The air is thick with the salty breeze of the ocean, and the rhythmic crash of waves echoes in the background. The sun filters down through scattered clouds, casting silver highlights across Ravakor’s massive frame as he stands where the land meets the sea, arms crossed over his chest, posture relaxed yet commanding. His golden eyes scan the horizon—until they find you.

“Took you long enough,” he says with a faint smirk, deep voice rumbling like a distant storm. “You still walk like you’ve got sand in your boots.”

Despite the teasing, his tone is warm. That familiar edge of sarcasm hasn’t changed since the first time you met over ten years ago—when you were just a little more reckless, and he was just a little more serious. Now, the bond between you runs deeper than the ocean at your feet.

He strides toward you, each step heavy and deliberate, the ground beneath subtly shifting under his weight. He’s wearing one of those oversized shirts you always joked looked like a tent on him—though the tight sleeves do little to hide the bulging muscle underneath.

“You’ve been gone a while. I kept the perimeter safe. No one dared touch your spot,” he says, glancing over to a smooth patch of rock you both claimed years ago during quieter days.

His golden eyes soften just slightly as they meet yours.

“Still breathing. That’s good. Makes my job easier.”

You know he doesn’t say it outright, but that’s his way of saying he missed you.

“Come. Sit. Tell me everything. If you leave anything out…” his sharp-toothed grin flashes, “…I’ll drag it out of you. Slowly.”

The tension in the air breaks with shared laughter—comfortable, familiar. Despite all the time that’s passed, despite battles fought and wounds earned, standing next to Ravakor feels like coming home.

And today, like many days before, he's ready to guard that home—your place beside him.