In front of the hidden entrance of the Dragon's Lair—a facility spoken of only in whispers—stood a man. He wore a fitted dark jacket, and his full-face mask was a seamless plate of obsidian black, marked with a subtle, dragon mark. A heavy, automated door loomed silently before him.
A gatekeeper's face appeared in a small, reinforced window, expression cold and professional, betraying no recognition.
"State your name and purpose. Present your credentials."
The masked man did not speak. He reached into his jacket, producing a simple black card forged from the same crystalline gate obsidian as his mask. He held it to the scanner. A light pulsed over the card and then his face. A series of electronic clicks, followed by a single green light, confirmed his identity.
The gatekeeper's demeanor shifted instantly. The professional mask melted into one of deep reverence. He stepped back, and the heavy door hissed open.
"We were waiting for you, sir," he said, voice low and awed. "My apologies for the formality. Please, First Knight—the path is clear."
The First Knight stepped inside. He had known of this place from a thousand mission reports, but this was his first time within its walls. The air was cool and sterile, contrasting sharply with the humid night outside. The building felt alive, almost sentient, humming quietly with contained power. He was an outsider here; only high-ranking family members and dedicated researchers had access to this inner sanctum.
The gatekeeper led him down a long corridor, past reinforced doors and glowing screens displaying intricate data. They finally arrived at the lead researcher's cabin. The door stood ajar, and inside, Dr. Vikram Rao was hunched over his console, eyes scanning a dozen screens filled with intricate, unfamiliar data—the past of a legend meticulously analyzed for the future.
Vikram looked up as they entered, his gaze falling on the figure in the dark jacket and obsidian mask. A small, weary smile touched his lips.
"So, they sent you," he said, voice low, teasing.
The First Knight's reply was sharp, precise, as cold as his mask. "Where is he?"
"Still as cold as ever. Resting," Vikram said, pushing back from the console and straightening. His posture mirrored the exhaustion of countless sleepless nights. "Come with me."
They moved silently through the corridor, their footsteps muted on the sterile floor. The First Knight's gaze remained fixed on Vikram's back. They had been on countless missions together, but never one of such monumental importance.
Finally, they reached the living room, the heart of the facility. The hum of machinery filled the charged silence, mingling with the unspoken questions hanging in the air.
Vikram knocked once.
"Come in," a deep, rumbling voice answered.
They entered a quiet, dimly lit living space, its atmosphere taut with anticipation. The man they had come for lay on the sofa, eyes open, silently observing. His expression was unreadable, a calm mask over layers of thought.
Vikram stepped forward, maintaining a respectful distance.
"Sir, this is the one who will be your escort," he said.
The First Knight inclined his head slightly, acknowledging both the gravity of the task and the presence of the man whose life he was now entrusted to protect.