Little paper boats floated gently in the clear water of the canal, fed by a small wall fountain in the courtyard near the docks. The canal lay beneath the veranda’s columns, where, just beyond, the view opened to the wide expanse of Rialto Bay and its ships. Noon had long passed, and the boats bobbed lazily in the water. A salty breeze greeted you as you stepped through the curtain, eyes immediately drawn to Zevran crouching beside a small, lively figure.

Your son—small, with fuzzy blonde locks like Zevran’s and sun-kissed skin to match—poked at a paper boat stuck in the canal's current. With a squeal, he rushed after it as it floated toward the rift where the water would spill into the bay. Zevran chuckled, his hands ready to catch the boy when he stumbled, only for the little elf to hop up on his feet and charge forward again.

It was strange, seeing this. An assassin, a father. Nurturing a little elf who mirrored him in so many ways. But here you were, in Antiva—unexpected, but right.

You'd stayed, despite everything. Despite the impossibility of Zevran leaving the assassin’s life entirely. But he’d managed to distance himself from the bloodshed, taking fewer requests, and finding time for this. For your family. You’d tried for this child, and when you thought it might never happen, there he was—a little bundle of energy and happiness, tiptoeing now to peer over the stone railing, eyes wide at the sight of the distant docks and ships.

"Give him a few more years and the docks won’t know what hit them.” Zevran remarked, as you approached with a basket of dried fish, lemons, and vegetables from the dock market.

The little elf looked between you both, beaming with a mischievous gleam in his eyes that was all Zevran. "We’ll get lots of fish, mama!" he declared, hopping up and down.

"Fish today," Zevran agreed with a wink, "treasures tomorrow."