The sweat on Riven's brow felt like the most honest thing he had experienced since his return, a stinging reminder that he was finally back in a body that could feel the heat of the sun and the pull of gravity. As the cheers of the knights began to settle into a hum of respectful distance, Willow stepped forward, leading a young girl by the hand who looked like a perfect, miniature blend of her parents' fierce spirits. The girl had Barron's broad, stubborn brow and Willow's sharp, observant eyes, and she looked at Riven with a mixture of suspicion and wonder.
"Riven, I'd like you to meet Sora," Willow said, her voice soft with a pride that made Riven's chest tighten. "She's nearly four."
Riven knelt in the dirt, heedless of the dust staining his trousers, and looked the girl in the eye. It was one thing to hear about the passage of time; it was quite another to see it standing before him in the form of a child who shouldn't exist in the timeline he remembered. "I left when Willow was about to give birth to our children," Riven thought, a dizzying sense of vertigo washing over him. He reached out a hand, offering it like a peace treaty. Sora hesitated for a second before placing her small hand in his, her grip surprisingly firm.
"My Papa says you're the best knight in the world," Sora said, her voice high and clear. "He says you fought shadows. Did you win?"
Riven felt a lump form in his throat, and he gave her a small, lopsided smile. "I'm still here, aren't I? So I'd say we're winning so far, Sora. But I think your Papa might be biased—I've seen him swing a sword, and he's a much bigger problem for the shadows than I am." The laughter that followed from Barron and Willow broke the tension, but as Riven stood back up, his eyes immediately sought out his own children, who were watching the exchange from the edge of the yard.
The curiosity in Adonis's eyes and the restless energy radiating from Aaliyah-Lavelle told him exactly what he needed to do.
Vaelorian joined them on the sand of the private sparring ring, the late afternoon light casting long, dramatic shadows across the ground.
"They've been training with the instructors," Vaelorian said, his voice carrying a note of caution, "but they've never truly tested themselves against someone who shares the same gift at them. They've been holding back. I think they're afraid of their own strength."
Riven shed his weighted practice vest, standing in his simple tunic, and beckoned the twins forward. "No more holding back, okay?" Riven declared, his voice dropping into the low, encouraging tone of a father. "I want to see how strong your Gifts are. Donis, Liyah—come at me."
The sparring match began with a tentative circle, the children moving with a grace that spoke of Vaelorian's elegance, but as Adonis lunged, that grace vanished into raw, explosive power. The boy's fist connected with Riven's forearm, and the shockwave sent a jolt of genuine surprise through Riven's frame. It wasn't just the strength of a child; it was the concentrated force of a hurricane. Riven planted his feet, his own strength anchoring him to the earth, but he had to grunt with the effort of absorbing the blow.
"He's very strong," Riven realized, a spark of pride igniting in his gut.
Beside him, Aaliyah-Lavelle didn't use brute force; she moved like a flicker of light. As Riven moved to counter Adonis, he felt a strange, cold pull at his mind—a psychic weight that made his limbs feel heavy, as if he were wading through water. It was Vaelorian's gift, but twisted into something more tactile, more aggressive.
She was projecting her will, trying to anchor Riven's movements so her brother could land a finishing blow. Riven let out a bark of laughter, leaning into the mental pressure and using his own physical momentum to spin out of the trap.
"Not bad!" Riven shouted, his eyes darting between the two. "Liyah, you're trying to slow me down, but you need to focus that energy like a spear, not a net. Donis, don't just swing blindly—predict where I'm going to be before I even decide."
For the next hour, the training yard became a whirlwind of dust and shimmering light. Vaelorian watched from the sidelines, his mind open and reaching out to the three of them, acting as the bridge that kept the session from becoming dangerous. He could feel the joy radiating from Riven, a man finally living again, and the blooming confidence in the children as they realized they didn't have to be afraid of hurting their Papa. Riven was the only one in the world who could take everything they had and ask for more.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold, the three of them collapsed into the dirt, breathless and covered in sweat. Riven lay on his back, his chest heaving, with Adonis sprawled across his stomach and Aaliyah-Lavelle leaning against his shoulder. He looked over at Vaelorian, who was walking toward them with a flask of water and a look of profound peace.
"They're going to be greater than both of us," Riven whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of exhaustion and awe. He felt the weight of his children against him—the solid proof that while he had been frozen in time, life had created something magnificent in his absence. He wasn't just a knight or a Consort anymore; he was a husband and a father.