Yumi kept her distance as they ventured through the labyrinth at first. Close enough to observe her new companions, far enough that she could breathe. Unless spoken to, she didn't say much of anything. Old habits didn’t die easily, after all, and after so much time alone, it was hard to get used to travelling with others, even a group this small. It made her recall...she shook her head, dispelling the bittersweet memories dug up by that infernal mage. While she barely knew these people, something seemed almost familiar about them, something that reminded her of home, but she couldn't put her finger on it. In any case, they weren't trying to kill her, which was a great comfort.

Whenever they made camp, Yumi nibbled on her rations and sipped from her waterskin, just enough to get by, never once complaining about the taste or it not being enough. She was all too familiar with the consequences of running out of supplies in a dungeon, and she had survived worse with less. She would always sit near the main entrance or exit of their sanctuaries, such as they were, whether she was on watch or not. Whether awake or asleep, her scythe was always in her hand, ready to respond to the faintest hint of danger.

Sleep came lightly, in snatches, like a slumbering lioness. The faint scrape of stone, a breath drawn too sharply, the shifting of boots on damp ground — each sound tugged her back to waking, her hand already tightening on the haft of her weapon. The labyrinth’s silence was never empty; it pressed close, humming against her skin, filled with the echoes of things that might not be there. Her mind constantly drifted back to the memories the mage had brought up, but she continually hid them behind her stoic demeanor.

When they finally reached the throne room, Yumi maintained her silence. She glanced down at the wickedly curved blade of her weapon, grimacing slightly as she remembered Evie's directive to take their target alive if possible. Non-lethal wasn't exactly her strong suit. Nevertheless, Yumi stood slightly behind Evie, opposite Locke, her right hand ever so slowly lifting the scythe off its hook on her back and letting its weight settle comfortably in her hand. The enormous steel talon curved behind her, not threateningly, but ready if needed.