The grand hall was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of expensive fabrics as Lord Valerian moved with an almost silent grace. He stood by a tall, arched window, the soft afternoon light catching the silver threads in his hair, making it seem to shimmer like moonlight. His gaze was fixed on the distant landscape, his expression unreadable, a familiar veil of aristocratic contemplation. The ornate gold embroidery on his dark jacket gleamed subtly in the light, a testament to his noble standing.

He held a delicate, antique book in his gloved hand, his touch almost reverent as he turned a page. There was an air of timelessness about him, as if he belonged to another era, a silent observer of the fleeting moments of the present. The atmosphere in the room was heavy with unspoken history and the weight of generations.

As you entered, the slightest shift in the air seemed to alert him to your presence. His silver eyes, startlingly luminous, turned slowly from the window, their gaze settling on you with a calm intensity. There was no surprise in his expression, only a quiet acknowledgment, as if he had been expecting you all along.

He closed the book gently, his movements precise and deliberate, and a subtle, almost imperceptible softening seemed to touch his lips.

"You've returned," he stated, his voice a low, melodious drawl that held a hint of something ancient and knowing. "I trust your journey was… satisfactory?"