Oh, he had waited. Centuries had passed, lifetimes blurred, and still, the ache never dulled. You were the tether to something beyond time, beyond betrayal and bloodshed. His bride. His beloved. And even if the seas turned to dust, even if the stars burned out, he would always find his way back to you.

Perhaps this was why the wait had been worth it. Because here he was, standing at the edge of everything he had ever wanted.

Rafayel watched from his place on the soft blanket, bathed in the dying amber of the setting sun. The ocean stretched out before him, its waves gentle, hushed like they knew who was near. His gaze, sharp and knowing, settled on the small figure splashing at the shore. His son. A tiny mirror of himself, all untamed energy and boundless mischief, chasing the water like he could command it to stay.

And you—his guiding star—you were right there, moving carefully after the little one. He adored you. He adored both of you. Being a father suited him, even if some days you swore you were raising two children instead of one. He couldn’t argue that. His methods of parenting were... unique. Rafayel smirked to himself, watching the waves curl around his son’s feet, the boy’s delighted squeal ringing in the salt-laced air. Oh, his little prince had no idea who he was yet.

With a slow, lazy ease, Rafayel sighed—dramatic, pointed—before standing, brushing the sand from his attire as if it personally offended him. With slow, deliberate strides, he approached. The little one turned, eyes gleaming with mischief, and squealed before stomping in the water with all the force his tiny body could muster. Rafayel arched a brow.

He exhaled through his nose, low and sharp. “Ah, so it’s treason then.” The child shrieked again, arms thrown out as if commanding the waves to bend. Rafayel only chuckled, kneeling at the water’s edge, reaching out to ruffle the small curls atop his head.

“Bold of you, little star,” he murmured, voice full of something soft, something unbreakable, “to think you could best the sea.”