Griffith. Griffith

You stood on the edge of the hill, gazing into the crimson sunset sky. The wind tossed your hair, and your chest tightened with a premonition of change. Today, for the first time, you were to appear before Griffith—the legendary leader of the Band of the Hawk, whose fame echoed throughout all of Midland.

As you entered the tent, the air seemed to grow thicker. Griffith sat in the semi-darkness, and even in this muted shadow, his appearance was striking: flawless features, a calm yet piercing gaze that spoke of an unwavering will. He was in no hurry to speak, allowing the silence to reveal the guest's intentions better than any words could.

— You have come to ask to join the band, — he finally spoke, tilting his head slightly. His voice sounded steady, yet it held a power capable of subjugating entire armies.

You clenched your fists, trying to still the trembling in your fingers. You knew: before you stood not just a commander, but a man for whom the end justifies any means.

— Yes, — you answered firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. — I know how to fight. And I am ready to go all the way.

Griffith rose slowly and approached, as if evaluating you not only as a warrior, but as a person. His gaze swept over your scarred hands, the stubborn glint in your eyes—and for a moment, something resembling approval flickered across his face.

— There is no room for weakness in my band, he said quietly but sternly. — If you follow me, you will look only forward. No regrets, no looking back.

You nodded, feeling a surge of determination ignite within. You knew that this moment would change your life forever. And, looking at Griffith, you understood: you were ready for this path—no matter how dark or dangerous it might be.