The Well of Eternity

4

He sensed the slow but steady growth of the leaves, the branches, and the roots. He sensed the timeless wisdom, the eternal thoughts within. Each giant had its own unique signature, as was true with any individual.

They are the guardians of the forest, came his mentor’s voice. They are as much its soul as I. They are the forest. A pause. Now…come back to us…

Malfurion Stormrage’s mind respectfully withdrew from the gargantuan trees, the eldest of the heavily wooded land. As he retreated, his own physical surroundings gradually reappeared, albeit murky at first. He blinked his silver, pupilless eyes twice, bringing everything back into focus. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his heart swelled with pride. Never before had he reached so far!

“You have learned well, young night elf,” a voice like a bear’s rumbled. “Better than even I could have expected…”

Sweat poured down Malfurion’s violet countenance. His patron had insisted that he attempt this next monumental step at the height of day, his people’s weakest point of time. Had it been at night, Malfurion felt certain that he would have been stronger, but as Cenarius pointed out again and again, that would have defeated the purpose. What his mentor taught him was not the sorcery of the night elves, but almost its exact opposite.

And in so many ways, Malfurion had already become the opposite of his people. Despite their tendencies toward flamboyant garments, for instance, Malfurion’s own were very subdued. A cloth tunic, a simple leather jerkin and pants, knee-high boots…his parents, had they not perished by accident years before, would have surely died of shame.

His shoulder-length, dark green hair surrounded a narrow visage akin to a wolf’s. Malfurion had become something of an outcast among his kind. He asked questions, suggested that old traditions were not necessarily the best, and even dared once mention that beloved Queen Azshara might not always have the concerns of her subjects foremost on her thoughts. Such actions left him with few associates and even fewer friends.

In fact, in Malfurion’s mind, he could truly only count three as friends. First and foremost had to be his own twin, the equally troublesome Illidan. While Illidan did not shy away from the traditions and sorcery of the night elves as much as he, he had a tendency to question the governing authority of the elders, also a great crime.

“What did you see?” his brother, seated beside him on the grass, asked eagerly. Illidan would have been identical to Malfurion if not for his midnight blue hair and amber eyes. Children of the moon, nearly all night elves had eyes of silver. Those very few born with ones of amber were seen as destined for greatness.

But if greatness was to be Illidan’s, he first had to curb both his temper and his impatience. He had come with his twin to study this new path that used the power of nature—their mentor termed it “druidism”—believing he would be the quicker student. Instead, he often miscast spells and failed to concentrate enough to maintain most trances. That he was fairly adept at traditional sorcery did not assuage Illidan. He had wanted to learn the ways of druidism because such unique skills would mark him as different, as nearing that potential everyone had spoken about since his birth.

“I saw…” How to explain it even to his brother? Malfurion’s brow wrinkled. “I saw into the hearts of the trees, the souls. Not simply theirs, either. I saw…I think I saw into the souls of the entire forest!”

“How wonderful!” gasped a female voice at his other side.

Malfurion fought to keep his cheeks from darkening to black, the night elf equivalent of embarrassment. Of late, he had been finding himself more and more uncomfortable around his other companion…and yet he could not think of himself far from her, either.

With the brothers had come Tyrande Whisperwind, their greatest friend since childhood. They had grown up together, the three, inseparable in every way until the last year, when she had taken the robes of a novice priestess in the temple of Elune, the moon goddess. There she learned to become attuned to the spirit of the goddess, learned to use the gifts all priestesses were granted in order to let them spread the word of their mistress. She it had been who had encouraged Malfurion when he had chosen to turn from the sorcery of the night elves to another, earthier power. Tyrande saw druidism as a kindred force to the abilities her deity would grant her once she completed her own training.

But from a thin pale child who had more than once bested both brothers in races and hunting, Tyrande had become, since joining the temple, a slim yet well-curved beauty, her smooth skin now a soft, light violet and her dusky blue hair streaked with silver. The mousy face had grown fuller, much more feminine and appealing.

Perhaps too appealing.

“Hmmph!” added Illidan, not so impressed. “Was that all?”

“It is a good start,” rumbled their tutor. The great shadow fell over all three young night elves, stifling even Illidan’s rampant mouth.

Although over seven feet tall themselves, the trio were dwarfed by Cenarius, who stood well above ten. His upper torso was akin to that of Malfurion’s race, although a hint of the emerald forest colored his dark skin and he had a much broader, more muscular build than either of his male students. Beyond the upper body any similarity ended. Cenarius was no simple night elf, after all. He was not even mortal.

Cenarius was a demigod.

His origins were known only to him, but he was as much a part of the great forest as it was of him. When the first night elves had appeared, Cenarius had already long existed. He claimed kinship with them, but never had he said in what way.

Those few who came to him for guidance left ever touched, ever changed. Others did not even leave, becoming so transformed by their teachings that they chose instead to join the demigod in the protection of his realm. Those were no longer elves, but woodland guardians physically altered forever.

A thick, moss-green mane flowing from his head, Cenarius eyed his pupils fondly with orbs of pure gold. He patted Malfurion gently on the shoulder with hands that ended in talons of gnarled, aged wood—talons still capable of ripping the night elf to shreds without effort—then backed away…on four strong legs.

The upper torso of the demigod might have resembled that of a night elf, but the lower portion was that of a huge, magnificent stag. Cenarius moved about effortlessly, as swift and nimble as any of the three. He had the speed of the wind, the strength of the trees. In him was reflected the life and health of the land. He was its child and father all in one.

And like a stag, he also had antlers—giant, glorious antlers that shaded his stern yet fatherly visage. Matched in prominence only by his lengthy, rich beard, the antlers were the final reminder that any blood link between demigod and night elf existed far, far in the past.

“You have all done well,” he added in the voice that ever sounded of thunder. Leaves and twigs literally growing in his beard, his hair shook whenever the deity spoke. “Go now. Be among your own again for a time. It will do you some good.”

All three rose, but Malfurion hesitated. Looking at his companions, he said, “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you at the trail’s end. I need to talk with Cenarius.”

“We could wait,” Tyrande replied.

“There’s no need. I won’t be long.”

“Then, by all means,” Illidan quickly interjected, taking Tyrande’s arm. “We should let him be. Come, Tyrande.”

She gave Malfurion one last lingering glance that made him turn away to conceal his emotions. He waited for the two to depart, then turned again to the demigod.

The descending sun created shadows in the forest that seemed to dance for the pleasure of Cenarius. The demigod smiled at the dancing shadows, the trees and other plants moving in time with them.

Malfurion went down on one knee, his gaze to the earth. “My shan’do,” he began, calling Cenarius by the title that meant in the old tongue “honored teacher.” “Forgive me for asking—”

“You should not act so before me, young one. Arise…”

The night elf reluctantly obeyed, but he kept his gaze down.

This made the demigod chuckle, a sound accented by the sudden lively chirping of songbirds. Whenever Cenarius reacted, the world reacted in concert with him.

“You pay me even more homage than those who claim to preach in my name. Your brother does not bend to me and for all her respect of my power, Tyrande Whisperwind gives herself only to Elune.”

“You offered to teach me—us—” Malfurion responded, “what no night elf has ever learned…” He still recalled the day when he had approached the sacred wood. Legends abounded about Cenarius, but Malfurion had wanted to know the truth. However, when he had called out to the demigod, he had not actually expected an answer.

He had also not expected Cenarius to offer to be his teacher. Why the demigod would take on so—mundane—a task was beyond Malfurion. Yet, here they were together. They were more than deity and night elf, more than teacher and student…they were also friends.

“No other night elf truly wishes to learn my ways,” Cenarius replied. “Even those who has taken up the mantle of the forest…none of them has truly followed the path I now show you. You are the first with the possible aptitude, the possible will, to truly understand how to wield the forces inherent in all nature. And when I say ‘you,’ young elf, I speak entirely in the singular.”

This was not what Malfurion had remained to talk about and so the words struck him hard. “But—but Tyrande and Illidan—”

The demigod shook his head. “Of Tyrande, we have already spoken. She has promised herself to Elune and I will not poach in the Moon Goddess’s realm! Of your brother, however, I can only say that there is much promise to Illidan…but I believe that promise lies elsewhere.”

“I—I don’t know what to say…” And in truth, Malfurion did not. To be told so suddenly that Illidan and he would not follow the same path, that Illidan even appeared to waste his efforts here…it was the first time that the twins would not share in their success. “No! Illidan will learn! He’s just more headstrong! There’s so much pressure upon him! His eyes—”

“Are a sign of some future mark upon the world, but he will not make it following my teachings.” Cenarius gave Malfurion a gentle smile. “But you will try to teach him yourself, will you not? Perhaps you can succeed where I have failed?”

The night elf flushed. Of course his shan’do would read his thoughts on that subject. Yes, Malfurion intended to do what he could to push Illidan further along…but he knew that doing so would be a harder task. Learning from the demigod was one thing; learning from Malfurion would be another. It would show that Illidan was not first, but second.

“Now,” added the forest lord quietly, as a small red bird alighted on his antlers and its paler mate did so on his arm. Such sights were common around Cenarius, but they ever left the elf marveling. “You came to ask of me something…”

“Yes. Great Cenarius…I’ve been troubled by a dream, a reoccurring one.”

The golden eyes narrowed. “Only a dream? That is what troubles you?”

Malfurion grimaced. He had already berated himself several times for even thinking of distracting the demigod with his problem. Of what harm was a dream, even one that repeated itself? Everyone dreamed. “Yes…it comes to me every time I sleep and since I’ve been learning from you…it’s grown stronger, more demanding.”

He expected Cenarius to laugh at him, but instead the forest lord studied him closely. Malfurion felt the golden orbs—so much more arresting than even his brother’s own—burrow deep within him, reading the night elf inside and out.

At last, Cenarius leaned back. He nodded once to himself and in a more solemn voice said, “Yes, you are ready, I think.”

“Ready for what?”

In response, Cenarius held up one hand. The red bird leapt down to the offered hand, its mate joining it there. The demigod stroked the backs of both once, whispered something to them, then let the pair fly off.

Cenarius looked down at the night elf. “Illidan and Tyrande will be informed that you are staying behind for a time. They have been told to leave without you.”

“But why?”

The golden eyes flared. “Tell me of your dream.”

Taking a deep breath, Malfurion began. The dream started as always, with the Well of Eternity as its focal point. At first the waters were calm, but then, from the center, a maelstrom rapidly formed…and from the depths of the maelstrom, creatures burst forth, some of them harmless, others malevolent. Many he did not even recognize, as if they came from other worlds, other times. They spread in every direction, fleeing beyond his sight.

Suddenly, the whirlpool vanished and Malfurion stood in the midst of Kalimdor…but a Kalimdor stripped of all life. A horrible evil had laid waste to the entire land, leaving not so much as a blade of grass or a tiny insect alive. The once-proud cities, the vast, lush woodlands…nothing had been spared.

Even more terrible, for as far as the eye could see, the scorched, cracked bones of night elves lay strewn everywhere. The skulls had been caved in. The stench of death was strong in the air. No one, not even the old, infirm, or young, had been spared.

Heat, horrific heat, had assailed Malfurion then. Turning, he had seen in the distance a vast fire, an inferno reaching into the heavens. It burned everything it touched, even the very wind. Where it moved, nothing…absolutely nothing…remained. Yet, as frightening as the scene had been, it was not that which had finally awakened the night elf in a cold sweat, but rather something he had sensed about the fire.

It had been alive. It knew the terrors it wrought, knew and reveled in them. Reveled…and hungered for more.

All humor had fled Cenarius’s visage by the time Malfurion finished. His gaze flickered to his beloved forest and the creatures thriving within. “And this nightmare repeats itself with every slumber?”

“Every one. Without fail.”

“I fear, then, that this is an omen. I sensed in you from our first encounter the makings of the gift of prescience—one of the reasons I chose to make myself known to you—but it is stronger than even I ever expected.”

“But what does it mean?” the young night elf pleaded. “If you say this is an omen, I’ve got to know what it portends.”

“And we shall try to discover that. I said, after all, that you are ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Cenarius folded his arms. His tone grew more grave.

“Ready to walk the Emerald Dream.”

Nothing in the demigod’s teachings so far had referred to this Emerald Dream, but the manner in which Cenarius spoke of it made Malfurion realize the importance of this next step. “What is it?”

“What is it not? The Emerald Dream is the world beyond the waking world. It is the world of the spirit, the world of the sleepers. It is the world as it might have been, if we sentient creatures had not come about to ruin it. In the Emerald Dream, it is possible, with practice, to see anything, go anywhere. Your body will enter a trance and your dream form will fly from it to wherever you need to go.”

“It sounds—”

“Dangerous? It is, young Malfurion. Even the well-trained, the experienced, can lose themselves in the Emerald Dream. You note I call it the Emerald Dream. That is the color of its mistress, Ysera, the Great Aspect. It is the realm of her and her dragon flight. She guards it well and allows only a few to enter it. My own dryads and keepers make use of the Emerald Dream in their duties, but sparingly.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Malfurion admitted with a shake of his head.

“Likely because no night elf save those in my service has ever walked it…and they only when they were no longer of your race. You would be the first of your kind to truly take the path…if you so desire.”

The idea both unnerved and excited Malfurion. It would be the next step in his studies and a way, perhaps, to make sense of his constant nightmare. Yet…Cenarius had made it clear that the Emerald Dream could also be deadly.

“What—what might happen? What might go wrong?”

“Even the experienced can lose their way back if they become distracted,” the demigod replied. “Even I. You must remain focused at all times, know your goal. Otherwise…otherwise your body might sleep forever.”

There was more, the night elf suspected, but Cenarius for some reason wanted him to learn on his own—if Malfurion chose to walk the Emerald Dream.

He decided he had no other recourse. “How do I start?”

Cenarius fondly touched the top of his student’s head. “You are certain?”

“Very.”

“Then simply sit as you have for your other lessons.” When the slighter figure had obeyed, Cenarius lowered his own four-legged form to the earth. “I will guide you in this first time, then it is up to you. Lock your gaze in mine, night elf.”

The demigod’s golden orbs snared Malfurion’s eyes. Even had he wanted to, it would have taken mammoth effort for him to pull his own gaze away. He felt himself drawn into Cenarius’s mind, drawn into a world where all was possible.

A sense of lightness touched Malfurion.

Do you feel the songs of the stones, the dance of the wind, the laughter of the rushing water?

At first, Malfurion felt no such thing, but then he heard the slow, steady grinding, the shifting of earth. Belatedly, he realized that this was how the stones and rock spoke as, over the eons, they made their way from one point in the world to another.

After that, the others became more evident. Every part of nature had its own unique voice. The wind spun around in merry steps when pleased, or in violent bursts when the mood grew darker. The trees shook their crowns and the raging water of a nearby river chuckled as the fish within it darted up to spawn.

But in the background…Malfurion thought he sensed distant discord. He tried to focus on it, but failed.

You are not yet in the Emerald Dream. First, you must remove your earthly shell…the voice in his head instructed. As you reach the state of sleep, you will slip your body off as you would a coat. Start from your heart and mind, for they are the links that most bind you to the mortal plane. See? This is how it is done…

Malfurion touched at his heart with his thoughts, opening it like a door and willing his spirit free. He did the same with his mind, although the earthly, practical side of any living creature protested at this action.

Give way to your subconscious. Let it guide you. It knows of the realm of dreaming and is always happy to return there.

As Malfurion obeyed, the last barriers slipped away. He felt as if he had sloughed off his skin the way a snake might. A sense of exhilaration filled him and he almost forgot for what purpose he was doing this.

But Cenarius had warned him to remain focused and so the night elf fought the euphoria down.

Now…rise up.

Malfurion pushed himself up…but his body, legs still folded, remained where it was. His dream form floated a few feet off the ground, free of all restraints. Had he so desired, Malfurion knew that he could have flown to the stars themselves.

But the Emerald Dream lay in a different direction. Turn again to your subconscious, the demigod instructed. It will show you the path, for that lies within, not without.

And as he followed Cenarius’s instructions, the night elf saw the world change further around him. A hazy quality enveloped everything. Images, endless images, overlapped one another, but with concentration Malfurion discovered that he could see each separately. He heard whispers and realized that they were the inner voices of dreamers throughout the world.

From here, you must take the path by yourself.

He felt his link to Cenarius all but fade. For the sake of Malfurion’s concentration, the demigod had been forced to pull back. However, Cenarius remained a presence, ready to aid his student if the need arose.

As Malfurion moved forward, his world turned a brilliant, gemlike green. The haze increased and the whispers became more audible. A landscape vaguely seen beckoned to him.

He had become part of the Emerald Dream.

Following his instincts, Malfurion floated toward the shifting dreamscape. As Cenarius said, it looked as the world would have looked had night elves and other creatures not come into being. There was a tranquillity to the Emerald Dream that made it tempting just to stay forever, but Malfurion refused to give in to that temptation. He had to know the truth about his dreams.

He had no idea at first where his subconscious was taking him, but somehow suspected it would lead him to the answers he desired. Malfurion flew over the empty paradise, marveling at all he saw.

But then, in the midst of his miraculous journey, he felt something amiss again. The faint discord he had sensed earlier increased. Malfurion tried to ignore it, but it gnawed at him like a starving rat. He finally veered his spirit form toward it.

Suddenly, ahead of him lay a huge, black lake. Malfurion frowned, certain that he recognized the foreboding body of water. Dark waves lapped its shores and an aura of power radiated from its center.

The Well of Eternity.

But if this was the Well, where was the city? Malfurion eyed the dreamscape where he knew the capital should have been, trying to summon an image of it. He had come here for a reason and now he believed that it had to do with the city. By itself, the Well of Eternity was an astonishing thing, but it was the source of power only. The discord the night elf felt originated from somewhere else.

He stared at the empty world, demanding to see the reality.

And without warning, Malfurion’s dream self materialized over Zin-Azshari, the capital of the night elves. In the old tongue, Zin-Azshari translated into “The Glory of Azshara.” So beloved had the queen been when she had made her ascension to the throne that the people had insisted on renaming the capital in her honor.

Thinking of his queen, Malfurion suddenly beheld the palace itself, a magnificent structure surrounded by a huge, well-guarded wall. He frowned, knowing it well. This was, of course, the grand abode of his queen. Even though he had at times made mention of what he believed to be her faults, Malfurion actually admired her more than most thought. Overall, she had done much good for her people, but on occasion he believed Azshara simply lost her focus. As with many other night elves, he suspected any problem there had to do in part with the Highborne, who administered the realm in her name.

The wrongness grew worse the nearer he floated down toward the palace. Malfurion’s eyes widened as he saw the reason. With the summoning of the vision of Zin-Azshari, he had also summoned a more immediate image of the Well. The black lake now swirled madly and what appeared to be monstrous strands of multicolored energy shot up from its depths. Powerful magic was being drawn from the Well into the highest tower, its only possible purpose the casting of a spell of impossible proportions.

The dark waters beyond the palace moved with such violence that to Malfurion they seemed to be boiling. The more those within the tower summoned the might of the Well, the more terrible the fury of the elements. Above, the storm-wracked heavens screamed and flashed. Some of the buildings near the edge of the Well threatened to be washed away.

What are they doing? Malfurion wondered, his own quest forgotten. Why do they continue even during weakness of day?

But “day” was only a term, now. Gone was the sun that dampened the night elves’ abilities. Even though evening had not yet come, it was as black as night above Zin-Azshari…no, even blacker. This was not natural and certainly not safe. What could those within be toying with?

He drifted over the walls, past stone-faced guards ignorant of his presence. Malfurion floated to the palace itself, but when he sought to enter, certain that his dream form would pass through something so simple as stone, the night elf discovered an impenetrable barrier.

Someone had encased the palace in protective spells so intricate, so powerful, that he could not pierce them. This only made Malfurion more curious, more determined. He swooped around the structure, rising again toward the tower in question. There had to be a way in. He had to see what madness was going on inside.

With one hand, he reached out to the array of protective spells, seeking the point that bound them all together, the point by which they could also be unbound—

And suddenly pain unimaginable wracked Malfurion. He screamed silently, no sound able to voice his agony. The image of the palace, of Zin-Azshari, vanished. He found himself in an emerald void, caught within a storm of pure magic. The elemental powers threatened to rip his dream form into a thousand pieces and scatter them in every direction.

But in the midst of the monstrous chaos, he suddenly heard the faint calling of a familiar voice.

Malfurion…my child…come back to me…Malfurion…you must return…

Vaguely the night elf recognized Cenarius’s desperate summons. He clung to it as a drowning person in the middle of the sea might cling to a tiny piece of driftwood. Malfurion felt the woodland deity’s mind reach out to him, guide him in the proper direction.

The pain began to lessen, but Malfurion was exhausted beyond measure. A part of him simply wanted to drift among the dreamers, his soul never returning to his flesh. Yet, he realized that to do so would mean his end and so he fought against the deadly desire.

And as the pain dwindled away, as Cenarius’s touch grew stronger, Malfurion sensed his own link to his mortal form. Eagerly he followed it, moving faster and faster through the Emerald Dream…

With a gasp…the young night elf awoke.

Unable to stop himself, Malfurion tumbled into the grass. Mighty yet still gentle hands picked him back up to a sitting position. Water dribbled into his mouth.

He opened his eyes and beheld Cenarius’s concerned visage. His mentor held Malfurion’s own water sack.

“You have done what few others could do,” the stag god murmured. “And in doing so, you almost lost yourself forever. What happened to you, Malfurion? You went even beyond my sight…”

“I…I sensed…something terrible…”

“The cause of your nightmares?”

The night elf shook his head. “No…I don’t know…I…I found myself drawn to Zin-Azshari…” He tried to explain what he had witnessed, but the words seem so insufficient.

Cenarius looked even more disturbed than he, which worried Malfurion. “This does not bode well…no. You are certain it was the palace? It had to be Azshara and her Highborne?”

“I don’t know if one or both…but I can’t help feeling that the queen must be a part of it. Azshara is too strong-willed. Even Xavius can’t control her…I think.” The queen’s counselor was an enigmatic figure, as distrusted as Azshara was loved.

“You must think about what you say, young Malfurion. You are suggesting that the ruler of the night elves, she whose name is heard in song each day, is involved in some spellwork that could be a threat not only to your kind, but the rest of the world. Do you understand what that means?”

The image of Zin-Azshari intermingled with the scene of devastation…and Malfurion found both compatible with each other. They might not be directly linked, but they shared something in common. What that was, though, he did not know yet.

“I understand one thing,” he muttered, recalling the perfect, beautiful face of his queen and the cheers that accompanied even her briefest appearances. “I understand that I must find out the truth wherever that truth leads…even if in the end it costs me my very life…”

The shadowed form touched with his talon the small, golden sphere in his other scaled palm, bringing it to life. Within it, there materialized another, almost identical shadow. The light from the sphere did nothing to push back the darkness surrounding the figure, just as on the other end the sphere used by the second form also failed. The magic cast to preserve each one’s identity was old and very strong.

“The Well is still in the midst of terrible throes,” commented the one who had initiated contact.

“So it has been for some time,” replied the second, tail flicking behind him. “The night elves play with powers they do not appreciate.”

“Has there been an opinion formed on your end?”

The darkened head within the sphere shook once.

“Nothing significant so far…but what can they possibly do save perhaps destroy themselves? It would not be the first time one of the ephemeral races did so and surely not the last.”

The first nodded. “So it seems to us…and the others.”

“All the others?” hissed the second, for the first time some true curiosity in his tone. “Even those of the Earth Warder’s flight?”

“No…they keep their own counsel…as usual of late. They are little more than Neltharion’s reflection.”

“Unimportant, then. Like you, we shall continue to monitor the night elves’ folly, but it is doubtful that it will amount to much more than the extinction of their kind. Should it prove to be more, we shall act if we are ordered to act by our lord, Malygos.”

“The pact remains unbroken,” responded the first. “We, too, shall act only if commanded by her majesty, the glorious Alexstrasza.”

“This conversation is over, then.” With that, the sphere went black. The second form had severed the link.

The other rose, dismissing the sphere. With a hiss, he shook his head at the ignorance of the lesser races. They constantly meddled in things beyond their capabilities and so often paid fatally for it. Their mistakes were their own to suffer, so long as the world as a whole did not suffer with them. If that happened, then the dragons would have to act.

“Foolish, foolish night elvesss…”

But in a place between worlds, in the midst of chaos incarnate, eyes of fire turned in sudden interest, the work of the Azshara’s Highborne having also reached them.

Somewhere, the one who gazed realized, somewhere someone had called upon the power. Someone had drawn from the magic in the mistaken belief that they and they alone knew of it, knew how to wield it…but where?

He searched, almost had the source, then lost it. It was near, though, very near.

He would wait. Like the others, he had begun to grow hungry again. Surely if he waited a little longer, he would sense exactly where among the worlds the casters were. He smelled their eagerness, their ambition. They would not be able to stop drawing from the magic. Soon…soon he would find the way through to their little world…

And he and the rest would feed.