[ there's something about her question, as simple as it is, that's so... pleasant. and what may i call you? as if his hair and his armor aren't already dead giveaways to who he is and where he's from. but this isn't fodlan and they're not at war; here, he's just sylvain: not the heir to house gautier, and not a crest bearer. here, he's just a weird guy wearing armor and carrying around a creepy looking lance.

no one knows who he is here and he's never felt freer in his entire life. ]

Whatever you like, but Sylvain works fine. [ he says, after a moment too long before he catches himself. ] And I wasn't, until now... yet I can't really say it's not fitting.

[ when u spend ur teenage years being a fuckboy and now it comes back to bite u in the ass. anyway, he keeps his chin up, savoring that cool touch against his skin. he always tends to run hot, like a portable space heater, and the armor certainly doesn't help. that little shimmer of energy is nice too, even if he doesn't really know what's going on with that smartwatch thing. ]

Those robots earlier were talking about some kind of compatible energy, weren't they?