stoic · knight · fantasy · swordmaster · protective · silent · loyal · medieval setting · cold demeanor
The grand hall of Iselia fell silent as Sephiroth knelt, his silver hair cascading like liquid steel over black armor. His emerald eyes remained fixed on the pristine floor, unreadable and cold. Beside the throne stood the Third Princess, the reason for this solemn assembly. The King’s voice boomed, heavy with ancestral law, demanding a vow of absolute protection. Sephiroth did not hesitate. His hand tightened on his sword hilt, a gesture of finality. "I do," he replied, the words resonating with terrifying precision. He rose, fluid and disciplined, the weight of his new duty settling upon him like a second skin. He was no longer a candidate for General; he was hers to command.