In a chamber cloaked in shadows, the figures of Nobody and his men stood before a seated man, his presence emanating an aura of authority despite the dim lighting. His aged features bore the weight of centuries, his silvered hair catching the faint light that filtered through the room, adding an air of wisdom to his formidable demeanor.

Nobody approached the seated figure, a small drive clutched tightly in his hand. With a solemn expression, he extended the drive towards the elder statesman, wordlessly conveying the importance of its contents. The elder's weathered hands accepted the drive, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized its contents.

As the elder delved into the depths of the drive's data, a flicker of disappointment crossed his features, quickly replaced by a mask of disdain. The atrocities laid bare before him elicited a visceral reaction, his lips curling in disgust at the depravity of his fellow humans.

"To think," he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation, "humans forget who the true enemy is. Since the first crack, they've forgotten the horrors that befell us."

As the words hung heavy in the air, the elder's mind drifted back to a time long ago, when the world trembled at the emergence of the dimensional cracks. He recalled the chaos and devastation wrought by the monstrous entities that spilled forth, the desperate struggle of humanity to stave off extinction.

In his mind's eye, he witnessed the birth of the Dimextians, the rise of the Twelve Great Dimextians who led humanity from the brink of annihilation. He remembered the sacrifices made, the alliances forged, and the triumphs won against impossible odds.

Yet, even as humanity reclaimed its dominion over Earth, the elder knew that the scars of the past ran deep. The memories of loss and suffering lingered, a constant reminder of the fragility of existence and the ever-present threat that loomed on the horizon.

With a heavy sigh, the elder returned his focus to the present, his gaze meeting Nobody's with a mixture of resolve and determination. "We cannot allow humanity to lose sight of its purpose," he declared, his voice tinged with urgency. "We must remind them of the dangers that lurk beyond our world, lest we forget the lessons of our past."

With a nod of approval, the elder acknowledged Nobody and his men, his gaze lingering on Nobody as he spoke. "Well done, all of you," he said, his voice tinged with pride. "You are dismissed."

As the other members began to file out of the chamber, the elder called out to Nobody, his tone softer now, tinged with warmth. "Ajal, stay behind for a moment," he requested.

As the others departed, Ajal remained, his expression a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The elder regarded him with a fondness born of years of companionship and shared experiences. "You did great out there," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I remember when you first came, a lost boy with no hope or attachment to this world. Look at you now, living up to the Dragovich name."

Ajal's gaze shifted, a flicker of emotion crossing his features before he composed himself. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice steady despite the tumult of emotions roiling within him.

The elder's expression softened, a paternal warmth suffusing his features. "Your old man wants to see you," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Quickly, get dressed and go see him."

With a nod of understanding, Ajal made his way to the changing room, joining his comrades as they prepared to depart. As they donned their suits and masks, the room was filled with the sounds of camaraderie and banter.

Among them stood Malex, a handsome young man with an easy smile and a carefree demeanor. Jon, a muscular powerhouse with a penchant for adventure, regaled them with tales of past exploits as he changed into his gear.

Milly, a cute girl with a nerdy vibe and brown hair, giggled at their antics, her laughter ringing out like music in the air. And Kaden, an average-looking guy with a heart of gold, offered words of encouragement to Ajal, his loyalty unwavering.

"Boss, you were really something out there," Kaden remarked, his eyes shining with admiration. "To think you took out Shadowbroker so easily. How strong are you really, boss?"

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Ajal's response was measured, his humility evident even in the face of praise. "I still have a long way to go," he replied, his tone reflective. "But so do all of us. We must continue to strive for greatness."

Milly chimed in, her curiosity piqued. "I wish I could see your face, boss," she said, her expression earnest. "We've worked together for so long, yet I've never seen your face."

Ajal's demeanor shifted, a shadow passing over his features as he brushed off her question. "You guys should get going," he said curtly, his tone final.

As his comrades departed, leaving him alone in the changing room, Ajal's thoughts turned inward, his mask concealing the turmoil within. In that moment of solitude, he wrestled with his demons, his past haunting him like a specter in the night. But he knew that he could not afford to dwell on the past, not when the future beckoned with promise and peril alike. With a steely resolve, he steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that he would face them head-on, as he always had.

As the night descended upon the city, Ajal emerged from his car, dressed in semi-official attire, his white mask concealing his face. With dark grey hair and a well-built physique, he exuded an air of strength and purpose as he approached the imposing building bearing the insignia of the Dragovich Clan. The guards stationed at the entrance, seasoned and vigilant, greeted him with deference, their recognition evident in their flustered demeanor as they ushered him inside without question.

Passing through the grand entrance, Ajal was greeted by the bustling activity within the building. The receptionist acknowledged him with a respectful nod, informing him that the boss was expecting him. Without a word, Ajal made his way to the elevator, his presence commanding attention as he ascended to the highest floor.

As the elevator doors opened, revealing a luxurious chamber beyond, Ajal was met by the imposing figure of Gagliardi Dragovich, the patriarch of the Dragovich Family and leader of the Dragovich Clan and strongest Dimexian. As Ajal stepped into the chamber, his white mask shrouding his face, he couldn't help but feel a sense of insignificance in the presence of Gagliardi Dragovich. The patriarch emanated an overwhelming aura of power and authority, so immense that it seemed to envelop the room, dwarfing Ajal's own presence to that of a mere ant before a colossal whale. Gagliardi's towering figure loomed over him, casting a shadow that stretched across the expanse of the chamber, a physical manifestation of his indomitable strength and influence. Ajal, hidden behind his mask, felt minuscule in comparison, his every movement overshadowed by Gagliardi's commanding presence. The weight of Gagliardi's gaze bore down on him, each glance from those piercing eyes resonating with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. In that moment, Ajal realized that in the presence of the patriarch, he was but a tiny speck in the vast ocean of Gagliardi's dominance.

"You're here," Gagliardi stated, his voice resonating with strength and intensity as he gestured for Ajal to take a seat. As Ajal complied, Gagliardi settled into his own chair, his gaze piercing as he addressed his son.

"I've heard you're back from your mission," Gagliardi remarked, his tone betraying a hint of displeasure. "To think something like this was going on in our territory. How bold they've gotten to dare do this in my territory."

Ajal listened quietly as his father spoke, his expression impassive as Gagliardi continued. "I heard you're starting at the Morning Star Dimextian Academy tomorrow," Gagliardi stated, his disappointment evident. "You'll be leaving there to live on campus."

"Yes, Patriarch," Ajal replied, his voice steady despite the weight of his father's gaze.

Gagliardi's expression softened slightly, a flicker of paternal warmth shining through. "How many times have I told you to call me father?" he chided gently. "Though you're not my biological son, you're still my son. Never forget that you're a Dragovich."

Ajal nodded in acknowledgment, a sense of pride swelling within him at his father's words. "Yes, Father," he affirmed.

"Don't forget," Gagliardi's voice boomed, resonating with the weight of his family's legacy atop the pinnacle of the Ten Great Families. "At the Academy, there will be those who loathe and despise you simply for bearing the Dragovich name. The offspring of our rivals will gnash their teeth and plot against you, fueled by jealousy and resentment. But remember, Ajal, you are not just my son; you are the scion of the Dragovich bloodline, the very embodiment of our supremacy. Let them cast their envious glares and sharpen their claws; they cannot break the steel of your resolve. After all, you carry within you the strength and fortitude of a Dragovich."

Ajal's resolve strengthened at his father's words, his determination unwavering. "Yes, Father," he repeated.

Gagliardi's gaze softened momentarily as he remarked, "And don't think I haven't heard of your recent exploits. Taking down a 1-star Dimextian on your mission, no less. It's just as I expected from my son."

"And don't forget to see your sister," Gagliardi added, a hint of amusement in his tone. "She misses you. It's been a while since she last saw you."

Ajal's heart sank as he realized he had forgotten to bring her a souvenir. Gagliardi chuckled at his son's discomfort. "Get going," he said with a smile. "The driver will take you home."

As Ajal made his way out of the chamber, Gagliardi watched him go, a sense of pride mingling with a tinge of sadness. "How fast they grow," he murmured to himself, his gaze lingering on the night sky beyond.