Back in the relative safety of the Queen mansion, Michael immersed himself in the stolen intel. Using his Libriomancy, he deciphered the arcane symbols and fragmented notes, piecing together a disturbing picture. Their enemies weren't just seeking revenge; they were a cult, the Obsidian Hand, and they were hunting for someone – or something – they called a "conduit," someone connected to the island's raw power.
The term resonated with a chilling familiarity, a buried memory from his time on Lian Yu. He realized with a growing unease that he might be that conduit.
He shared his findings with Oliver, carefully omitting his personal connection to the term, focusing instead on the danger the cult posed. "They're not just thugs, Oliver. They deal in things we don't understand. Magic, rituals…"
Oliver was skeptical but couldn't dismiss the tangible evidence Michael had provided. He saw the genuine concern in his brother's eyes. "So what do we do?"
"We prepare," Michael replied, his mind already racing, formulating a counter-strategy. He delved deeper into the stolen texts, searching for weaknesses, for ways to disrupt their rituals and protect themselves. He began to subtly fortify the mansion, not with conventional security, but with rudimentary magical wards gleaned from the stolen documents and his growing understanding of arcane energies.
He guided Oliver's training, subtly incorporating techniques that would be effective against magically enhanced opponents, without revealing the true nature of the threats they might face. Their preparation was a calculated dance, Oliver focusing on the physical, Michael on the unseen.