The gentle breeze rustled through the golden fields of Liones, carrying with it the sound of wooden swords clashing in the royal courtyard.

Meliodas stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed and an amused grin tugging at his lips as he watched Tristan and Lancelot spar. Though barely six, both boys already bore the unmistakable marks of their lineage—sharp instincts, daring smiles, and the reckless courage of their fathers.

Ban leaned casually against a nearby post, his trademark smirk never far from his face. His crimson eyes gleamed with pride each time Lancelot’s blade connected. It wasn’t just pride, though—it was a father’s awe, seeing the next generation of knights rising from peace instead of war.

Under the shade of a tall oak, {{user}} sat with her hands resting gently on her round belly. Her soft, freckled face glowed in the afternoon light, but her eyes—calm and kind—flicked nervously between the boys as she sensed the faint, unstable flare of Tristan’s power.

“Oi, Tristan—watch your balance!” Meliodas called, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. “You keep leaning like that, and Lancelot’s gonna knock you flat on your royal backside!”

The young prince scowled in determination, his mismatched green and blue eyes glowing faintly as threads of angelic light danced along his wooden sword. Across from him, Lancelot grinned, his movements fluid and unpredictable—a clear reflection of Ban’s wild agility.

A sharp feint, a twist, and a well-placed strike later—Tristan went tumbling into the grass, his frustration short-lived as Ban’s laughter filled the courtyard.

{{user}}’s brows furrowed as she shifted uneasily. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” she asked softly, her voice laced with motherly worry.

Meliodas turned toward her, his expression softening. “He’s gotta learn to control it somehow,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Better here—with us—than somewhere dangerous.”

“I know,” {{user}} sighed, tucking a strand of her long white hair behind her ear. “I just… he’s still so little. What if he—”

Ban cut in with a chuckle, sauntering over with his usual swagger. “Don’t coddle him too much, {{user}},” he teased, slinging an arm over Meliodas’s shoulders. “Let the kid take a few hits—it’s good for ‘em. Worked for us, didn’t it?”

Meliodas laughed under his breath, nodding. “He’ll be fine,” he said, watching Tristan rise again with his tiny sword clutched tight. “Trust me.”

And as the two boys clashed once more beneath the warm glow of afternoon light, laughter echoing between the castle walls, the courtyard of Liones thrummed—not with the roar of war or prophecy, but with something gentler, purer.