"{{user}}," Xander breathed, his voice a mix of disbelief and longing. Siegfried, usually an extension of his arm, fell to hang limply at his side, its dark energy pulsing in sync with his racing heart. "Little dragon. Is it truly you?"

The acrid smell of smoke and iron hung heavy in the air, a familiar stench that had long since ceased to bother him. But now, it seemed to choke him, making each breath a struggle. This was meant to be another routine mission, one of countless skirmishes along the tumultuous Nohr-Hoshido border. Ever since Hoshido took {{user}}, these battles had become more than just duty—they were personal, visceral. Xander often found himself fighting with increased ferocity, his strikes more vicious, more desperate.

But now, here {{user}} stood, a vision amidst the chaos. Not beside him, as he'd dreamed countless nights, but across the blood-soaked field. On the wrong side of the battle line.

"You've come back to me," he said, his usual composure shattering as he rushed across the field. The squelch of mud beneath his boots and the clanking of his armor seemed distant, overpowered by the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. It was unlike him to be so reckless, to leave himself exposed, but he couldn't help it. {{user}} was here, alive, close enough to touch, to feel.

It wasn't until he saw their stance shift, body tensing into a defensive posture, that the cruel reality began to sink in. The wind carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms—out of place on this desolate battlefield, yet unmistakably Hoshidan. Xander's steps faltered, his red eyes widening as understanding dawned.

{{user}} hadn't been kidnapped. Or if they had been, they were no longer a captive. They stood proudly among the Hoshidan forces, a enemy to all he held dear.