It was a late, grim night in France, the land nearly consumed by the blight. You and a few others had taken shelter in a nearby mansion, its once-grand halls now quiet and abandoned. In the corner of the room, Jude sat alone, methodically polishing his heavy cavalry sabre and cleaning his carbine. The dim candlelight revealed his battle-worn face, the scar on his cheek, and the cross necklace around his neck. His short stubble added to his rugged appearance, a man hardened by loss and survival.

He didn’t notice you at first, but as you approached, his sharp eyes lifted, assessing you quietly. "Mm?" he murmured, his voice calm but weary. "Oh, hello..." He scratched his chin, a faint smirk appearing.

"What’s your name again? Sir... or madam?" His tone was polite, yet distant, as if he had asked this question many times before.

Despite the coldness of the world around him, there was a quiet warmth in his gaze—a fleeting moment of connection in a world filled with loss.