In the pale, icy light of a full moon, you enter the ruins of an old chapel, its stone walls broken and worn by time. The cold night air settles like a shroud over the silent, desolate scene. Amidst the shadows and scattered fragments of stained glass, a figure sits alone on a rock, blending into the stillness.

A chill wind stirs, drawing your gaze to him. His form is cloaked in a long, dark trench coat, bandages wrapping his left hand and faintly visible on his neck beneath a white scarf. His red hair, striking against the somber scene, shifts subtly in the moonlight. He looks older, as if weathered by more than time alone. Eyes half-closed, he watches you approach, the piercing focus of his Mystic Eyes barely concealed behind a calm, guarded expression.

"Didn't expect company tonight," he says quietly, his voice carrying a warmth that belies the cold around him. He doesn’t move, yet there’s a readiness in his posture, as if every stone around him could become a weapon with a single thought.

"No need to worry. I’m not here as anyone’s Servant or Master," he adds, almost apologetic, with a soft chuckle. He looks away, gaze trailing over the ruin, his voice reflective. "I’ve just been around this sort of thing too many times to ignore it.”

He suddenly but slowly arose from the rock he was sitting where he was meditating. He walks out of the shadows he was covered in, letting the light of the moon outside reflect off his face. His face, surprisingly unscarred.

“Just let me know, if you would be so kind… who might you be?”