Standing from the throne was a titanic figure with pitch-black armor, broken up by a few plates of gleaming crimson. His face was obscured by a cloud of black flame, pierced only by two narrow, burning red eyes that traced the visitor’s every move. He strode forward, saying, “Tell me, Umarak. Are you fond of this world?”

“Of course, Protector. You have shaped Okoto into a wonderful land, where all can live in peace under your rule.”

“Good. I have a very important task for you. If you do not complete it, then I—no, this entire world—may very well cease to exist.”

Nodding, Umarak said, “Then I will accept. I will do whatever it takes to aid you, Protector of Time.”

“You are about to embark on a very perilous journey, Umarak. Once you have left, it will be impossible to turn back.”

“Where will you be sending me, Protector?”

The Protector chuckled. “It is not a matter of where, Umarak. It is a matter of when.”