"I'm so pleased that you finally decided to visit, Maxim. Please give me a moment."

The ground-up feminine voice that travels across the room hits his ears as soon as his feet hit the ground, despite the fact that he was as silent as death itself when he was transporting into the house. A small lamp lights itself instantly in greeting. The sorcerer's black eyes adjust then linger over the living room as he waits for the hostess of the house to make her appearance. White paint covers the walls while seemingly random portraits stare down at him from their cheap frames. Two dark blue sofas face each other in a blunt manner of wanting to share company. These are the only spaces for sitting in the entire room. Nothing else. No television, he sighs in relief. He hates those bloody contraptions. His ears detect no hum of any electronics. Only the water heater and warm air blowing wistfully through the vents.

Deciding that sitting would be the only respectable action to take, the intimidating and extremely tall man starts towards the chaises. His cane makes a muffled tap against the carpet. He freezes at the sound. He had forgotten that he was safe. He didn't need this weapon of choice or the added power of the other sorcerers' amulets that were bound around his cane. With a calm swallow, he sets the small black staff engrained with its mystic ruby against the side of the couch.

Then the exhaustion sets in from the events of the evening.

He had failed. Once again. In everything.

Morgana was dead. The spell for the Rising did not even make it off the ground. As for Veronica, that in itself was an entire matter.

Yet, seeing her is the most memorable part of everything.

A shudder of hurt passes through him as he tries to rip through the details of her in his mind. The expression of sudden shock when she was thrown out of the Grimhold. Her beautiful features as elegant and captivating as they were thousands of years ago when he last saw her. The worn purple dress that was a favorite of hers, how it had always framed her supple frame to perfection and even after all this time, it still does. However, one factor from tonight holds his attention and his heart more than anything else. For a moment, he could see the fondness that once filled her eyes whenever she would greet him; it was there tonight. Only for a moment but that was enough. It was more than enough to last for several more millennia.

"Maxim Horvath."

Taken away from his thoughts, he automatically looks towards the long dark hall where his name was called. The approaching steps are more of a shuffle. A sure sign of decrepit age and then the accompanying thunk of a walker serves only to assure him of his deduction.

"I wasn't sure when you were going to drop by but I knew that you would." The wheeze in her voice heightens when she laughs his name out in fondness, "Oh, Maxim. You don't know how happy I am to see you."

Gradually, she enters the light and in respect of who she is, he stands up straight then kneels without even a glance at her. His mannerism is met with silence and the gentle flop of her cotton candy pink slippers as they enter his field of vision. They stop in front of him, lifting their toes up and down in patience.

"You can rise anytime that you wish."

The mirth in her voice makes him feel even worse. He feels patronized for his show of respect. An annoyance rises through him as he pulls back to his full height and finally sees her.

Dark brown flesh, similar to fresh earth. The coloring though is not smooth with youth but lined with age. What once covered her head were more than likely long tresses of midnight but are now snow-white weeds tied back with a purple scarf. A light blue robe folds over her frail form. Her hands lay crooked and gnarled with green veins against steel grey handles. The shape of her face is a friendly one and he is certain that she was fairly pretty in her youth.

Looking down at her from his massive stance, Maxim nods quietly, "How should I address you?"

The elderly woman waves her hand pleasantly in the air as though wiping away the years between them, "Now, now. None of that. I didn't like the idea of formality between master sorcerers and their apprentices when Merlin was around. And I still don't like it now."

Not knowing how to react, he says nothing and already she ushers him to the sofas while ignoring his attempts at trying to assist her.

"Maxim, I'm old. Not an infant. Don't help. I can get there by myself. Just sit."

The seemingly middle-aged sorcerer decides to not prolong this torture and obeys her command by side-stepping her to take his seat. Only seconds following that, she sits across him in a jaunty manner of a grandmother seeing her favorite grandson.

"However, if we are to be equals in this conversation then I suppose that you will need some way to address me." Her short fingers, somehow through their twisted condition, manipulate the air in perfect gestures of magic until a small circular table of gray and glass appears between them with two cups of tea. As she reaches for her midnight snack, she hums aloud, "Hmmm, you know that over the years, I have had several names. I have been a goddess and a demon to many different peoples all over the world. However, I had never been more pleased then when I had a simple name. One name for everyday as I do now."

Her light brown eyes appear to twinkle when he finally takes his cup from the table, "So, you may refer to me as Iris. Iris Brady."
A pause comes over him as he takes in her words, then another when he savors the scent of his tea. It's her special brew. The one that she had used when he first arrived as an apprentice for Merlin. Maxim had never mentioned it but her tea leaves always brewed the greatest cup that he had ever known.

"Yes, I know that you missed this." The cunning in her voice speaks more than her words ever could, "I don't miss anything that runs through your mind. I never have. Not your ideas or your regrets or even Veronica."

"Please, Iris. We do not have to speak about her."

"Maxim, you didn't come here for nothing. You came here for something else and whether you admit it aloud, all of it has to do with that woman," He watches her shake her head in nuisance, "What did I tell you when you first came to my house all those thousands of years ago. Do. Not. Pursue. That. Girl."

His eyebrows crinkle his face up into resignation at the memory of that day. The day when he had first seen his lost love. The day that would determine everything.

Her cup clinks as she tries to set it down through the difficulties of her physical age, "But love is neither logical nor smart. They say that greed is a curse upon mankind and I sometimes have to wonder if, perhaps, the curse is really love. At least, the consequences of loving."

Clearing his throat after a sip of tea, he fills the air with a voice of seriousness to cut through her thoughts, "Morgana is dead. Everything fell through. The Prime Merlinean is being trained by Ba-"

"I know."

His fingers flip in a gesture of agreement over her legendary abilities, "Of course, but what I mean is-"

"You want to know what should be done next." Iris completes his sentence in one swift breath and she gathers another sentence before he can recover from her abruptness, "You want to know where the Prime Morganian is."

No warmth in her tone to make him feel comfortable enough to answer. He knows that she wouldn't harm him or mislead him because of her role in the world and the history of magic. Although, she is now a wizened and kindly old lady; it is only an illusion. She is correct that when she states that she has had numerous aliases. She is old enough to possess so many. Her age doesn't even have a comprehensible number.

As an apprentice, Merlin had told Maxim about this strange being that the old wizard knew as both an ally and an enemy. The magical power that she contains is horrifying. No one, alive or dead, could even gauge that intensity of her talents. But as Merlin put it, "She is not a means to an end or the end of a means. She is merely a servant to herself. Do not fear her or what she knows, for she does know everything that was, is, and will be. So, with that knowledge, she is, yet is not, as dangerous as can ever be imagined. She is no more than a permanent balance of nature."

"I will tell you where she is, Maxim. Please quit retreating to thoughts of the past."

His cup follows her onto the surface in front of him, "Iris, will I succeed if I pursue the Prime Morganian?"

"If I tell you that it is a certainty, will you still ask for her?" The matriarch asks quietly.

Maxim Horvath, confused by the question, answers cautiously, "I do not see why a guaranteed victory would deter me from this path."

Stiff limbs cross over each other in a search for warmth as lined lips speak in an all-telling voice, "Because you don't actually want to complete the Rising."

A defensive snarl echoes through the room at her accusation, "Of course, I do! I have spent thousands of years waiting for the moment of finishing that blasted thing and gaining the true power of a Morganian!"

"Oh, hush."

The consistency of gruff from her makes him cease. Iris couldn't be intimidated by anything in existence but she could lose her patience and Maxim craved the knowledge that she held.

Iris purses her lips then holds her hands out over the table, "Look at these."

His glances cover her hands in quaint interest then come back to her with nothing but a silence of wonder at her order.

"You examined them. You determined that they are merely fingers and palms and wrists. Is that not so?"

Unsurely, he agrees with a tip of his head.

Her hands return to her lap and fiddle with her robe while she continues, "That is where you are at in this moment. You followed your plan to its dismal end. You know where your shortcomings are and how they could have been prevented. You have the full knowledge of everything that was and for the moment, what is. I could give you what will be." Iris lifts her chin and levels her stare to his, "You don't want to know how to succeed as a Morganian. You didn't come here for that. You just want to know how get rid of what you are feeling right now."

Unable to hold her falcon-like gaze and the weight of truth that she just placed on him, Maxim falls back into the support of the chair. As expected, she picked him apart until his strength left him. Never has he felt so empty. Just so far from an ounce of passion, whether it is anger, hate or greed. For once in his overly extended life, he felt as though there was nothing to strive for.

"Don't look so disheartened, dear boy."

Nothing comes from him.

In truth, there is a little sadness in the ancient being's face when she examines his stained suit smelling of ash and sweat. As well as the worn shoes and messed hair from battle. Clasping her hands together, she puts everything into motion as she was always meant to do.

"I don't know if Merlin ever told you what I said to him when we first met. He was a young lad at that time. No more than fourteen years. Just a skinny little ruffian with mischief and little else." The clear mutterings cast their own spell on Maxim as her story works itself in his head and fills him images of what was, "I was in my younger form at that time. Maybe no more than five years older than him. I was traveling through that ever so cold country of old Britain when our paths crossed. Of course, I knew that all of this would come to pass. That is why I said what I said"

Maxim sees everything as it was. Dark tattoos are crossed upon a young girl's face as she crosses steep rivers and treacherous valleys. Her body draped in furs of many strange creatures. The stride of her possessing no fear of anything that would come her way. Even though a red haired pursuer watched her from a distant perch when she passed near his town. A gangly boy running after her with a curious nature in his green eyes. A cold gust from the past entwines Maxim as though he were in the same spring field as they were and the scene plays out.

"Young Merlin." The girl calls out to him as though they anything but strangers. "Come closer now. I am no monster or changeling. You will not be my supper for tonight."

Slowly, the boy circles around her as if she were a dangerous predator, "How do you know my name?"

"For my eyes, it is as clear as the freckles on your cheeks,"He does not smile at her instant warmth for him or for her jesting, "Do not be so cold. One day, you will consider yourself my friend which I will always warn is not the wisest approach for you and me."

"Are you a sorceress?"

"No. Nothing so complicated as that." Suddenly, she points to the gray sky, "You see those clouds? That is what I am."

Her hand then gestures to the distant mountains in the north, "And I am those. And this earth that you stand on. Even the air that fills your very lungs."

Merlin's youthful skepticism makes him doubtful on her answer, "How is it possible to be all of these things? Would you not be proclaiming yourself as a god of some sort?"

"Absolutely not. You are offering a title. I have none. I just am. It's quite simple." Seeing that he has finally stopped his strolling, the brown skinned girl saunters over in short strides, "You have a grand future ahead of you. Enjoy your life, young one and I will be there for much of it. Alas, I want you to remember something."

She stops short of an inch from him and takes in his blooming features. Yet, somehow her coal eyes seem to take in more than Merlin can understand. As though she was seeing all that he was and could ever be.

"We are all merely serving a purpose here on this land. You are a servant in the end. Everyone is in some way. When the time comes and you will need me the most, I will turn my back on you. But, when you do not need me or my involvement, I will be there." A small hand covered in writhing ink snakes itself out of her garments and caresses his pale cheek, "I am not your friend, Merlin. I am not your opponent either. I cherish you just as much as I despise you and what is yet to come. No fear though. You will do great things."

Maxim's eyes flutter open. He can't think of when his eyelids had grown heavy and closed on him. He breathes slowly then unexpectedly yawns as though he had just awoken from a long nap. The bones in his neck crack as he rotates his head from side to side and tries to revive himself. Strange, he thinks quietly, I feel as though I were sleeping for days.

"You weren't." Iris snaps over his thoughts, "Just a little spell to slow the passing of time. I hope that you feel better. You were unconscious for the equivalent of three nights."

He notices that her clothes are changed. A long coat of purple wool is now her cover. Her feet are uncovered and are just as injured by age as her hands are. Her white hair lays long and thin over her shoulders.

"How much time as actually passed?" Maxim asks in a rested tone.

"Give or take, thirty minutes. It's ok though. Balthazar and the others won't be here for at least three days. And I am not going to tell them anything that will aid them."

Sighing with understanding, Maxim notes that his tea is once again piping hot and has been filled for him. The warm porcelain calms him even more as he ponders over what he had just witnessed. "Why did you show me that specific memory?"

"You always wondered why I never spared Merlin's life."

Instantly, he knows what she's referring to. The evening before the great siege at Merlin's tower. When he and Morgana had consulted Iris on how to defeat Merlin and his other apprentices.

"Merlin knew that one day I would lead to his destruction and he accepted it. He just didn't know how all of it was to come." Her revelation is one of fondness and amiability, "Even Balthazar and Veronica knew that I was not to be trusted. You have the same knowing as them but you understand more than they ever could."

"I am not grasping what you are meaning, Iris."

She stares back at him in thought over his cup of tea as he sips the steaming hot liquid with care. "Balthazar and Veronica always told Merlin that I was a dark force. That I favored the black magic over everything else. Do you remember that?"

He nods and his cup almost bobs with him as he clarifies, "But Merlin claimed that you were neutral."

"In my actions, yes, but my nature does favor the darker side of magic." Iris smiles widely at him, "Did you not ever wonder why you were my favorite apprentice over everyone else? Or why I aided you and Morgana on that night?"

"I have thought over these things before but I have never gotten very far with them. I did not have the time to waste."

"Understandable. I do not favor the Merlinians. Not because of their morals and values or because of their personalities but because they are merely another side of the circle." Fingers form a sort of shape and from their flesh, rises creamy mist copying the same arch. "Alas, they do not see that they are more dangerous to the world then the other side could ever be. I helped you and Morgana because you would have balanced everything. Good would not be good unless it has bad to show it how to be. Both are needed and both must have their own periods of glory."

The circle bends itself to her words and changes color. One side is golden and proud, while the other is arrogant in its mournful purple. It begins to rotate when she lazily twirls her finger in the air.

"But that night failed and everything went to a draw. Until now. We are at the hour of a very promising era in which you will have a great part in." Creepily, Maxim senses that she is doing more than projecting the future. Like she is promising him something that he isn't sure he actually desires.

"The Prime Morganian plays a part in this. I am sure?"

Nodding quickly at his wondering, Iris laughs, "Yes. She does. In fact, you should be getting on your way."

He stands up with full energy, feeling better than he had felt in thousands of years. Maxim moves towards his cane and stretches languidly. His palm encloses over the sm-

"Leave it."

Filled with alarm, he steps away as he were stung by some large insect, "Why? How will I cast anything?"

"Don't be such a baby." Iris wipes out her smoke ring from the air then summons the cane to her. It travels across the space at the speed of bullet yet still gently falls in her open hand, "You are a sorcerer of the 779th degree. You don't need this. Morganian or Merlinian, you don't need these trinkets. They're like training wheels, once you've learned how to conjure than you never forget."

"I know this bu-"

She stands with the grace of a woman a quarter of her age and hold the cane against his chest as though it were a sword, "Believe me. After training the Prime Morganian, you will never need this awkward thing again."

Accepting that it is better to trust her and her advice, he shrugs with resignation.

Feeling the atmosphere in the room die down, Iris stuffs the cane in her pocket. Of course, it disappears without a trace and leaves no hint of even being inside her coat. She pats the side of her wool cloth with satisfaction then heads towards the door at a quickened pace.

"I'll drive."

Maxim doesn't even bother asking if she needs her walker when he follows her through the door.

Fifteen minutes after getting into her blue 1995 Cadillac, Iris pulls in front of a small house that is quite similar to the one that they just left. Dried grass lays in small patches over the yard. A tall tree reaches for the sky in a frozen reach. The house appears apple green with a white screen door and a black van parked in the driveway. The night air is dry and surprisingly heated for being so dark.

Maxim steps onto the sidewalk then waits for Iris to take a hold of the situation. Her door closes swiftly behind her. The old woman walks with purpose and determination. Then a question comes to his mind.

"Iris, where exactly are we?"

She doesn't stop to answer him and just calls over her shoulder, "Nevada."

"In which part?"

"The middle."

"Does it answer to any other name?"

"We're on a reservation, Maxim."

"Which tribe?"

"Does it really matter?" Her tone is impatient now.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he decides to drop it. Better to just get this over with.

Iris abruptly bangs on the door as soon as she reaches it. The wood sounds hollow and unforgiving against her hands but its echoes are certainly traveling through the house.

"Oh, the spell."

She grabs a chain from her neck that was hidden away and opens the silver locket. The feeling of being in a sudden windstorm hit Maxim as time straightens itself out and both of them are put back into the proper zone.

"They wouldn't have heard my knocks for quite awhile if I hadn't remembered." She chuckles roughly then slaps her hand against the wooden threshold once more. Maxim feels his heart beat several times over until a light shines through the front window.

The door is pulled with a slight whine of the hinges and woman peers through the small crack of space before throwing the door completely open.

"Grandma, what are you doing here? It's five in the morning!"

Maxim looks at Iris with instant dislike for keeping information like this from him. Iris, on the other hand, completely looks away and focuses on middle-age woman in front of her.

"Aurelia, everything is fine." The grandmother steps through the doorway and with a gesture of her head commands the grumpy sorcerer to follow. "I need Alexandra and the box. It's time."

The woman's features appear blank as though someone had just shot her and was running away. Then as though nothing had passed, she turns around and marches into the back of the house.

"How exactly are you connected to the Prime Morganian?" Demands Maxim when he is left alone with Iris.

The bent figure breathes in preparation then faces him, "Many years ago, I married a man. Don't look so surprised. I am still flesh and blood, such as you. He was descended from Morgana. My many times over great granddaughter is now our chosen descendant."

"This girl has both your lines?" The possibilities of the Prime Morganian's power multiplies in his mind as he pieces everything together, "That would make her the most powerful sorceress by blood alone. She will easily tear apart that little joke of Balthazar's."

"Well, I haven't exactly been completely honest with you as you've already seen." Timidly quips Iris and tears Maxim's thoughts in half.

"What do you mean?"

"She is not an unskilled sorceress. I am not handing you an untouched apprentice, Maxim." She holds his shoulder with care, "She has been my apprentice for many years now. Training as a 'gray' sorceress so to speak."

He waits for to go on because her mouth hangs open like guppy's, "All you are doing is expanding her education. She is not completely unschooled and therefore, the opportunity for manipulation is not there entirely for you to take."

"Iris, I woul-"

"It's cute that you try to lie but that stopped being cute when you were about fifteen years old." Iris squeezes his shoulder with a knowing grin, "And that time is long past."

"Grandmother Iris?"

A deep feminine voice brings forth a woman from the shadows. Maxim hears it then feels himself being turned around by Iris's arms.

"Alexandra, this is Maxim Horvath. Maxim, this is my granddaughter, Alexandra Brady."