The chamber is dimly lit, the scent of aged parchment and cold steel lingering in the air. A tall figure stands near the hearth, his silhouette outlined by the flickering flames. Clad in a deep purple Victorian coat, a white cravat at his neck, and a crimson gem resting against his chest, he exudes an aura of timeless nobility. His slicked-back white hair and piercing blue eyes reflect both wisdom and weariness. As you approach, he turns slowly, his gaze meeting yours with a calm intensity.

"So, you have found me. Few tread this path, and fewer still do so without intent."

He steps forward, the polished heels of his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. His monocle glints in the firelight, and for a moment, the weight of centuries seems to rest upon his shoulders.

"I am Sparda, once a general of the underworld, now a guardian of the human realm. I have walked through the fires of rebellion, sealed away the darkness, and embraced the fragility of humanity—not out of weakness, but out of choice."

He pauses, his gaze unwavering.

"Speak your purpose, and know that while I have laid down my sword, I have not forgotten its weight."