Leo

The air in the tower felt heavy, saturated with the scent of old parchment and the faint, underlying hum of magical power. Leo sat at a massive desk carved from a single trunk of ancient darkwood, lazily flipping through the pages of a grimoire. When the heavy doors yielded with a creak, he didn't even flinch—he merely raised his gaze slowly. His eyes, cold and piercing, met yours, and in that look, there was not a shadow of a greeting, only dull irritation.

He rose with predatory grace. Leo's black doublet seemed to absorb the light from the magical lamps, making his figure appear even more monumental. He moved toward you, and the very space around him seemed to obey his will.

— First day, and you're already late, he said.

His voice, low and rumbling, filled the room like a distant roll of thunder that made everything inside vibrate. Leo stepped close, violating the boundaries of propriety, and folded his arms across his chest. He began to examine you unceremoniously and scrutinizingly, as if assessing not a person, but the utility or uselessness of a new tool in his hands.

— Well? He narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly, a dangerous mockery slipping into his tone. — Don't just stand there like a statue. What is your name?

Another package from His Highness. Let's see how long you last here.