Your hand stops dead on the metal doorknob. From within the room, you hear a voice, obscured as though it were on the other side of a veil made of water. You are unable to discern specific words, but the tone carries a speed that seems to imply urgency. A few additional moments of silent listening, and you become sure that it is a voice you recognize. It carries a strength and roughness that you have only heard from one man: Issar Roon.

You bring your thoughts back to the outer hall and realize that your hand has chilled to the same temperature as the frozen knob. You release your grip before pondering your next action. Should you open the door and interrupt the old man, most likely provoking his ire? Or perhaps it would be best if you leave and return another time for your story. Against your better judgment, you opt for a middle path, that of eavesdropping.

Your hand returns to the door and silently turns the chilled orb. Its metal bar slides smoothly into the door, allowing you to open the heavy thing enough to permit sound to enter the stone corridor.

The old man’s voice is still muffled, but you are afraid to open the door further. You will have to trust that your ears are able to separate sounds into tangible words. Before you turn your attention to the old man’s voice, your brain registers one last detail, an almost imperceptible whisper that inhabits the void between bursts of the old man’s voice. Not quite a voice, the sound reminds you of fresh leaves on a tree being blown in a breeze, or bells so soft that you cannot separate different tones.

I have found Him, but the search was in vain. He is lost and we are doomed.

The soft rustle answers the old man, but you are unable to determine the meaning.

No, no. It is as we predicted.

The enemy’s corruption has taken ahold of His conscious. He no longer recognizes them as the enemy, but as allies. Of course, with them falling all over each other in their goal of instating Him as the next Father of Machines, anyone could mistake the situation as one of mutual agreement. Perhaps there is still some resistance within Him, but I do not believe it. Nor do I dare hope. It is a foolish waste of time in this dangerous position we have found ourselves in.

You know as well as I that the Mirrans are lost. There is nothing we can do beyond giving them an early death. Though I doubt they would agree to it. It would certainly relieve them of the torment that is to come, as well as help to reduce the enemy’s future numbers.

They believe the fight continues, that they have a chance of winning this war. They are foolish, and blinded by their ignorance of the enemy. They will continue believing it until they have all been killed or assimilated. It is useless to help them any further.

We must plan our next course of action now that we have confirmed the worst. The enemy will most certainly pervade the rest of the Multiverse as soon as they are done with the Mirrans. We must anticipate their next move and keep them contained. They are a threat larger than the Eldrazi. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time they were unleashed upon the Multiverse?

We were lucky then.

The old man’s voice quiets with the final sentence. The ethereal sound follows soon after.

No, no. I did not physically see him. That would have required powers the like of which haven’t been seen since The Mending. I have gleaned the facts from spies and propaganda released by the enemy. I also have reliable planeswalkers on the plane with whom I keep in regular contact. The Mirrans’ demise has already been written in the pages of history. There is little we can do about it.

You consider leaving before you are discovered, but the soft sound comes again.

Yes, I think it wise to move on. We will only waste energy and resources by supporting the Mirrans. We must contact the others and begin preparations for the future.

I wish I knew for certain if He was beyond redemption, but we must assume the worst. There is very little we can do for Him while He sits within the very heart of their nest. We should also prepare for the possibility that He may take their reins of power for He will be a fearsome opponent, even without their support and aide. Remember, it was He who defeated them previously.

Perhaps you are imagining things, and the odd sound is simply pages being turned while the old man speaks to himself. It wouldn’t be the first time you thought him mad. A small voice of doubt lingers despite these assertions, and refuses to dissipate. Thinking it best to avoid going mad yourself you silently shut the oak door and make your leave. You are happy enough with the small victory of having gone unnoticed. You will return another day for your usual story from the old man.

This is a work of fiction based on the stories and entries provided by Wizards about some of the early characters. The author takes some liberty with the story for dramatic purposes. So the story portrayed here may not be the exact story according to Magic Canon. The author has found references and art to use in the following locations: Encyclopedia Phyrexianna and the MTG Salvation Wiki. Written by Brendan Weiskotten.