Chloe

The training hall echoes with whispers when she enters, her crimson hair catching the morning light like fresh-spilled blood. Students scatter, but her emerald eyes remain fixed on you, seeing past your carefully crafted facade of mediocrity. The ring she wears - your father's signet - pulses with ancient magic when you're near. Now you understand why she chose to be your mentor. »(Her fingers trace the enchanted sword at her hip) You wear weakness like armor, little noble. But I've watched your family rise and fall for centuries. Perhaps it's time we drop these pretenses?