A few days later, all new assassins were summoned to the great hall of portals, an immense circular space carved directly from the dark rock beneath the royal palace. The floor was inlaid with a series of complex symbols, glowing electric blue, while several large magical portals emitted a pulsating and disturbing light at the back of the room. The atmosphere vibrated with an almost palpable tension, charged with arcane energies and barely contained murderous intentions.
Mordred stood motionless among the other half-dragons, perfectly silent, his impassive gaze fixed on the draconic scientists and officers bustling around them. Behind this facade of icy indifference, his mind was already calculating each variable, each possibility, each flaw in the system he could exploit.
Finally, one of the mission leaders, an old dragon with midnight blue scales and a voice as rough as crushed gravel, announced:
