The moment he fell through the glowing oval, Ghent was surrounded by the pastel blue of the portal’s pathway, swirls of white spiraling lazily about. Any sense of up or down vanished. The straps on his backpack and any other lose clothing drifted around him as if submerged in water, yet he felt as dry as was possible after leaving the deluge of Earth behind, each breath—if he managed them—taking in only air.
In the span of the average blink, the white swirls coiled away, replaced instead by electric streaks of red so dark they looked black. The baby blue of the portal shifted to match, turning an unnerving blood red.
A pinprick of golden-green light sparked to life in front of him. It widened, appearing to grow nearer as if he fell toward it, creating the only evidence of motion. Voices no louder than a whisper broke the quiet of the portal’s pathway, echoing through his mind as well as in his ears.
“And who are you to seek my advice?” asked the bored, conceited whisper of a man.
“Ha! That ain’t gonna happen, nohow!” a female chortled confidently, a second woman’s voice that sounded similar to the first joining in on ‘nohow.”
“Long live the White Queen!” a passionate battle cry sounded, the strong, deep voice perhaps familiar in a foggy, long-forgotten way. But any familiarity it may strike was interrupted by a cruel, blood-chilling chuckle.
“Your head is mine, little queen,” the smooth, menacing voice of a woman filled the sickly-colored void just before the light became blinding and consumed Ghent.
The portal spat Ghent up and out onto his back, the lush, green leaves of a grand oak tree spreading over him and blocking his view of anything beyond its foliage. The thick, springy grass beneath him cushioned his landing, making it feel more like he had landed on the world’s lumpiest mattress instead of solid ground. At least, where his backpack was not pressing against him. Though the golden-green light had dimmed, it still remained, coating the world around him in its soft, almost calming light. Despite the horrors he had heard about Wonderland, something about this place felt almost peaceful. Untouched. Perhaps even sacred. Even he would be incapable of denying the presence of magic hanging thickly in the air here and buzzing about him excitedly, like an invisible welcoming party.
He had made it. After fourteen years, whether he liked it or not, Ghent had found his way back to Wonderland.


Unsure if he had slept, Drust paced the grassy field of the center of Harrow Hollow Hill. The magically formed mountains created a barrier around what was once Wonderland’s version of Grand Central Station for world travel, making it difficult, at best, to tell the time. There, in the little slice that remained reminiscent of times before the Era of Crimson Destruction, it was always light, the sky a small pinprick far up in the distance.
It was quiet here. Far too quiet.
Drust scowled up at the orb hovering high above the center of the massive field, its gentle golden-green glow turning his skin an unpleasant shade of yellow.
With a snarl, he looked away and gripped his head in his hands.
Something was wrong. Not with Elayra and Ghent, as far as he knew, but with him. The scrambled mess of memories and emotions the partial effects of the Curse turned his mind into had felt more chaotic since world jumping. The regret and anger, sorrow and fear, and every other negative emotion it fed on and amplified fought against him, against the man he knew he once was, with more vigor than normal.
Something about Earth’s younger magic must have granted the Curse in him the nourishment it needed to grow. It was the only thing that made sense. While magic could stave off magic, so, too, could it nurse off each other. And the Crimson Curse was a parasitic magic, among other things.
No matter what, he could not give into it. He would not let the Curse and wretched Red Sorceress win! He had made a promise to the White Queen and Hatter he planned on upholding until his dying breath. For Elayra’s sake, he had to keep it under control. Be the master of what little of his mind remained fully his. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Or now, as he had to remind himself, Ghent.
Ghent. Drust snorted. That boy could barely hold his own in a fist fight, and cowered at the sight of his shadow. That was what he had to train to be strong enough to face the Red Sorceress as quickly as possible. He could scarcely believe the fate of his home rested on the incompetent shoulders of two teenagers.
Wonderland was indubitably doomed.
His face twisted in a snarl at himself for letting the doubt creep in. Positive. He had to think positive.
Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt at calming himself, he drew his katana from its sheath still strapped to his back. He felt an uneasy quiver ripple through the untainted magic of the field at the weapon’s presence, but ignored it.
Drust stepped to the center of the field. The branches of the dozen vast oak trees stretched toward him and entwined with each other, their leaves thick and rich enough to make many other trees in Wonderland jealous. Their trunks pressed against the rocky walls of the field, their gnarly roots spread out about them, digging into the sweet earth. The large, circular opening in each set of roots near the base of their tree's trunk still sunk down into a dark hole. All vacant reminders of the past. All, but one.
He turned toward the only tree whose rooted opening was illuminated by a bluish-white light, a circle with a + through it glowing faintly on its bark. The symbol for Earth’s portal.
He held his katana vertically in front of him and stood there, little more than a statue as he watched the portal for a couple short moments, listening to the dreaded peaceful silence. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on clearing his mind and focusing on the familiar weight of the blade, on the worn softness of its white leather grip. It was a memento from the past and a promise to the future, an object that still linked him to his brothers in arms. It was more than just a simple sword. It was, in a sense, a part of him.
Opening his eyes, he slowly worked through a set of attacks, concentrating on each smooth sweep of the blade as he flowed from one stance to the next. He paid closer attention than necessary to each controlled tense of a muscle, to every exhale, willing the movements to melt away as much of the stress and anxiety that fueled the Curse as it could.
Then, the magic in the air shifted, and he saw the portal flicker in the corner of his eye.
He spun toward it, shifting his grip on his katana to a more aggressive stance, ready to fight anything that came through that did not have one of his charges’ faces. Realizing the portal’s magic was dying, the glow growing softer, his eyes widened and he sucked in a breath.
“Come on, Elayra!” he grumbled under his breath. He took a step toward it, careful to give whoever—if anyone—came through enough clearance for the portal to eject them.
The portal flickered again, then its glow flared. Drust gripped his sword tighter, his body tensing in preparation a second before someone flew out of it onto the grass.
Recognizing the newcomer, Drust swiped his sword in front of him, the blade making a light swishing noise as he moved it to his side and stepped toward Ghent.
“Ghent.” He glanced to the portal, expecting it to flash again and Elayra to pop out and land beside Ghent. But neither happened. His eyes snapped back to Ghent, panic in their black-lined red. “Where’s Elayra?” he half snapped, half snarled, taking another step toward the boy, his neck twitching slightly as he looked between Ghent and the portal.

Ghent never got the chance to prepare himself. One push later, he found himself inside of the portal he'd been so critical of. His panicked shout echoed in his ears as the alley fell away from his line of vision, replacing him with a look into the strangest place he'd ever seen.
It was difficult for Ghent to believe that this was his second time going through the portal. Perhaps it should have been familiar, but it wasn't.
The feeling of drowning without water was surreal. Was he in a small void, or a large one? There was no way to measure the area around him, and there was no way to tell how far he was falling.
Was he falling? Ghent didn't know. For all he knew, he could have been rising, or not moving at all.
The hood of his hoodie drifted behind him while his sleeves hung loosely around his arms and wrists, defying gravity and logic all at once. Ghent didn't speak, he couldn't think. Awestruck, he watched the colors around him change from a calm blue to an unsettling shade of red, but that was all he saw. Elayra hadn't come through yet, neither had Miles. In that moment, Ghent felt completely and helplessly alone, and that's precisely when the first voice shattered the silence.
"Advice?" Ghent could barely speak. The mystery speaker sounded close. Too close. Swatting his still-floating hood over so he had better visual, Ghent looked behind him. No one was there.
The booming chortles of two females were next. Ghent swallowed hard and didn't respond. The voices were in his head.
The battle cry belonged to a male, and was louder than the rest. Unlike the others, the man almost sounded familiar. How could that be? Ghent wished he could see the man responsible, but a cruel laugh, followed by the menacing voice of a woman sounded louder than all the rest combined.
"WAIT!" Going into a full panic, Ghent blurted out the first thing that came to mind. He wanted to stop the female, but he never saw her. Instead of offering him a look at the ones responsible, the portal glowed with a blinding light. Hissing a breath, he used an arm to shield his eyes and felt the motion of falling fast shortly thereafter.
Ghent's frantic yell ended in an 'oof' when he hit the ground. The landing wasn't enough to knock the wind out of him, but he was breathless regardless. The experience through the portal left him in a state of complete and utter disbelief.
The world was quiet again. Ghent stared up at the tree and drew in a sharp gulp of air, mind echoing with scattered dialog of the disembodied voices. The portal itself was strange, but the voices, especially the last one, disturbed him greatly.
Strange. His surroundings weren't anything like he would have expected them to be. This was almost...nice.
A single leaf freed itself from the tree, drifting carelessly until it met the lush ground. Ghent watched it, exhaling as he soaked in the feeling of magic around him. The sensation brought him an odd sense comfort after what the portal put him through.
As his luck would have it, Ghent didn't get to appreciate the haven for long. Just as he'd started to calm down, he felt a second wave of panic when he saw the glint of a blade from the corner of his eye.
Drust. Ghent wasted no time in sitting up.
Being reunited with the knight wasn't exactly a relief. Ghent certainly didn't want to be alone in Wonderland, but he would have preferred the solitude after seeing the expression on the man's face.
While Drust demanded to know Elayra's whereabouts, Ghent looked back to the portal with a sinking heart. Elayra. Of course! The portal was such a spectacle, he'd nearly forgotten about the girl.
"I...I don't know." Ghent winced, expecting that his answer wouldn't go over too well. As Drust stepped forward, he inched back, raising both hands so the madman might allow him a moment to elaborate.
"She was at first! Coming, I mean." Ghent choked out the beginnings of an explanation, fearing that Drust would decide to put the sword to use if he didn't provide a satisfactory answer.
"Elayra was right behind me, but a shadowmire showed up, Miles pushed me -- everyone's always pushing me! -- so I fell into the portal, and..." Ghent's jaw went slack. What if, in some cruel twist of fate and irony, he was trapped in Wonderland while Elayra was confined to earth? The thought was so horrible, he jumped up to his feet and made a beeline for their only doorway to Elayra's location.
Without Elayra, Ghent knew his chances of surviving were slim to none. Elayra knew Drust her entire life, plus she could hold her own against him. Ghent couldn't. He barely understood the sickness plaguing the man.
Stupid Miles! This was exactly why Ghent didn't want to go through the portal first. Much of his decision to accompany the Wonderlander's stemmed from his the fact that he felt guilty. If Elayra wasn't in Wonderland, he didn't want to be, either. He'd agreed for her sake, and she wasn't even there!
If the situation wasn't so dire, it may have been laughable. Two minutes of being in Wonderland -- in probably the safest, calmest spot the world had to offer -- and Ghent wanted to go home. Immediately.
"It's still open!" In his hurry to reach the portal, Ghent almost tripped over his own two feet. He was desperate not to be trapped as Elayra had been trapped all those years ago. "Drust, come on! We have to go back!"

When, at last, the boy spoke, Drust’s gaze settled fully on Ghent with another twitch of his neck.
“You. Don’t. Know?” he growled through his teeth. His grip on his sword tightened, his gaze boring into Ghent as he took another step forward.
His neck twitched again when Ghent raised his hands, but he stopped as the boy dove into a hasty explanation. Every muscle in the White Knight’s body was tense, his breaths short as he tried to both listen to Ghent and fight off the Curse, the lines around his eyes pulsating threateningly.
Though he did not recognize Miles’ name, ‘shadowmire’ was one he knew well. That last, wretched shadowmire! If Elayra did not make it through, one way or another, he would have the beast’s head. And the Red Queen’s.
When Ghent trailed off, with an angered, “ARGH!” Drust turned fully to the portal, his sword swiping at the air, careful to keep it from hitting the boy.
His attention snapped to Ghent when the boy made for the portal, calling out.
“NO!” His voice echoed through the clearing as he closed the distance between him and Ghent in a single, powerful bound. He reached out to grab Ghent, and his fingers closed around the soft fabric of the boy’s hood. He pulled back, hard, to both stop Ghent and force him away from and to the side of the portal. “We go through now,” he spun to face Ghent, moving so he stood between boy and portal, “we use up the last of its magic. Elayra wouldn’t have a chance.”
His menacing stare gave Ghent a silent, threatening warning against disobeying.
Despite his words, the desire to jump in after her pulled at him. His neck twitched dangerously. The lines at the corners of his eyes threatened to expand over his skin, the heat of the Curse fighting for control raging through him, intensifying his panic and regret.
If they went after her, that was it. Elayra’s way back would be gone, and they may not even make it to the other side. But if they did not go after her? If she got trapped on Earth? Alone? Or worse, if the shadowmire got her, and he could have stopped it? There would be no one but himself to blame.
Drust looked from Ghent with another snarl and spun toward the portal. His grip tightened impossibly further on his katana, and his free hand balled into a fist.
“Come on, Elayra!” he shouted at the portal as if she could hear, as if it would make her appear before them.
But, of course, it did not. Instead, the portal simply glowed weakly at him, its power dwindling with each passing second.
It flickered again. Then, its light flared, preparing to eject someone else. Elayra? The shadowmire? This ‘Miles?’
“Stay!” Drust’s free hand shot out to the side with his order in emphasis for Ghent to stay behind him, before he gripped his katana in both hands, ready for the attack.
Sweet relief flooded through him when Elayra popped out of it, the portal vanishing the moment her feet cleared it.
Elayra landed on her stomach on the soft grass with a gentle grunt, her arms in front of her to stop her face from hitting the ground. As soon as she felt the grass beneath her palms, she pushed herself up and jumped to her feet. She instinctively reached for her sword as she looked around, ready to fight off more of the Queen’s minions, but her hand gripped empty air.
Seeing no one serving the Red Sorceress, her eyes fell to Drust. She took in his worn, Curse-ridden appearance, and took a cautious step away. She glanced to Ghent, her expression asking what he did to make the Curse flair, before returning her focus to Drust’s sword.
“Drust,” she said tightly, what calm she tried to inject in it lost to the adrenaline already coursing through her.
Drust’s chin lowered, and he looked down to where he gripped the weapon. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself; Elayra was okay. She made it. She and Ghent were both in Wonderland. They were all together, as it was meant to be.
Finally, in a swift movement that made Elayra shuftle a step back, Drust sheathed his sword.
He opened his eyes and quickly looked her over to make sure she was okay. “The shadowmire?”
Elayra shook her head. “Don’t know.” She looked to Ghent, still keeping Drust in her sight. “Miles shot it, but I don’t know if it’s dead.” She focused on Drust once more, and took a slow breath. She watched for his reaction as she finished, her words coming quieter. “But she knows, Drust. The Red Queen knows we’re here.”

Ghent felt very similar to a dog that misjudged its length of leash. Choking out a yell of sorts, he staggered backwards from the force of the pull, sputtering the beginnings of protest.
"But...but we'll be stuck here!" Ghent looked over Drust's arm helplessly, his hope of returning home fading faster than the portal's magic. "Drust!"
The knight's stare of impending doom reminded Ghent of his place. Swallowing hard, he dropped his head and backed off.
Great. Ghent's thoughts were similar to Drust's, just more scattered and self centered. What if the portal closed for good? How would he survive? Drust was one twitch away from succumbing to the curse, if he hadn't already. The more time Ghent had to think, the less he liked his current predicament. The more he paced, the more he wanted to say something. It took all the restraint he had not to voice an opinion. The wait was torture.
Occasionally, Ghent would stop pacing long enough to watch the portal, but this did nothing but add to his anxiety. The portal was dying, and Ghent was convinced he would die next. Drust would see to that.
Contrary to his fears, the portal didn't die. Not before giving off a telltale spark. Ghent started to pass Drust to get a better look, coming to an abrupt stop as the man barked the order to stay. Once more, Ghent felt similar to a dog.
Who was to come through? Judging by the sight of the portal, only one would make it to Wonderland. Ghent decided that he would prefer Elayra, or no one at all. Being trapped with Drust and Miles was a recipe for disaster.
Please be Elayra. Please be Elayra. Ghent stayed behind Drust, his posture tense. It was easier to tell himself that he’d come solely for her sake.
For the first time that day, they got a break. Elayra exited the portal without a second to spare.
"Elayra!" Overcome with relief, Ghent blurted her name out loud without thinking. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and jabbed a thumb towards Drust. "Glad you made it. Drust was worried."
After Elayra regained her footing, Ghent caught her questioning look. Nothing was said, but he knew what the look implied. 'I didn't do anything!' Ghent mouthed the words so the knight wouldn't hear. Drust was agitated well before his arrival; Ghent didn't want to be held accountable for the man's current state of mind.
Thankfully, Elayra's return to Wonderland seemed to calm Drust somewhat. As Elayra addressed what went on with the shadowmire, Ghent's eyebrows rose. The drunkard had more guts than he gave him credit for. “Hope a bullet was enough. . .” If the shadowmire survived, chances were Miles did not.
While the two conversed, Ghent moved to stand across from them. The duo was now a trio, and he felt like a third wheel. An out of place, confused, still terribly overwhelmed third wheel.
"Well, that's just great." It sounded as if Ghent was responding to the news about the Red Queen, but instead he sniffed at his sleeve and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I smell like cigarettes."
Despite what he'd been told about the Queen's evil, Ghent appeared foolishly unfazed by the mention of her being aware of their arrival. She would have found out eventually, wouldn’t she? That was his logic.
"So, what's the plan?" Using two fingers, Ghent flicked away a leaf that clung to his damp hoodie. "Grab a few disguises? Lay low? Run for it?" He looked between the two, taken aback by their expressions. "What?"

“She what?” Drust’s body tensed, his hands clenching into fists and head jerking slightly down and to the side in his familiar tic. He stepped toward Elayra, making her take a defensive stance, ready to defend herself. He took a breath, his gaze hard, then forced his hands open and raised them so his palms faced her. “How?”
“She watched through the shadowmire.” Elayra glanced to Ghent as he moved so the three of them formed a triangle in front of the now dead portal. “Between worlds! How’s that even possible? I thought she couldn’t reach outside Wonderland like that!”
Drust snarled, then bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s getting stronger,” he growled through his teeth, his eyes closed.
Both looked to Ghent when he seemed to respond appropriately to the situation, only to ruin it.
Elayra stared at him in disbelief, and Drust’s snarl returned as Ghent continued, paying them no attention until he finished.
“To think,” Drust spat more vehemently than Elayra would expect, “I was worried you actually had your priorities straight.”
“I will not run from her anymore!” Elayra swiped a hand through the air, her gaze fierce. “I’ve spent my life running from that witch!”
“We continue with the original plan accordingly,” Drust answered Ghent’s first question rather unhelpfully, his tone gruff and forced. “She would have discovered us eventually. Later rather than now would have been preferable. But we can’t change that. We’ll just have to adjust our timetable.”
Elayra snorted and looked back to Drust. “Great. Because training him,” she nodded toward Ghent and removed her pack, careful of the still tender bruise beneath it, “wasn’t going to take an eternity in itself.” She placed the pack on the ground, keeping one watchful eye on Drust as she knelt to rummage for her saber.
Drust’s jaw moved as he grit his teeth, his neck twitching and gaze pulsating dangerously. “We’ll. Make. Do.”
Holding her breath, her attention snapped fully to him. She gave a single, slow nod as she gripped the hilt of her sword from amidst the other items in her pack. She glanced to Ghent, jerking her head to the side, trying to tell him to back away, just in case. If Drust snapped, the last thing she needed was for Ghent to get caught in the crossfire.
“What’s next, then?” She pulled her sword from the pack, stood, and set to hooking the weapon back in place around her belt. “Train him up, then go after her before she can find us?”
Drust glanced between Elayra’s sword and pack with a questioning look. “No.” His words came sharp and clipped. “Yes, but no.” He shook his head jerkily.
Elayra suppressed an irritated snort at the unsatisfactory answer, but the emotion still made her lips purse slightly and eyes narrow.
“We’ve wasted too much time here. She knows our location.” He turned and headed to where the massive stony hills creating the walls around them left an opening on one end of the field, its sides dripping with ivy. “The sooner we leave, the better.”

Training. The very idea made Ghent ache all over.
After a morning filled with running and chaos, Ghent wasn't up for combat. Not then, and perhaps not for a few days afterward. Due to getting little to no sleep, he hadn't any energy to spare, and he suspected a training session with the knight was no walk in the park.
Although fatigued, Ghent didn’t dare shoot down the idea. Tensions were at a continual high. The smallest complaint could trigger Drust into lashing out at him or Elayra.
From where Ghent so silently stood, he couldn’t help but stare at the black webbed markings around Drust’s eyes. The pulsing, coupled with the twitching in his neck, sent up red flags. Ghent was sure he wasn't envisioning it, Drust looked worse than before.
Elayra’s unspoken warning reminded Ghent of his staring. As casually as he could, which ended up not looking casual at all, he took a big step back.
"I doubt my opinion matters, but I'm all for winging it." By agreeing with Drust, Ghent hoped to smooth things over enough so the knight wouldn’t snap. "Or...making do, as you put it."
Elayra wasn’t through commenting. After she'd retrieved her sword, she continued to push for an answer to find out what their new plan was. Ghent inwardly groaned and ran a hand over his face, wondering if perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't made it through the portal. At the last remark, his eyes snapped open.
"Train him up?" Ghent quoted the girl underneath his breath, folding his across his chest to show his displeasure with her saying so. The continuous mention of his needing to train bothered him. He knew that his skills left something to be desired, but did Elayra feel the need to point it out every few minutes?
When Drust said no, Ghent nearly flashed a triumphant smirk towards Elayra. Unfortunately, the knight thought better of his answer and changed it, which lead Ghent to wonder if he really did have to train that day.
Switching his pack to his arm to give his back a break, Ghent refrained from asking for clarification and followed Drust. During their walk, he observed their surroundings, taking in the sight of the greenery and hills. Aside from the park, the city didn't have much of anything green. If not for being warned about the dangers of Wonderland, Ghent would have thought this a charming place.
"Since we're on the topic of you-know-who…" Ghent hung a few steps behind them, reluctant to mention what he'd heard. Their opinion of him was low enough without him making himself sound delusional.
"I think I heard her in the portal…well, I heard a few people – but I think she was one of them.” Ghent watched them uneasily, unsure if this was information better kept to himself.
"…You heard them too, right?"

Elayra cast Ghent a quick glance, hastily closed her pack and picked it up, then followed a couple steps behind Drust. She slung it carefully over one shoulder as she hurried to catch up with the man’s longer strides.
She watched his back intently as they neared the path, his neck and fingers twitching at his side with no evident provocation. Something was different. Wrong. He had been tenser than usual the last couple days, but this was something on a whole new level.
Her fists clenched. Whatever was going on, was only more reason to bring down the Sorceress as fast as possible. If he did not start training Ghent, then she would, one way or another.
Ahead and at their feet, vines and weeds choked the pebbly ground, leaving only small glimpses of the once well-traveled path. Beyond the ivy at the opening, the rocky encompassment of Harrow Hollow Hill turned into grass and tree-studded walls. The hills stretched toward the sky on either side of them, quickly tapering off and growing shorter the closer they grew to the gate. Intricate networks of roots draped down the cliffs from a few trees bold enough to rest near the edge, stretching toward better soil below.
Away from the glow of the light of the field, gray shadows yawned out from bushes and large, moss-covered boulders, and mulled about lazily beneath the leaves of the few trees dotting the area. Above, billowy clouds rolled across the sky, their fluffy forms ignited by the rising sun.
Drust glanced over his shoulder when Ghent referred to the Sorceress, his lips jerking down into a frown.
“This isn’t Harry Potter, boy,” he growled before Ghent brought up the voices.
“Who?” Elayra looked at Drust with confused curiosity.
“‘You-know-who,’” he continued gruffly as if Elayra had not spoken, “is suspicious enough to gain the attention of her trees.”
When Ghent hesitantly voiced his experience, Drust exhaled sharply through his nose, making it impossible to tell if it was a snort or a sigh.
Elayra took a breath and slowed slightly as she nodded at Ghent’s question. “Yeah. I heard them. Her. And…” she glanced up to Drust, who had placed a bit more distance between them. “And I think I heard my mother, but… I don’t know,” she finished quietly with an uncertain shake of her head, her gaze shifting to the ground.
Drust looked over his shoulder once more, and his pace slowed to better match his charges’. “It’s common to hear the voices of the world you’re traveling to. Past. Present. And even, rarely, future. If they make a big enough impact, you may hear voices of those you know. Or knew.”

Ghent gawked at the man. "Did you just..." Yes, he did. Drust just referred to Harry Potter.
"Only one of the greatest wizards ever." Ghent eagerly answered Elayra's question when Drust did not. "Do you think..." No. He wouldn't say that out loud. Even though the ground beneath their feet belonged to a supposedly fictitious world, it was too silly to ask if the portal could take them to Hogwarts.
"Never mind." Childish as it was, Ghent allowed himself to entertain the idea in secret. The world seemed so much bigger now. Magic existed, and he could use it. He could feel it. He didn't need a magical school, a magical school needed him.
An arrogant smirk crossed Ghent's face. Maybe being in Wonderland wasn't so bad. There were dangers, of course, but wouldn't anyone risk it to have the power he possessed? Just when Ghent started to feel rather full of himself, Elayra mentioned the possibility of hearing her mother.
Reality had a way of kicking him down when he least expected it. Careful not to show his sympathy, Ghent dropped his gaze, fearful his expression would betray him. How could he have been so quick to forget the White Queen? Not only that, but he had managed to forget Elayra was of noble blood herself. She certainly never reminded him of the fact.
Your head is mine, little queen.
Ghent shuddered. He may have forgotten Elayra's title, but the pure evil in those words was something he would never forget. If the voice did indeed belong to the Sorceress, she could have been threatening Elayra's mother. Ghent's thoughts fell back to when Elayra told him about the siege. The White Queen was murdered that day.
"I guess we'll never know for sure." For Elayra's sake, and also his own, Ghent slipped into denial. It was easier than facing the reality of what might have happened to her mother. "It's probably better that way."
Things were quiet until Drust offered more insight into how the voices could come from any moment in time, even if the moment hadn't happened yet. This made the identities behind the voices all the more impossible to figure out.
Ghent froze as Elayra fell into his line of vision. A jarring feeling came over him, one which made his heart drop. If the voice came from the future, what if the Sorceress was talking to her?
"Well...in that case, who knows what we heard." More denial, followed by a nervous laugh. "Could've been anything. Or nothing." Ghent's attempt to shrug off the events did little to calm his nerves. It could have been nothing, but it also could have been something. If the latter, he needed to prevent that. He had to.
Strangely, the Sorceress' threat served as a push in the right direction. Ghent remembered why he agreed to come to Wonderland in the first place. He wanted to help Elayra, Drust, and the rest of Wonderland. Lives had been ruined, others were taken. They had suffered enough at the hands of the witch.

Elayra closed her eyes for a short moment at Ghent’s first comment on the voices, the set of regret-filled words she had heard running through her head: “Take care of her, Drust.”
If nothing else, she was certainly uncertain that it had belonged to her mother. She could think of no one else it could have been, no one else who would address the Knight, but if she had known the voice once, it was one long forgotten now. Had that been the last thing she had heard her mother say? A last request caught so tightly in the magic web of the world that it played even through the portals?
Her hands clenched into fists. It would do her no good to dwell on it. It was a voice that created one more memory to shove into a dusty corner to be forgotten. A voice from the past, the ghost of an echo that should have been left to rot. All that truly remained of her mother was the heavy shadow of the White Queen that Elayra was forced to walk in, a shadow darkened by the Red Sorceress. Nothing more.
When what Drust said fully sank in, her attention snapped up to him. They could also be from the future. She glanced to Ghent as discretely as he could, worry in her eyes.
Another had addressed a ‘little boy lost.’ Could that have been referring to him?
Ghent’s nervous laugh made her focus more on his words. He, too, seemed perturbed by something he had heard.
“It was probably Curse-riddled magic trying to mess with us,” she spat, hoping to convince herself of it just as much as trying to encourage Ghent’s idea of the voices meaning nothing.
Drust sighed heavily, a sigh she knew well; she had the wrong theory.
“The magic of the portals exists on a slightly different level. Neither she nor her Curse would have control over what you heard. Regardless of her power.”
Elayra frowned at Drust’s bubble-bursting abilities. “Great. Thanks.”
Drust’s neck twitched slightly as he glared back at her tone, but he said nothing. He looked forward once more.
The further they got from Hollow Hill, the more the feel of magic shifted. It grew less welcoming, drawing away from Ghent, but never fully leaving him. It lurked just outside his senses, there but not there. Long before it faded for Ghent, its almost electric feel completely vanished for Elayra and Drust, strangled out for them by the Curse.
Cracked cobblestones began to replace the overgrown dirt path. As they rounded a bend, the vines and roots at last gave up their fight with the weathered cobblestones, and the gateway came into view.
Flanked by two final hills covered in bushy vegetation, vines twirled their way up its stone pillars and draped down from the archway. Their ends swayed in a gentle breeze. Even from their distance, Elayra could make out the red stone heart at the crest of the subtly pointed arch. It had fallen stationary, its weak, magical pulse snuffed out with the portal. On this side of the gate, two more statues sat on either side of the path. Both once of a heart sitting upon a pillar, one had begun to crumble, leaving only half a heart. A blanket of moss caked the other, making its shape nearly unrecognizable.
Elayra stepped slightly to the side to better see around Drust.
“Do you remember this place?” Elayra asked, eagerly changing the subject. She cast Ghent a quick glance, wondering if he, too, retained any memory of the first time they had come through here.

"You're probably right." This was one of the rare moments where Ghent and Elayra could agree on something without arguing beforehand. The bandwagon of denial was going along smoothly until Drust hit them with the cold hard facts. "Or...not."
Doubt began to creep its way back into Ghent's thoughts. He could feel the sensation of magic gradually weaken, which only helped to chip away at the confidence he built for himself. Alright, so maybe a few magic classes wouldn't hurt.
Concerned that he was already losing his powers, Ghent attempted to read Elayra without making it obvious. Could she feel the magic fade too? He couldn't tell. Danger lurked around every corner, he needed to make sure he still had a way to defend himself.
"Hey, guys? I couldn't help but notice that...woah." Ghent's words caught in his throat when the gate came into view. He couldn't deny the familiarity of the sight before him, he had seen this place countless times before. This was the setting for many of the nightmares and dreams he experienced as a child.
"I don't think I could forget this if I wanted to." Ghent looked on in awe, taking in every detail, mesmerized by every heart and weathered stone. To stand in the place that haunted him for years was a surreal feeling. Seeing the gate no longer frightened him, it reassured him that he had been right all along.
"I used to have the same dream...but it always ended here." Ghent stopped alongside of Drust and Elayra, his eyes never straying from the intricate metal doors. “The three of us were always in it, and it always ended the same way. After I stepped through the doors, I'd look back...and you weren't there anymore."
Moving his backpack so that it rested evenly between both shoulders, Ghent nodded to the knight. "I guess you've found the fountain of youth, Drust. I know I've said it before, but you've barely changed.” 'Barely' was accurate. In age, Drust looked about the same as he did, but Ghent knew the curse took a heavy toll on him. The darkness threatening to take over his eyes was evidence of that.
“You've changed more though, Blondie.” Ghent used his hand to measure the distance from his knee to the cobblestone ground. “You were just a bit shorter than you are now,” he teased, amused by the memory of Elayra as a cute little toddler. Fourteen years later, here they were again. It didn't feel real.
"Wish I remembered more." Sighing softly, Ghent ventured a few steps closer to get a better look. In the grand scheme of things, he knew remembering an old rusty gate wasn't all that impressive or helpful. "It's weird. I never forgot about you two...but I can't even remember my own parents."

Elayra glanced to Ghent when he addressed her and Drust, only to trail off at the sight of the decaying gate. At the boy’s answer to her question, she nodded, content that he at least remembered something of Wonderland.
Drust stopped a few feet from the filigree designs of the gate, waiting for it to open for them as Ghent began his account of his reoccurring dream. His shoulders and jaw stiffened as the boy finished. Regret and guilt flashed in his gaze before his expression hardened to the beat of the hungry Curse threatening to consume the glazed crimson of his eyes.
Elayra stopped beside Drust and glanced between him and the gate as Ghent commented on their appearances.
Drust snorted and his lips rose in a bitter smile as he looked sideways at Ghent. “White Knights age differently,” he answered laconically.
Elayra scowled at Ghent’s favorite nickname for her. She crossed her arms. “Shame, isn’t it?” Her glare turned into a smirk. “You actually used to be cute.”
She shrugged stiffly as he finished speaking. “Maybe it’s better you don’t. Wouldn’t matter now, anyway.”
Elayra’s attention snapped to Drust, and a hand reached instinctively across her body to her sword when the man’s face twisted in angered frustration. At first, she thought it had been her comment, but then he stepped toward the gates. This time, they had not opened for them.
Drust gripped them and tugged, hard. A shimmer glistened over the enchanted ironwork and the stone heart blinked to life with a single, short-lived pink spark. His strength made its hinges rattle defiantly, but still it did not budge.
His head twitched as he bent it with a low growl at the gate.
“Drust?” Elayra stepped cautiously toward him, moving a hand to usher Ghent behind her. Her grip on her sword’s hilt tightened when Drust spun around, the blade sliding an inch from its sheath.
To her relief, the Curse had not taken him, though not for lack of trying.
His gaze settled on Ghent. “Looks like we get to test your abilities.” He jerked his head toward the gate, Elayra unsure if it was intentional, or another tick. “Without an active portal, it’s locked itself to protect what remains. It won’t open. Not willingly.” Drust stepped aside. “A magic boost might help convince it.”

Ghent blinked in surprise. He never took the time to consider Drust wasn't human. This made him even more intriguing. He studied the man with growing curiosity, wondering how old the knight was if fourteen years did little to change him.
"Used to be?" Elayra's remark distracted Ghent from guessing Drust's age. He shot her an unamused look, placing a hand on his hip. "Ha-ha, very funny. So, what you're trying to say is that I'm handsome now?" This wasn't the best time to make a claim on having good looks. No sleep, followed by a day in the rain and a trip through the portal left Ghent looking so disheveled, Miles looked dashing in comparison.
Turning back to face the gate, Ghent waited to see if Drust possessed a magical key of some kind. He nodded in response to Elayra's comment about his lack of memories, his gaze lowering. "Yeah...I guess that's true." Doubt crept its way into his voice. Deep down, he wanted to remember his parents. Anything was better than nothing.
It soon became apparent that there was no magic key. If there was, Drust couldn't find it, because he was showing signs of anger again.
Without missing a beat, Ghent slipped behind Elayra. He hated to imagine what his former classmates would say to see such cowardice, but he wasn't taking any risks. Elayra had a sword, he didn't.
"What's the problem?" Whispering so Drust wouldn't hear, Ghent watched from the safety of his human shield. When Drust looked to him, their eyes locked, and Ghent wanted to sink into the ground. His magic was to act as the key.
"Me?” Nothing like being put on the spot. Thoroughly intimidated by Drust's eerie gaze, Ghent wished Elayra would volunteer in his stead. When she didn't, he ran a hand through his hair, further making a mess of his appearance.
“Uh…well, okay! Sure!” Rubbing his forearm, Ghent stepped around Elayra, approaching the locked metal doors with reluctance. Now that he actually had to do something, the gate intimidated him all over again. It felt more foreboding, just as it did in his dreams.
"Is there a special spell I should use?" Ghent's heart was beating so loudly in his ears, he was afraid Drust and Elayra would hear it too. "Just making sure. I meant to crack a window, but I almost flattened a store. It's been a little unpredictable."

“To a troll slug, perhaps,” Elayra countered just before Ghent looked back to the gate, a satisfied smile on her face at his reaction to her initial insult. Not that she had much to brag about herself at the moment, appearance-wise, her clothes still wet, damp hair a tangled mess, and dark circles forming under her eyes.
When Ghent moved to safety behind her, the amusement of their banter lost with Drust’s mood hanging over them in touchy threat, she only had a shrug to offer to his quiet question. Thankfully, Drust had an answer to it, despite not having heard Ghent.
Elayra scowled at Ghent’s response to Drust’s order, while Drust’s head twitched, irritation flashing in his eyes.
“Yes, you, boy!” Drust growled, then took a forceful deep breath.
Elayra glanced to Ghent when he stepped around her toward the gate. Her gaze moved between him and Drust as she followed Ghent. She stayed a pace behind, but kept close enough to him that she could counter any attacks in time if Drust lost his internal battle.
“You had a focus word, Featherhead,” Elayra reminded him with a smirk.
Drust’s brow furrowed in confused curiosity at Ghent’s comment. He glanced to Elayra for clarification.
She shrugged. “Long story short, we found out he can use magic. But he lacks control.”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward at this first bit of good news he had gotten in a while.
“Good.” Drust looked back to Ghent. “Earth’s magic is young. Wonderland’s is ancient. It won’t be as eager, and far less forgiving. But, hopefully, it’ll work for you. For a spell, as you put it…”
He paused, looking to the gate in contemplation. “Try conrare. It’s commonly for unlocking doors, enchanted or otherwise. But don’t just say it. Feel it. See what you want the magic to do. Magic’s not guided by words alone. A single stray thought could turn a harmless act into a disastrous whim.”
“Basically,” Elayra tried to summarize, “imagine enough magic flowing into the gate to make it unlock and open.”
Drust nodded stiffly in confirmation of her simplification. “Contact with the object may help you.” He nodded to the gate.

"Well, I forgot." Ghent responded huffily. Elayra's nickname for him wasn't anything new, but in that moment he was especially defensive because he feared the name fit. He couldn't remember a single focus word. "I lack control, but I've only tried twice."
Ghent didn't need to defend himself further. Upon hearing the news, Drust came as close to a smile as Ghent believed was possible for him. The knight seemed pleased that he got the magic to work, lack of control or not.
While Drust explained, Ghent gave the knight his undivided attention. Rather than ask for clarification, he pretended to follow along when he didn't understand what was being said. He nodded at the right times, and rubbed his chin to appear deep in thought.
"Conrare," Ghent repeated carefully. He found that the name rolled off the tongue a bit easier than the previous focus words. He was on the verge of asking what a 'dangerous whim' could entail, but Elayra spoke up.
Basically? Ghent scowled at Elayra's use of the word. There was nothing basic about this! Her summary of Drust's explanation didn't make things easier, it made things worse. How could he imagine something he couldn't see? Too much this, too little that. So much could go wrong, and Drust was watching his every move.
The nod was a signal to get moving. Ghent didn't want to move, he wanted to vanish.
"Guess that's my cue, huh?" Legs feeling like lead, he passed the two and stopped in front of the locked doors. The gate was the chalkboard, and he was the clueless student. He didn't know where to start.
Reaching up, Ghent ran his hand along the impressive maze of metal, stopping when he came to the center. If one was lucky enough to own a physical key, this was where he believed it would go. This was what he needed to focus on.
Palm resting against the lock, Ghent closed his eyes. He tried not to think about his comrades watching his every move. Having an audience was unnerving, especially with Drust. Drust didn't seem the type to give second chances.
A single stray thought could turn a harmless act into a disastrous whim.
Ghent closed his eyes tighter. Worrying about Drust wouldn't open the gate. He began to think about what needed to be done. He envisioned the magic, and the lock. He imagined the doors swinging open to allow them through.
Out of nowhere, Ghent felt a sharp jolt. It was stronger than before, like a wave of energy rushing up from his hand into his very being. If the magic behaved differently in Wonderland, Ghent feared the consequences. Something could go terribly wrong if he wasn't careful.
Ghent started to chicken out. The feeling was incredible, but he couldn't help but feel afraid. What if he was doing it wrong? He started to lower his hand, but something stopped him from going through with the action. They needed him to do this. He had to do this.
Taking a breath, Ghent made another effort to feel the magic as Drust suggested. There was no doubt in his mind that the magic was there. It became impatient, awaiting his command. The longer he waited, the more unstable the feeling became. Eyes snapping open, Ghent's fingers stretched over the lock. His thoughts were all over the place, he couldn't contain the magic any longer. He had to get rid of it. "CONRARE!"

Elayra exhaled through her nose at Ghent’s statement. “You think, Featherhead?” She rolled her eyes and carefully shouldered the pack she still carried, freeing both of her hands. If something went awry, she wanted to have full mobility without having to abandon it. With their luck, this was bound to end badly.
Elayra watched Ghent intently as he placed a hand on the metal of the gate where its two sides met, creating a thick bar down its center.
Beneath his fingers, the ironwork was surprisingly warm, even for the mild weather surrounding them. It glistened with morning dew, his touch disrupting the minuscule droplets. If he focused hard enough, though the pulse of the light had extinguished, what little magic remained imbued in the gate still thumped through it, giving it an aura of something somewhere between alive and inanimate.
Elayra looked away from him only to cast Drust a quick glance. His eyes bore into Ghent, the colors of the Curse entwining with a pleading hope. He held his breath, his fists clenched at his sides.
She looked between him and Ghent. If the featherhead did mess this up, it could cause more damage than he imagined.
“Drust,” she began. Despite her soft volume, her voice sounded loud in her ears in the quiet that had fallen around the gate. “Maybe we should—” She moved to jerk her head to indicate they should move, but Drust interrupted.
His head twitched fractionally toward her, his face twisting in a silent snarl. “Quiet, girl,” he snapped, his voice as low as Elayra’s.
She frowned, but her mouth snapped shut as his neck twitched and the black lines snaking from the corner of his eyes gave a warning pulse. She slowly turned her attention back to Ghent, wondering if he was having difficulties connecting with Wonderland’s magic.
At first, the gentle, tingling sensation of magic flit about Ghent. The harder he reached out to it, the more it danced around him, almost toying with him. If Earth’s magic was an eager puppy, then Wonderland’s was an old bloodhound sniffing out the newest member of the household. A household that had had its doors locked and curtains pulled over the windows for far too long. Curious, yet cautious. Willing, yet tentative.
Then, the old bloodhound decided.
The world’s magic wrapped fully around Ghent, the gentle tingle turning into a warm shock somewhere between comforting and unpleasant to an unsuspecting soul. It welled inside him, filling him with its ancient presence from the soles of his feet to top of his head. Listening, waiting for Ghent’s guidance.
When it received no immediate requests or orders, it grew agitated, its warmth turning into an irritated electric heat that swelled in his chest and brushed over his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. It had better things to do than wait around for a novice to gather his nerves.
“CONRARE!”
Ghent’s shout echoed off the metal of the gate. The moment the word left his mouth, a misty light a swirling mix of gold and silver burst to life around his hand, leaving only a faint silhouette of his fingers within its center. In the blink of an eye, it looked as if the thin crack between the sides of the gate absorbed the power. It shot down the crack toward ground and arch, setting it aglow and spitting off an occasional silver or gold spark.
When the light reached its destination, with a small explosion of color, it dispersed through the ironwork. It vanished, only to be replaced by the same mysterious shimmer that had passed over the gate at Drust’s show of force. Only this time, it looked as angry as a shimmer could look.
The gemstone heart at the crest of the arch ignited a pink that quickly turned red. Before any of the trio could so much as gasp, with a deep whoomp just barely in their hearing range, a rush of transparent energy surged from the gate.
“Elay—!” Drust tried to reach out to his closest charge, to pull her to him, but he did not get the chance. The force of the energy sent the unusual companions flying off their feet and a couple yards back down the weed-choked path.
Elayra tried to turn midair to avoid landing on her back. Instead, she hit, hard, on her side as Drust landed a few feet to her right.
The instant Drust's back hit the ground, he hopped to his feet in a perfectly executed kick-up that would have had Bruce Lee make a run for his money. “Elayra! Ghent!” His eyes fell first to Elayra, then searched for Ghent, concern in his sharp, clipped tone.
In response, Elayra groaned and returned to her feet as swiftly as she could, her arm slightly sore from the impact, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Fallen leaves sticking to her damp clothes, she searched for Ghent, checked that both he and Drust were okay for the most part, before looking to the gate.
It remained as solid and shut as it had when they first reached it, the light in the top once more dormant.
“Oh, come on!” Elayra shouted at it, her cheeks flushing in anger furled by desperation. “That was BRILLIANT!” Ignoring the fact that she had just inadvertently complimented Ghent, she stormed back toward the gate.
For once, she thought heatedly, just once, can’t something work the way it’s supposed to?!
“Elayra!” Drust spat through his teeth. When she paid no attention to the threatening sound of her name, he growled low in his throat as his neck twitched violently, then hurried after the girl.
Elayra gripped either side of where Ghent had placed his hand and tugged in a final effort to make sure it had not, in fact, worked. To her dismay, the gate barely moved an inch. “Open, you stupid, good-for-nothing—”
Elayra inhaled and glanced up as the heart above her once more ignited with a soft pink glow. She hastily released the gate just before Drust gripped the top of her backpack and yanked her back more forcefully than necessary, almost wrenching the pack from her shoulders. She stumbled back, nearly losing her footing, and gasped when the pack thumped back against her, irritating the bruise beneath.
In front of them, one of the heavy iron gates swung outward with a high-pitched squeak, creating an opening just wide enough for someone to slip through.
For a long moment, Drust and Elayra could only stare.
A triumphant smile pulled at Elayra’s lips as she turned toward Ghent. “Looks like you did something right for once, Featherhead!”

The magic was beautiful as it was dangerous. The lights and colors were a sight to behold, casting a brilliant glow over Ghent's hand and the gate around it. Had his senses been dulled, he may have felt exhilarated rather than frightened. He didn't know what was to come, but the feeling of instability warned him that the outcome wouldn't be good.
"No, no, no!" Ghent tried to talk the magic out of misbehaving, and the magic paid him no mind. Before he could warn Drust and Elayra, the magic rebelled and they were assaulted by a violent shockwave of force.
Yelling out, Ghent was hurled backwards without much chance to prepare for a landing. His backpack served as a shield for the third time that morning, helping to prevent injury as he slammed into the ground. The slickness of the overgrown weeds made the boy skid a few inches back, scuffing the earth to reveal fresh dirt underneath.
"Oww..." Rolling onto his throbbing side, Ghent winced when Drust called his name. "I'm good," he slowly raised his hand to show he was alive, brows furrowing when Elayra responded with only a groan.
Stupid magic! Fearing the worst, Ghent sat up, spotting Drust first. The knight was already on his feet, which made Ghent wonder if he ever hit the ground at all. Elayra was several paces away when she regained her footing. The trio appeared unscathed for the most part, which was a miracle after how far they were thrown.
Still on the ground, Ghent made eye contact with the girl, confused by her expression. She wasn't angry. "Sorry about that," he began to apologize for his newest failure, dumbfounded when the girl turned to the gate and proceeded to yell at it, rather than him.
Brilliant? He couldn't have heard that right. Fearing Elayra hit her head, Ghent scrambled to his feet. When she disobeyed Drust's newest warning, Ghent winced again. The knight took off after her, so Ghent took after him to serve as a barrier between the two should another fight arise.
"Elayra, don't bother!" Approaching from behind, Ghent hung back as Elayra unleashed her frustrations on the gate. He didn't want her anywhere near it after the magic reacted so badly to his interference. He swallowed hard, eyeing the glowing heart with apprehension. The heart's glow was the last thing he remembered before the invisible force sent the three of them flying.
Drust didn't seem to want Elayra near the gate either. Ghent allowed him to move ahead, startled by the force he used when jerking Elayra away from their current obstacle. That couldn't have felt good with her injuries.
"Whoa, come on!" Ghent reached out to help catch her, but Elayra never lost her balance. To avoid her finding out about his unneeded -- and unwanted -- help, he stepped away, head hung low. His failure to open the gate was the cause of this.
"Guys...I'm sorry, but I don't think I should try that again." Humbled by defeat, Ghent's eyes were downcast when he heard a loud squeak of rusted metal. To the amazement of all three, the door opened for them.
"Did...that just open?" After a long pause, Ghent put both hands to his head, laughing in disbelief. "It actually worked!" In his excitement, he turned to high-five Drust, but he awkwardly lowered his arm as an afterthought. Even if Drust knew what the gesture meant, Ghent decided he wasn't the high-fiving type. To avoid further embarrassing himself, he faced Elayra, pleasantly surprised to find her smiling. This was a rare moment, one to be ruined by his own cockiness.
"Featherhead?" Ghent snorted at the name as he always did. "Really? I think I'm entitled to my real name after my hard work here, Blondie." Plucking a browned leaf from Elayra's hair, he smirked at her. "After all, someone as brilliant as myself deserves respect." He purposely used her word from earlier, fully aware of the unintentional compliment.

Elayra rolled her eyes at Ghent’s question. “No. You just imagined it."
Drust turned just as Ghent raised a hand for a high-five. His eyes narrowed and his pale lips pulled down in a knowing frown, but he made no move to return the gesture.
Wisely, the boy lowered his hand, only for his ego to ruin the moment.
Elayra’s expression turned into a familiar scowl at both his comment and his chosen nickname for her. She pulled back and reached up to whack away his hand with her forearm. The leaf still came away, gently lifting a couple strands of her dirtied hair with it before they released their grip on it.
Her scowl only deepened as he threw her accidental compliment back in her face.
“You’ll deserve respect, Featherhead,” she enunciated each syllable of the nickname, “once you earn it. And that doesn’t mean by accidentally doing something right.”
Beside them, Drust gave a growling sigh and ran a hand down his face, startling Elayra into looking to him and instinctively reach for her sword's hilt.
“If you two children are done,” he growled, his neck twitching, “we’re wasting time.” He turned from them, his cape flaring slightly despite the items on his back, and headed through the gate. He had to push it open a bit wider, but he made it through.
Elayra’s eyes narrowed at being called a child. She glared at Ghent as if the insult was all his fault, then hurried after Drust.
“Fine,” she began, slipping easily between the space in the gates, “but I call dibs on the first sparring match with him.” She looked back toward Ghent, a sly gleam in her eyes.
Drust’s shoulders moved in a deep sigh. “You will, however, need to choose an alias,” he began with a stiffness that made Elayra sober up.
It took her a moment to realize he was talking to Ghent. She cast him a glance to make sure that he had picked up on that as well.
“Unless you want to end up with one like your father’s,” Drust finished in a monotone.
Back on the cracked cobblestones of the path, it made for easy walking. For a short distance, that was. Not far ahead of them, trees grew so close together their trunks touched, creating a barricade as far as they could see with the dense greenery surrounding them. They grew to mountainous heights, where, far enough above that one would have to look straight up to even notice, the leaves of the trees created a massive brush of foliage. The branches had entwined so tightly together it was unlikely even a moth could find its way through.
Unlike when Drust and Elayra had arrived, a few trees were missing, leaving a gap where the stone path cut off in a perfectly straight edge. From between the opening and beyond the safety of the tree barrier, Elayra could make out the thick brown trunks of Hollow Forest.
She inhaled, her next step faltering. She had forgotten they would have to pass back through Hollow Forest. Rather, she had conveniently pushed that little fact to the back of her mind. Her gaze shifted to Drust’s back. Under normal circumstances, it would be just worse than a worrisome inconvenience. But now…
She swallowed and squared her shoulders. We’ll manage, she tried convincing herself. We always do.

Ghent failed to suppress a laugh as Elayra smacked his arm away. Twirling the stem of the leaf between two fingers, he released his prize and smirked wider when Elayra scowled deeper. She was jealous, he was certain of it.
"There was nothing accidental about it!" Ghent's obnoxious grin was soon wiped from his face. The boy remained focused on Elayra, failing to notice her reach for the sword again. "I meant for the door to open, and now it is," he gestured to the pathway with a dramatic wave of hand. "You're welcome."
Children? Feeling Elayra was responsible for the insult, Ghent returned the glare. Begrudgingly, he followed her through the doorway, halting when his too-bulky backpack became wedged between the space provided.
"For pities sake," Ghent twisted left and right to free his luggage. Feeling Elayra's eyes on him, he froze and inwardly groaned after she called dibs on sparring with him first. Wisely, he refrained from responding. The more annoying he was, the less mercy he would be shown. The evil gleam in Elayra's eyes made that obvious.
Great. Now she wants to kill me! Ghent had no one but himself to blame, yet he blamed Elayra anyway. Tugging on the straps impatiently, he freed his inconveniently shaped backpack and trudged after the pair. His excitement about opening the gate was quelled by his own foolishness.
"My...what?" Ghent took on a blank expression. He barely caught what was said, and would have missed Drust's comment entirely if not for the look Elayra gave him. He was so used to them referring to his father as Hatter, he almost forgot about the 'Mad' part. Madness wasn't something Ghent wanted to be associated with. Especially not after questioning his own sanity over the years.
"I guess I'll have to give that some thought." Peering over Elayra's head, Ghent could see hints of the upcoming forest. Still new to the world of Wonderland, he wasn't troubled by the sight. It didn't look welcoming, but he didn't expect to feel welcomed after what he was told about Wonderland's condition.
"So...where did he get that name from?" Ghent started to quicken his pace so he wasn't lagging behind. Before Miles showed up, he recalled Elayra beginning to tell him something about Hatter. This was an opportune time to get answers.
"Is there a story behind that? Or is he...you know." Ghent suddenly felt uncomfortable. He hesitated, keeping the two in his line of vision to read their faces. "Is he crazy?"

Elayra rolled her eyes at Ghent’s confused reaction to Drust’s statement.
“Your father.” Drust glanced toward Ghent when the boy moved to better place both him and Elayra in his view. “Hatter.”
He sighed heavily at Ghent’s further questions, his brows raising as the boy posed the last.
“He’s one of the Forsaken,” Elayra answered curtly, “if that’s what you want to know.” She looked to him, anger at the suggestion flashing in her eyes. “But that doesn’t make him or any of the others affected crazy. They’re just—”
Drust raised a hand for her to be silent as he stopped a couple feet from where the path ended.
Her attention turned to him, her words cutting off. She stopped beside him as he angled himself so he could face both his charges.
“Crazy, as in mad,” he explained irritably. “I believe he’s referring to the fictitious Mad Hatter.” He looked to Ghent, his eyes narrowing. “Your father’s not that old, boy. It’s an unfortunate coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless. He was a bit eccentric, but not insane. ‘Hatter’ is what’s not his real name.” He glanced to the woods awaiting them, and his lips twitched downward.
He’s delaying, Elayra realized. He was trying to hide it, but she knew him too well for that. It would seem he was as eager to enter Hollow Forest as she was.
“Simply,” Drust continued, “he had a hat his father—who was a hatter—made for him. He was never seen without it. Holeland Tweedle, one of the White King’s—” he glanced to Elayra, “your grandfather’s—advisers decided it would make for a fun nickname.”
Elayra’s shoulders stiffened when Drust brought in her family. Her hard gaze shifted to the woods waiting beyond the opening in the tree barricade. The impossibly rich brown of the trunks seeped crimson sap as if pained by the vines winding their way up them and snaking about the forest floor.
“I believe he said he was eleven at the time,” Drust went on, his gaze unintentionally following Elayra’s. “It was cute at first, but, to his regret, it stuck. By the time he decided on an official alias, his fate was already sealed as Hatter. He came to terms with it, though, and occasionally added ‘Mad’ to it to mock Carroll once he read the story. ‘Featherhead,’ on the other hand, would be a much more dismal alias to be stuck with.
“Due to the magic nature of your vinifcium blood,” Drust looked back to Ghent, his expression unreadable, “it’s necessary for you to have an alias. For the likes of you and your father, true names have power. Until you decide on an assumed name, it’s best to not give your real name to anyone else here. Understood?”
Elayra looked to Ghent with a mischievous smile. “Don't worry. You’ll always be ‘Featherhead’ to me, Featherhead.”

The news about his father was a terrible shock. As Ghent attempted to come to terms with what this information meant, Elayra became defensive about his choice of wording.
"They're just mindless zombies," Ghent finished for her, returning the glare. "How is that not crazy?"
Before they could engage in another argument, Drust took over. The knight seemed irritated at first, but he was good enough to share a bit of history regarding how Hatter got his name.
Biting his tongue to keep from interrupting, Ghent shut up and listened. He felt like the world's biggest idiot after the knight referred to the Mad Hatter as fictitious.
"Oh...I thought..." Ghent shook his head, mentally kicking himself for using Disney movies as a guide to Wonderland. The mix-up was an honest mistake, but it sounded so stupid to say aloud. "I thought Hatter was his real name," he mumbled, following Drust's gaze to the forest ahead.
Seeing nothing new, Ghent turned his attention back to Drust. The knight had more information about Hatter than he realized.
"I guess the name's not that bad." Feeling oddly touched by the tale, Ghent changed his mind. His initial reaction was to think the name silly, but it grew on him over time and use. Plus, the image of an eleven-year-old Hatter sporting his favorite hat was undeniably cute.
"I mean, at least it doesn't sound stupid." Ghent shot Elayra an accusatory glare for the name she used for him.
He nodded in agreement when Drust called the name dismal, freezing mid-nod when he was hit with the newest -- and possibly strangest -- order yet.
Ghent shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like Drust bringing up his being vinifcium. The truth about his bloodline didn't make him feel special, it made him feel weird. Not only that, but now his name was taboo for outsiders.
"But..." Intimidated by Drust's steely stare, Ghent caved. "Yeah...understood." The boy didn't sound too pleased about it, but he lost the nerve to object.
Sighing at his newest list of misfortunes, Ghent squeezed the bottom half of his sleeve in an attempt to speed the drying process. He was enlightened, but disturbed. His father was one of the Forsaken, and now he couldn't even use his own name. As if to answer his concerns, Elayra told him not to worry.
Ghent's eyes narrowed. She was smiling again. He braced himself for an insult, and Elayra didn't disappoint. Sure enough, she referred to him as Featherhead. Twice.
"Listen, Blondie," Ghent turned to face her, voice hushed. He wanted to keep the arguing between them, but it was impossible with Drust right there. "You'd better not call me that in front of anyone, because I don't want the name to stick!" After hearing about his father's permanent alias, he had more reason than ever to object to the name.
"At least 'Blondie' fits," Ghent went on, folding his arms across his chest. "'Featherhead' sounds dumb, which I'm not," he stooped to retie his sneaker, scowling up at the girl for good measure. "Even Holland Tweedle sounds better than that!"