A searing pain in her head awoke the unconscious cleric. Senan groaned, squeezing her eyes tighter against the infernal light that was trying to seep through her long lashes. She could already tell from the nausea that gripped her stomach that she was going to be extremely dizzy upon opening her eyes. Grimacing, she kept herself in the comforting darkness.

Then a warm, slender hand touched her forehead, smoothing back the matted red locks. The skin was soft as a flower petal and smelled vaguely as such; the sweet aroma of roses wafted to her nose. At its touch, the painful throbbing in her head lessened, then disappeared. Lines of pain and fatigue erased themselves from her smooth brow, and she opened her eyes, blinking in the sudden light.

"Lady Crysania…?" she ventured, wondering if the healing power she had just experienced had come from the blessed hands of her mentor.

"No," said a soft voice. "Though I wish it were." The hand pulled away from her forehead. Senan missed its warmth immediately; the room seemed cold without it. Lifting her head to see its owner, she gasped.

A man with snow-white skin that shimmered with a faint, golden hue lay on his back upon the quartz table. The slight, delicate face was framed by a wavy mane of jet black hair, which gleamed like fire in the flickering light. Hollow green eyes the color of moss stared at her, unblinking, in the candlelight. Leaning closer, the cleric could see that the pupils were the shape of hourglasses.

Senan scuttled backwards. "Y…you're Raistlin Majere!" she cried, eyes wide in terror.

"And you were expecting…whom?" Raistlin asked caustically, his voice low and mocking. Lacking the strength to sit up, he sneered at her from his place on the table.

"I…you…the elf…" Senan fumbled for words, but none came. Frantic gestures to the mage's appearance conveyed her meaning much better than her stumbling attempt at speaking.

"I know I am different," Raistlin said simply. "But in all honesty, what else can you expect? This body is composed of herbs and precious metals, not of flesh and bone." His scrutinizing gaze swept her over, making her shiver and draw her robes tighter around her lithe body. He grinned ruefully. "It seems that this body serves me better than my own, apparently," he murmured. "It just goes to show that nature wins out where man falls short."

"W…what do you mean?" the cleric asked meekly, her own green eyes trained on the floor.

"It means that I have at last made an impression that does not reek of fear and discrimination," the mage replied, gripping the Staff of Magius roughly in his left hand. "And that only with the help of others."

"I…I'm sorry…?"

"Don't be," he returned harshly. He reached out his right hand. "Help me sit up. I have many questions I need answered."

Senan hesitated. In all the stories she had heard about the infamous Raistlin Majere, he had had stunning golden eyes and skin, with a mantle of prematurely white hair cascading from a coal-colored cowl. The man who sat before her was dressed in a simple white smock that flowed in ragged waves to his ankles. His skin was like that of a porcelain doll – white, smooth, and glassy. Dull green eyes replaced myth's gold ones, and black hair hung in a thick mane where there should only have been a covering of white.

What if it's not him? What if he's lying? Senan wondered suddenly, moving a little further away. Raistlin frowned, letting his hand fall back to his side.

"Don't tell me you are afraid," he snarled, ivory teeth clicking together menacingly.

Senan shook her head. "I am not afraid," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "I just do not know if I should believe you. You look so much different than the stories…"

"Some stories of Huma portray him as a giant of over 18 feet, and others swear he is a fallen god," Raistlin retorted. "Tales are not something on which to place your beliefs."

"I suppose you are right." The girl sighed. "Dalamar certainly seemed to think it was you."

Their eyes traveled to the dark elf, who lay crumpled on the floor beside the table. Senan grasped her medallion, murmuring a prayer. Raistlin rolled his eyes, trying not to think of how much this young girl reminded him of someone else.

Finishing her prayer, Senan looked up once more. "Is…is it true that you see death?" she ventured.

"I would not call it seeing death, Revered Daughter. It is more like seeing life as it truly is." The mage pressed his slender fingers to his forehead, shutting his eyes. "However, in this body of spice and stone, time seems to stand still. I see the world as I was meant to see it – an illusion of the dream of youth."

"I see." The cleric slowly crawled back to the table and pulled herself to her knees. Taking the man's fragile hand and slipping her arm behind his back, she helped him sit up. He was light as a feather, and she found herself worrying that she would somehow snap his delicate spine in two.

"Thank you." The mage leaned heavily upon her arm, his head lolling to rest on her shoulder. At her sharp intake of breath, he smiled grimly. "Forgive me. I am not strong enough to hold my head upright."

"N…no, n-not at all," she stammered. His wavy black hair smelled strongly of crushed poisonberries mingled with dried rose petals. The aroma was tantalizingly alluring, resulting in her strangled gasp. Raistlin had misinterpreted it, thinking it an expression of disgust; ashamed, she was in no hurry to correct him.

After a few moments' silence, Raistlin shifted feebly in her arms, turning his evergreen eyes upon her rosy face. "So tell me. When exactly did my brother collapse?"

"Um, just a little over a day ago," she replied. "He went to his house to get a book for Dalamar, and he took a long time, so Tika went to look for him. Dalamar and I stayed in the common room of the Inn to wait for her. We heard her scream, and…" she trailed off.

"It has been more than a single day, Revered Daughter," the mage said tersely. "I have heard the water clock drip away the hours after your collapse. I had dared to hope that you had come here faster after my brother fell. But if you believe what you said, then at least three days have passed since it happened." He struggled to sit up on his own. "Wake Dalamar. We must act quickly!"

"But…but you're too weak!" she protested, trying to draw him back against her. She was strangely loathe to let him go.

Despite his weakness, his head whipped around to face her. The emeralds looked as if they had caught fire. "Never….NEVER…say I am too weak!" he hissed. He feebly shoved her hands away, forcing himself to swing his legs over the side of the table. "Do as I say! Wake the elf!"

Senan was about to raise a final protest, but, seeing the look on his face, she chose to remain silent. Slipping to her feet, she padded over to the dark elf, shaking him with a gentle hand. "Dalamar," she called softly. "Wake up."

His dark eyes fluttered open, then shut tight again as he groaned in pain. He rolled from his side to his stomach, clutching his head between clawlike hands. A ragged cry escaped his lips.

"Dalamar!" Senan grasped the elf's strong shoulders. "Please! Raistlin is awake! We have lost a lot of time!"

"The pain…too much…" Dalamar curled into a ball, his knees tucked under him, his elbows on the stone floor. "I can't bear it! Make it go away!"

Senan looked helplessly back at Raistlin, who was trying with all his might to stand up. "Can you help him as you helped me?" she demanded.

Raistlin had barely convinced his legs into a kneeling position before he collapsed. He sprawled on the floor beside the quartz table, teeth bared dangerously. He threw the cleric a furious look. "If you are willing to bring him to me," he snarled, "then I will be more than happy to ease his pain."

Without hesitation, Senan squatted beside Dalamar, taking the elf under the arms and attempting to drag him across the room. He writhed in her grasp, thrashing his legs and arching his back as he desperately tried to control his pain. But after several more minutes of wrestling with the dark mage, Senan finally managed to pull him over to where Raistlin lay.

"You are a fool," he sneered, reaching out to place his hand upon his apprentice's sweaty brow. Immediately the elf stopped squirming, and the lines of pain slowly faded away. Opening one eye, then the other, he blinked in the candlelight. Then he saw Raistlin.

"Shalafi!" he cried, quickly lowering his head in respect.

Raistlin didn't answer. He was leaning back against the leg of the table, his breath coming in labored gasps. Senan offered him her arm, but he declined with a sharp shake of his black-maned head. He motioned for Dalamar, who came a little closer to hear what he had to say.

"Three…days…" Raistlin panted. "We must…act quickly…!"

Dalamar shook his head. "You are not well. You cannot hope to defeat Fistandantilus in that condition, however you were planning to do that in the first place."

The archmage glowered. "If I do not act now, I will never get the chance! My brother must be saved!" He turned once again to the table, gripping the edge with determined hands. Slowly, painfully, he drew himself to his feet, locking his knees as his muscles gave out. "Fetch me my black robes, if you still have them," he ordered from behind clenched teeth.

"They are locked in your laboratory, which cannot be opened," said Dalamar.

"Whyever not!"

"I wanted the dread portal to remain forever closed," the dark elf said quietly.

A few minutes flew by with no word. Raistlin had bowed his head, brooding; neither of the other occupants of the room wanted to disturb his thoughts. Finally, Raistlin looked up. "I see," he murmured. "I suppose it was best."

"I will bring you a set from my closet," Dalamar offered, relieved to see his Shalafi agreed with his decision.

"As you wish."

Dalamar hurried out, leaving Raistlin alone with Senan.

After the dark elf was out of earshot, Raistlin turned toward Senan, motioning her to him with a wave of his hand. She went over to him, twisting her robes between nervous fingers.

"How…" the mage's voice was husky. Frowning, he cleared his throat. "How is Lady Crysania?"

"Sh…she is blind…" Senan couldn't take her eyes off him.

"I know that!" he snapped. "What I meant is…is she happy?"

"Um…"

"Do not lie."

"I find her crying a lot," Senan said finally. "She walks the corridors of the temple alone at night, tracing her fingers along the walls for guidance. I always come across her at the window overlooking this Tower. And…"

"And?"

"And….she always has your name on her lips." The cleric lowered her eyes at last.

Raistlin slumped against the table leg, his black hair tumbling in front of his eyes. "I had dared to hope she would forget about me," he murmured. "That some force…perhaps the merciful hand of Paladine…had closed her mind's eye upon those memories. At the very least, she could remember me with the hatred I so rightfully deserve…"

Senan was confused. "She loved you," she said hesitantly. "Love is not easily forgotten or forsaken. It is not vengeful or grudging. She holds tight to your memory with a fond hand, convincing herself that in the very end, you were able to see the error of your ways…"

"Foolish girl." Drawing his knees up to his chin, he put his face in his arms. "So blinded by her own righteousness that she cannot see the darkness that creeps up on her from behind…"

"You can make it right, can't you?" Senan demanded, moving closer. "You're here now! You can go back to her after you save your brother! You can tell her everything. You can mend her broken heart!"

"I cannot," he interrupted, his green, hourglass eyes boring into her own. "This body is temporary; it will only last until my purpose is fulfilled. After I have completed my mission, it will crumble into the components that made it." His hand traveled to his face, resting over his left eye. "Green for the herbs of life…" Slender fingers moved to touch his porcelain cheek. "White for the sands of time…" Finally, his fist clenched in his ebony hair. "Black, for life is a curse that will soon end." He fixed her with a razor-edged glare. "Lady Crysania must never know that I have returned to this world until I am long gone. It will be best if--"

"Coward."

Raistlin blinked. "What did you say?" he hissed.

"You're a coward," the girl repeated, returning his furious gaze with deadly calm. "You are afraid to make things right. You are afraid to face what you yourself have caused. You do not want to own up to your follies. And for that, you are a coward."

"You know nothing, girl," Raistlin sneered. "I have made no follies; but if I had, I would gladly repeat them. I never cared for Lady Crysania more than a hint of physical attraction." But as he spoke his voice wavered, as if he himself did not believe a word he was saying.

"Then why did you ask about her?" Senan persisted. "Why were you so shaken when I told you Crysania still loves you?"

"You misjudge me." A faint leer curled his lip. "My concern was not based on love; it sprouted from the debt I owe her for assisting my entry into the Abyss. If she did not remember, or if she despised my very existence, then the debt would be alleviated."

The cleric pursed her lips. "You intend to let that debt go regardless of whether she remembers or not, don't you?" When he didn't answer, she sighed, knowing she was right. "So. Is that why you came back to help your brother?" she asked quietly. "To repay a debt?"

"Yes. That, and my brother's part in the future of this planet is indispensable." His eyes took on a faraway look, as if they were indeed seeing into the future. "Yes," he murmured, "quite indispensable…"

Senan regarded the archmage intently – thoughtfully. Her emerald eyes slowly looked him up and down, and a slight flash of pity passed over her pretty face. "Tell me," she whispered, her hand unwittingly darting out to take his. "Does that armor of pride and ambition…ever chafe you?"

Raistlin stared at her a moment, then pulled his white hand away from her with a derisive sneer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" she asked, moving closer still. "…don't you?"

For a fleeting moment, the defensive wall around the mage's soul crumbled, revealing the man who had suffered so much to gain so little; sacrificed everything for himself and received nothing for his efforts. The man who had lived out his life in his brother's shadow – the man who was forever shunned for what he did not have, and who was persecuted for that which he did.

The one who sought to build everything out of nothing to replace the world that had long since turned its back upon him.

In that split second of truth, Senan burned the image of the man within the fortress into her mind, vowing to free him at any cost. Even as the wall shot up once more and he turned away from her in derision, she promised herself that she would help him.

"It does not matter now," the mage was saying softly to himself. His hourglass eyes were turned heavenward, his porcelain fists clenched at his sides. "Whether it be for love or for honor, it does not matter. The task will be done." Pushing himself to his feet with renewed strength, Raistlin crossed the room with steps that faltered only slightly to where his staff was leaned against the wall, its blue-crystal orb reflecting dully in the candlelight. Raistlin reached out his slender hand and grasped the wooden shaft lovingly. The crystal flared into light, rejoicing at the return of its master. Raistlin's thin lips twisted into a small smile.

"Dulak," he whispered. The staff's light dimmed and went out. With a slight frown of remorse, he placed it back in the corner. Whispering a few words of magic, he touched the staff once more, making it disappear back into the laboratory from which it had been summoned. "Another waits for you," he said softly. "Until he comes to claim you, there you will remain."

"Shalafi," came Dalamar's silky voice. The dark elf stepped into the room carrying a small bundle of black velvet. He lowered his head slightly. "Your robes."

Raistlin turned to face his apprentice. The small smile curved further into a leer. "Thank you, Dalamar." Striding across the room, the archmage reached out to take the robes from the dark elf's hand. Then he stopped, his hand poised a few inches from the black material.

"What is it, Shalafi?" Dalamar inquired, his voice flat and emotionless.

"A word of warning, my dear apprentice." The mage's white, slender fingers moved to rest on the dark elf's chest. Dalamar flinched as his master's fingertips brushed across the festering wounds that were hidden under his robes – the ones those very same fingertips had inflicted what seemed like a hundred years ago. "You lived to betray me once," Raistlin hissed, clenching his fist around the folds of the black robes. "To do so again would cost you your life."

Dalamar bowed stiffly. "Of course, Shalafi," he murmured into his cowl, which fell low over his glittering dark eyes.

Satisfied, Raistlin turned back to Senan, who was gazing at him through wide, thoughtful eyes. "You may return to your temple, Revered Daughter," he told her, gesturing to the door. "Dalamar will speed you on your way."

The girl started as if she had been suddenly shaken awake by a rough hand. "But…are you sure? I mean, you're not well…"

"I am as 'well' as I have ever been," the mage said dryly. "Poor health hinders only the weak of heart. Dalamar, transport her back to the Temple. Remember, girl. Not a word to Lady Crysania, lest you bring more pain upon your foolish master."

Senan was about to say something, perhaps try one last time to persuade the mage to remain and recover his strength, but she was whisked away in a cyclone of magic, leaving the master and servant to themselves. Dalamar lowered his hand, feeling the ecstasy of the magic slowly fade away. He folded his arms into his sleeves and turned to Raistlin.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to leave next, Shalafi," said the dark elf.

"You 'suppose' right, apprentice," Raistlin mocked. "Get on with it."

Dalamar sighed, calling upon the words of magic and focusing his mind's eye upon Solace. As he cast the spell, Raistlin came close to the mage, grasping the dark elf's arm in a painfully hot grip.

"Tell the Conclave I send my regards," he murmured. The wounds on Dalamar's chest burned like fire, and the dark elf gasped, losing control of the magic. Raistlin disappeared in a cloud of magical smoke, his smirking face the last thing Dalamar saw before he collapsed to the floor.