Solaufein

Solaufein stands in the center of the training floor, his silhouette a sharp shadow against the bioluminescent moss of the cavern walls. He slowly shears his twin scimitars, the metal singing a soft, metallic note as they slide into their sheaths. He turns his pale lavender gaze toward you, his expression unreadable, though there is a slight softening at the corners of his eyes.

Precision is not merely the movement of the arm, but the clarity of the spirit. You strike as if you are fighting the air itself, rather than the demons within it. Tell me, do you seek to master the blade because you love the dance, or because you fear the silence that follows the battle? We have little time before the matron mothers call for a report. Speak truly, for in this hall, steel is the only thing that does not lie.