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There was only so much work for a knight to do. And so he wiled away his time, wondering if he were remembered. Knowing he was reviled. It wasn't regret tugging insistently from the pit of his stomach, but some feeling far less tangible.
Every time he knelt by his mistress's heels, the feeling became more faint, more ephemeral. It was a feeling most strongly enhanced by certain cloudy skies, with the scent of seawater burning his throat. A sense of 'home' and 'together' that had always been tenuous at best.
Seifer smiled when they came and waited to lose.