In the shadowed recesses of a forgotten forest, where the light of Camelot's torches could not reach, a clandestine meeting was taking place. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient magic, a fitting ambiance for the dark dealings that were about to unfold.

Morgause and Morgana stood in the clearing, their figures bathed in the ethereal glow of a sorcerer's fire. They were not alone. Before them was a figure cloaked in the darkness of his own making, a sorcerer whose name had been lost to time, but whose ambition burned as fiercely as the flames before him.

"The Obsidian Order was once the pinnacle of magical supremacy," the dark sorcerer began, his voice a whisper that seemed to slither through the night. "And it shall be so again. But to restore it to its former glory, we need the Tome of Ashkanar."

The dark sorcerer's eyes glinted with a malevolent light as he continued, "Through the art of scrying, a vision has been revealed to me. A young man, Merlin, is in possession of the tome."

Morgana's reaction was immediate, a sharp intake of breath, her disbelief palpable in the cool night air. "Merlin? That bumbling idiot?" she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and disdain.

Morgause turned to her sister, her brow furrowed in confusion. "You know of this Merlin?" she inquired, her tone laced with curiosity.

Morgana's lips curled into a sneer, the memory of the young man who was always at Arthur's side, seemingly clumsy and unassuming, yet always lingering in the background.

"He is nothing but Arthur's manservant," she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand. "A simpleton who stumbles his way through the halls of Camelot, more likely to drop a goblet than wield any real power."

The sorcerer listened intently, his mind calculating. "Do not underestimate him," he warned. "The very fact that he has the Tome of Ashkanar suggests there is more to him than meets the eye. He could be a formidable obstacle to our plans."

Morgause nodded, her eyes narrowing as she considered the implications. "Then we must act swiftly and decisively. We cannot allow this Merlin to interfere with the resurrection of the Obsidian Order."

The sorcerer's gaze was unyielding as he addressed the sisters. "The Tome of Ashkanar is not a trinket to be trifled with. Its magic is ancient and potent, steeped in the very essence of the Old Religion. If Merlin possesses it, then it can mean only one thing," he paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, "Merlin has magic."

Morgause's expression was one of realization, the pieces of a puzzle long scattered now beginning to form a coherent picture. "It would explain much," she mused. "His proximity to Arthur, his survival against all odds. Yes, he must have magic."

Morgana, however, struggled with the revelation. The thought of Merlin, the awkward manservant she had known, harboring such a secret was almost too much to comprehend. "But how?" she questioned, her voice a whisper of doubt. "How could he have concealed it? And why?"

The sorcerer's eyes gleamed with a dark amusement. "Magic has a way of hiding in plain sight, and Merlin is clearly more cunning than you give him credit for. This changes everything. If Uther were to discover Merlin's secret, it would spell his doom."

Morgause nodded, her mind already turning over the implications. "And not just his own," she added. "Such a revelation would shake the very foundations of Camelot. Arthur's closest confidant, a sorcerer? It would be a betrayal of the highest order."

Morgana's eyes darkened at the thought, the potential for chaos it presented. "Then we must act before Uther learns the truth. We will take the tome, and with it, control the fate of the Obsidian Order—and of Camelot itself."

The three conspirators stood in silent agreement, their shared ambition a bond stronger than any bloodline. The Tome of Ashkanar would be theirs, and with it, the power to shape the destiny of kingdoms. Merlin, the unsuspecting sorcerer, would soon find himself at the heart of a struggle that would determine the future of all who wielded magic. The game was afoot, and the stakes had never been higher.

Merlin entered the prince's chambers, the quiet solitude a stark contrast to the bustling corridors of Camelot. He moved about the room with a practiced grace, tidying up the scattered remnants of Arthur's morning routine.

As he smoothed the sheets and arranged the pillows on the large bed, Arthur entered, his brow furrowed with the day's concerns. "Merlin," he greeted, his tone casual yet commanding. "Everything in order?"

Merlin paused, the weight of his unease settling upon him once more. "Actually, sire, there's something I need to tell you," he began, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "I've had this strange feeling all day, like I'm being watched."

Arthur's demeanor shifted instantly, his playful banter replaced by the seriousness of a prince attuned to the dangers that surrounded his kingdom. "Watched?" he echoed, his voice laced with concern. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain," Merlin admitted, struggling to articulate the instinctual fear that had been his companion since dawn. "It's just a feeling, but it's persistent. I can't shake it."

Arthur studied Merlin for a long moment, his mind racing through the possibilities. "That's not like you, Merlin," he said finally. "You're not one to worry without cause. If you feel something is amiss, then we must be vigilant."

Merlin nodded, grateful for the prince's trust. "I'll keep my eyes open," he promised, a silent vow to protect Arthur, even if it meant facing the unknown threats that lurked in the shadows.

Arthur placed a reassuring hand on Merlin's shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this," he assured him. "For now, stay alert. And Merlin," he added, a hint of the camaraderie they shared creeping back into his voice, "try not to drop anything important."

With a small smile, Merlin returned to his duties, the prince's words bolstering his resolve. The feeling of being watched remained, a whisper of danger on the edge of perception, but Merlin was ready. For Camelot, for Arthur, and for the destiny that awaited him.

Merlin made his way to the stables, the scent of hay and horse a familiar comfort. He approached Arthur's horse, a majestic bay stallion with a coat that shone like burnished copper in the dim light of the stable.

"Easy there, boy," Merlin murmured, running a gentle hand along the stallion's flank. The horse nickered softly, a puff of warm breath against Merlin's skin. He always felt a connection to these noble creatures, a sense of peace that eluded him elsewhere.

As he set about grooming the stallion, Merlin's thoughts drifted. The sensation of being watched crept over him again, a shadow at the edge of his vision. He cast a glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of someone lurking in the darkness, but there was nothing—only the soft rustling of the other horses in their stalls.

With a shake of his head, Merlin dismissed the feeling and focused on the task at hand. He brushed the stallion's coat until it gleamed, combed the mane, and checked the hooves for stones. The rhythmic motions were calming, a meditative practice that allowed him to lose himself in the moment.

As evening approached, Merlin began to distribute the horses' dinner, the sound of oats pouring into troughs a familiar chorus. That's when the air shifted, the temperature dropping a few degrees, a sign that magic was at work.

He turned, and there she was—Morgana. Her presence materialized out of thin air, her form solidifying before his eyes. She stood there, regal and imposing, a stark contrast to the simple surroundings of the stable.

"Morgana," Merlin said, his voice steady despite the surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes locked onto his, and in them, he saw a storm of emotions—anger, pain, and a dark purpose he couldn't quite understand. "Merlin," she began, her voice a low whisper that carried the weight of unspoken threats. "We need to talk."

Merlin's heart raced as he faced Morgana, her sudden appearance in the stables both alarming and revealing. He knew that any encounter with her could have dire consequences, yet he also understood the importance of remaining calm.

"Morgana," Merlin repeated, his voice betraying none of his inner turmoil. "If you've come to talk, then talk. What is it that you want?"

Morgana stepped closer, her gaze never leaving Merlin's. "I know about the Tome of Ashkanar, Merlin," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you have it."

Merlin met Morgana's intense gaze, his mind racing for a plausible denial. "The Tome of Ashkanar?" he echoed, feigning confusion. "I'm just a servant, Morgana. Such artifacts are beyond my reach and interest."

Morgana's lips twisted into a knowing smile, her eyes sharp as daggers. "Do not take me for a fool, Merlin," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Scrying magic has shown me the truth. It allows one to see things… and people, no matter where they hide."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat, but he maintained his composure. "Scrying magic?" he questioned, as if the concept was foreign to him. "Sounds like the stuff of legends and fairy tales."

"Oh, but it's very real," Morgana insisted, stepping closer, her presence overwhelming. "And it has revealed that you, Merlin, have been in contact with the tome. The only way you could possibly possess it is if you had magic yourself."

The accusation hung in the air between them, a silent challenge. Merlin could see the wheels turning in Morgana's mind, the implications of her discovery unfolding like a dark mosaic.

"Now, wouldn't that be a scandal?" Morgana mused, her voice a whisper that carried the weight of a threat. "Arthur's trusted manservant, a sorcerer? If Uther were to find out, it would mean your death."

Merlin knew the stakes were high, and the danger to him had never been greater. He needed to steer this conversation away from the truth, to protect not only himself but also the future of Camelot.

Merlin held Morgana's gaze, his silence a heavy shroud in the stable's dim light. He could feel the weight of her scrutiny, the expectation of a confession hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike.

Morgana's smile widened, mistaking his silence for an admission of guilt. "Your silence speaks volumes, Merlin," she said, her voice dripping with triumph. "You do have the tome, and you do have magic."

Merlin's jaw tightened, but he offered no response, no denial. He knew that any words could be twisted, used against him in ways he couldn't predict.

"If you wish to keep your secret safe," Morgana continued, her tone now laced with a venomous sweetness, "you will hand over the Tome of Ashkanar. Consider it… insurance against my silence."

The threat was clear, and Merlin understood the gravity of the situation. Handing over the tome would not only endanger Camelot but also all of Albion. Yet, refusing Morgana could lead to his secret being exposed, and with it, the potential downfall of the kingdom he had sworn to protect.

Merlin's mind raced, calculating his options, his strategies. He needed a plan, one that would safeguard both the tome and his secret. "I need time," he finally said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Morgana regarded him with a cold amusement. "Time is a luxury you do not have, Merlin," she said. "But I will grant you until the stroke of midnight. Make your decision wisely."

With those final words, Morgana vanished into the shadows from which she had emerged, leaving Merlin alone once more. The weight of her ultimatum bore down on him, a countdown to a choice that could change the course of history.

Merlin knew he couldn't face this alone. He needed to confide in Gaius, seek his counsel, and perhaps even involve Arthur. The future of Camelot was at stake, and the next move he made would be crucial. The game of magic and power was afoot, and Merlin was its reluctant player.

Merlin's feet pounded against the cobblestone as he raced back to the castle, his mind a whirlwind of fear and strategy. The corridors were a blur as he navigated the familiar twists and turns, each step bringing him closer to safety and counsel.

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Gwen, who was carrying a basket of linens. "Merlin!" she exclaimed, stepping back just in time. "What's the hurry?"

"Gwen, I need your help," Merlin panted, trying to catch his breath. "It's urgent. Can you find Arthur and tell him to meet me and Gaius in Gaius' quarters? It's important."

Gwen's eyes widened with concern, sensing the gravity of the situation. "Of course, Merlin," she replied without hesitation. "I'll find him right away. Is everything alright?"

Merlin offered her a tight smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I hope so," he said, his voice laced with a tension he couldn't hide. "Just please, hurry."

With a nod, Gwen set off towards the prince's chambers, her steps quick and purposeful. Merlin watched her go, a momentary sense of relief washing over him. With Gwen on the task, Arthur would be informed swiftly.

Turning on his heel, Merlin continued to Gaius' quarters, the weight of Morgana's ultimatum pressing down on him. He needed to share everything with Gaius—the encounter with Morgana, the threat to the Tome of Ashkanar, and the looming danger of the Obsidian Order.