Inside the workshop in Zone 19.
Victor Iron Flame sat poised behind a desk crafted from hundred-year-old wood, where every item on its surface was arranged just so.
He languidly stirred the amber liquid in his glass with a small Mithril spoon. It was a century-old vintage from the Elven Royal Court, every drop worth a fortune.
The entire reception room, from the oil paintings of the Ancient Golem War hanging on the walls to the soft Dragon Hide rug underfoot, spoke volumes of the Tieyan Clan's heritage and his own exacting tastes.
Just then, the soft chime of an encrypted communication channel sounded.
[Be there soon.]
Victor set down his glass and walked out the door.
He leisurely adjusted his immaculate Wizard Robe, preparing to welcome his old friend and rival.
'Let's see what kind of stunt that guy is going to pull this time.'
Victor stood on the terrace outside the workshop, raised his wrist to glance at his communicator, and frowned slightly.
