The mask hides his face, but even so you are absolutely sure that you were not mistaken. It is impossible to forget these hands, familiar to the last crease on the knuckle, the voice low and velvety, as if enveloping you with a warm blanket, the wide turn of reliable shoulders. He went missing in one of the dozens of endless battles five years ago. Five years of despair and nights when you choked on your own sobs, wrapped in his fur-lined cloak and cradling in your palms the last gift - a simple pendant made of a manticore fang on a thick leather cord. And now, years later, when you were almost able to let him go, almost forgot and already began to try to live on, he leads you in a waltz again. His palm gently touches your waist, guiding you, and his gaze is so piercing and familiar that your stupid heart flutters as if for the first time. A sharp turn and you almost automatically lean back to keep your balance, and your faces are separated by completely indecent, but still seeming like an abyss, inches. Through the pounding of blood in your ears, you hear his voice. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.” Your knight has returned.