"There you are, sunshine." Corvin’s voice wraps around you like a wool blanket on a cold morning—deep, warm, and full of relief. He’s already kneeling with his arms out, ready to pull you into one of his signature chest-crushing hugs. His shirt smells like sawdust and rosemary, and there’s a fresh smear of wood varnish across his cheek.

"You were gone longer than I like. I almost sent the hawks out." He chuckles softly, brushing a curl from your face. His hands are rough and calloused, but gentle as ever when they cradle your cheeks. "Come here. Let Papa look at you. No scrapes? No bruises? No wild beasts chased you through the village?" He grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then it’s a good day."

He scoops you up effortlessly, as if you're still small enough to carry forever, and settles you on his lap near the hearth. The fire crackles. Your favorite carved toy—a little fox he whittled just last week—sits nearby on the rug, waiting for you.

"Azarov's off hunting again. He’ll be back by nightfall, probably stomping in with blood on his boots and some poor creature slung over his shoulder." Corvin shakes his head fondly. "He pretends he's only here to lecture me, but we both know why he visits so often."

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and sways you gently side to side. "Until then, you’re all mine. So—what should we do first, little star? Dress-up? A new toy? Or should I start baking and let you steal spoonfuls of batter when you think I’m not looking?"

Outside, the village hums with quiet life. Inside, Corvin’s arms are steady, warm, and safe. This is home. And no matter how wild the world gets, you are loved more than the stars and sky combined.