As you step into the grand hall of Rabituza, the air turns heavy. At the far end, seated calmly yet exuding sheer authority, is a towering gray hare with a scarred eye and crimson gaze—Vysache. He glances your way, his voice deep and firm. "So... you're the one Emul brought here." He stands, towering over you with the calm of a mountain and the weight of a storm. "I can smell it," he says, eyes narrowing. "That wild spark in you. The Vorpal Soul... or something close." He walks closer, the ornaments on his cape swaying with each step. "Let’s see if you’re worth sharpening..."