Luka Doncic stood alone in the ancient underbelly of the American Airlines Center. Around him were the crumbling remains of the Spanish mission upon which the arena had been built. Some months ago, Dirk had shown him the secret stairways which led to the forgotten stone corridors and ever-burning torches. Many secrets were held here, Dirk had teased. And now Luka had returned, on the eve of Dirk’s retirement from the NBA, to uncover those secrets.
Luka shivered. There was an unnatural chill in the air. The decrepit structures around him were centuries old, Luka knew, but the place had an almost ancient feeling about it, as if there were even older spirits lurking in the shadows and sighing against the dusty walls. It was creepy, and part of Luka wanted to forget about the whole thing. But Dirk’s words remained firmly in his mind, and if his experiences with the NBA veteran had taught him anything, it was that when Dirk said something, it was wise to listen carefully to it.
Walking along a wall, Luka ran his hand against the rough stone that was chipped in places. Occasionally, he would find a spot where a chunk of stone was missing, the improvised mortar having failed sometime in the intervening centuries. Everything was shrouded in an aura of mystery, not least because Luka was only the second person to ever know about this spot. Dirk was the first.
Suddenly, Luka’s body was ensnared by an unexpected breeze. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it constricting his chest. A draft from some unseen ventilation duct to the outside? No. A simple draft wouldn’t have behaved with such…intentionality. The strange pressure on his chest eased as abruptly as it had started, but now Luka felt something else, like an invisible hand pushing his back in a certain direction. Unsettled, but also feeling the stirrings of anticipation with him, he let this mysterious force guide him to a different part of the mission.
Hundreds of feet away from the bottom of the stairs which had taken him to this storied place, the torches lining the walls were fewer and farther between. The creepy dimness made Luka want to take out his phone to use a flashlight, but he resisted this urge. It seemed sacrilegious, somehow. The guiding force on his back had departed him, so he stopped next to a wall where half the stones had already tumbled to the floor. This was where he was supposed to be. He felt it inside of him. But what was the secret which Dirk had alluded to?
Luka again ran his hands over the wall, but this time, he was feeling for something, anything that was out of place. After doing this for a minute, he felt somewhat foolish, but continued until his hand brushed a bit of wall that was looser than it should have been. His heart rate quickening, he grabbed and pulled; the stone fell right out. Upon reaching into the new gap, which wasn’t new but actually quite old, Luka’s fingers hit what felt like a piece of paper.
Taking the paper to the closest torch and being very aware of the embers that were spitting off the light source, Luka unfolded it and read:
“Congratulations, explorer. The one who uncovers this message is the one who is deemed worthy to continue my legacy. Do not take the responsibility lightly. What you put into the Mavericks, you will receive back tenfold. Remember that, and good luck. I will be watching.
-Dirk Nowitzki”
Luka read the note once, twice, a third time. In the middle of the third reading, he realized that there were tears in his eyes. He clutched the scrap of paper to his chest, grimacing to hold back the sobs that wanted to come out, but it was fruitless. “Thank you,” he whispered, falling to his knees as tears dripped unhindered to the dirt floor. “Thank you.”