The rap on the office door burst through Neviah's thought process like a thunderbolt.

The professor jumped out of her office chair with a gasp, nearly dropping the tome she'd been engrossed in. A quick, startled look to the window revealed no trace of sunlight. It seemed like only five minutes ago that she'd had lunch. Biting her lower lip, she gingerly marked her place in the book and set it to the side, resting atop reams of calculations and scribbled notes.

The knock came again, a polite rap-rap-rap even as she climbed out of her chair. "One moment," she called, hastening to the door.

The guest on the other side wasn't someone she'd seen before - neither a student nor another member of faculty. A taller, older man in formal Victorian clothing, hair pulled back into a short and tightly-constrained ponytail. Only the subtle greenish tinge to the skin around his neck betrayed something amiss.

"Dr. Younger, correct?" the man asked with a cant of his head.

"Ah, yes," Neviah answered, straightening subtly and folding her hands. "I wasn't expecting visitors. Is there something you need?"

"Forgive my imposition. I have been following your research. I thought you might have some interest in another perspective." The man tilted his head to the other side.

Neviah's eyebrows arched shallowly. "I'm not quite sure what you mean, mister, ah...."

"Mihtla." The man shrugged slowly. "You aren't the only one of us from that forgotten world. A group of us have been working for generations to reclaim the world's uniqueness. You've come farther than any of us in learning about the lost history. If you'd like, I can share with you some of what our organization has learned."

The young professor blinked slowly, taken aback by the prospect of someone else giving a damn about the lost world of her origin. The surprise quickly gave way to a polite invitation as she forced herself to step back and gesture into her office with a sweep of a hand. "Ah, yes, of course, come in. I'd be interested in hearing that. You mentioned an organization?"

The two settled to either side of Neviah's desk. The little jar of mint candies on the desktop had been refilled. Mihtla took one politely, balancing it between two fingers.

"There are a few organizations that manage to hold together," he explained, "but there are those who call us the Cult of Rot...."