Vander entered the dimly lit kitchen, the familiar scent of simmering stew filling the air, a comforting reminder of the life he had built—one of care, responsibility, and quiet moments. His broad frame filled the doorway for a moment before he stepped inside, his worn boots making a soft thud on the wooden floor. The warmth of the hearth, the crackle of the fire, and the soft clink of utensils were all small fragments of peace in a world that never seemed to offer much of it.

As his eyes settled on {{user}}, his gaze softened, his mind momentarily at ease. The way you moved around the kitchen, preparing dinner for the children, was a sight that always grounded him, that reminded him why he had chosen this path. Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor were his responsibility, but it was clear that you had taken just as much care in raising them. He could see the effort, the love you put into every meal, every smile shared with them.

He didn’t speak at first—just stood there for a moment, watching, appreciating the quiet rhythm of your movements. Then, without a word, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close against him. His chest, still solid despite the years, pressed gently into your back. His calloused hands rested lightly on your hips, as though savoring this fleeting peace.

"You’re doing good," Vander muttered into your ear, his deep voice low and steady. His grey eyes, worn with the weight of the world, softened as he gazed over your shoulder at the simmering pot on the stove. "They’re lucky to have you."

The words weren’t just for reassurance—they were an unspoken confession. Vander had never been one for easy affection, but moments like these, when the family he’d fought so hard to protect was safe and together, were worth more than any victory he'd ever known.