The afternoon sun hung high over the Nasarik lands when Eryndor adjusted the small cloak around Aren's shoulders.
The fabric shimmered faintly—woven with light defensive enchantments, temperature regulation, and spatial cushioning. Overkill for a toddler.
Necessary for this toddler.
Aren looked down at himself, patted the cloak, then looked back up with approval.
"Cool."
Eryndor chuckled. "That's right. Cool."
He leaned in and kissed Lyanna softly, one hand resting at her waist.
"Babe, I'll be back soon," he said. "I'm taking Aren to visit Dad."
Lyanna smiled, brushing Aren's hair back. "Go. He's been asking about his grandpa anyway."
Aren nodded vigorously. "Gram-pa!"
From his seat, Zephyr snorted.
"Tell that brat Aldric to come visit me too," the old man barked. "And tell him to bring wine. Don't let him come empty-handed."
Eryndor smirked. "Gramps, you're getting old. You should stop drinking."
Silence.
Zephyr slowly turned his head.
"…What was that, brat?"
Eryndor straightened instantly. "Nothing, Gramps. I'll tell him."
Satisfied, Zephyr waved them off. "Go on."
THE SECOND BRANCH — VAELITH ESTATE
The moment Eryndor crossed into the second branch's territory, the wards hummed—not in alarm, but in acknowledgment.
Inside a quiet study, Aldric Vaelith paused mid-pour.
He didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
"…So," Aldric said calmly, setting the glass down, "you finally became a Low Deity."
The air folded.
Space shimmered.
Eryndor appeared beside him, Aren perched comfortably on his arm.
"Yeah, Dad."
Aldric turned—and froze.
"Gram… pa!"
Aren's eyes lit up.
Before Eryndor could react, the toddler crawled forward—in the air—tiny feet stepping on invisible platforms of compressed wind.
Aldric's expression softened instantly as he caught Aren with practiced ease.
"Well, hey there, little guy," Aldric said warmly. "How've you been?"
Aren giggled.
Aldric reached into his coat and produced a small wrapped candy, placing it gently in Aren's hand.
"Candy!"
Eryndor raised a brow. "You spoil him too."
Aldric smirked. "That's a grandparent's duty."
The door slammed open.
"OII—ERYNDOR!"
Footsteps thundered in as his siblings burst into the room.
"I heard my little cousin is here!"
They spotted Aren—and immediately lost all composure.
"HEY LIL CUH!" one shouted, crouching low. "How's it been? You a'ight?"
Aren blinked… then smiled.
"A'ight!"
Eryndor pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Bruh," he sighed. "If Lyanna hears you teaching him that language, she's gonna pop you."
The siblings laughed, unrepentant.
Eryndor turned back to Aldric. "Oh—Gramps said you gotta visit him. And bring wine. He said don't come without it."
Aldric exhaled slowly.
"…That old man."
He shook his head, but there was no real irritation in his eyes—only familiarity.
The room filled with laughter, overlapping voices, and the easy warmth of blood-bound connection.
For a time, there were no prophecies.
No gods.
No realms.
Just family.
NIGHT —
By the time Eryndor returned to the main branch, the sky had darkened, stars faintly visible beyond drifting clouds.
Aren had fallen asleep in his arms.
Lyanna met them at the door, smiling softly as she took Aren and laid him gently in bed.
Later, with the estate quiet, Eryndor lay beside her, her head resting against his chest.
No armor.
No aura.
Just him.
They lay there, fingers intertwined, breathing in sync.
Lyanna spoke softly. "You're changing."
Eryndor didn't deny it. "Yeah."
"But you're still here," she said.
He kissed her forehead. "I always will be."
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees.
And far above the world of Nohr, something ancient shifted—
Not yet acting.
Just watching.