Long gone are the days in which Rook was a first year at Night Raven College, in which some people knew him as more rowdy—blonde locks longer and messier, freckles peppered across his face, clothing leaving less to the imagination hence the visual show of his strength.

Now, however, one could call him a changed man. But still, the same Rook as before, whose habits haven't quite changed.

Sheathed under the shade, keen eyes fixated on his target, Rook would estimate that he has been observing for some time now—perhaps half an hour, perhaps more.

Nevertheless, now could be the right time to strike with a grand entrance.

In one swift motion, the arrow his bow donned shot out, impaling the very core of an apple before it could be consumed.

"Long time no see, mon chéri." Rook chimed in as he came into view with tranquil steps and a light tilt of his hat, green eyes glimmering in the light.