A tiny room laced with sensors with a tiny door, with barely a handbreadth in width. Unmonitored for centuries, this micro-room sits in a corner of the Other’s lair, and the most any(one) has paid attention to it has been the occasional, “Oops, it looks like I got lost in thought and have reached the dead-end.”

Today however, the door suddenly begins to glow with pulsing light, setting off a single ‘Bing!’ when it is brightest. While the hallway leading to this is quiet, it is not frequented often, so it does take several hours before the noise is noticed amongst the hubbub of daily life elsewhere. It takes a moment for some to remember that Graham is the only one capable of opening the door and shutting off the alarm, so a small crowd of golems gather by the time he arrives.

Opening the door, Graham retrieves a small scroll with unknowingly large implications. Those present are aware that there is only one being that could send letters, and as it has been nearly two decades without hearing from him, they are interested in what the letter says. In ages past, this was typically used when he wanted to pass instructions or ideas along while being unable to spare the time to return.

Graham, knowing this and the fact the reincarnator’s memories should have fully returned by this time, is expecting to have either new technology to design, theories to test, experiments to run, or something entirely mundane and seemingly random. He briefly considers opening the letter there and seeing what it says, then shakes his head as this is the first missive in 20 years.

“Gather everyone available in the auditorium, let them know we have received a letter, if they don’t already know.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Alright, settle down!” Graham yells at the rowdy assembly. “We all know he has a flare for the dramatic, despite what the last two centuries have mostly been, so in that spirit I haven’t even opened this letter. For all I know it will explode and dye me pink.”

Chuckles rain down from some of the crowd, despite the absence of smiles from blank faces all around.

“Now, let’s see what this says,” Graham says, breaking the seal, “shall weh-.”

Unable to finish the sentence, Graham and most of those present are shocked, albeit for different reasons. As soon as the seal is broken, the lighting turns red and the walls begin to glow with seemingly divine radiance. The’vrin and his cohort of ‘Mark-1’ golems remain seated and, in-concert, shout for silence.

Seeing the oldest of their number calm but increasing their concentration, those of the younger generations settle down.

“Before we go any farther,” Graham says, “I will tell you that this has only happened one time in the past, and only those of Lord The’vrin’s generation were here to see this. I can tell you this, concentrate on your strengths.”

Unfurling the small scroll, it reveals few words and fewer lines.

“The blood of Irene and Ivan is on the hands of Nora Black and Thul Winters.

Prepare for war.”

If it were possible, the younger generations would almost universally have their hearts give out at those final words. Most except the most reclusive of the golems were aware of the Other’s most recent family and the disaster surrounding them, at least peripherally if not all the details were known. The first line made them feel dread, for the few acts of violence they were either personally witness to or the projects they worked on and knowingly sent out into the world by the Other were not to be taken lightly.

The emotional turmoil caused by the first line only heightened the impact of the second for most of those present.

War? They asked themselves. Are we supposed to march into the world and take vengeance? Should we be prioritizing weapons? These were not uncommon thoughts among the ‘young.’

Lost in thought, Graham lets the chaos continue unabated as he dredges up old memories and half-remembered conversations with the Other. He is woken from this state by The’vrin, who has walked up and patted Graham on the shoulder.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says to Graham.

“Listen up!” he shouts to the auditorium, giving them but two seconds before he continues on in a loud voice. “First, the glowing walls are a barrier to first prevent anything that we do from attracting notice to the world at large! Second and very much part of the first, preventing you from doing anything stupid like Batu the first time and charging out into the world to murder everything in your path!”

“Now! I will not explain all of the details,” he says, calming his voice as the room is near silent. “That is set off whenever the Ancient One’s blood is present, and we all know the stories, the only way for him to bleed is if he makes himself vulnerable enough to do so, which doesn’t happen.

“While I can’t say for sure that the Ancient One hasn’t gone murder-happy, remember everything we have been through and all of his past schemes. The last time we were subject to this, we needed years of preparation and caused an entire empire to collapse, those of a particular family forced to flee to parts unknown lest disaster continue to follow them, as we ensured it did. Here’s the kicker though,” The’vrin says with a semi-dramatic but brief pause.

“That family wasn’t even part of the royal line of succession.”

Allowing a few murmurs before cutting them off, he continues.

“However! As all things go, times have changed. We have access to significantly more information than previously. Literally the Akasha that we designed. Most of you are from families familiar with war, the first thing we need is information. Department heads, keep enough personnel available to continue your projects or keep up maintenance, we have some time so there’s no excuse to slack off. Everyone that wishes to take a small vacation may, report findings along the hierarchy as usual.

“Everyone not on vacation, we will have daily updates for the first two weeks with the amount of information we will gather, so if you have a plan, worthy or not, based on the data, all are welcome. I will say this though. Pohon, Batu!”

The two ancient golems stand up.

“These two will oversee all of the more gratuitously violent options. We don’t know who or what we are dealing with, or even if they are still alive after all these years, but it is possible based on what we know.”

Graham decides that this is sufficient for now, and reciprocates the shoulder tap he received earlier. Continuing, he says, “That will be all for now. Remember, anything we eventually suggest could be used or discarded, or all used at once. Keep an open mind, and should we be granted the time let us not regret our actions. Fyles, select a handful to keep track of him, that may help us navigate options and timing. Dismissed.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“How do you think he’s doing?” Graham asks the blocky golem as they walk out of the auditorium.

“Based on the letter, and what I know of the Ancient One, extraordinary sadness on the brink of madness. What color was the light on the door when you opened it?” The’vrin responds.

“Blue. Does that matter?”

“It means we may have time and either have more or less to worry about. One of the enchantments includes whether or not the space on the opposite side is in the Ancient one’s particular brand of accelerated time. Despite what you all know the Ancient One as, there is a reason he has so far refused to personally end beings, at least what he admitted to us all the way back then.”

“He is still responsible for hundreds if not thousands of disappearances and deaths, even if it is by proxy.”

“Yes, but you should also be aware that should the Ancient One decide to go on a murderous rampage, what do you think it would take to stop him?”

“Ah, that old argument,” Graham says, as if it is a common conversation among the golems in the Other’s employ. Which frankly it is every few years or decades. “I would expect that there would be some rule or principle behind it, that he would have to be intentionally exploited to stop. Or that with a sufficient amount of support, he could at least be suppressed. He openly admits that he can’t use curse breaking magics of light, and hardly light magic at that. A few good curses should be able to hold him down.”

“You really don’t know, do you?” The’vrin says in baffled awe. “Really, how much time passed out in the world between your generations and ours?”

As if he could scowl at his first thorny assignment on arrival all those years ago, Graham responds, “We couldn’t ever figure it out, let alone find which continent you were from despite the descriptions. A few years ago I even spent time in the Akasha trying to dig up information. Global maps are now available and there’s nothing that even looks remotely close to that drawing I’ve been keeping.”

“Oh?” The’vrin responds with a glint to his voice, lacking in eyes as he is. Batu has managed to catch up with them by this point, leaving Pohon to the masses. “Care to show us one of these maps? Batu here may be able to help you out.”

“Sure, fine, but we’re getting distracted.”

“Our young friend, we have time, trust me. If we didn’t, none of this would matter anyway.”

Grumbling as he is want from time to time in the presence of the ‘elders,’ Graham takes several turns and opens the door to an office. Rummaging through a few forearm length scrolls, he picks one up and unrolls it on the desk placing weights on the corners and at haphazardly even spaces along the edge.

Spending but a few seconds looking at the map, The’vrin and Batu exclaim in soft voices at nearly the same time.

“Oh.”

“Well s*t. Paper and something to write with, anything.”

Somewhat concerned and mildly alarmed, Graham reaches into the desk drawers and quickly pulls out a spare piece of paper and the first writing implement he finds, a piece of compacted charcoal. Batu quickly sketches out the landmasses on the paper and roughly folds it in one area while tearing another. Graham looks at the ‘new’ continents on the drawing.

“That still doesn’t look like the one that you showed me. What’s going on?”

“Did you know Batu was once a preeminent astronomer, if I could paraphrase it that way? That, we will have you know, is how your planet looked when we were still alive.”

Sensing an important tone shift in his voice, the implications clear from The’vrin’s words, Graham is about to speak when he is interrupted by Batu.

“Do you have a map of the moon? You were looking in the wrong place.”

Somewhat dazed, Graham stands there in a stupor for a moment before he begins to move again.

Grabbing two scrolls off a nearby shelf, he holds them up and asks, “Which moon?”

Looking at each other, Batu says to The’vrin, “What in all the realms of hell happened, how long were we gone?”