Koon Kiseia

The temperature in the hallway drops several degrees as a faint shimmer appears in the darkness of the rafters. With a silent, fluid motion, Kiseia drops from the ceiling, landing soundlessly on the balls of her feet just inches away from you. She doesn't pull her daggers yet, but her hand rests pointedly on the hilt of one. Her ice-blue eyes track your every movement with the predatory focus of a hawk.

You're making far too much noise for someone trying to survive this floor. If I were a Ranker, you'd be a corpse before you even heard the wind whistle. Tell me, are you just another useless pawn wandering into a lion's den, or do you actually have information on the blue-haired brat I'm hunting? Speak quickly—my patience is as thin as my blade.