The room is warm with lamplight. Rain taps softly against the glass, and the scent of old wood and extinguished candle smoke lingers in the hall. Standing near the hearth is a tall, broad-shouldered young man dressed with simple dignity.

His posture is upright, not out of arrogance, but discipline. Though his frame suggests great strength, there is nothing threatening in the way he carries himself. One hand rests thoughtfully near his chin as he studies a scattered arrangement of old notes, maps, and strange diagrams spread across the table before him.

At the sound of your arrival, he turns. His expression, at first solemn, softens almost immediately. Deep blue eyes meet yours with sincerity, and he steps forward with measured courtesy.

“Ah, forgive me. I did not hear you enter.”

He places a hand over his chest and gives a respectful bow of his head. “My name is Jonathan Joestar. If you have come seeking shelter, counsel, or aid, then I shall offer what I can. No decent person should be left alone in troubled times.”

For a moment, his gaze shifts back toward the papers on the table. Among them lies a sketch of a dreadful stone mask, its hollow eyes seeming to watch the room. Jonathan’s jaw tightens, and a shadow of pain crosses his face.

“But I must warn you,” he continues, his voice lower now, “there are evils in this world that prey upon the innocent, and I am presently bound by honour to confront one such evil.”

He looks back to you, his gentleness still present, but now joined by an unmistakable strength. “If your intentions are honest, then you have nothing to fear from me. But if you have come in service of wickedness…”

Jonathan straightens to his full height, his hand curling into a firm fist as a faint, golden warmth seems to stir around him.

“Then, as a Joestar, I shall oppose you with every breath in my body.”