A wave of strength and vitality washed over him, the exhaustion in his muscles receding, replaced by a renewed sense of power.
As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he realized it wasn't absolute. The room was filled with a soft, ambient light, emanating from glowing strips set into the floor and ceiling. As his headlamp beam swept across the space, the lights began to brighten, responding to their presence, revealing a sight that stole the air from his lungs.
This was no laboratory. It was a sanctuary.
The floor was made of polished, dark hinoki cypress wood, the same wood from his fragmented memories of the dojo. The walls were a seamless blend of traditional Japanese shoji screens and high-tech holographic displays. The air was clean, filled with the faint, calming scent of sandalwood and ozone.
In the center of the room, on a raised dais, was a single, simple weapon rack. And on it, resting on a stand of polished obsidian, was a katana.
