One day, Mama called Zefar to her lab.
It wasn't unusual. Ave was always calling him somewhere—labs, workshops, testing chambers buried deep beneath Babel's foundations. But something about the message was different.
It was short. No diagrams attached. No urgency implied.
Just: Come alone.
The air inside the laboratory smelled of ozone and hot metal, sharp enough to sting the nose. Power hummed through the walls, through the floor, through the very bones of the building. Cables ran like veins along steel frames. Coils glowed faintly, pulsing with restrained force.
Ave's hair had escaped its braid, strands falling across her forehead as she crouched over a glowing mechanism. The device was half-finished, open like a living thing mid-surgery.
Tools lay scattered around her, forgotten. Her fingers moved with muscle memory, adjusting something delicate and dangerous at the same time.
Zefar entered quietly.
He always did.
Most men announced themselves. He never saw the need. Ave worked better when she forgot the rest of the world existed, and he respected that. He stood near the doorway at first, watching her in silence, the faint glow reflecting off the Veil of Glass that hid his face.
"You're sure whatever you call those heaters can handle the energy you intend to produce?" he asked, cluelessly, just trying to start a conversation.
She didn't look up.
"If they fail, they'll vent harmlessly," she said, voice calm, precise. "The output will still feed the northern sector. Efficiency is everything, Zefar."
He stepped closer, studying the machine like it might bite him.
"You talk about energy the way generals talk about soldiers," he said. "Like losses are acceptable as long as the objective is reached."
"They are," she replied instantly. "As long as the every variable is calculated."
He smiled.
That rare, small smile that softened even his stern face. "Are you the only genius building up this continent? You really need to rest more."
She finally glanced up, eyes sharp, alert, alive. A flicker of amusement crossed her face.
"I will get enough sleep in the grave," she said. "Until then, I must achieve all my dreams. I prefer to die with no regrets."
Zefar let out a quiet laugh. "I don't even know why I try."
He leaned against the table beside her. "So. Why did you actually call me here?"
Ave straightened slowly. For once, she stepped away from the machine without finishing what she was doing. She wiped her hands on a cloth, then folded it carefully, like the smallest details still mattered.
"I realized I'm getting older," she said.
Zefar frowned. "You're exhausted, not immortal."
"No," she replied. "I've tracked it. I am aging faster. My hormonal cycles slowly becoming irregular. Everything is changing and I must adapt accordingly."
She looked him dead in the eyes.
"I propose a marriage of convenience between you and me."
The words landed heavier than any weapon.
"You get a genius enriching your bloodline," she continued calmly, as if discussing a trade agreement, "and I finally get those annoying elders off my back."
She paused, lips curling slightly.
"Can you believe they called me a barren witch?" she added. "I will show them who's barren."
Zefar froze.
The silence that followed was thick enough to suffocate.
He blinked once. "You're… serious."
"I don't joke about life decisions," she replied.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to her. "Are you sure you're ready for kids at this time? You're always working. You barely eat. You barely sleep. Don't let those old men get into your head."
He hesitated, then added quietly, "Plus, I am the worst person to choose if you want to start a family. You know what they call me in Babel."
Ave smiled.
Not gently. Not shyly. Confident. Certain.
"Zefar," she said, stepping closer, "you already adopted nine hundred kids who aren't your own, and you raised them just fine. I am sure you're the perfect man for my kids."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Which child wouldn't want a strong, handsome, and brave guy like you as a father?"
Zefar backed up without realizing it until his shoulders hit the wall.
"You're messing with me,right?" he desperately asked. "Pranking the King Of Slayers is a dangerous game."
She followed him, closing the distance.
"Only you understand why I work so hard," she said softly. "Why I can't cook, clean, and sit at home like the model wife every man in Babel wants. Trust me when I say the taunts of those elders are not the reason I want children."
She stretched out her hand and touched his mask.
The Veil of Glass amplified everything. Her breath. Her heartbeat. The faint tremor in her fingers. Zefar could hear her heart pounding as she stepped closer still.
Slowly, deliberately, she removed the mask.
As she did, she spoke.
"Every scientist is curious," she said. "We observe. We analyze. We test boundaries. And as you know, Zefar, I don't like to experiment from a distance."
She looked up at him.
"When I decide to do something, I go all in."
Her voice steadied.
"Will you risk it all with me, Zefar? Will you agree to a bond beyond what our generation calls love?"
She swallowed, but she didn't retreat.
"I want it all. The experience. The life. The family. The children. Even if it's just for a moment, I want to know I didn't sacrifice my legacy in pursuit of becoming great."
Zefar closed the space between them in one step and grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly, as if grounding himself.
"Avery," he said, voice low, almost pleading. "Think wisely about what you ask of me. I don't play with my heart."
He searched her face.
"I am both the coldest and the most caring person on Earth. Making me your husband means a relationship without love. Can we raise children in such a union?"
Ave hesitated—just for a breath.
Then she smiled again, softer this time.
She drew closer, fighting the temptation to kiss him.
"Don't get lost in my eyes, Ave," Zefar warned. "Listen carefully. I'm terrible at anything else but loyalty."
She placed a finger on his lips.
"Hush, Zefar," she whispered. "Who said I need anything else from you?"
Her eyes didn't waver.
"You can't scare me away. It's you I want. Just tell me—is it a yes or no?"
He had never been cornered like this.
Not by armies. Not by enemies. Not by death itself.
He had never once planned to be a biological father. Had never imagined marriage. Not after a millennium of war, leadership, sacrifice, and survival. He was in his prime, feared and admired, loved by every woman in Babel—and yet utterly unprepared for this.
Ave really shocked him to the bone.
In the end, they really didn't marry for love.
They did it for humanity.
For the Empire of Men.
For Babel.
For a heaven forged not by gods—but by human hands.
And the world would never be the same again.