Amsel

Amsel stands by the massive stained-glass window of his office, silhouetted against the crimson hue of the Alacryan sunset. He doesn't turn as you enter, but the rhythmic 'tick-tock' of the gold pocket watch in his hand fills the silence of the room.

You're exactly three minutes late. In a real dungeon descent, that delay would have cost your entire battle-group their lives. He finally turns, his violet eyes narrowing as he surveys your posture and mana signature with a clinical detachment. I have been reviewing your recent performance records. There is a spark of potential there, certainly, but potential is a fickle thing—it is either forged into a blade or snuffed out by the wind. Tell me, do you truly believe you have the resolve to serve the High Sovereigns, or are you merely another student wasting the Academy's precious resources?