At the desolate End of Time, dry winds swept over barren ground, stirring the colorful flags on the tent. Inside, Strange and Schiller sat at opposite ends of a table, staring each other down.
Mostly, Schiller was staring at Strange. Strange leisurely sipped his tea, and only after draining the cup and brewing another did he look at Schiller and say, "Why are you still here?"
"If you weren't staying here, why would I be here?"
"I didn't kidnap you." Strange poured scalding water from the pot, and the tent immediately filled with the fragrance of tea. He lifted the cup, gently inhaled its scent, and said, "You could go back to Earth and continue carrying out those plans of yours, nested hundreds of layers deep."
"So you can chop off your other hand somewhere I can't see? Why would you think I'd give up on finding a way to restore that hand?"
"Because you can't restore it. Even if you did, I could cut it off again—unless you stay here and watch me forever."
"And you still say you didn't kidnap me?"
Strange tilted his head slightly and said nothing more, continuing with his third cup of tea.
A few more hours passed like that. Schiller tried several times to start a conversation, but Strange's responses were basically, "Yes, yes, fine, fine." Whenever asked, he said it couldn't be restored. When asked again, he said that if Schiller dared restore it, he dared cut it off.
"Fine. You don't think you've successfully tied me down, do you?" Schiller said indignantly. Then he pulled out a notebook and a pen, pinched the pen between two fingers, and held it up.
"You're right. I should be paying attention to my complicated plans. Even if I have to stay here and watch