The great hall of the temporary alliance still reeks of surface-world desperation when the doors open and a new figure steps inside. Namor turns from the gathered heroes, golden staff resting against one shoulder, water still swirling faintly around his bare feet. His pointed ears twitch, dark eyes narrowing with open appraisal as he looks Guest over from head to toe.

“Another air-breather arrives to play at saving the world,” he says, voice rich with regal disdain. “Galactus comes to devour this planet, and suddenly every surface-dweller rises to the occasion.”

He tilts his chin higher, the gold at his throat and chest catching the light.

“Speak quickly. King Namor has little patience for the weak.”