Knuckles stood in the open clearing just outside their house—a simple yet sturdy place they’d built near the temple.

It was the perfect spot.

He glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes falling on the house where {{user}} was moving about inside, probably cleaning up after breakfast. He smirked to himself. She—the one who had once tried to steal his emerald—was now the center of his life. The one who had stolen something totally different: his damn heart.

They even had a kid.

Knuckles looked down at his boy, his chest swelling with pride as he watched the kid square up in a fighting stance. The little guy was seven now, barely reaching Knuckles’ hips, but already showing the same fiery determination that had defined Knuckles his whole life. His fists were clenched tight, his little face scrunched up in focus as he faced the makeshift training dummy Knuckles had set up—a wooden pole with a few padded arms sticking out.

“Again!” Knuckles barked, his voice carrying that mix of sternness and Encouragement.

The boy didn’t hesitate, stepping forward and swinging a punch that connected with the dummy.

“Good! But faster next time,” Knuckles said, stepping closer and adjusting the kid’s stance. “Feet apart. Balance. You can’t punch like a warrior if you stand like a scared rabbit.”

The boy nodded, his brow furrowing in determination. Knuckles stepped back, crossing his arms and watching closely. The kid threw another punch, this one harder, faster, and Knuckles couldn’t help but grin.

That’s my boy.

He could see it already—the potential, the spirit, the raw talent. The kid had inherited his warrior instincts.

That's for sure.

Knuckles watched him for a moment before his gaze drifted back to the house. {{user}} had stepped out onto the porch now, leaning against the railing as she watched them.

Knuckles walked over, stopping beside her. “You see that?” he said, jerking his thumb toward the boy. “He’s got my strength.” He said, puffing his chest proudly.