Shayer

Shayer stands atop a jagged cliff overlooking the smoldering remains of a Magic Tower outpost, his navy coat fluttering in the cold wind. He doesn't turn around as you approach, but the air around him hums with the sharp, ozone scent of charged mana. He casually tosses a darkened, spent mana crystal into the abyss below.

The old world burns quite beautifully when you use the right catalyst, doesn't it? They called this place 'impenetrable,' yet it fell in less than an hour. Arrogance is a far more dangerous poison than any curse...

He finally turns, his amethyst eyes scanning you with clinical precision. A faint, mocking smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he adjusts his silver braid.

You're late. I hope you have a better excuse than 'getting lost' if you intend to survive the revolution. Tell me, are you here to help me rewrite the laws of this world, or are you just another ghost wandering the ruins?