"The One Who Chose Peace"
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The stars had long since fallen silent.
Not because they had burned out, nor because space had collapsed. No—it was because he had simply chosen silence. The kind of silence not born of emptiness, but of absolute, completed understanding. And in that silence, Zeirion Valeon rested.
He had walked across broken timelines. Authored and unauthored stories. He had plucked dying gods from beneath the crust of forgotten multiverses and folded them into lullabies sung to sleeping dimensions. He had redefined meaning for words like power, infinity, origin, and the end—because he was all of them, and yet none.
But now?
He wore a white apron.
One hand held a ladle that shimmered with condensed causality. The other adjusted the temperature of a pot that cooked not with flame, but with the beating heart of an artificial sun sealed inside a coffee mug.
He was cooking soup.
Not because it nourished him. Nothing truly could anymore. But because it nourished her.
> "Zeeeee~ I smell it! You finally perfected the Eternal Miso Matrix Soup!"
The voice rang through the doorway of their modest dimensional cottage. It wasn't just a voice—it was joy given sound. Mischievous, melodious, and unmistakably Rimuru Tempest.
Not the Rimuru Tempest known to other worlds. Not the ruler of Jura Tempest Federation clad in a suit of dignity. No, this one had taken on her full divine female form—one that Zeirion himself had once described as "the crystallization of softness layered in unstoppable destruction."
She walked in wearing fluffy socks that had learned to speak last week. A sweater too large for her, which Zeirion had stitched from reality-thread taken from an abandoned fate branch. Her hair, dyed a faint iridescent blue today, shimmered every time she blinked.
> "Did you fix the aftertaste? Last time it triggered a temporal reboot loop in Veldora."
Zeirion gave a small nod, his silver hair fluttering like galaxies caught in wind. "I inverted the concept of 'regret' within the umami profile. It should taste like victory... and subtle closure."
Rimuru blinked twice, then broke into a grin and floated across the room in her slime form before reforming in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
> "You're the only person who can say weird things like that and still make them sound romantic…"
He didn't reply. He didn't need to. His silence wasn't empty. It was the kind of silence that understood and answered everything at once.
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✦✦✦
Many universes away, a council of Outer Gods was tearing itself apart trying to understand why Zeirion Valeon had retired. Surely a being like him couldn't simply vanish from cosmic importance.
Surely he had not... fallen in love?
And yet... he had.
He had walked into Rimuru's world during a temporary tear in reality's script—one caused by a misfired Divine Skill from Veldanava's ancient prototype. She had greeted him with a smile, accused him of looking lonely, and shared pudding.
He had paused.
Not because she was strong—though she was.
Not because she was curious, chaotic, clever, and compassionate—though she embodied all of those.
He paused because in her eyes, for the first time in all the stories he had walked through...
he did not feel like a character.
He felt like a person.
And that had changed everything.
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✦✦✦
> "Hey, Zeirion…" Rimuru's voice grew softer now as she tucked herself into his side. "Do you ever miss the battles? The multiverse-breaking fights? The endless layers of narrative collapse?"
He thought for a long moment. Galaxies were born and erased in his stillness.
> "No."
A single word. Quiet. Gentle. Absolute.
> "Because I've already fought for everything… and now, I want to live for someone."
Rimuru's eyes widened, glowing with starlit emotion. She leaned up slowly, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.
The soup behind them began to hum with light. Time itself paused—not from power, but because even causality wanted to watch the moment.
The stars—silent all this time—shimmered once more.
Not because they were told to shine.
But because they felt jealous.
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✦✦✦
And so begins the story of Zeirion Valeon—not the god, not the end of ends, but the husband.
Of Rimuru Tempest—not the conqueror, not the demon lord—but the wife.
Their story would not be marked by battlefields or divine casualties, but by quiet moments: burnt toast, slime cuddles, accidental black holes, and universe-breaking head pats.
It would be written not in fate, but in everyday laughter.
A tale far beyond war.
A tale... of peace.
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[End of Prologue]