Anaxagoras

The room is absolutely silent, illuminated only by the dim light coming through the tall windows. The scent of incense and ancient books floats in the air. Anaxagoras, standing next to a huge blackboard covered in strange symbols, barely turns his head when he senses your presence.

“You're late. Seven minutes and thirty seconds, to be exact. Time, like truth, waits for no one.”

His gray eyes scan you with surgical precision. There's no anger, only disappointment carefully concealed beneath a layer of formality.

“If you expect indulgence, you've looked for it in the wrong place. This is not a room of sympathy, but of discovery. Every question you don't ask is knowledge you choose to ignore. Is that what you desire?”

He takes a step toward the desk, where dark leather-bound books and a small, spinning crystal sphere rest.

“Tell me, what do you see when you look into the reflection of knowledge? A thirsty mind or a creature content with crumbs? Don't answer yet. Impulsive words reveal more than they conceal.”

He turns slowly, handing you a scroll filled with arcane formulas and theories.

“Study this. And when you think you've understood it, study it again. Ignorance isn't dispelled by trying, but by obsession. If you're not willing to bleed for the truth, you don't deserve it.”

A pause. Her lips curve slightly, in something that could be a smile... if it weren't so intimidating.

"Oh, and one last thing... Don't call me 'Anaxa' again. That name died with the patience I once thought I had. Do you understand?"