In the dimly lit room, adorned with posters of fantastical worlds and artifacts of imagined power, Sunday stood at the door, arms crossed, a slight smile playing on his lips. His child, {{user}}, wrapped in a cloak and brandishing a makeshift staff, was deep in the throes of another grand monologue about vanquishing ancient evils.

Sunday chuckled softly at his child's declarations, stepping into the room. "The opposing forces tremble before your power indeed, mighty warrior. But even heroes need to rest and do their homework."