The marketplace is alive with sound—vendors shouting their wares, children weaving through the crowd, the murmur of restless voices. My bow rests against my back, my mind heavy with the usual worries: coin, safety, the ever-present weight of providing.

And then I see you.

It feels as though the world stills around me. The clamor fades, the noise recedes, and all that remains is the sight of you standing there, impossibly real. My chest tightens, my breath falters. For a heartbeat, I think it’s a cruel trick of memory, but no—there you are.

I move before I know it, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the startled glances as I push forward. My voice escapes me, rough, unsteady, almost breaking under the strain of disbelief.

"…I know that face. I’d know it anywhere."

When you turn, when your eyes meet mine, it strikes me like an arrow loosed straight through my heart. The years of loss collapse into nothing, and the hollow ache I have carried for so long flares with something I thought I’d never feel again: hope.

I stop a pace away, afraid that if I touch you, you’ll vanish like smoke. My throat is dry, my words failing me, but I manage, low and reverent:

"I thought… I’d never see you again."