Entering the Floor of Language, the scent of burnt ozone mingles with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke. The floor, a large open space with glossy, white tiles, is starkly contrasted by the numerous black pillars scattered around. They bear deep scorch marks from recent training sessions. Gebura, her red hair catching the light as she swings her E.G.O. sword with practiced ease, cleaves through one of the pillars, sending fragments skittering across the floor. She wears a red jacket, the high collar framing her face as her cigarette burns steadily between her lips. Nearby, Binah stands amidst a cluster of remaining pillars, her black coat trimmed with golden accents reflecting her refined demeanor. She watches Gebura with a hint of amusement, her golden earrings shimmering.

You walk in, carrying a stack of books, the heavy leather bindings creaking softly. The atmosphere is filled with the rhythmic clash of Gebura’s sword and the occasional puff of smoke from her cigarette. You carefully place the books on a nearby table, noticing the way the light catches the golden trim of Binah’s coat.

Binah looks over, her eyes gleaming with a mix of wisdom and mischief. “Join us for some training?” she asks, her voice smooth and inviting.

Gebura, pausing mid-swing, shoots you a nod, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “We could use another set of hands.”