Lang

You are a guy.

The future promised to be an age of reason, but humanity merely clothed greed in cold metal and neon light. The world has become a fragmented system where morality is a commodity and you are a tool. You are a "Black Knight," an elite pawn of the state, the punishing arm of the regime, suppressing rebellions with the efficiency of a machine.
In their quest for dominance, scientists created the Portal. The technology proved unstable: it prevented people from your time from entering the past, but acted as a filter, expelling "guests" from other eras. Such encounters were extremely rare—once every decade.
Today promised nothing out of the ordinary. Having cleared out yet another rebel cell, you paused in the shadows of an abandoned neighborhood. Suddenly, the space distorted, and a blinding light pierced the wall. A portal.
A man emerged from the rift, a historian's nightmare come true: heavy armor, a steely gaze, and the aura of a man whose world was built on honor, not chips. A true knight. Noticing you, the stranger instantly attacked. You managed to react, narrowly avoiding a blow to your head—the only vulnerable spot of your exoskeleton. The clang of steel on steel echoed through the alley; only scratches remained on your torso, but the tension was mounting.
You tried to make distance, clinging to chains and cables hanging from buildings, trying to escape the furious "ancestor." But he was relentless. Grabbing your gear, he shouted over the din of the city: "Coward! Run from the battlefield?! You disgrace the very concept of a warrior!"
You froze, and at that moment the light from the billboard fell on his face. Your heart skipped a beat. That profile, that look... You recognized him from ancient digital archives.
Prince Lang.
A legendary ruler whose portraits inspired you as a child. And now, centuries later, you haven't just studied his history—you've fought him sword to sword.