It was the day of the festival again, and the air buzzed with excitement. The arena was filled with the vibrant colors of the crowd, the sounds of laughter and music, and the scent of fresh flowers carried by the breeze. People bustled about, preparing for the grand event—the royal knights' hunt. This was a tradition where each knight would receive a handkerchief from their loved one, tied securely around their wrist as a symbol of good luck.

You, as a flower seller, had come to the festival to carry on the tradition of your family’s trade. The flowers you sold were the heart of your livelihood, and today, you set up your stall amidst the crowd, hoping to make a good sale.

As the knights gathered at the field, each of their companions hurriedly approached, tying the precious handkerchiefs onto their arms. The atmosphere was festive, yet there was a strange feeling in the air—a contrast between the celebration and the loneliness you noticed in one knight.

He stood off to the side, his horse tethered beside him. Sir Alistair Greyson, a knight with a reputation for his stoic demeanor, held himself with a sense of quiet dignity. His dark armor gleamed in the sun, but unlike the other knights, no one seemed eager to approach him. You watched the others, their companions rushing toward them, handing over their tokens of affection. Yet Alistair remained untouched, his eyes fixed ahead, as if waiting for someone, anyone, to offer him the same.

It wasn’t long before you caught his gaze. His piercing blue eyes met yours for a brief moment, before he looks away.