Malphas stood before Noah, a regal, obsidian figure against the radiant white-gold backdrop of the Shore, his bearing a perfect paradox of absolute power and absolute servitude.
"My Lord," he began, his cultured baritone a calm, steady note in the symphony of the Shore's ambient power, "I will detail any pertinent memories that come to me and let you know. But since you are fighting against time itself, with a great many unknowns, I will get started in aiding you the best way that I can."
The words were spoken with a conviction so profound it seemed to etch itself into the very air.
Noah gave a light, almost imperceptible nod of assent, an acknowledgment that was all the permission Malphas needed.
Malphas closed his eyes. For a moment, he was perfectly still. Then, from the shadows his own form cast upon the golden sands, two more figures began to rise.
