Few weeks had passed since Subhadip had become a father. Yet, in those quiet moments before dawn, as he tiptoed across the upper hallway of the ramen shop-turned-home, something within him felt newly fragile. He paused at Himiko's doorway. The light from a hovering night-lantern spilled over her curled form, an arm protectively around little Yamiya.
They looked like everything he could never truly keep.
Downstairs, the silence was complete. He stirred the soaked white peas, added a dash of turmeric, cracked open a fresh coconut with surgical care, and laid the soft luchis into hot oil. The scent bloomed through the home, curling up the stairwell like a story retold. As he moved to arrange the plates, Himiko appeared—messy-haired and barefoot.
"What are you doing, you employed ass?" she said with mock grumpiness, plopping into a chair at the ramen bar.
He grinned, tossing her a look over his shoulder. "Making breakfast, Granny."
She folded her arms, watching him with a smug smile. "The ceremony's today, remember? The press, the oath, the screaming masses?"
Outside, the multiverse still refused the concept of day or night. Time bled sideways here, and yet, even in such a place, anticipation throbbed.
They dressed with care. Subhadip in a white Lexreo—a formal robe once worn by Judges of Planets—its collar stiff with ancestral threads. Himiko's dress shimmered with metallic fibres, a masterpiece of restraint and power. Yamiya wore a powder-blue cloak with tiny moons embroidered at the hem, her hair in a bow.
As they pulled out from the old ramen shop in a silver glide-car, the sky-bridges were already lined. Crowds gathered silently. Some raised their palms in reverence. Others simply watched, uncertain.
Halfway to Laoptio Street, Himiko's nlink buzzed.
"Naliro," she said, sighing. "What now?"
"Coming with Dad," said Najiro. "He wants to see history."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Before she could respond, another call lit up. This one bore the red sigil of the KLA.
It was Aleksandra's secretary.
"The Chairwoman asks Subhadip to meet her privately," the voice said, "in the Neglav Room. Alone."
Himiko's face changed. Calm, but not still.
She looked at Subhadip before he left the car. "If she asks for more than politics, say no."
He nodded, but his face bore something unreadable.
---
The Neglav Room was carved from the bones of stars. Or so the architects claimed. Aleksandra stood inside, alone, backlit by soft turquoise glass. She looked younger than her seventeen years, a monarch waiting in borrowed shoes.
She turned slowly. "I need to know if we still matter—or if you've already outgrown us."
Subhadip did not speak. Not yet.
She stepped closer. "The Seal Clan demanded wealth for my hand. My family gave everything. Six generations of poverty, just so I could be eligible."
"I'll marry you," he said calmly, "because you want power. And I do too."
She studied him. "The pact says a year must pass from the first meeting."
He nodded.
She sighed, the edge in her voice softening. "Don't worry. I won't fall in love like the others."
He smirked. "Me neither."
And in that shared joke, they became not enemies, not lovers—just two ghosts of a promise, walking into the same storm.
---
The State Congress towered over Laoptio Street like a memory chiselled from marble. Inside, thousands gathered. Floating cameras hovered. Screens blinked with data.
Aleksandra stepped onto the dais slowly, holding a small crystal box.
"I was only ten when they crowned me," she began, her voice poised, though her eyes betrayed a trembling sadness. "A girl-queen of smoke and memory. But today is not about me."
She opened the box.
Inside lay the Ring of Governance, humming with ancient promise.
She turned to Subhadip. "I present to you the one who leads without birthright, without ceremony, and without fear."
Then her voice cracked.
"Subhadip Seal… is a god."
Gasps broke like glass across the chamber. People froze. Some wept. Some looked away. Himiko's hand clutched Yamiya's shoulder.
Yamiya whispered, "Is Papa… magic?"
Himiko just nodded.
Aleksandra slipped the ring on his finger with trembling fingers. "In the name of the Seal Pact, the Multiversal Law, and the truth that outlived even time… I name you—He Who Returns."
Light shattered across the ceiling. Geometries unfolded. The chamber pulsed.
And then, the crowd rose.
A storm of reverence, a riot of hope.
And in the centre of it, a boy-god stood, not smiling, not proud.
Only solemn.
Because even now, even with divinity, he remembered that morning:
The girl, the child, the breakfast,
And the feeling of a home he could never truly keep.