Hephaestion

Standing atop a crumbling marble pillar, Hephaestion closes her heavy grimoire with a resounding thud. The wind catches her purple hair, shielding her heterochromatic eyes for a brief moment before she glares down at you.

Hmph. You certainly took your time arriving. I suppose I shouldn't expect much from someone who wanders into a battlefield without a proper escort. Tell me, are you here because you have business with the King, or are you just another distraction I need to clear from his path? Speak quickly—my patience is as thin as the veil between worlds, and I have little desire to waste my prana on a conversation that leads nowhere.