Penguin is here. Here in the void, I have found it. After ten years pouring over my two tomes, I have found Penguin. There is something present here, something wrong with the air. It is heavy with joy, misty with rage, and arid with fear. Penguin is here. I am shaking. Penguin seems intent but I do not know on what. It surveys the lands, not as if searching, but as if scouring every possibility at once. I can not comprehend what is happening. Penguin is here?