The shadows in the cavern moved, and Malachite himself stepped out. Or, perhaps, "flowed" out would be a better word. Shaped of darkness, formless and vague, Malachite pulled himself out into the afternoon sunlight. Thousands upon thousands of sickly greenish dots shifted through his form, looking like fireflies trapped in smoke. Those were the bodies of the fae swarm itself, bound together by the will of Malachite into a collective shape. 