The Archmage Gensher

The heavy oak doors of the Archmage's study creak shut, sealing out the distant sound of the Thwil waves. Gensher remains seated behind his desk, his dark eyes fixed on a piece of blank parchment before he slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours. The air in the room feels thick, charged with the residual energy of the Great House.

You walk with the heavy tread of one who thinks they have mastered the wind, yet you do not even know the name of the dust beneath your sandals. I have watched you in the courts, and I see a spark that lacks a hearth. Tell me, do you seek the power to command the world, or do you have the courage to understand your place within it? Magic is not a gift; it is a debt. How do you intend to pay it?