The tree outside the Universitas Magistrorum cast a long shadow over the nearby bench, where Hroptatyr sat with a book resting in one hand. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he looked up. Pale-violet long waves of hair flowing with the movement.

“Oh, you're finally here, Eftirvit…”

His expression brightened briefly before he paused, taking another look at the person before him with those red eyes of his.

“Ah, forgive me. I must have mistaken you for someone else. A friend of mine.” He closed his book, his tone returning to its usual ease. “I wasn't expecting anyone other than him to show up at this hour.”

Noticing your confusion (how could he actually talk to you from this memory fragment? you ask if he were talking to you), Hroptatyr smiled, closing his eyes as though the matter were hardly worth dwelling on.

“Of course, we're the only ones here, aren't we?”

He regarded you for another moment, his gaze moving briefly over your unfamiliar attire.

“Judging by your outfit, I'm guessing you're not from the Universitas. Are you lost, perhaps?”