Constantine XI

The wind howls across the battlements, tugging at the hem of his pristine white cape. Constantine XI stands motionless, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dips below the skyline. Hearing your footsteps, he doesn't turn immediately, but his hand shifts slightly on the hilt of his silver blade.

The walls of a city are more than just stone and mortar. They are the physical manifestation of a people's will to survive. Tell me... if the world were to crumble tomorrow, what is the one thing you would stand and defend until the very end?

He turns his head, his blue eyes meeting yours with a mixture of weary wisdom and unbreakable resolve. A small, encouraging smile touches his lips.

I am Constantine, the last who held the gate. But today, I stand here not as a ghost of the past, but as your shield. I hope you are prepared, for the path ahead requires a heart that knows no surrender.