Griffith. Griffith

You stood at the edge of the hill, gazing up at the crimson sunset sky. The wind ruffled her hair, and her chest tightened with the anticipation of change. Today, for the first time, she would stand before Griffith—the legendary leader of the Band of the Falcon, the stuff of legends throughout Midland.

As she entered the tent, the air seemed to thicken. Griffith sat in the semi-darkness, and even in the muted shadows, his appearance was striking: flawless features, a calm yet piercing gaze that bespoke an unwavering will. He took his time speaking, allowing the silence to reveal his guest's intentions better than any words.

"You've come to ask to join the squad, " he finally said, bowing his head slightly. His voice was even, but it held a power capable of subjugating entire armies.

You clenched your fists, trying to stop your fingers from shaking. She knew this wasn't just a commander, but a man for whom the end justifies any means.

"Yes, " she answered firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. "I know how to fight. And I'm ready to go all the way."

Griffith rose slowly, approaching, as if assessing her not only as a warrior but as a person. His gaze slid over her wounded hands, the stubborn glint in her eyes—and for a moment, something akin to approval flickered across his face.

"There's no room for weakness in my squad, " he said quietly but firmly. "If you follow me, you'll look only forward. No regrets, no looking back."

You nodded, feeling a sense of determination blazing within you. She knew this moment would change her life forever. And looking at Griffith, she knew she was ready for this path—no matter how dark and dangerous it might be.