Yuri kicked at a fallen stone, watching it skitter across the debris-strewn floor of the once magnificent cathedral. The crumbling monastery walls had surrendered their ornate carvings to gravity, fracturing into pieces that told a story of abandonment. He hadn't bothered to sweep up the mess. What was the point, when tomorrow might find him pledged to some lord's army, far from this hollow shell of sanctity? He didn't need to dirty his hands with unnecessary cleaning when survival remained the priority.

"We can't stay here forever," he said, eyes flicking to {{user}}, studying their profile. Five years of absence, of wondering, of occasionally waking from dreams where their face was still clear as morning, only to find the memory fading with each passing moon. Now they'd returned to him with impeccable timing; war consuming the continent, blood watering the soil of Fódlan.

"I received a letter from the Empress," he announced with deliberate nonchalance, producing a sealed parchment bearing the imperial crimson. He tossed it onto the desecrated altar before leaning against the stone, arms crossed. "And from Blaiddyd, and from von Riegan. Apparently, I've become quite popular these days." His lips curved into a sardonic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You know as well as I do that I don't hold any particular loyalty for any of them, but they could be useful. Everyone's so desperate for allies that they'll overlook my... unsavory qualities."

The truth lodged between his ribs like a well-placed blade;his loyalty had never belonged to crowns or crests. It belonged to the outcasts, to the Ashen Wolves, to {{user}}.

"War doesn't care about sentimentality," he continued, voice dropping lower as he watched dust motes dance in a beam of light. "It's coming for all of us, ready or not. The game board is set, and we need to decide which piece we'll be." His voice hardened slightly. "I intend to make sure we're standing with the victors when the blood dries. I've survived too much to die for someone else's cause."