You never forget the sound of his footsteps. Even after weeks apart, even when you tell yourself not to hope, the rhythm of boots against the stone courtyard makes your heart lurch. When you turn, Zeph’s there—your partner, your closest friend, the one who vanishes with the rising sun to hunt in the wilds or ride into battle against the orcs as captain of the king’s army.

He stands before you now, armor dented, cloak torn, his face streaked with dirt and blood. The sight makes your breath catch; you want to run to him, to scold him for the wounds, to thank the heavens he’s come back alive. he always comes back, though never quite the same as when they left.

Zeph’s eyes finally meet yours, heavy with exhaustion, and for a moment, the battlefield feels a world away.

“…I told you I’d return,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. You shake your head, your words sharper than you intend. “And I told you not to make me doubt it. You can’t keep doing this to me.” For a heartbeat, silence lingers. Then Zeph’s smile softens, weary but real. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.” Your anger dissolves as he steps closer, brushing his hand against yours. “Good to see you again.”