Thunder sounded over the Western land of Mobius, a tremor that seemed to reach from the sky above deep into the core of the planet itself. Beneath the ageless shifting sands of the Great Desert an ancient mind roused itself from a fitful slumber and turned its thoughts questing outward. At the same time another mind of equal age and power also stirred to life, sending out a summons from its rocky prison. These old and powerful minds met somewhere between the points of sleeping and waking, their communication passing as a dreaming half-wakefulness like that of two sleep talkers about to reach full consciousness.

I feel the lifeblood of Mobius seeping away, thought the entombed mind of Drake, the Manticore. The land is being ravished, and none can oppose the despoilers.

The Other's mind, darker and more sinister, kept silent as it brooded on this.

We must stop them, continued Drake's spirit-voice. We must rise once more, take up the mortal coil, and do battle with the evil that threatens.

A hiss like the rasp of a sandstorm blew through the desert. This was the only answer from the Other buried beneath the dunes. It was enough, for they understood each other well, having bonded in ways that only long centuries of facing death together could bring.

The minds of the Warriors united for a brief instant. Sharing thoughts and plans and hopes and schemes. For so long they had been unable to reach beyond the confines of their funerary prisons, and it had worn on them. But now the Last Legion was rising to face the challenge that threatened their world, and with the return of the Unicorn and the Gryphon the remaining Warriors felt their bonds loosening and their power to affect the mortal world returning after being absent for so long.

The Last Legion has been chosen, crowed the Manticore in triumph. They need only find us now. The Oracle walks the land with power and might, and she shall bring them to us. Soon all shall be made right. We will make it right!

Vague and grim thoughts answered the confidence of the Manticore, quelling his enthusiasm and turning it to irritation.

Of course they'll come. Of course they'll accept the Mantle. They must! They love this planet, don't they? They wouldn't have been chosen if they didn't.

Still the Other was unconvinced. The Manticore growled at it.

Nothing will stop them. Nothing can. We won't let it. Oracle has power again, and she can keep them safe. Soon we'll both breathe the air again and see the sky. You want to see the sky, don't you?

This time the answer was not so grim. Those with a more optimistic outlook might even have said that the reply was hopeful, in a pessimistic sort of way. Since the Manticore was of just such a positive outlook, his enthusiasm seemed to boom from under the earth and metal that covered his body, only slightly dimmed by the death that had claimed him.

Soon, Basilisk, soon enough they'll be here. Mark my words. Soon enough. Then we'll make the slime pay for what they did to our world.

Basilisk, the Cockatrice whose gaze meant instant death, let this last sentiment echo in its mind, for once agreeing totally with the enthusiastic Manticore. They would indeed make the fiend who had despoiled their world pay for his crimes. With interest. But now the Cockatrice felt the need to rest once more, and let itself drift back into the body that had once been its own. There it would await the coming of its replacement. When that replacement arrived, Basilisk would fill him with the terrible power of the Cockatrice, and, united as a new being, they would rise from the sands, reborn and ready to wreak havoc on the foes of Mobius. The forbidding reptilian intellect of his teammate withdrawn, Drake found himself alone with the thoughts that now made up his existence. Finding this more than a little boring, he decided that conserving his energy probably would be best for the time being. Still, he paused for a moment, and then reached out to touch the mind and heart of the one who would soon come to take his place.

Maybe you can't hear me, mortal, but I know you can feel me, Drake growled in the ear of his chosen Mantle-bearer. The mortal brushed at his ear and then resumed whatever he was doing. Drake continued. Just remember this: trust the Owl, she's a friend. Follow her wherever she leads, and whatever happens I promise there'll be hope. Hope for us all. Just trust her enough to see if what she says is true. I promise she'll never steer you wrong.

This time the one who would become the Manticore scratched his head and looked around in puzzlement, as though searching for someone who had tapped him on the shoulder. Drake growled cheerfully and then let himself fade away, flowing back into the grave that held him trapped.

Soon, he rumbled to himself, making the ground that covered him rumble as well. All too soon.