The passage of time in the Den of Fairies was disorienting. It was as if time itself refused to be measured, leaving Cassian and his group of twenty or so examinees wandering aimlessly through the vast, endless jungle. Days—or perhaps hours—blurred together, and the only solace they found was in the discovery of a peculiar source of nourishment: the bark of the ancient trees and the sweet, viscous sap that oozed from their wounds when cut.
While this kept them alive, little else went in their favor. The fairies—small, deceptively beautiful creatures with deadly intent—grew more aggressive with each passing moment. Their numbers seemed to swell the longer the group remained, as if the forest itself were calling reinforcements to expel the intruders. The constant skirmishes drained their energy, their spirits fraying under the unrelenting pressure.
