Once upon a time, before he revealed his true nature to the world, Leones’ companions had named him Brother Augur for his uncanny ability to seemingly predict the future. Often he presented himself as an oracle or fortune teller, subtly influencing the paths of Archons and other renowned heroes. Over the years he learned to disguise himself, lest anyone too clever noticed the similarities between Aramadat’s vizier and the foreign Desert Prophet.

A grim irony, considering his world no longer had a future. Though he navigated through time, cultivating his power to the limit, fate is the domain of demons. In thirty five years, he lived thirty five lifetimes. It was still not enough to prevent the Frontier from collapsing. Not enough to save the other Archons from their destinies. Even as the unquestioned leader of the pantheon, directing mankind to the best possible path in as short a time as possible, the ending remained inevitable.

In this moment, he wandered through the streets of Velassa, reminiscing about his childhood. Or at least, he remembered his memories of his youth, distorted over the years to the point he was not sure if it was his story or someone else’s.

His boots made no sound against the cobblestones. The streets were empty, though on occasion he glimpsed people through windows. Drained of most color, like statues whose paint had faded over time. Cowering in their homes. A mother holding her bundled child close to her chest. A determined youth clenching a nicked and rusty sword, mouth open as he argued with his parents; that one in particular stirred something deep within him, a small ripple in the placid lake of his soul. All of these figures frozen in place, never to move or think or love again. No signs of life remained in their faces. Though he knew it was foolish, he hoped their souls had escaped to a better place.

Not even the wind stirred.

Once upon a time, Astaroth had mocked him from atop his golden throne. That bastard of bastards. The architect of Savra’s collapse. The demon lord claimed everything Leones had done had only helped the Goetia. Twisting time, tampering with fate, disrupting the foundations of reality enough for them to widen the cracks. A magic that could disrupt and confound even the Goetia could likewise affect the Physical Realm.

As his reward, he alone was left to wander the corpse of his world.

Light exists in a special realm outside of time; it resides, strangely, in an infinite moment, defined only by itself. Slightly below the speed of light, time dilates. Slightly faster, it goes backward. But at the speed of light itself, time does not exist. It is zero. Much like himself---the only light in a world drained of color, experiencing eternity through movement. And so he wandered, forever.

The demons left him alone for the most part. Sometimes they would manifest nearby, mocking the mortal they had once feared above all, like fools taunting a caged lion. Before the Stasis, they would never have dared step within a hundred miles of him, unless they wished to be trapped within a temporal prison. Cut off from Desolada, left to reflect on their foolishness.

Once Savra collapsed, all of them had been freed. Some sought revenge, though he retained enough prowess to break down their corporeal forms and return them to the mindless collective consciousness from which they sprang.

The dead world held many secrets. With nothing to oppose him, he plundered every forbidden library. He journeyed far beyond the Civilized Lands. He harvested the cores of feral gods and learned the languages of other sapients. His feet carried him over beaches of bonedust, through palaces carved from jade. Far and wide he searched, seeking something. Anything. Someone to converse with besides the mocking demons. A way to uncouple his universe from its unholy union with Desolada.

And, eventually, he found something. Not a solution, but perhaps an escape. A recording within the Great Web of the mind-arachnids. A tale told in spun silk. Of one of the Goetia, banished from reality, existing within his own pocket dimension beyond Creation.

Brother Augur’s feet now carried him to the site of his family manor, rebuilt from memory into a holy temple dedicated to Archon Leones. For a while, he reminisced about the past. Then he settled into the lotus position and began to meditate.

A massive door appeared within his mind, stretching to the heavens above and the hells below. Ornate, golden, with countless runes etched along its unfathomable length. In his mind he recited the chant recorded within the Great Web. He begged, cried, threatened. His tenuous sanity slipped. For an eternity, he sat before the door.

Finally, he made an oath. Help me, and I help you.

And slowly, inexorably, the door cracked open.