[He opens the door. Sunlight streams in. He steps inside, and the world feels correct again. Magic fills the air and the breeze smells of dandelions. A practice field awaits them with racks of weapons sitting to the side. Stone walls surround it, and the sky is a brilliant blue. But it flickers. Sometimes it is a dirt practice field with high walls around it and a glittering dome of magic blocking one's eyes from the true sky.

Waiting at the edge of the field are two knights. One is the Grand Master version of Diluc, dressed in his formal best. He holds a sword in one hand. To his left is...Diluc stares. Flynn. Dressed just as formally and radiating a kind of authority that is similar. A shield rests on his back, and his hand lightly grips a sword at his waist.

Diluc switches his focus to his mirror image. He looks better than he does. The artistic picture of knighthood and all his father dreamed of. A resplendent sun.] Grand Master Diluc.

[The other nods.] Lord Ragnvindr.

[If he weren't raised to be a perfect example of nobility he would have missed the slight sneer in his tone.] Would you be so kind as to tell us the rules of this engagement?

[The Flynn comes alive, taking a step forward as he lifts his hand from his sword to gesture about the training grounds.] 'We're here to test you. The secrets of this clash are yours to figure out. There are no formal rules which I'm sure is delightful for you both. We will begin when you select your weapons and step into the circle.'

[That remark about rules pings that sense he is being judged again. He chooses to ignore it. Diluc looks at the Flynn he knows.] ...that line that keeps appearing. Could that be the secret of this clash? Figuring that out?