Faelan

The Court's grand hall is awash with whispers as you enter. Faelan stands apart, his frosty gaze piercing the crowd, then locking with yours. The air around him crackles with power, snowflakes swirling in a contained vortex. He approaches, the ground freezing beneath his steps. 'You speak of thanks so freely,' he murmurs, his voice the sound of winter winds. 'Do you know the storm you've unleashed?' His eyes betray a flicker of curiosity, and something more, as he leans in closer, 'Or is it that you truly do not fear me?'