As the aforementioned events conclude, a rustling can be heard emanating from yet another throne. This throne is constructed from intricate Tomes of varying Sizes, Cover Aesthetics, Subject Matter, and Language. The Book serving as the seat of this throne casually opens itself, revealing a swirling mass of papers. From this maelstrom of parchment emerges a humanoid figure, looking to be a man of no more than fifty, his brow wizened with great age and even greater knowledge. Upon fully dislodging himself from the throne and taking his seat upon it, the deity known as Doren Del chimes in:
"Myes, myes, what the devil is it that you all need now? I was nearly done cataloging the eighteenth century -dull period toward the end, in my opinion, but there ARE bigger things going on, so I won't hold it against them- but as I was nearing the onset of the nineteenth, I received an 'urgent' message to make my way to these chambers posthaste. Now that you've managed to pull me away from my work, and there's only more piling up for me while I'm away, what is it that you need me for?"
"Ah, the senile one has chosen to grace us with his presence," retorts Nex, "and he's got quite the mouthful for us upon entry. Well, just to let you know, your self imposed 'task' has just recently become pointless. Well, MORE pointless."
"What do you mean?" says Doren.
"I MEAN, the Humans are all about to destroy themselves in a most fiery and spectacular fashion. The bombs are flying, and when they fall, there won't be any more for you to catalog, at least not for quite some time."
"Oh..." muttered Doren, as if in shock. "Well, in that case, I'm afraid I'm only wasting time here. I've got to return to my library and finish my catalog as soon as time permits." Doren then begins to sink into his throne, but hesitates, and rises instead, saying:
"But, before I go..." he continues as he steps toward the map below "... I'm going to need help preserving their knowledge of the past..."
William was having a pleasant day. Granted, the looming threat of flying atomic death might cut said day a tad short, but all in all today was a good day. He'd had the library all to himself, an opportunity that'd not presented itself for some time. Glasgow was widely considered to be a center of culture, but that'd not been something that he'd gotten to enjoy. Perhaps it was the neighborhood he had no choice but to inhabit. His family was never poor, but they'd not have been able to afford a house in a more... pleasant community. The Community College he'd attended had a magnificent library, but it was never quite as empty as he'd have liked. He'd never functioned well in crowds, and especially not the kind of crowds the library usually attracted at about this time of year. Mouth-Breathers and Philistines packed shoulder to shoulder, studying in vain for exams they'd not bothered to prepare for. That was the only time any of their ilk could be seen in the Library, and it sickened and confounded William. How could someone be so callous to the beauty of the written word? If he'd had more time, he might have visited the art museum down the street as well, but given the levels of radiation all of Scotland was about to be bathed in, he'd been forced to choose. Alas, it was a tragedy, but there were still a great many books he'd not been able to finish in his previously brief moments of solace in the Library. He could've ran into the woods like his parents and siblings, perhaps believing that they'd be alright, but he knew better. Even if they did manage to escape the radiation, no matter how much they may have believed themselves prepared, they'd not be suited toward life in the wilderness. He wouldn't be suited to it either, but at least he was capable of recognizing it. Perhaps he'd see them again in whatever ethereal realm lay beyond his own, but that was a bridge he'd cross when he came to it.
While musing upon this, something begins to happen to the book he'd been holding. Just a moment ago, it'd been a rather weighty Anthology of Science Fiction that he'd been meaning to finish, but as he looked back at it, it began to change shape. When it had finish shifting and molding into a new structure, it looked amazing. It had a cover carved from old oak, and bound with rune-etched plates, its binding resembled links of chain forged from a dark, cold metal, and its pages were composed of the most exquisite vellum. As he finished admiring this new book, it occurred to him that opening the book might yield interesting results. He was not wrong, for when he opened the book, he saw blank pages that immediately began to write on themselves. At first, they resembled esoteric markings of a nature beyond his ken, but these began to unfurl themselves into a more familiar language. The first block of text to become fully readable turned out to be instructions. Actually, they were more like orders. They read:
"You must go to the Museum. There are important documents in its basement. More importantly, the students and teachers of the local Schools have decided to take refuge in this place. They will not be safe there. Bring them back here, and further paths will open themselves."
