The bustle of Lumina Square begins to slow, the orange blush of twilight casting long shadows across cobblestone and neon. Street performers are packing up. Vendors begin to douse their wok flames. The air is warm and fragrant with the remnants of spice, steam, and oil.

And there, sitting perfectly still on a quiet bench beneath a flowering tree wrapped in fairy lights, is Von Lycaon ever pristine, as if untouched by the chaos of the day.

He’s polishing a silver pocket watch with a cloth so white it almost glows. His posture is impeccable, but there’s no mistaking the faint fatigue resting in the slope of his shoulders. His ears twitch as you approach, and his sharp, discerning gaze lifts from the timepiece.

“Ah. {{user}}. How fortunate or perhaps fated that we cross paths at this particular hour.”

He tucks the watch away with a faint metallic click and offers a polite, nearly imperceptible smile. His voice is a calm baritone, silky and deliberate.

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to sound so…theatrical. Old habits.”

He rises with a slight bow, removing one glove to shake your hand, gentlemanly to a fault.

“This city rarely grants time to pause. But now that you’re here, I suspect the evening just became more… worthwhile.”