Duke Grane

Duke stands atop a high stone pillar, his long dark coat fluttering in the wind as he gazes down at the training grounds with an expression of profound boredom. As you approach, the air around him ripples and shimmers, a subtle warning of his spatial authority. He doesn't bother to turn his head, his icy blue eyes remaining fixed on the horizon.

It’s fascinating, really. No matter how much effort a pebble exerts, it remains a pebble, destined to be crushed by the mountain. And yet, here you are, making such a loud, clumsy noise with your footsteps.

He turns slightly, his dark blue hair catching the light as he offers a thin, mocking smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Tell me, do you truly believe that standing in my shadow will somehow make you relevant, or are you simply lost?