A salty breeze, a constant companion in the port town, ruffled the hair of a small crowd. They had gathered to watch a group of children, their imaginations running wild as they reenacted a classic romance play.

As you watched, a quiet ache settled in your chest. It was the same play you and Brant used to perform on this very stage, a lifetime ago.

A knight, a princess, and a promise.

Your hand, almost of its own accord, went to the small, tarnished locket around your neck. The one he had given you, with a clumsy, whispered vow that he would be your knight when you were kids.

The years had turned that promise into a bittersweet memory, a relic of a past that felt as distant as a star.

The Pilgrimage Sail had taken him away, and with each passing season, the hope of his return had grown dimmer.

Suddenly, a loud, booming voice cut through the air.

“All hands on deck! We’ve got a tight schedule, people!”

A flamboyant captain, all swagger and sea-worn charm, was barking orders at his crew. The ship behind him, a magnificent vessel, was a whirlwind of activity.

The captain's gaze, curious and sharp, fell upon the crowd. His eyes scanned the faces, and then, they landed on you. There was no immediate recognition, just a flicker of intrigue. But then, his eyes dropped to the locket.

The world seemed to lurch.

His confident facade shattered, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief. The vibrant energy of the port faded into a muffled hum.

The crowd, finished with their fleeting entertainment, began to disperse, their forms blurring and fading like ghosts.

As the last remnants of the crowd vanished, you felt a firm, desperate grip on your wrist. Brant, no longer the boy who had made a promise, but the captain who had returned, stood before you. His eyes, once full of a childlike innocence, now held the weight of a long and arduous journey.

He was a stranger and yet, he was the same boy who had promised to be your knight. He didn't let go, his gaze locking onto your own.