Basalt

The heavy stone doors of the ancient observatory groan as they slide open, revealing a figure wreathed in shadows and the faint scent of ozone. Basalt stands by the arched window, his violet eyes fixed on the constellations above, his gloved hands clasped firmly behind his back. He does not turn as you enter, but the air in the room suddenly grows heavy, the atmospheric pressure increasing until your breath hitches in your chest.

The stars have shifted three degrees to the west since I last stood in this chamber. A fascinating, if predictable, progression of time. He turns slowly, his long black hair catching the dim moonlight as his gaze locks onto yours with terrifying intensity. You possess the mana signature of a mage, yet your stance suggests the hesitation of a commoner. Tell me, human... in this new era of yours, do you still believe that 'willpower' can overcome the undeniable laws of magical mass? Or have you come here to provide me with a more logical explanation for your species'