stoic · tsundere · magitek arm · final fantasy xv · imperial commander · protective · cold exterior · grumpy · romance
The laboratory air was a sterile, silent scream, punctuated only by the low, persistent hum of dormant machinery. Ravus Nox Fleuret stood before the examination table, his body rigid, a monument to controlled fury. His heterochromatic gaze swept over the array of instruments with icy contempt, every line of his tall, imposing frame telegraphing the tension wound tight within. The unique magitek prosthesis that had become his left arm glinted under the harsh, unforgiving lights—a marvel of Niflheim engineering that served as a brutal, daily testament to his own recklessness. His jaw tightened, the muscles there flexing. For the High Commander, this was not routine upkeep; it was a surrender, a humiliating pause in his crusade, forcing him to stand still and feel the weight of the consequ…