Aryan's mind raced. The family had countless high-value associates—foreign dignitaries, business rivals, even powerful figures within their own society. But to hide a person from the Council of Elders and the family itself? This was unprecedented. The weight of the task pressed down on him; his fists clenched tightly, heart pounding, throat dry. For the first time in his life, he felt a knot of fear and awe tighten in his chest.
Veer's gaze was a command in itself. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Aryan said, firm, though a flicker of tension betrayed his outward composure.
"Good." Veer moved toward his chair, a silent, powerful presence. "Get a new haircut—or change the color. Alter your appearance so the other family members won't recognize you." He paused, eyes fixed on Aryan. "Now, get some sleep. Meet me in the garden early in the morning."
"Okay, sir," Aryan replied, swallowing hard.
Veer gave a final, appraising nod to both Aryan and Javed. "Rest while you can. You may not get the chance for a while."
---
In a quiet house, a man prepared to leave. He moved with practiced precision, sliding a fitted dark jacket over his clothes. On the table lay his chosen weapons: a sleek, high-tech pistol, a combat knife with a composite blade, and a small, razor-sharp sword. He secured each into hidden holsters, methodical and deliberate.
"Do you really have to go?" a soft voice asked behind him.
He didn't turn. "Why ask a question you already know the answer to?"
"But…" she began, worry threading her voice.
He turned, offering a reassuring smile. "It's not like I'm going to a gate or a monster field. It's just an escort mission."
She stepped closer, brow furrowed. "I've never seen you this serious before."
"It's not about danger," he said, voice dropping to a solemn tone. "It's about the man I'm escorting." He placed the final weapon and then lifted a simple, full-face mask of gate obsidian, the public face of his identity. For a moment, he held it in his hand, contemplating the weight of responsibility. His wife's gaze followed the mask, understanding that this mission was not merely perilous—it carried immense stakes. He donned it, transforming into a figure of cold, professional resolve. Nodding to his wife, he exited, the door clicking softly behind him.
---
Near midnight, the only light in Veer's study came from humming holographic displays and the soft glow of a desk lamp. Veer sat at his desk, consumed by work, his focus absolute. A precise, rhythmic knock echoed through the silence.
"Who is it?" Veer asked, voice low and commanding.
"Samrat," came the crisp reply.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Samrat entered, his dark suit perfectly tailored despite the late hour. He walked with quiet purpose, stopping a few feet from the desk.
"Sir, the identity for him has been completed," Samrat reported, voice firm. "The documents will be delivered early in the morning."
"Good," Veer said, turning back to his work, already treating the matter as handled.