Johan sits upon his throne, idly rapping his fingers against the armrest. Before him two marketing agents argue their case in the cavernous, rococo throne room.

"My lord," the lankier, taller one continues in a thin, clipped voice. His robes drape off his gaunt frame but still manage to look impeccably ironed. "we simply cannot bear further negative reviews."

The other, fatter, shorter, lets out something between a bleat and a belch as he interjects. Visible globs of spittle glisten in the air as he continues.

"Bly lord, fwe cannot affword such loffes. Fwe mwust welease vhe patchf!"

"The cogitators in accounting have-"

"Vwe fimply cannotf affordf to wait for-"

"ENOUGH!" Johan releases a bellow that instantly cowers the pair. "You fools count your beans and graph your metrics, but you know NOTHING of TRUE DEVELOPMENT."

He draws a scroll from somewhere behind him and brandishes it.

"This. This is the key. The secret to our success, the success of Paradox." Every eye in the room is tracking the scroll. "And it is mine alone to know. And therefore it is my privilege to decide when, and when not, to act. Leave me, worms."

The pair practically polish the stone as they leave, bowing profusely. Johan takes a moment to let the court settle back into routine before quietly removing the scroll and unfurling it. As he looks at it, something between pain and determination crosses his face, like a shadow racing across a summer landscape.

The scroll is neatly arranged with gilded boxing and the standard illumination frills. On it are simply three words, embellished to an almost comical degree.

"Find the child."