"You should see Ambaróna or Vanda Nossëo. Elves are much happier and more functional when things are pretty and Valinor doesn't have scarcity so things get really really pretty. The windows are biofilters set to only let humans and Elves through - if I want privacy I'll change it to only let Elves through - so you can come in if you want."

He floats over to a window and tries to go through, slowly.

Works fine. The inside is stunning; he wasn't constrained by trying to make it look plausibly Earth-like. He flaps in after him.

Then Epic will have a stunned superhero floating around his place for a few minutes.

He will flop on a couch made for his wings and start singing to himself.

Well and isn't that stunning, too.

Elves are a bit much, aren't they. It's a sad song. It's for all the dead people who he can't save, yet. The 'yet' is very much part of the music.

He makes a computer and puts in the data stick he made and starts reading this world's newspapers, still singing.

Current news is about Behemoth having disappeared and speculation. Past news confirms everything Legend and Library of Alexandria told him, plus a lot more details about the timeline of parahumans and the Protectorate and PRT, depending on how far back he wants to read. The first mention of any parahumans is the piece of news about the golden man, nowadays named Scion.

He'll read for several hours and then write home summarizing everything. He doesn't put any worrying-about-what-to-do in the message home because what if they think of something he didn't and then they're disappointed in him for not doing it. Just a very exhaustive summary that nonetheless helps put his thoughts in order.

And then he goes back out to say hi to Behemoth again.

(In the meantime, Legend has left Epic contact information and left, figuring he'd like to be alone.)

And Behemoth... is there. Not doing anything.

Hello?

No answer. No reaction at all, in fact.

"Hello?"

Still nothing.

"I want to know if more people are going to get hurt. I can read minds. Will you talk to me?"

Silence.

Okay, what's he thinking about.

...thinking might be too generous a description. Whatever's going on in there's too—alien—twisted—nonfunctional—weird—to be properly interpreted as thoughts. There's a sense in which Behemoth's sapient, Epic wouldn't have been able to conjure him otherwise, and he does seem to be processing external stimuli (although not in any recognizable form, his eye is merely decorative), but he doesn't seem to have any goals at the moment. Or want anything. It could be described as waiting, but adjectives such as 'patient' or 'anxious' or whatever don't really feel right to apply to a mind like that.

...dormant. Okay. 

...he makes a couple video cameras attached by a string to Behemoth and goes home and sets a reminder to conjure the feeds every once in a while to check if he stays that way.

And he starts writing down everything he can think of that might be helpful for this world, and when he's done he stares into the Silmaril for a long time and then looks at the information about how to reach Legend.

There is a phone number, an address, a set of coordinates, and the sentence "if you can conjure a PRT commlink with the following serial number you can say you're Epic and would like to talk to Legend and they'll patch you through."

...he conjures a PTR commlink with the listed serial number.

It is a bracelet-type thingy with a button and a place where it's obvious he has to speak into. Its aesthetic is somewhat futuristic, in a more sci-fi way than what's actually present in the 23rd century.

He presses the button. "This is Epic, can I speak to or leave a message for Legend?" he says to the bracelet-thingy.

"—transferring your call," says a surprised-sounding person, and a few seconds later: "Epic?"