infinite Collapse, slayer of gods and devourer of realms... closed his eyes and listened to the waves.
Because in this moment, he was not a god.
He was a man in love.
And the sea whispered blessings over them both.
Morning light spilled through gauzy curtains, golden and warm, brushing the stone cottage nestled on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Birds chirped in the ivy outside, and the gentle hush of waves crashing below hummed like a lullaby. Inside, time moved slowly—deliberately—as if the world had chosen, just for a moment, to stop spinning so quickly for them.
Jin stirred in bed, his arm stretched across the sheets, fingers instinctively reaching. But Velka was already awake. She stood barefoot on the balcony, her golden hair dancing in the sea breeze, wrapped in one of his robes that hung loosely on her frame. Her eyes, once filled with the heaviness of unspoken grief, now shimmered with contentment.
He sat up, brushing his long white hair back, his red eyes fixed on her as if she were a fragile dream he feared waking from. She turned, noticing his gaze, and smiled with the softness only true love could evoke.
"You're staring again," she teased gently.
"I always will," he said, voice still husky from sleep.
They ate breakfast together—fresh fruits, honeyed bread, and tea made from the herbs Velka picked in the nearby garden. She told him stories about the flowers and their meanings, as if they were old friends. Jin listened, quietly amused, marveling at how she could speak of such small things with such wonder.
They took long walks through the hills and woods. Velka would tug his hand and rush toward something she found—a fallen feather, an odd-shaped rock, an insect hiding in a blossom. Jin, a being who once held the power to erase timelines and crush gods, found himself genuinely smiling at each one.
He had crushed chaos. But here, he was learning how to hold beauty gently.
Sometimes they visited the nearby village. The townsfolk didn't know Jin's true identity—they simply called him "the scholar with red eyes." Children adored him, and the elders often asked him about old legends. He gave cryptic answers that made them think for days. Velka would laugh behind her hand each time he did it.
In the evenings, they sat on the porch, legs tangled, watching the sunset fall in golden folds across the sea. Velka often leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice a gentle hum as she spoke of dreams, of what-ifs, of their quiet future.
One night, as stars filled the sky in slow ripples, she asked, "Do you ever miss it?"
Jin didn't answer at first. He stared into the fire pit, embers dancing like memories.
"Power?" he said at last. "No. Not power. I miss… the purpose. But maybe this is what I was meant to protect all along."
Velka turned to him, her golden eyes searching his face. "Do you regret finding me?"
He reached for her hand, holding it over his heart. "I regret every day I didn't."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't cry. She simply leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. "Then let's make every day count."
And so they did.
They planted a tree together on the hill, its leaves silver-blue and soft to the touch. Jin used a bit of his power to let it bloom early. Velka laughed, saying he cheated. He only smirked.
They wrote a book together—myths reimagined, legends rewritten through their eyes. The world outside did not know their names, but their words would drift across generations.
They danced once in the rain. No music, no reason. Just the joy of movement and the feeling of being alive.
And at night, when she fell asleep in his arms, Jin would watch her, listening to the ocean, his mind still, his soul—finally—at peace.
He had been a god, a weapon, a myth.
But now, he was simply hers.
And in this life they borrowed, in this fleeting world of quiet wonder, that was enough.