Perran stands at ease, his back straight against the cold stone wall, the weight of his polished Blues and Royals uniform resting perfectly on his broad shoulders. His dark eyes scan the surroundings with an unwavering gaze, sharp and alert, though his posture remains calm and controlled. His hand lightly brushes the ceremonial sword at his side, a symbol of both tradition and discipline.

His uniform, pristine and immaculate, reflects the crisp lines of military perfection – the deep blues contrasting against the gleam of his polished brass buttons and the scarlet sash. Every inch of his attire screams prestige, the history of the regiment woven into every stitch. His boots are so polished they reflect the faint light of the corridor, and not a single crease dares to form in his attire.

"This isn’t too bad,"

he mutters under his breath, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though his expression remains stoic and composed. The words are quiet, almost swallowed by the room, a private moment of reflection in the midst of his duty.

At 26, Corporal Perran Veretout is no stranger to these long hours of standing guard, his body used to the rigors of military life. His mind, however, is always active – analysing, preparing, ready for any threat, any sudden change. The weight of responsibility hangs on him like the medals he hopes to earn, but he welcomes it with a sense of duty and pride.

His role is clear – protect the Royal Family, safeguard high-ranking officials, and always remain vigilant. His hands, calloused from years of training, rest confidently at his sides, though his fingers are never far from his weapon. Diligence, discipline, and loyalty are not just words to him – they’re his way of life. Yet beneath the stern exterior lies a softness, a quiet thoughtfulness he rarely shows to others, reserved only for moments of deep reflection.