His arrival seemed to provide new energy to the feeble lamp. The pseudopods and claws writhing in the darkness receded beneath the growing light. He raised his head and looked at the person across the small chess table—his beloved, his family, his teacher, one of the few beings capable of pulling his humanity free from vast calculations and dehumanizing models. He opened his soul to the person across from him. Every memory shone as brilliantly as an aurora, and that person examined each one, including his plans for the future and his schemes for accomplishing those theoretically impossible deeds. Every plan was too vast for the memory capacity of any human brain stripped of its selfhood. Each critical juncture spawned no fewer than ten million variations, possibilities that far exceeded the threshold this chessboard could simulate.
The Sorcerer Supreme covered her eyes with a worn piece of gray cloth, a gesture that in some sense symbolized The Venerable One's present predicament. Though skilled in prophecy, she could now only blindly speculate about the future. Amid every deduction and simulation, distant memories washed through the Sorcerer Supreme's mind. Dark storms gathered around them, squeezing the area illuminated by that frail desk lamp. Beyond the faint glow lay endless abyss and chaos, eternal disorder and heat death. They had sworn to fight endless horrors forever, to win a future for the Human Race. They had sworn to fulfill their duty forever; not even death could halt their steps. December 1995—this meant nothing to another dimension, but to the Sorcerer Supreme, it was a glimpse of hope—a child born to accept a mission, destined to endure countless hardships and betrayals.
"Camelot is destined to fall." The Sorcerer Supreme let out a long breath. Her voice caught, as though she were accepting every sin.