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Myrkalis sat in the wingback leather chair on the south side of the library. The sun had moved across the room during the day, casting the shadow of the chair first in the morning to the left hand side near the double doors, then nearing the evening across to the right. The diamond patterned glass stretched nearly the entire wall of the south side. While that kind of light might not be good for the books, it was necessary for the small indoor garden on the north wall.

On the north wall, where the noon day sun cast the shadow of Myrkaliss' chair, there appeared to be the statue of a dark grey colored horse with a spiraling horn from the center of its head. A long silver mane and forelock cascaded down the aquiline neck all the way to the tips of emerald green grass. The legs of the statue were hidden beneath the horse, or rather, the unicorn, and the nose was near the tail.

The statue sat on a very small hillock in the garden, the only really clear space among the plant life. A small reflecting pond with polished stones made a half moon in front of the statue with glittering golden fish slowly turning and flashing beneath the water. To either side of the pond and around behind the statue there bloomed a wild riot of flowers; many of them out of season. A pair of rabbits, one white and one piebald, grazed quietly among the grass.

Myrkalis had finished his book almost two hours ago, but was loathe to get up. He was quite enjoying watching the rabbits as they worked hard to keep the grass trimmed. Therefore, it was the rabbits that alerted him first to the change. The statue had moved.

Myrkalis sat up straighter in the chair and slipped the book out of his lap to the table to his right. The soft leather cover muffled the thump the book made on the table, but it was still loud enough to catch the attention of the unicorn. She reached down and gently nuzzled the rabbit closest to her before giving Myrkalis her attention.

"Ah, Myrk." Her voice was light, gentle, almost ethereal. Her use of the short form of his name caused him to sigh. Only she called him Myrk. "I was hoping I would catch you here. I have come to a conclusion." There was none of the usual laughter in her voice.

"Aywin." He smiled, using his own nickname for her, "I find it hard to believe that you were even thinking. I haven't seen you blink for a century now, let alone move."

She snorted at him and he was certain he saw the rabbits laughing as they danced across the grass to their burrow behind the flowers. "I have been. But, I do not mean that I have come to a conclusion in that manner. I mean, that I have come to an end."

Myrkalis jerked violently enough to force the chair back, the bronze clawed feet chewing the wood floor. "What? No, my love, I can't ..."

She flattened her ears at him, then looked beyond him to the world outside the library. "I have lain here, a long time, seeking..." She looked down at the small garden, with the carved stone border and all the greenery around herself. "Long enough that I have transfigured part of your home into my own glen." She shook her neck before taking a draught from the pool before her. Her lilac eyes looked up at him from her dark face, through the silver spill of her forelock. "There is a storm coming. A place in time that I can not see. And so, I have spent these few hundred years looking to the future. And I have sent my self forward and back along the Winding Path to see what I can. But every self I send into that storm, is lost. On the road, I met a future self, one who had managed to weather the storm. She was thinner, and ... " Her voice trailed off. The quiver of her side belied the calm in her voice. "Less sane. She had met Death and had begged to come back along the Winding Path to warn me."

Myrkalis could not stop fidgeting. His dark hair fell in waves over his shoulders. The fingers of his left hand found and began to rub his forehead above and between the eyes. Aywinnea could see the faint phantom outline of his horn, but it did not bring her peace. His sea foam eyes darted from her to the garden to the bookshelves and back. He burned for her to continue, but knew her well enough to know that speaking would only distract her. He could only pick at the seams of his clothing and wait.

Shortly, she continued, "She told me about the storm, but could not remember the days and nights while it raged. She told me that what is coming is made by man, but fed by the Serithi. She gave to me a prophecy:

'A star is coming, it will burn in the heavens both day and night. It will bleed the skies, and darken the Earth. It will Fracture the Veil. Man will walk with eyes open to the Hidden World. The Metamagus will heal the Fracture if he can unbind the Serpent. He must redeem the Traitor, or the worlds will never heal.'"

She laid her head upon the grass and wept quicksilver pearls that grew when they hit the grass into rich clover on either side of her slender head. The rabbits stole from their burrow to dart forward and comfort Aywinnea. Their long ears fell as she continued to cry, their soft paws caressing her face. Myrkalis felt the dirty look the piebald one sent him before turning back to Aywinnea.

"Aywin." He whispered softly to her. He stood from the chair and unbuttoned the front of his shirt. His long fingers manipulated each of the buttons deftly before moving on to the belt holding his pants up. He folded each piece of clothing on the chair then stepped in front of the wingback chair. "My love...", his form wavered as he began the spell and solidified at the completion in a similar shape to hers. Where Myrkalis had stood two legged, now there stood a unicorn with a pale golden coat and dark mane and tail. His horn was shorter than hers, but wider at the base with a tighter turn to the spiral. A brown star stood out beneath his horn, the point lost beneath the bone.

His voice had the same ethereal quality now that hers had. "Come back to me my beauty, where is there joy in this world, if not in your heart?" he kissed her gently as his cloven hooves and brown fetlocks crossed the border between library and garden. "It has not been yet, it can be changed."

"What has been seen, shall come to pass. What I do not know, is what happens next. The storm hides it all."

"Then have hope, my love. This ... Metamagus might yet change the future."

"If he can not..." She looked up at him and he could see the ghost of the shadow of that future shade in her eyes, an echo of the sorrow which would drive her to madness, "I asked her what she saw. Her answer haunts me. She told me, 'I am the last. I have watched them all die. I have tried to follow my love beyond the sea, but I can not reach him. He calls and he waits. It costs him to wait, but still I can not follow him. Not until I have spoken to you. So hurry, fly away, return to him, that I may also go to him.'"

He settled upon the grass before her, uncaring that his tail fell in the pool where the golden fish knotted the hairs together mischievously. His head dipped, then rubbed along her neck. "Then, let us cast our gaze together. The two of us should be able to find this Metamagus."

"He is not, yet. His birth is still some time away." There was note of laughter in her voice again, but faint. No more sound than a snowflake falling, yet still Myrkalis heard it. "I do not know his name yet, I have not met him. But I do know that he will be born into fire. He is not of the Hidden World and yet we must find him and bring him to it."

"Bring him to the Brotherhood?"

"They will not like him."

"What shall we tell them?" "Only that he shall save both our worlds. That his life is worth the risk."

"And what of the storm?"

Aywinnea rested her head on his back, eyes fixed on the moon outside the south windows as it rose full and heavy, "They will know. Those that listen, at least. Now quiet, I can not hear the bells." There was laughter in her voice again.

"Oh, you and your bells. Give me the pipes of the Irish any day."

"Myrk. I want to hear music. Not you."

"Fine. But mark my words, Lady Aywin, nothing frees the soul quite like a jig."