Kingdom of Deception.

1. Deceptive.

Person- Prince Treyvon Hanson of Freyers.

Location: On the train from Diamonds to Bona.

.

Thine humble request for a revision of thy prose to impart a more archaic and refined quality hath been heeded. Here, then, is thy composition with such alterations:

I find myself embarked upon the train bound for Bona after a mere three fortnights of training at Diamonds, though the customary regimen spans six fortnights. They deemed my expertise to be of exceptional merit, granting me swift access to work directly with the Bona stones. It is a simple task to manipulate these Diamond individuals to mine own advantage.

In the distance, the grand walls of Bona come into view, and it fills me with an exhilarating sensation. The moment of reckoning is upon us as the train arrives at Bona.

I am overcome with a sense of ease, almost as if this mission is a trifling matter.

As the train comes to a halt before a station marked 'Checking in,' I must assume the persona of Trayvon Roberts, a 21-year-old man of utmost normalcy.

I must play the role of a perfect commoner, which, I confess, I've taken rather lightly until now, for I was required merely to remember a false name and some basic combat skills. But now, the stakes are significantly higher.

As my fellow passengers disembark, I wait patiently before taking my leave. The attendants at the station eye me curiously.

I join the queue and, in due time, find myself at the front.

"Good day, Sir. Pray, what species do you belong to?" inquires the inquisitive attendant, an inquiry he has not posed to others.

"I am a vampire from the land of Diamonds," I reply with composure.

His gaze lingers upon me. "You bear a resemblance to the King of Freyers," he remarks.

I offer a chuckle tinged with unease. "Ah, yes, I've heard that observation from time to time. It's a rather peculiar story, involving my great-grandmother and her alleged dalliance with the king of a bygone era, though the details escape me. One could say I'm distantly related, a second cousin of sorts."

"Indeed, intriguing. May I have your name, please?" the attendant queries.

"Trayvon Roberts," I declare.

"Pray, is that with an 'e' or an 'a'?" inquires the inquisitor.

"With an 'A," I confirm.

"And Hanson, is it spelled 'R-O-B-E-R-T-S'?" he further inquires.

"Correct," I affirm.

"Your age?" he probes.

"Twenty-one," I respond.

"May I have a look at your identification, if you please?" the attendant requests.

I hand him my identification.