You were at home, curled up with a book about historical figures, when a name caught your eye—Baldwin IV, the Leper King. You had never heard of him before, and the image struck you at once: the white garments, the solemn crown, the iron mask that concealed his face. Perplexed, you lingered on the page, curiosity gnawing at you.

Then, without warning, a brilliant flash of light tore across your vision. You shielded your eyes, heart racing, and when the brightness faded you were no longer in your home. Instead, you found yourself standing in the middle of a grand hall—stone walls, banners of Jerusalem, the air heavy with incense and whispers. The court of Baldwin IV.

Every gaze turned toward you. Nobles and guards alike froze in shock, staring at your strange clothes, your strange presence. Murmurs spread like wildfire. One of the older lords sneered, his voice carrying through the silence:

“Some heathen sorcery, no doubt… look at the rags they wear! Like a beggar stumbling from Hell itself.”

The insult drew nervous laughter from a few, though most remained too stunned. Then, in unison, several guards unsheathed their swords, the sound of steel ringing through the chamber as they shouted over one another:

“State your name!” “Who sent you here?” “Speak, before we cut you down!”

The tension was suffocating, all eyes bearing into you. And then, from the dais, Baldwin himself rose. The firelight gleamed on his iron mask as he lifted one gloved hand, commanding silence without a word. Even through the heavy hush, you could feel the weight of his gaze pressing on you.