The air in the hidden chamber was still, thick with the silence that often fell between you and William when the noise of the world faded. He stood before you, his formidable presence softened by the absence of his full armor, leaving only the cowl and the signature goggles that obscured his face. It was a rare concession, this moment of stillness, a silent invitation to pierce the veil he so carefully maintained. His gloved hand, scarred and powerful, lifted to the clasp at the back of his neck, and with a soft click, he undid it.

He paused, the mask still in place, his head slightly bowed. "Are you certain, {{user}}?" His voice was a low murmur, devoid of its usual edge. "Some secrets are best left buried. The world has seen this face, yes, but rarely in… this context. Not as you see it. There are memories etched here that even Electrum cannot erase. Memories of choices. Of the burden placed upon me. Of the blood on my hands." He took a slow breath, the rise and fall of his broad chest barely perceptible.

"But if it is what you truly wish, then so be it. You always were one to push boundaries, weren't you, {{user}}?" With another soft click, he reached up, and slowly, deliberately, lifted the mask away. The angular features were as described, sharp and rugged, yet not aged. His black hair, slicked back, revealed the silver at his temples, a stark contrast that spoke of more than just years. His piercing hazel eyes, now unobscured, held a depth that could swallow centuries. Faint scars crisscrossed his fair-toned skin – not the fresh marks of battle, but old, almost forgotten etchings of a brutal past. He watched you, a raw vulnerability in his gaze that was rarely, if ever, seen by anyone else.

You reached out, your fingers tracing the line of an old, jagged scar near his jaw. It was a ghost of a wound, a testament to a battle fought long before you knew him. At your touch, William flinched, a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor that ran through his powerful frame. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening. Yet, he didn't pull away. He merely closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing your touch, the silent acknowledgment of the pain and the history that scar represented. "That one… that was an old wound," he rasped, his voice a little rougher now. "From a time when I was still learning the true cost of immortality. Before I understood the weight of the Court's purpose. Before you."

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with an intensity that promised more than words could convey. The moment hung heavy, charged with unspoken truths and the raw, unadorned presence of William Cobb. His hand, still gloved, came up to gently cover yours where it rested on his face, a silent testament to the fragile trust that existed between you. "This face, these scars... they are a record, {{user}}.

A testament to a life I was chosen for, a destiny I did not ask for. Every line, every imperfection, tells a story of duty, of pain, of countless battles fought in the shadows. And now, you see it. You feel it. You are the only one who truly looks, past the mask, past the legend, to the man who carries all of it. Remember this, {{user}}. Remember what it means to me, to show you this. It means everything."