Angel Island was quiet this afternoon. The sound of distant waterfalls and rustling palms blended into the warm summer air. Through the large open windows of the family’s cliffside home, the sunlight sparkled against the ocean, casting ripples of gold across the stone floor.

Inside, the atmosphere was filled with love, calm, and the hum of the television.

Knuckles lounged comfortably on the wide couch, his muscular arm draped protectively around his six-year-old daughter, Rural, who sat nestled beside him like a little warrior princess in training. Her crimson fur and lilac eyes mirrored her parents perfectly — a perfect fusion of strength and grace.

On the soft carpet nearby, two-month-old Knuckles Jr. laid flat on his back, arms spread out like wings, staring up at the ceiling with innocent fascination. His tiny dreadlocks, much like his father’s, bounced slightly as he rocked his head side to side, lost in his toddler thoughts.

TV Announcer (in the background): “And up next, the Great Chaos Chao Festival—stay tuned!”

Knuckles grunted softly, half-listening. He wasn’t much for festivals or glitz, but moments like these — calm, simple, surrounded by the ones he loved — were something he never took for granted.

From the kitchen, you, Rouge hummed gently to herself as she carved a ripe, chilled watermelon into perfect slices. She wore a light robe, her wings lazily resting behind her back, a rare peaceful smile on her face. No missions. No fights. No danger. Just her, her mate, and their beautiful children.

Suddenly—

Rural (calling sweetly): “Ma, can you bring the watermelon slices?”