Several days later, the atmosphere inside the Round Table Studio headquarters was buzzing with a distinctly different kind of creative energy. With the hiring wave scheduled to bring in several new developers soon, the core team was utilizing the quiet period to upgrade the facility itself. Specifically, they were overhauling the compound's internal network so that Gawain, the studio's AI, could finally project a physical, holographic avatar of himself anywhere in the building.
Deep inside the quiet, sunlit sanctuary of the Art Wing, Lin Liseli was hard at work in her dedicated 3D sculpting room.
She stood in the center of the room, using a pair of haptic-feedback styluses to physically pull, pinch, and mold a massive, floating mesh of hard-light polygons. She was designing Gawain's physical appearance from scratch.
Arthur had given her only one specific, highly unusual artistic direction: Gawain must wear iron armor. Liseli had honestly been completely baffled by the design choice. She had scoured the galactic net for inspiration, but there were incredibly few visual archives that fit the description.
From what she had gathered, "iron armor" was an incredibly archaic concept. Some obscure historical texts described how, thousands of years ago, un-contacted primitive planets had warriors who wore heavy, clunky metal clothes into battle before the Accord arrived with energy shields. Why Arthur wanted their state-of-the-art AI to dress like a primitive metal statue was beyond her, but she trusted his vision.
She carefully shaped the broad, metallic shoulder pauldrons, adjusting the light to reflect a pristine, polished silver.
"Gawain," Liseli called out, leaning back to inspect the floating head. "Do you want a beard or not?"
"What does Liseli think is best?" Gawain's smooth, synthesized voice chimed from the room's speakers.
Liseli hummed thoughtfully. She tapped her stylus, rapidly swapping the 3D model between a rugged, bearded look and a smooth face several times to compare the aesthetics.
"Let's do clean-shaven," Liseli decided, deleting the facial hair mesh. She tweaked the jawline, softened the eyes, and added a striking mop of vibrant red hair. She stepped back, giving the projection one final spin. "Done! Hmmmm... handsome."
Floating in front of her was the projection of a young, heroic knight. He possessed a face that radiated both youth and absolute, unyielding strength, wrapped in gleaming, immaculate silver armor. Liseli proudly gave her own creation a double thumbs-up.
"Alright, Gawain," Liseli smiled. "Rig the skeletal model yourself and tell me how it feels to move."
Meanwhile, out in the vast, open-concept main hall of the building, a completely different kind of scene was unfolding.
Bem, Logan, and Dorian were trapped in a chaotic, highly technical symphony. They were currently balancing on hover-lifts near the vaulted ceiling, attempting to run a delicate array of new fiber-optic holo-lines across the architectural beams.
Dorian was dressed in his usual relaxed attire, his black hair messy from running his hands through it in frustration.
"Logan, just let the automated pathing take over!" Bem argued passionately, clutching a datapad as he watched a maintenance Compadre hover nearby. "The KF-5's algorithmic precision is flawlessly calibrated for tight-space wiring! It calculates trajectory in milliseconds!"
"Absolutely not!" Logan shot back, furiously maneuvering a manual override joystick. "The primary optical nodes on these wires are way too sensitive! If your automated pathing miscalculates the tension by even a single millimeter, it'll snap the ribbon, and we'll have to rewire the entire west corridor! This requires the delicate, loving touch of flesh hands!"
"You are piloting a spherical drone with mechanical pincers! That is not a human hand!" Bem countered exasperatedly.
"It's about the soul behind the pincers, Bem!"
Dorian, holding a spool of glowing blue wire, just laughed warmly at the two geniuses bickering over a ceiling tile. It was a deeply wholesome sight. They weren't arguing out of malice; they were passionately geeking out over the absolute best way to optimize their home.
Amidst the cheerful chaos, the main hall doors slid open. Ross Dalle strolled in, carrying a large tray of steaming Brewka mugs.
He smoothly navigated his three jointed arm around a stack of server racks, effortlessly handing the hot mugs up to the three developers on the hover-lifts.
"Thank you, Ross," Dorian sighed happily, taking the mug and inhaling the rich aroma of the caf.
Ross took a loud, incredibly satisfying slurp from his own mug. His deep eyes scanned the single line of wire they had managed to install across the ceiling.
"You guys realize there are still three entire wings of the building that need to be upgraded by tomorrow, right?" Ross pointed out casually.
Bem, Logan, and Dorian completely froze. They slowly turned their heads to look at the Zynar, the massive scale of their remaining workload crashing down on them. They immediately realized they absolutely did not have the time to continue this engineering debate any longer.
"Alright, truce," Dorian declared, stepping in to mediate. "Logan, you manually pilot one Compadre to act as the lead supervisor. Bem, link the rest of the maintenance drones to follow Logan's exact flight path automatically. Precision and efficiency combined."
Bem and Logan looked at each other, took a sip of their Brewka, and nodded in unison. They both chuckled, realizing how incredibly silly they were being over a single wire. The tension vanished, replaced by harmonious productivity.
Ross Dalle took another slow slurp of his coffee. A cheeky, mischievous glint suddenly appeared in his eyes.
"Though," Ross mused aloud, his booming voice echoing in the hall, "I do personally think Logan is right. Automated pathing lacks intuition."
"See?!" Logan yelled instantly, pointing his joystick at Bem. "Even Ross knows!"
"Ross, you compose music!" Bem shouted back, his hands flying to his head. "Stay out of the hardware physics!"
"A smooth wire is like a smooth melody, Bem!" Logan defended.
And just like that, the chaotic symphony of shouting and frantic typing resumed in full force.
Dorian lowered his mug, shaking his head incredulously. He looked down and saw Ross comfortably leaning against a pillar, sipping his Brewka and watching the two programmers scream at each other like he was watching a highly entertaining reality TV show.
…
Several days later, a sleek, unmarked transport cruiser descended through the upper atmosphere of Planet Friton.
Inside the passenger cabin, nine individuals sat in a state of absolute, paralyzed anxiety. These were the elite survivors of the grueling 'Avalon' technical interviews: one lore archivist for the Production department, two artists, one sound engineer, two net-code programmers, and three system designers.
Their hearts were pumping incredibly fast. The fact that they had actually been accepted into the galaxy's most elusive gaming studio was still sinking in. They had packed up their entire lives, broken their restrictive corporate contracts, and were now moments away from finally seeing the unmasked faces behind the Round Table.
But alongside the excitement, a deep, creeping sense of dread had settled over the cabin.
There had been no official corporate escort. The transport ship was being piloted entirely by a rusty, spherical Compadre drone locked in the cockpit. And as the new hires looked out the reinforced viewport at the planetary surface below, their anxiety spiked.
Instead of a high-tech corporate sector or a lush agricultural hub, the ship was hurtling directly toward a barren, jagged expanse of razor-sharp rock formations and desolate desert.
"Surely... we are not landing on that jagged rock formation, right?" one of the new net-code programmers muttered, his face pressing against the glass.
The cruiser did not slow down. It angled its thrusters, diving straight toward the side of a massive, unforgiving stone cliff.
Panic rippled through the passengers. Their hearts rose into their throats. Was this an elaborate scam? Were they being kidnapped by a rival studio or an Outer Rim syndicate?
But just as the ship was about to smash into the cliffside, the rusty Compadre in the cockpit emitted a series of rapid, high-frequency signal waves.
The air outside the viewport suddenly rippled. The jagged rocks and the barren desert began to digitally shift and distort. As the ship passed through the massive, sector-wide electromagnetic cloak, the terrifying illusion completely dissolved.
The entire cabin let out a collective gasp of pure awe.
Hidden behind the veil of the holographic rocks was a sprawling, vibrant paradise. Rolling green hills and lush prairies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Towering, pristine white wind turbines rotated lazily in the gentle breeze. And resting perfectly in the center of the prairie was the Round Table Studio HQ.
It was a breathtaking marvel of architecture. The massive, curved glass building didn't look like it had been constructed; it looked natural, as if the sleek structure had organically grown from the land itself, wrapping harmoniously around ancient, towering trees. From above, they could clearly see the distinct, specialized wings of the compound branching out from the central dome.
"Are we sure we are not in a nature reserve?" one of the newly hired artists whispered, her eyes wide with absolute wonder.
The cruiser slowed its descent, hovering gracefully over the manicured lawn before setting down softly on the main surface landing pad.
The heavy boarding ramp hissed and lowered, letting the bright, golden sunlight flood into the cabin. As the nine employees hesitantly grabbed their bags and walked down the ramp one by one, they saw a single man standing on the grass, waiting to receive them.
He was dressed sharply, his posture impeccably straight, and he was calmly pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The new hires instantly stiffened. This had to be him. The mastermind. The elusive person who had single-handedly changed the galactic gaming industry.
Kasavin stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at the nine awed, terrified, and utterly starstruck faces. A profound sense of nostalgia washed over him. It reminded him so vividly of himself. Just a few months ago, he had been standing in their exact position.
Kasavin cleared his throat, a warm, reassuring smile breaking his strict professional facade.
"Ahem. Welcome, to the Round Table Studio HQ," Kasavin announced, his voice carrying clearly over the gentle rustle of the wind. "As you can see, this is where you will all be working from now on."
The new hires remained perfectly rigid, still far too nervous to relax in the presence of the supposed 'Big Boss'.
Kasavin chuckled softly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kasavin. I am the Head of the Production Department."
Several pairs of eyes widened in sheer shock. He wasn't the big boss? The single narrative archivist in the group suddenly stood up straighter, realizing with a jolt of pure adrenaline that the man standing before him was his direct department head.
"Alright, there are many more sights to be had," Kasavin said, turning around and gesturing toward the massive, automatic glass doors of the main hall. "Come in. The others are waiting."
The nine employees followed him off the landing pad. As they walked toward the front doors, they looked around in a daze. They saw a variety of old, quirky Compadres gently watering vibrant flower beds and maintaining the immaculate gardens. They took a deep breath, filling their lungs with the crisp, unpolluted breeze.
It was a breath of fresh air they had never, in their wildest dreams, ever thought they would feel while working in the cutthroat tech industry.
The massive, automatic glass doors hissed open, and Kasavin led the nine terrified, awestruck new hires into the main lobby of the Round Table Studio headquarters.
As they stepped onto the polished, eco-friendly hardwood floors, a warm, cultured voice echoed perfectly through the open air.
"Welcome, team, to Round Table Studio."
The new hires jumped, completely startled by the sudden, disembodied voice. They whipped their heads around, searching for a receptionist or a hidden speaker system.
Suddenly, a pillar of concentrated hard-light materialized right in front of them. The pixels rapidly stitched together, rendering a flawless, high-definition 3D hologram.
Standing before them was a strikingly handsome young man. He had vibrant, messy red hair and a face that radiated youthful, heroic strength. But the most jarring detail was his attire; he was fully clad in an intricate, gleaming suit of archaic silver iron armor, complete with heavy pauldrons and a flowing, digital cape and fur.
Kasavin pushed his glasses up his nose, turning to the frozen group. "This is our primary AI assistant and facility overseer, Gawain. He will take it from here to do your official orientation and show you every wing and room of the building." Kasavin nodded to the hologram. "Gawain, I will see you in the junction room shortly."
Gawain offered a crisp, knightly bow, placing an armored hand firmly over his chest plate. "I shall see you shortly, Production Head."
As Kasavin walked away, disappearing down one of the sunlit corridors, Gawain turned his bright, simulated eyes back to the nine completely dumbfounded new employees.
"Hello, team!" Gawain smiled warmly, his cape swishing dynamically as he gestured to the sprawling space behind him. "As you can see, right in the absolute middle of our HQ is the central indoor garden."
The new hires stepped past the holographic knight and looked into the core of the building. Their jaws dropped.
The center of the facility was a massive, open-air atrium that stretched all the way up to the curved glass ceiling. It acted as a gigantic, architectural light well, pulling warm, natural sunlight down into the heart of the building. The entire area was a sprawling, meticulously maintained zen garden, filled with rare flora, trickling water features, and soft moss.
Fluttering lazily through the sunbeams were dozens of large, beautifully patterned native Friton butterflies.
"The ecosystem here is fully integrated," Gawain explained proudly, walking alongside them as his hologram seamlessly glided over the floor. "Right around noon, these native butterflies are most active. And at night, they undergo a beautiful biological shift. Their wings light up with natural bioluminescence, making the entire atrium look like it is filled with hundreds of floating, breathing stars."
Gawain paused, placing his hands on his armored hips and letting out a heavy, incredibly dramatic, synthesized sigh.
"Unfortunately for you," the AI lamented, shaking his head. "You will rarely, if ever, actually get to see them at night. The Boss has a very strict, completely non-negotiable ban on any of you doing overtime. You will be forcefully locked out of your terminals and ushered off the premises at sundown."
The new hires stared at the hologram in absolute, silent disbelief.
Two of the programming recruits, who had spent the last five years working grueling, mandatory eighty-hour crunch weeks at corporate studios in the Core Worlds, literally felt tears welling up in their eyes. A studio that actively forced them to go home and rest? It felt like an impossible utopia.
Gawain clapped his armored hands together, the simulated sound of iron echoing sharply to break them out of their trance.
"Alright, team! We have a lot of ground to cover!" Gawain declared cheerfully. "Let us start from below, shall we? Downstairs is the primary server system, the hardware R&D lab, and..."
…
Kasavin walked back into the main junction room, where the rest of the original Round Table team was already comfortably seated around the glowing holographic table.
"So?" Dorian asked, leaning back in his hover-chair. "How was it?"
Kasavin took his seat, a fond smile touching his lips. "They were in complete awe."
The team chuckled knowingly. Bem took a long sip of his Brewka and sighed. "I understand exactly how they feel. They probably spent the entire flight here mentally preparing themselves to walk into a dreary, grey corporate cubicle farm. I know I did."
"Honestly, with this kind of workplace, I could literally just live here," Logan said, kicking his feet up onto the base of the table. "I don't even need my apartment."
Dorian pointed an accusing finger at the programmer. "Don't try to play me, Logan. You just want an excuse to stay up all night doing overtime."
The entire room erupted into easy, comfortable laughter. The atmosphere was light and familial as they spent the next few minutes discussing the specific skills and portfolios of the new people joining their respective departments.
A few minutes later, the hissing of the automatic doors signaled the arrival of the tour group.
The nine new hires filed into the junction room, their eyes wide as they took in the technological marvel of the studio's nerve center. In the very middle of the room sat the legendary Round Table itself. Seated around the glowing projection were six figures.
The new hires suddenly felt incredibly nervous. The layout of the room was entirely non-corporate. There was no 'head' of the table, no elevated podium, no distinct CEO desk. Everyone was seated on completely equal footing, making it entirely impossible to tell who actually owned the studio.
With a sudden burst of digital static, Gawain's holographic knight form blitzed, dissolving into a streak of red and silver pixels before instantly materializing directly behind Logan's chair.
"Allow me to formally introduce you all," Gawain announced. "This is Logan Kim. He is the Head of the Programming Department."
Logan offered a relaxed, two-finger wave. "Yo."
The two newly hired net-code programmers practically vibrated with excitement.
Gawain blitzed again, teleporting behind Kasavin. "This is Kasavin, the one who welcomed you. Once again, he is the Head of the Production Department."
Kasavin offered a polite, professional nod. The narrative archivist in the group swallowed hard, utterly starstruck.
Gawain vanished and reappeared behind Bem. "This is Bem Lendu, the Head of the Design Department."
Bem smiled warmly. "Hello, everyone."
Another pixelated flash, and Gawain stood behind Liseli. "And this is Lin Liseli, the Head of the Arts Department."
Liseli beamed, waving enthusiastically. "Hello guys! So excited to work with you!"
The new hires were having a massive internal fan moment. These were the literal legends who had overthrown the Accord's gaming monopoly. But as they looked at the remaining two figures at the table, a collective, logical assumption formed in their minds.
One was a massive, intimidating Zynar with toned arms. The other was a messy-haired, human teenager wearing an oversized, casual grey sweater.
'So,' the new hires thought, 'our big boss is the zynar, huh? Makes sense. And that kid must be the audio prodigy.'
But then, Gawain blitzed and materialized behind the massive Zynar. "This is Ross Dalle. He is the Head of the Audio Department."
Ross offered a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Nice to meet you all."
A sudden, gnawing feeling of absolute dread began to churn in the stomachs of the new hires. Their eyes slowly, agonizingly turned toward the teenage boy sitting casually at the edge of the table.
Gawain dissolved one final time, materializing tall and proud right beside Dorian.
"And this," Gawain declared, his synthesized voice carrying a heavy, undeniable reverence, "is Arthur. The CEO, Director, and Founder of Round Table Studio."
Dorian stood up, brushing off his sweater, and offered a polite, welcoming nod.
The incredulous faces of the new hires were a sight to behold. It was all laid out in the open; the sheer shock, the utter disbelief, and then, a sudden flash of terrified awe. The mastermind who had outplayed the biggest corporate syndicates in the galaxy and built an empire from nothing... was just a teenager.
Dorian saw the terror in their eyes and couldn't help but chuckle.
"Alright, alright, you can breathe," Dorian smiled, breaking the paralyzing tension in the room. "Welcome to the Round Table. You can all follow your respective department heads to your new wings now. Take the rest of the day to enjoy your privacy, familiarize yourself with your hardware, and get settled in."
The five department heads stood up from the table.
"Alright, artists, with me!" Liseli cheered, waving her two new recruits over. Logan and Bem quickly corralled their programmers and designers, while Ross and Kasavin guided their respective hires toward the corridors.
One by one, the groups filed out of the junction room, their voices fading down the pristine hallways.
Dorian stood alone in the center of the room. He let out a long, quiet sigh, looking around at the empty hover-chairs.
The people he had hired first; the misfits who had helped him build Hades, now had their own massive responsibilities. They were leaders now. Time had passed far too fast.
Gawain's hologram stepped forward, the knight tilting his head in concern. "What is it, sir? Are your biological vitals suboptimal?"
Dorian slumped back into his hover-chair, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"No, Gawain. I'm just... saddened a bit, I guess," Dorian admitted with a wry smile, looking at the glowing table. "I'm so used to all six of us working right here, in this junction room together. I completely forgot that expanding meant each department gets their own workspace and their own wing. It's going to be quiet here."
Gawain stood perfectly still for a moment. Then, the armored knight placed a hand firmly over his heart.
"I will still be here, sir," Gawain promised faithfully.
Dorian looked at the hard-light projection. His wistful sigh turned into a genuine, soft chuckle.
"That you are, Gawain," Dorian smiled. "That you are."