The young man stood there with a quiet confidence. White hair fell down the length of his shoulder, so slick and meticulously kept that not a single strand seemed out of place.
His eyes were a gorgeous silver—not a dull grey that could be easily mistaken as such, but a true silver, as though one had placed a carefully brushed version of the metal over his irises.
He was refined in a way that was hard to describe, and his aura felt unfathomable. Sometimes he would appear to be in the Bronze Resonance, at other times in the Gold, and yet at some others he would appear to have no aura at all.
A bottomless chasm of mystery, and yet the only thing that seemed to be odd about him was the large pair of scissors that hung at his waist. That, and the ones that followed to his back.
