Arlan quickly realized as he sat on the cold uneven ground, his back against the cliff wall, that time was immeasurable in Mergenthaal's realm. As he waited for the interminable three days to pass, he started to lose all sense of time.

The mist thickened around him, augmenting the feeling of disorientation. But its pervasive tendrils gave his location a wide berth, obedient to Mergenthaal's will. Within its murky depths, shadows formed and reformed, materializing into living and non-living shapes, at times beautiful, and at times-- monstrous.

One of the many Druidic disciplines Arlan had learned was mastery over one's physical state. And so, closing his eyes, he willed his body into a waking trance, his pulse slowing down and his breathing barely perceptible. Only his awareness remained, stretched out around him, watchful and vigilant.

* * * * * * * * * *

Arlan sensed a solid presence approach. He roused himself, instantly alert, to see a Dardraath standing before him. Behind the Hand's servant, the fortress with its ghostly black towers loomed, cradled by the traveling mist.

"Come, Druid. The Great Lord awaits." The Soulless whispered, gazing at him with its dead eyes.

Rising to his feet, Arlan followed the Dardraath. Where before was empty air, a narrow path now stretched across the chasm, leading to the fortress' dark entryway. As he reached the tall arched entrance, he looked back to see that the cliff he was on moments ago had disappeared, the path fading away into the mist.

The Dardraath guided him through several hallways, sparsely lit by sconces emitting a pale purple light, and up dimly lighted stairwells. The interior of the fortress itself was a giant maze, seemingly much larger than its exterior as they gradually ascended.

Finally they reached a level floor with a long hallway fifty paces wide, the walls at either side glittering with fine black crystals. At the end of the hall, the Dardraath stopped, beckoning the Druid to walk through a high-arched entrance.

Arlan stepped into a vast chamber with black marble floors and pillars stretching to a domed ceiling made of the same crystalline material. It appeared to the Druid as if he was looking at a night sky filled with millions of stars. On the far end of the chamber, a throne of obsidian glittered like an enormous dark gem. But what drew his attention the most was the man sitting on the throne, dressed in black robes lined with silver. Mergenthaal's cold, dark eyes reflected the black crystal vault above him. His face and form resembled one of those perfectly carved sculptures, deceptively young in appearance. But Arlan knew he faced a being that was no longer human-- and hadn't been for thousands of years.

Mergenthaal's lips parted in a smile that did not touch his eyes. "Welcome, Druid. I trust you had rested well these past three nights?" He inquired in a mock tone, his voice deep and compelling.

"Well enough," Arlan replied dryly. "If you consider sleeping on a narrow cliff surrounded by your shadows a rest."

"Forgive my lack of hospitality. I would not want to have you waste another three years of your mortal life unnecessarily. You see, time can flow differently in this fortress if I will it, and the healing of Rhyshannon is no small matter."

Arlan's thoughts whirled. 'Jared, here in Mergenthaal's castle--for three years?' He knew what time dilation was, as Druids were well aware of the phenomenon, but the thought of a Raisch that can manipulate time, even in a limited scale as the confines of his abode, was overwhelming. Anger surged in him at the thought of leaving Jared under the care and influence of a cunning Hand of Darkness for-- not three days, but three long years.

"I think the boy has since exceeded your hospitality, and it is about time we leave."

Mergenthaal leaned back in his throne, amused. At his gesture, six black-cloaked, hooded figures emerged from the darkness, flanking the throne on either side. Arlan tensed as he gazed at the figures, their hoods effectively concealing their faces.

"Indulge me in a little game, Druid. One of my apprentices standing before you is Rhyshannon. If you choose rightly, I shall release him to you. Choose otherwise, and he remains here-- for eternity."

Arlan was not a patient man, a flaw his teachers had warned him on occasion, and right at this moment his patience was wearing very thin. To think he had entrusted Jared to a Hand of Darkness! He realized he had made a decision he would later regret.

As if Mergenthaal had read his mind, he spoke condescendingly, "The risks and measures I have taken to save his life is insurmountable. And indeed, his recovery has taken three years, but it will take a human's lifetime to fully realize his potential. If he leaves this realm, the knowledge he has gained can be used against my brethren, against the Lord of Darkness himself." He raised a delicate eyebrow. "Surely you would know the Child of Night, as you have watched over him for five hundred years?"

Much can change physically in three years for an adolescent, Arlan almost retorted. Given the boy's condition when he had left him with the Raisch, the Druid doubted that Jared would remember him. He scanned the cloaked forms with his inner Sight. Jared would be eighteen now, a young man. But there was one thing the Raisch would not be able to fully conceal from someone with the Sight: a mage's distinctive aura. And Jared's green aura was unique in the whole of Ervon. But to his dismay, none of the six that stood before him exhibited any trace of their aura. Each of them could be a Soulless for all he cared. He glanced at Mergenthaal with his Sight, the Raisch likewise showing no visible aura. 'Is he Masking everyone else's signature, including his own? Then, he leaves me with no other choice!'

"I am done playing your games, Raisch!"

Power flared in Arlan's hands, a swath of brilliant blue lightning hurtling toward Mergenthaal and his apprentices.

Almost instantaneously, one of the black-cloaked figures moved before the other five. He stepped protectively before the Raisch, raising his hand toward the lightning. A familiar, green glow flared around his form.

"Jared!" Arlan shouted a warning.

The blue lightning shattered in mid-air, the fragments, like broken glass, refracting light from the crystals high above. The apprentice's outstretched hand then clenched into a fist, and the fragments morphed into sharp, solid spears of light, racing toward Arlan.

With a single thought, the Druid raised his shields, but before the deadly shards of light collided into his azure barrier, Arlan heard the cloaked figure curse under his breath, as if he had just realized what he had done. The spears of light dissolved into the empty space, right before Arlan's shields.

"Well done," Mergenthaal breathed, unperturbed by Arlan's attack. The Druid wasn't sure if the Raisch was praising the boy, or the means by which he had unearthed Jared's identity.

At a gesture from the Raisch, the cloaked figures save for Jared faded into the shadows. They were merely illusions, but so skillfully conjured that Arlan grudgingly admitted he was thoroughly fooled.

The Druid had banked on them revealing their aura when he released the lightning, but he did not expect Rhyshannon to step in, in defense of Mergenthaal. His control of light magic was alarmingly flawless. Jared seemed a different person altogether, no longer the helpless child he had saved from the Myrdraath's clutches just a few days ago.

Jared took a few steps back, his movements belying his confusion. He glanced at Mergenthaal and back again at Arlan, as if he had just woken up from a dream. Before the Druid could call out his name, Jared whirled abruptly, his cloak flaring behind him, a lock of golden hair escaping from the hood as he rushed out of the throne room.

A/N:  Images created by @Sunnyrizz - Thank you so much!! ♡