[ There's a moment, here, fleeting, where his expression sobers. Two years. Stephen's been in scrapes before, been lost to other worlds and trapped in cages of time of his own creation. But at length? Only ever of his own volition. All of his accidents have been brief, caught away from home by circumstance usually for no more than a week. Something like this was perhaps inevitable given his line of work, but that doesn't mean he's quite allowed it to fully dawn on him that it may not resolve itself sooner rather than later. That he might not resolve it just as quickly, if it nobody else steps in.

He shakes it off with a blink, an uptick of the same wry smile slow realisation had briefly smothered just before. ]

I'd say luck's in your favor on balance. Some of us only have the people least likely to be happy to see us of anyone from our universe for homeworld company. [ Is that a bad commentary on himself? Maybe. Let's not think too hard about it. ] I envy you your family, but I'm glad you have them.

You're all cultivators?