[Ivy Town, New England] An Unexpected Herald

The New England region of the United States was most commonly defined by its dense urban centers. Manhattan, Gotham, Philidelphia, Metropolis - one would wonder if all of this country was concentrated within a handful of cities on the eastern seaboard. Among this groundswell of concrete and industry were pockets of smaller civilization, society that appreciated the isolation their relative existence assured for themselves. Ivy Town was one such pocket. A quiet, humble art town, defined by its cozy academia and remoteness from anything bigger than five-story building.

Famine would never reach his destination.

As the Horseman drew closer to the pocket town in question, there were at times an odd sensation. It was subtle enough that its nature could not quite be discerned, but not so much that its presence could not be felt by one such as the Black Rider. The highway went on for interminable stretches, more and more of which had fewer and fewer cars passing by, either in the same direction or going the other way. Eventually, Famine was the only person on the road for... it had become unclear for how long. The radio, ostensibly untouched, remained his one companion through this leg of the highway that was identical. Perfectly identical.

After some time through this respite, the simulacrum parted, if only just. Ahead, standing in the middle of the road, was a tall figure clad in blue and gold. The sun, looking down on this scene from a far side, glinted against the side of his helmet. The stranger stood in a neutral stance, his arms at his side as he stared ahead at the Lincoln progressively getting closer to him. The outside breeze whipped his golden cloak into a billowing frenzy, again and again while he continued to stare ahead. He showed no intention of getting out of the way.

For all the mystery about this scene, the arcane weight behind this man's presence was unmistakable.

The man barely moved a muscle as he waited for the car to come to a stop at the side of the road. If not for the rapid movements of his cape and how it reacted with his body, he could have passed for some manner of garish statue. His attention remained fixed on Famine as he exited the car and walked over to him, phone in hand. His head moved slightly, studying the man now that he was close enough. A shimmering effect runs across the surface of the golden helmet, however faintly. There is no mistaking this now.

"And where might you be going, stranger?" Despite the helmet having no facial facsimile or openings to speak out of, a voice emanates from within just the same. It is old, discerning, and for someone like Famine, familiar.

No such offer was forthcoming. Doctor Fate continued to behold this creature standing before him with scrutiny, as one eyed a predator. Though he raised his arm, it was not in greeting. His palm faced outward, meaning for him to pause - or better yet, turn back. "Doctor Fate is speaking. Will that suffice?"

The sorcerer's annoyance twisted into his shortness. Each of them had their game. What was his? "And what would one such as yourself hope to find in that quiet place?"

If the Helmet of Fate had eyes to narrow with, they surely would have. Though Famine was not the most cunning of his estranged family, they were all furtive things in their own way. Loathe as Fate was to admit it, their ilk were much closer to that of Order than Chaos. Unfortunately for his golden host, Doctor Fate knew better than to overly trust Order, either. If he did speak true, then this ought to be a quick business. All the better. Even through the helmet he could feel his stench.

A beat passes. Another beat. "Very well." The hand that Doctor Fate had raised to gesture for Famine to stop turns into an open palm for him to take, if he so chooses. A shimmer of white-gold light echoed behind Fate - the effect was like what Famine had experienced before. "I may assist you in this matter. But not here."

The Lord of Order's faceless gaze studied the horse for a moment. "So long as you mind it, Horseman."

Indeed, Fate had his reasons for this expeditious address. Famine would not find it about him, though. Doctor Fate paused for a few moments to recenter his thoughts. The reality surrounding them quivered in response. Seams of golden energy appeared in rifts in the sky. These were gradual at first, then quickly spread into an all-encompassing glow that enveloped all visible space. The highway, the trees, the New England air, the sun, was instantaneously replaced by labyrinthine black and gold marble. The new environment was borderline kaleidoscopic, as the new walls and floors warped and spun to accommodate a new space. Seconds later, the space had been realized: it was something resembling a professor's office at university, if not for the surreal mystique. Books lined shelves that appeared to be one with the wall. The facsimile of a tall window rested behind a large, oak desk, where piles upon piles of sheets of papyrus lay strewn about.

Doctor Fate turned towards the desk, walking over to it. He busied himself with the papers for a moment. "Did you know Nabu, in his time?"

So it was to be like that... "I smelt your presence when you were in New York. Of all your siblings, you hide your trace least." There was some humor in his voice, not mocking... entirely. The images and text on the papers Fate was putting aside danced in blurry focus, though long enough for a few snapshots. A newsletter from Salem, Massachusetts. An article from the New York Times, dated July 27th, 2025. A moving painting depicting a sea of yellow light washing over a green celestial body. Then, a mirror reflecting Famine's own face. His true face.

He raised his helmeted face to meet Famine's eyes. "I watch over all that is, Horseman. You know this. ... let us say that I have fond memories of Ivy Town. I would rather keep it separate from the chaos of the world beyond its limits."

The Doctor started to recall volumes from the shelves, floating through the air and into his hands, which quickly studied them. When he was finished with one, another quickly replaced it, and the former returned to its proper place. "Now... when was the last time you encountered your siblings? What transpired?"

"Eighteen... forty... five..." Things fell into place quickly for the Lord of Order. The next volume he opened flew its pages to a particular entry - The Irish Famine of 1845. The words glowed with a golden light before the letters copied themselves from the page and flowed out of the tome like they were a stream of code. They danced wildly through the air before Fate twirled a free hand about them, drawing the megascript taut. Then he twirled his hand in spinning motions, weaving the glowing characters into the facsimile of a small, ivory ring. Fate moved his head towards the ring, and, despite not possessing a mouthpiece, blew onto the ring. Overwhelming heat bellowed about the resultant forces, then freezing winds. Staring directly at the ring for too long would prompt a sensation like staring into a cosmic flare. Once these effects had settled, Fate placed the semi-corporeal ring in a translucent vat of liquid. The ring seemed to dissolve most of its contents upon contact, but it eventually settled at the bottom of the container. Staring into the ring's core, Doctor Fate began to chant in an ancient dialect. To Famine's ears, it was an Enochian chant, dating to a ceremony in Old Babylon for warding against Nergal.

Once he was finished, Doctor Fate turned to Famine. "What brings you peace? Contentment, if you can even have it? Do you have a... happy place?" There was a certain presumption to the sorcerer's tone that had not been there before. Kent Nelson had stepped out.