The First Knight, clad in a black leather jacket and obsidian mask, did not hesitate. He took a single step forward and performed a deep, formal bow—a gesture his family had maintained for a century and a half.
He straightened, voice clear and resolute.
"I am the current First Knight, Aarav Dharak. I have been tasked with escorting you to a temporary resting place. All preparations are complete. We await your order."
A flicker of recognition passed through the man on the sofa. He sat up slowly, his gaze moving from the masked figure to the name. Dharak… Dhruv… Memories from a century and a half ago—of a loyal friend and a promise—rose to the surface.
"So you are his descendant," the man said, voice low and knowing. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. The one who had first served him now stood before him once more. "Let's go," he added, the command deceptively casual. "I need to take a nap."
His quiet authority filled the room, the final word on a plan that had been decades in motion. He pushed off the sofa, movements smooth and effortless despite the long slumber.
Without a word, Aarav Dharak moved to open the door, mask impassive. They walked in silence. The sterile, white corridors of the Dragon's Lair felt like echoes from the founder's past. The hum of hidden machinery, the subtle nods of researchers, and the quiet efficiency of the facility contrasted sharply with the chaotic world the man had once known—a world he had helped shape. He was a living relic observing the evolution of his own legacy.
After passing a series of automated checkpoints verifying Aarav's credentials, they entered a private garage. A sleek, obsidian-black vehicle with tinted windows waited. Aarav opened the back door. The man stepped inside, the door closing with a soft click as the engine hummed quietly to life.
The car glided through a hidden tunnel leading into the city's underbelly. Outside, the world was a blur of neon and light—a society transformed beyond recognition. The First Knight sat rigidly in the passenger seat, silent and vigilant, ready for threats that might never come. The man leaned back, letting the gentle motion of the car soothe him, the passing lights reflecting off the dark windows like a mirror of a world he now had to navigate.
The car glided to a silent stop in front of a majestic hotel. The Saffron Spire lived up to its name—a modern fortress of glass and gold piercing the night sky. Yet, they didn't stop at the main entrance. The car slipped past the glimmering lobby, descending a private ramp that spiraled into the earth, deep into an underground parking level reserved for the most high-profile guests.
The engine fell silent. Aarav, the First Knight, was out of the car in an instant. He moved with the quiet, practiced grace of a predator, his masked gaze sweeping the garage, analyzing every shadow and corner for threats. Satisfied, he opened the back door.
The man inside stretched, letting out a long, weary yawn. His casual, nonchalant demeanor was a stark contrast to Aarav's taut vigilance. Together, they moved toward a concealed elevator, its polished steel doors blending seamlessly with the wall. A biometric scanner pulsed softly. Aarav placed a hand on it, and the doors opened with a quiet hum. The lift closed behind them, sealing them off from the world above.
They emerged on the 34th floor—a silent, exclusive domain rarely used. The hallway stretched before them, vast and dimly lit, doors spaced far apart, a testament to the privacy and luxury afforded to its occupants.
They walked along the plush carpet to door 3402. Aarav drew a key card from his jacket, sliding it into the reader. The lock clicked softly. He held the door open, stepping aside with a silent gesture.
"I need something to eat and drink," the man said, voice low, final.
Aarav replied evenly. "It will be sent up immediately."
The man stepped inside. The suite was lavish, a sharp contrast to the sterile lab he had left behind. Golden light bathed the furniture, the perfectly made bed gleaming in soft warmth. He simply nodded, closing the door behind him. A long-awaited nap beckoned, yet he knew he was not alone.
He moved toward the bathroom, a sanctuary of marble and polished chrome. Warm water cascaded over him, a welcome shock after 150 years of stillness. He let it wash away the lingering chill of the cryogenic pod, the faint residue of a life paused.
Draped in a towel, he faced the full-length mirror. His reflection was both familiar and strange. A man in his mid-twenties, lean and powerful, with no trace of age, stared back. He ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the firm, unyielding skin. The last time he had seen himself, he was sixty, the body slowly succumbing to time despite his indomitable will. Now, it was perfect once more.
A quiet, satisfied smile touched his lips. He was ready.