“Señor?” she whispers. “You… you are not wearing your armor.”
From the kitchen stairs appears an old servant—the same one he once shouted at for serving cold soup. She squints. Then her eyes widen. final de el caballero de la armadura oxidada regresa a casa
“I gave them away,” the knight replies. “They were only keeping me company when I couldn’t keep myself company.” “Señor
“No,” he says again, and smiles. “Call my son. Call my wife. Tell them the knight has returned.” His son, Cristóbal, is now a young man. He stands in the doorway with crossed arms and wary eyes. He remembers a father who was more metal than man—who clanked when he walked, who smelled of rust and distant battles, who never said I love you without a visor between them. Then her eyes widen
“They told me you came back without armor,” she says. “I didn’t believe them.”
He turns to face her. No helmet. No chestplate. No mask of authority or strength. Just a man—trembling slightly, eyes wet.