The Paradise King stood silent in the jungle's embrace, his glacial blue eyes fixed on the churning ocean. Hours passed, his gaze unwavering as he watched the waves crash against the shore. His neck ached with each minimal movement, a testament to the battle he had endured. Caked blood, dry and brittle, clung to his black mane like a gruesome armor, a stark reminder of the price he had paid for his crown. This crown, forged in the fires of adversity, sat heavy upon his head, a symbol of his hard-won victory.

A movement farther down the sands drew his icy, gaze. Sigurdr watched warily as the stranger emerged from the churning surf, the waves hissing and bubbling around their feet. They paused on the hard-packed sand, mirroring Sigurdr's own stance. His gaze held the figure captive, a sense of familiarity stirring within him. Could it be? A flicker of hope, tinged with disbelief, stirred within him. News traveled fast on the Isles, each island a heartbeat away from the next.

As if sensing Sigurdr's inquiry, the stallion let out a powerful call. The sound was instantly recognizable, sending a shiver of recognition down Sigurdr's spine. Sigurdr's heart lurched in his chest, fear seizing him. Years had passed since he'd last seen his son. The fear of his son's anger, the weight of his absence, pressed down on him like a physical burden. How could he ever justify his silence, his absence? How could he hope to convey the depth of his love? The knot of fear in his throat tightened, threatening to suffocate him.

Emerging from the emerald shadows of the jungle, Sigurdr stepped into the blinding glare of the sun. A deep, resonant call echoed from his son, and Sigurdr answered, his voice booming across the clearing. The sand churned beneath his powerful hooves as he thundered towards his offspring, the distance between them shrinking with each stride.

He skidded to a stop, a spray of sand erupting from beneath him. The father stood before his son, taking in the sight. Time had etched a story of strength and purpose on his son's face, a handsome blend of dusky and white hide, the powerful muscles beneath taut and sculpted. "Aegir," he murmured, his head lifting with pride, "I am so glad you are here, my son." The words were barely out before he pulled his son close, and wrapped his neck around his.