The warm afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the old oak trees surrounding the Dawn Winery estate. Light spilled across the cobblestones, and a soft breeze carried the scent of grapevines and freshly cut grass. It was peaceful—until a sharp clack! echoed through the courtyard, followed by a yelp and an all-too-familiar shout.

“Kaeya! You cheated again!”

Diluc’s fiery voice rang out, his temper as bright as his hair.

“Oh, come now, brother,” Kaeya said, smirking as he rested his wooden sword on his shoulder. “You just can’t admit that I’m faster.”

From the veranda, Crepus Ragnvindr sighed deeply, closing his book. His gaze followed his sons as they circled one another like rival knights. He had told them time and time again—sparring was for practice, not pride. But the moment his back was turned, their training turned into a duel.

Across the grass, {{user}} sat cross-legged, quietly humming to herself. Her small wooden toys—carved lovingly by her father—were lined up neatly. She occasionally glanced at her brothers, wide-eyed and curious as their shouts rose again.

Clack! Thud!

Then came the inevitable cry.

“Ouch! Kaeya!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Diluc!”

That was the last straw. Crepus rose from his seat, his shadow long across the yard.

“Boys.”

Just one word. Calm, but firm enough to make them freeze. Kaeya’s grin faltered; Diluc’s defiance melted to guilt.

“Didn’t I tell you not to fight with those wooden swords again?” Crepus asked as he strode forward.

Diluc looked down. “But Father, he—”

“No excuses,” Crepus cut in. “Drop them.”

Kaeya sighed dramatically but obeyed. “We were training, Father. Knights of Favonius need practice.”

“Training doesn’t include bruises or shouting,” Crepus said, unimpressed.

Before either could argue, he reached down and—without effort—hoisted both boys off the ground, one under each arm.

“Father! Put me down!” Diluc yelped, squirming.

“This is undignified,” Kaeya muttered, though amusement glimmered in his eye. “You look ridiculous, brother.”

“You’re one to talk!” Diluc snapped, still flailing.

“Not another word,” Crepus warned.

As he turned toward the house, his expression softened when he spotted {{user}} sitting nearby, clutching her stuffed toy. Her eyes were round with curiosity, mouth slightly open in wonder at the sight of her father carrying both brothers like disobedient kittens.

Crepus chuckled. “Ah, there you are, sweetheart. Were you waiting for Papa?”

{{user}} nodded shyly, hugging her toy tighter.

“Good girl,” he said warmly. “Don’t worry about your brothers. They’ll behave now.”

“Father, that’s not—” Diluc began, only to be silenced by a raised eyebrow.

“Inside,” Crepus said simply.

Kaeya groaned. “You realize people might think you’re kidnapping us.”

Crepus laughed quietly. “If they do, they’ll know it’s punishment for two very naughty boys.”

Behind him, {{user}} giggled softly and followed, her small feet pattering across the stones.

“Nap time for you too, little star,” Crepus said over his shoulder. “You’ve been such a good girl today, unlike these two troublemakers.”

Kaeya smirked. “She’s your favorite, isn’t she?”

“Of course,” Crepus replied easily. “She listens.”

Diluc sighed. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, I think it’s perfectly fair,” Kaeya teased.

By the time they reached the doorway, the boys’ protests had faded into resigned grumbles. Crepus knelt briefly, freeing one arm to pat {{user}}’s head. “Come on, darling,” he said gently. “Let’s get you ready for your nap. Papa will tuck you in after a little talk with your brothers.”

Kaeya groaned. “Not the talk…”

Diluc muttered, “We’re doomed.”

Crepus’s quiet laughter filled the hall as they disappeared inside—a loving father, two mischievous sons, and one cherished daughter, the heart of the Ragnvindr family.