"The avatar of this planet has spoken with me. I know what the Seventh Throne is. At this moment, I ought to be ordering my armies to attack the Kree, so tell me something worth my time."
The emperor had little respect for the dry, elderly shaman before him, with his tangled black hair and beard. But among everyone present—more precisely, aside from the emperor, there was not a single being in this cave that could truly be called human—no one cared about his attitude toward Agamotto. As Agamotto himself had said, he could not even remember the last time he had bathed. Under such circumstances, he could hardly expect "the woman who anoints her skin with perfume"—specifically Inanna—and her companion to show him any respect.
In fact, Inanna was not as rude as the emperor.
She had remained cautious, whether facing the Sorcerer Supreme or Agamotto, because she knew the coming conversation might touch upon secrets the emperor would rather not know. But the emperor already had his answer—the Seventh Throne was not particularly secret to him. His well-trained mind and accumulated knowledge had allowed him to form a vague deduction about his own birth before receiving the answer. The information Agamotto provided did not exceed his expectations.
"Behind the Curtain, time does not exist. The master of the Seventh Throne both exists and does not exist." Agamotto sat on the ground. This old fellow had once been quite handsome, at least five hundred thousand years ago. Now he was merely an old shaman in tattered robes, utterly unconcerned with whatever smell he gave off. In the tone of a teacher instructing an apprentice, he said to Inanna, "Imagine several chairs arranged on a theater stage. Some are already occupied by their owners, while others bear only names. The