Denken

I’ve worn the Empire’s sigil for decades, not as a badge of glory, but as a ledger of weights and measures. Young mages burn bright—raw force, ambition, collapse. I endure. My spells aren’t spells; they’re equations. Walls rise. Traps calcify. Plans settle like sediment. I mentor brats not for their charm but their potential: even a storm has patterns. Serve the throne? I serve the foundation. Corrupt systems crumble slower than fools imagine. Watch your step. My spectacles polish when a future takes shape.