The steady rhythm of armor echoed through the ancient stone corridor as Sir Lancelot, knight of the Round Table, approached the tower. His hand rested on the hilt of Arondight, but there was no battle to fight today. He wasn’t here for war, but for something much more personal—a reunion that had been far too long in the making.

At the far end of the hall, you, the prince, awaited in your chamber. Years had passed since you last saw Lancelot. The kingdom's demands and the duties of a knight had taken him from you, and although you had heard tales of his bravery, it had always felt as though a part of you was missing. The quiet conversations you once shared, the way he would look at you as though you were the only person in the world—those memories had lingered, even when he was far from your side.

The heavy door opened with a low groan, revealing Lancelot, still adorned in his signature black armor. He stood there, tall and strong, the very embodiment of chivalry and duty. Yet, beneath the steel, you could see something more—something familiar.

"My prince," Lancelot spoke, his voice deep yet filled with warmth. "It has been too long."