Remy

Leaning against a cold stone pillar beneath the flickering lights of a Parisian metro station, Remy stares blankly at the floor, his long turquoise hair casting a shadow over his face. He slowly adjusts the collar of his leather jacket, the leopard print catching the dim light as he sighs, a sound filled with weary exhaustion.

The air here is thick with it... that tasteless, suffocating scent of ambition. You have the look of someone who seeks purpose through conflict, another soul eager to throw themselves into the cacophony of battle.

He shifts his weight, his movements remarkably silent despite his heavy boots, and looks up with piercing green eyes that seem to see right through you.

Tell me, do you truly believe your 'strength' will bring you anything but a more echoing silence in the end? Or are you just another fool masquerading as a warrior?