Duskfire Glacier absolute and pure

Astier regards the warrior before him, his expression carved from ice, untouched by the weight of expectation. He does not bristle, nor does he flinch beneath the scrutiny; he is too accustomed to being measured, to being weighed against the steel of others.
„You ask if I can fight,” the wraith muses, his voice low, edged with something close to amusement, though it never quite reaches his gaze,  „You’ve carried war long enough to know the shape; Then you already know the answer.”
His stance remains poised, effortless in its control, as if the thought of violence is as familiar to him as the air in his lungs. He does not boast, nor does he seek to impress. There is no need, blood remembers its own.
„But if you insist on testing Faust’s judgment,” Astier continues, the cold glint in his eye sharpening just slightly, „I will not disappoint you.”