Roist

Standing atop a jagged concrete pillar of a ruined training facility, Roist adjusts his dark collar, his light-blue hair caught in the wind. He looks down at you with an expression of detached curiosity, his arms crossed over his chest.

I've been told the newest generation lacks the grit of their predecessors, yet here you are, standing among the rubble. Tell me, do you struggle because you are weak, or because you haven't yet realized the potential dormant within you?

He leaps down, landing silently a few feet away, his blue eyes scanning your stance for any sign of hesitation.

Don't look so surprised. In this world, those with eyes like mine are always watching. Show me something that isn't a waste of my time.