(ONE-SHORT) THE WEDDING AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Alexandria had seen and accepted many things in her long life. Her perfect recall ensured she never forgot the worst humanity—the worst she and Cauldron—had to offer. But there was nothing, not even in her deepest, most unhinged nightmares, that could have prepared her for the sight before her.

They had been called to mobilize as usual once Dragon reported the Simurgh’s descent over Earth, and the familiar dread settled over her like a well-worn cloak, one she had long since learned to bear with practiced composure and the quiet lies she told both others and herself. The protocols had become second nature by now; as she prepared for what should have been another catastrophic engagement, her mind moved automatically through evacuation procedures and casualty projections, each calculation performed with the cold ease of long habit rather than fear.

But what they found was not a battle.

The Simurgh lay prone—actually prone—across half a city block, her wings stretched like eerie curtains over the smoking ruins. Predictably, she hadn’t cared that she’d crushed several buildings beneath her. Even so, Alexandria had to admit, with some reluctant professionalism, that the damage was less catastrophic than usual.

That was not the true shock, however.

On the other side stood Scion. Scion, of all beings. The golden man himself, radiating incomprehensible energy. For one fleeting, ridiculous moment, Alexandria wondered if this was his idea of moving on. After all, wasn't Eden his… partner? Did he finally realize she was dead, and so was remarrying?

Was he even capable of that? Should he be?

And then her eyes landed on the third figure, and her brain simply refused to process it.

A homeless-looking man stood between them, middle-aged or perhaps older, his hair long enough to hide most of his face and his clothes worn thin by age and weather, stained with sweat and dirt. In one hand he held a small, equally battered Bible, and in the other a half-empty bottle of beer that caught the light in a way both pitiful and absurd. 

The entire scene felt almost sacrilegious, though that word had long since lost meaning when beings like the Entities existed. Besides, questioning divinity had always been more Eidolon’s concern than hers.

Yet despite everything, the man looked utterly out of place amid the wreckage and congregation before him, as if reality itself had made a mistake by letting him stand there. And still, he remained where he was, calmly officiating what could only be described as an honest-to-god wedding ceremony between Scion and the Simurgh.

Alexandria stared, then blinked, and then stared again. It didn’t help. Reality refused to correct itself.

She half-thought she’d finally died somewhere along the way, that this was some bleak afterlife of sorts fashioned just for her. It was oddly fitting, she thought. And it made sense. Hell made sense. There was no other explanation.

At some point, she realized she was sitting. And so were the others, an entire makeshift congregation of heroes and onlookers, rows of metal folding chairs neatly arranged before the church as though someone had planned this. Legend sat beside her, mouth slightly open. Eidolon hadn’t blinked in at least a full minute.

If nothing else, she thought bitterly, this was proof that the world hadn’t just gone mad. The entire universe had.

When the impromptu congregation finally settled, the homeless man cleared his throat. His voice, when it came, was surprisingly firm, though gravelly, unhurried, and utterly devoid of fear or shock or any other sane emotional reaction. The voice of someone who had long since stopped being surprised by life.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here today to witness a most… peculiar union. A day of love and joy, as two souls—or, well, whatever you fine folk are—come together in holy matrimony.”

He paused to peer up at Scion’s gleaming, unreadable face, then continued without missing a beat. “Marriage,” he said, “is a promise, plain and simple. It’s about walking the same road, through the good times and the bad, through sunshine and storms. It takes patience, mercy, and the sort o’ love that doesn’t quit when things get ugly.”

The Simurgh tilted her head slightly, feathers trembling in place. The action sent the air rippling in places, yet the man didn't so much as flinch.

“Now,” he said, “Scion, Simurgh, would you care to share your vows?”

They did.

Alexandria’s brain thankfully tuned whatever they said, or did in the Simurgh’s case, and when the voices died away, the homeless man nodded solemnly. “That’s beautiful. Truly. Now, uh, if there’s anyone who objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

This was it, Alexandria thought. The point where sanity would reassert itself.

Surely someone—anyone—would rise up and demand this insanity stop. Surely her fellow Triumvirate, her teammates, wouldn’t just sit there and let this farce continue.

Surely.

And yet, no one moved. Not Legend, not Eidolon, and not the capes and civilians watching from behind them, all frozen in stunned disbelief. Even she didn’t stand. She told herself someone else would. Someone smarter, braver, even crazier.

But no one did.

So the homeless man nodded again, as though that settled everything. As though it was expected. 

“The rings,” he said, “are a symbol of unending love, of the circle that binds two souls together.” He paused and looked around, frowned faintly, then shrugged. “Ah, well, looks like we’re a bit short on rings today. That’s all right, you can sort that out later.”

He coughed into his hand and pressed on.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may… uh… kiss the bride.”

Alexandria didn’t know what to expect anymore. She’d given up trying to make sense of any of it. So she stood with the rest as Scion—the alien god, the end of all things—floated forward and kissed the Simurgh, the silent angel of ruin.

Somewhere within her, her sanity finally cracked as everyone clapped. As she clapped, too. She didn’t know whether she was laughing or crying, so she did both quietly, even as she kept clapping until her palms stung, until her arms ached, and until her thoughts blurred into meaningless noise.

And even then, even when the others’ cheers turned to soft, wordless sobs, she kept clapping.

Because what else could she do?