Morning arrived without ceremony.
The city beyond the glass windows was only beginning to stir—traffic lights blinking awake, distant horns echoing faintly—but Sam had been awake long before the world remembered how to move.
He stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie with measured precision.
Every movement was controlled.
Every breath even.
Every expression carefully neutral.
There was something unsettlingly refined about him.
Not beauty that demanded attention, not the loud kind that begged to be admired—but the quiet kind. The kind that held the eyes once noticed, as if time itself had paused to shape him with deliberate care.
To the world, Sam was a successful businessman.
A respected figure in the city.
A devoted husband.
A loving father.
A normal man.
But Sam had never believed that lie.
He had never been normal.
He stared at his own reflection, eyes calm, face composed, and for a brief moment—just a fraction of a second—he wondered how many worlds had once looked at this same face with fear instead of admiration.
Then the thought vanished.
From the kitchen came Meera's voice, sharp and lively, cutting through the silence like a flame.
"Do you even realize," she called out, "that people lose their minds just looking at you?"
Sam straightened his collar and replied without turning, voice steady and casual.
"What difference does it make if they look?"
"I only come home because I get to look at you."
There was a pause.
Then—
"Oh really?" Meera scoffed. "So now I'm the lucky one?"
Sam finally turned.
Just slightly.
The faint curve of his smile stopped her mid-complaint.
Meera was an elf—graceful, sharp-tongued, fiery in both temper and spirit. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the color rising to her cheeks betrayed her.
Nearby, their adopted daughter Ruhi adjusted her school bag, watching them with quiet amusement. She had inherited none of Sam's heaviness—her warmth was natural, innocent, untouched by shadows.
"Papa," she said softly, "don't forget the school function today."
Sam walked over and knelt before her, placing a gentle hand on her head.
"I won't," he said. "I'll be there."
"I'll wait for you," Ruhi replied seriously.
"If you're waiting for me," Sam said, voice lowering just for her, "then there's nothing in this world that can stop me."
For a moment, something inside him loosened.
In that moment, he wasn't a warrior.
He wasn't a god slayer.
He wasn't a being whose name once shook galaxies.
He was only a father.
Only a husband.
And for him, that was enough.
Dinner that evening was quiet.
Not awkward—just calm.
Meera placed Sam's plate before him and studied his face for a moment longer than usual.
"You're handsome," she said softly. "But always so quiet. Are you really okay, Sam? Everyone keeps telling me I'm lucky."
She smiled faintly, then added with half-joking honesty,
"But they don't know the truth. I'm not lucky. You are."
Sam didn't look up from his plate.
"Lucky?" he repeated calmly. "You're the unlucky one."
Meera blinked.
"People only see my face," Sam continued. "They don't see the habits you have to tolerate."
The room fell silent.
Meera said nothing, but the faint flush on her cheeks deepened. She turned away, pretending to focus on her food.
Sam noticed.
Her love never raised its voice.
It never demanded explanations.
It simply endured.
Later that night, the three of them attended Ruhi's school function.
The grounds were alive—lights glowing, music drifting through the air, laughter echoing between stalls and rides.
Yet most eyes weren't on the attractions.
They were on Sam.
He wasn't the richest man there.
He wasn't the most powerful.
But people gravitated toward him anyway.
Parents whispered.
Teachers stared.
Strangers lingered.
To them, Sam felt unreal.
Like something divine pretending to belong among mortals.
Meera noticed the looks immediately. The way women approached him, the way conversations conveniently found their way into his orbit.
Her irritation simmered.
"You know people are staring at you, right?" she muttered.
Sam noticed instantly.
Without a word, he took her hand.
"That's fine," he said calmly. "At least it reminds you—no matter how much the world looks at me, this hand belongs only to you."
Meera opened her mouth.
No words came out.
She tightened her grip instead, warmth blooming across her cheeks.
Peace.
Night, however, was always the hardest.
That night, exhausted, Meera finally voiced what weighed on her heart.
"You never show me your real heart," she said quietly. "You hide behind that calm mask. What's going on in your life, Sam? At least try to be a normal husband."
Sam looked at her.
There was no anger in his eyes.
Only something vast.
Ancient.
Heavy.
"Normal?" he asked softly. "I'm fine, Meera. But if I truly became normal… would you still want me?"
The faint smirk that followed hid more than it revealed.
Meera reached for his hand.
"I just want you," she said. "No matter how you are."
Sam said nothing.
Some truths were too heavy for words.
The next morning, Sam walked Ruhi to school.
People stared again, but Ruhi squeezed his hand tighter.
"I don't care how the world sees you," she said proudly. "To me, you're perfect."
Sam smiled down at her.
"And for me," she added, "only you and Mom matter."
As she disappeared through the school gates, Sam remained still for a moment longer than necessary.
The God Slayer was nothing more than a father watching his daughter walk away.
That evening, Meera's fiery nature returned.
"I heard someone's trying to be a normal husband," she teased during dinner. "Normal husbands compliment their wives."
"If I told the truth," Sam replied calmly, "you'd turn the house upside down."
Meera puffed her cheeks.
Seeing her expression, Sam and Ruhi burst into laughter.
Flustered, Meera grabbed Sam's ear.
"Learn to flirt properly!"
Sam endured it with the expression of a completely defeated husband.
One day, trying too hard to remain normal, Sam suppressed his power too deeply.
His body paid the price.
A thin line of blood slid from his nose.
Meera panicked instantly.
"Sam! We're going to the doctor."
"It's stress," he replied calmly.
"Don't brush this off!"
"It's nothing serious," he lied smoothly.
She stared at him, unconvinced.
"If this happens again," she warned, "I'm dragging you myself."
Sam smiled.
Inside, he knew.
This was only the beginning.
Suppressing his power was becoming harder.
And his strength… was still growing.
That night, under a full moon, Sam stood alone on the balcony.
The air felt heavy.
For a split second, his eyes glowed crimson.
Behind him, Meera stepped out.
In less than a heartbeat, his eyes returned to normal.
She froze.
"What… did I just see?"
Then she shook her head.
"I'm tired," she whispered. "I need sleep."
Sam remained alone, staring at the moon.
Doubt, however, had already taken root.
The next day, Meera followed him.
From buses.
From shops.
From quiet corners.
Sam noticed instantly.
Following me isn't easy, he thought. But she's my wife.
He changed routes deliberately.
She persisted.
Finally, he appeared behind her.
"If you wanted coffee," he said calmly, "you didn't need to stalk me."
She spun around, flustered.
They laughed it off.
Coffee. Conversation. Normalcy.
Then Sam left for his office.
Meera walked home alone.
On an empty street, four figures stepped into her path.
Black cloaks.
Inhuman pressure.
"Move," she warned coldly.
They didn't.
Fire erased her ice spell.
Lightning struck her mid-cast.
She collapsed.
The remaining figures closed in.
The night fell silent.