The sight of Riven on the floor was still sinking in. Everyone kept staring without moving as they watched him with his daughter, afraid this might just be an illusion. But the truth is, Riven was home, and his body was a heavy weight of old iron and confusion. As he tried to push himself up, his gauntlets skidded on the soft rug. His muscles, frozen in time for nearly seven years, felt like lead.
"Easy, Riven. Don't rush it," Barron whispered, reaching out to help his best friend.
But it was Adonis who moved first. The boy stepped forward, his face a mirror of Vaelorian's calm but with Riven's stubborn intensity. He reached down and gripped Riven's armored forearm. With a single, effortless tug, the almost seven-year-old pulled his father into a standing position.
Riven gasped, his boots hitting the floor hard. He looked down at the small boy who barely reached his waist. He felt the raw, physical power in that tiny grip—it was his own Super Strength, undeniable and immense. But then, Adonis looked up, and for a split second, his silver eyes shimmered with a familiar, swirling light.
"You're so strong," Riven breathed, his voice trembling before bending at his son's eye level. "And your eyes... they're like Vaelorian's. You can feel what others feel, can't you?"
Adonis nodded solemnly, reaching out to touch Riven's face. His small palm felt like a warm hearth against Riven's cold skin. "You don't have to be scared anymore, Papa," the boy whispered into his mind. "The shadows are going away now."
Riven's heart broke even more but a piece of him was happy. His son hadn't just inherited his brawn; he had inherited Vaelorian's appearance and Gift, a bridge between their identities.
Anya pushed through the group, her medical kit already open. "Move aside, everyone. I don't care if he's a ghost, a god or an illusion. Right now he's my patient."
She worked with a feverish speed, her hands glowing as she scanned Riven's vitals. She checked his pulse, his eyes, and the strange, lingering energy of the void on his skin. Riven sat still, letting her poke and prod, his eyes never leaving Vaelorian.
"Physically... he's perfect," Anya finally announced, her voice cracking with a rare moment of emotion. "He's exactly as he was the day he left. He hasn't aged a day. No cellular decay. It's like whatever took him, just kept him in a timeless glass jar."
Barron stepped forward, his massive hand landing on Riven's shoulder with a heavy thud. The two Knights looked at each other—one who had aged nearly seven years in war and duty, and one who was still a young man.
"Welcome back, you stubborn bastard," Barron choked out, a single tear escaping his eye.
Willow and Mira Lune just stood in the corner, their hands still over their mouths, unable to speak. They just nodded at him, their eyes brimming with tears of joy and promising a thousand questions for later.
Anya eventually stood up and began shooing everyone toward the door. "Alright, that's enough. He's exhausted, the kids are still recovering from a magical fever, and the Emperor looks like he's about to faint. Out! All of you! Give them some space"
The children's room cleared quickly. The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving only Vaelorian, Riven, and the two children in the soft, blue glow of the nursery.
Riven sat on the edge of the large, interconnected bed. He looked small without his helmet, his face pale against the dark wood. Adonis and Aaliyah-Lavelle crawled under the heavy silk blankets, their eyes wide as they watched him, terrified that if they blinked, he'd disappear again.
"You're really staying?" Aaliyah-Lavelle whispered, her voice tiny in the big room.
Riven reached out, his hand trembling as he smoothed the hair back from her forehead. "I'm staying. I'm never leaving again. I promise."
Adonis sat up, holding out his small hand, his pinky finger extended. "You have to pinky promise, Papa. That's the strongest magic. You have to be here when the sun comes up tomorrow, okay?"
Riven looked at Vaelorian, who was standing at the foot of the bed, his silver eyes wet with unshared tears. Riven leaned forward and hooked his scarred pinky around his son's tiny one.
"I pinky promise," Riven said, his voice thick with tears. "When you wake up tomorrow, I'll be sitting right here. I'll never leave my prince and princess ever again."
He leaned over and kissed both their foreheads, the smell of the nursery—lavender and home—finally replacing the anxious feeling he woke up with. He waited until their breathing turned slow and deep, their small hands still clutching the edges of his old, rusty scarf.
Vaelorian walked to the door and waited. Riven stood up slowly, his armor clinking softly in the quiet room. He took one last look at the sleeping children—his living miracles—before following Vaelorian out into the hallway.
As the door closed, Riven leaned his back against the stone wall and let out a long, shaky breath. "Vaelorian... tell me the truth. How much of the world has changed while I was asleep?"