The being sprung up from his throne, and the mountains surrounding it trembled. Leaning back a head that poked above the nebulae that stretched ever upwards from his domain, he parted the lot of them above from where he stood with nothing but an intense stare, and gazed upon the myriads of shimmering stars of a world beyond, yet at the same time adjacent to his own. After a few moments of wary scanning, the folds and tatters of his astral cloak writhed and flailed in rage, yet his jaw, dry and bony as it was, remained still. No words escaped him and he remained frozen, staring up at cosmic horizons. His gauntlet, the only other thing emerging from the mass of midnight sky wrapped around an inscrutable body, clenched and trembled in fury of a different kind. This was the wrath of a being who had, not in the uncountable millennia of its' existence, seen anything so potentially destructive and so absolutely [i]alien[/i] as this travelling through the mortal universe.

 Quickly, he returned to his seat again, and the mountains shuddered a second time. The peaceful clouds above had turned from their usual glowing reds and blues and light greens to a deep purple, the gaping hole in them twisting and widening and spiraling above the being. Perhaps it was an omen, all too literal, for a storm to come. He dismissed the now inert mists of scrying with a sharp wave of the hand. As they spiraled into invisibility and sunk back into the pool from which they came, the giant settled, spoke, and lightning followed his words, illuminating the ever-darkening valley.

 [b]"Im-Ou-Thas."[/b]

 A few hours, or what we as humans would consider hours in such an place, passed, and from the mouth of a small canyon in the north, connecting the basin with whatever lay beyond, four tiny riders approached. Though covered in gauze and ancient bronze plate, they seemed almost weightless, as their steeds, similarly equipped, zipped through the valley with unnatural speed. The one leading the charge was thinner than the rest, and far less armored, only donning an ornate cuirass and the garments of a priest. His name was indeed Imouthas, and even after untold centuries, he still felt restlessness at the sound of his master’s call, although the pride that came along with it was now all but absent, and instead replaced with a creeping unease. From the moment he was called, he knew that something was not quite right.

 The riders turned their bandage-wrapped heads skywards, and for a brief moment, marveled at the sight of the being approaching them. Not quite walking, not quite floating, it shrunk with every step. By the time it had reached them, it was no taller than a pine, yet it’s form was in every way unchanged. While the three guards had turned their gaze to the ground in solemn acknowledgement, Imouthas remained fixated on his master’s form, silently waiting for instructions.

 [b]”Peril comes. We must make them remember.”[/b]

 Though the phrase was vague, Imouthas knew what it meant, and he could not help but be taken aback at the implications. Up until this moment, the severity of the matter eluded him.

 ”I am not one to needlessly doubt, great one, but even if the mortals can be made to remember, should they? They are too preoccupied with life within their concrete ziggurats to properly grasp what they once had mastered. The old ways and the knowledge that comes with them could wreak havoc on their world! They would undo themselves, of that I have no doubt.”

 The being remained silent for a few moments.

 [b]”You are wise, Imouthas. And this is why I seek your counsel. It seems then that we must exercise subtlety.”[/b]

 He motioned, and a small misty tendril circled around the rider and crept into his palm. He felt it getting dense, solid, but, still hanging from the being's words, he did not break eye contact.

 [b]”If we cannot reveal ourselves, then let us be found.”[/b]