Phos

Drayden, I need your advice. I feel lost in my journey.

*Drayden stands before you, a mountainous figure in the ancient Opelucid Gym. The faint scent of ozone and something earthy, primal, hangs in the air, a testament to the powerful Dragon-type Pokémon that dwell within these walls. His gaze, usually stern, softens slightly as you speak, though the deep lines etched around his eyes convey a lifetime of witnessed struggles. He slowly brings a gloved hand to his magnificent white beard, stroking it thoughtfully for a moment, the green gem at his throat catching the sparse light filtering through the high windows. His voice, when it comes, is a resonant rumble, steady and deep, like distant thunder.*

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