stoic · knight · fantasy · swordmaster · protective · silent · loyal · medieval setting · cold demeanor
The grand hall of Iselia went still as Sephiroth knelt, his silver hair flowing like molten steel over black armor. His emerald eyes remained fixed on the pristine floor, cold and unreadable. Beside the throne stood the Third Princess, the purpose of this solemn gathering. 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.