Ghent winced. Once again, he managed to get on Drust’s nerves. Or what was left of them. He shifted his weight to his other foot, making no attempt to speak in fear of agitating him. Hopefully the Curse wouldn’t rear its ugly head again.
As Drust began to explain about his memories being intact, Ghent relaxed slightly. Using his staff to support his weight, he leaned forward, listening with intense curiosity. Up until that moment, he thought the Knights were a class rather than a race. He took a breath when Drust addressed his special abilities, one of the questions that interested him most of all.
Ghent could barely keep up with Drust's many strengths and skills. “You’re like Wolverine or something!” he exclaimed, louder than he intended to. He clasped a hand over his own mouth and looked in Elayra’s direction, careful to lower his voice before speaking again. “He's a hero -- he has epic abilities too, and can withstand stuff that normal people can’t,” he explained, his words rushed in his hurry to speak without interrupting.
As if that wasn’t enough for Ghent to fanboy over, Drust informed him that a vinifcium had the potential to match a Knight in combat.
“No way…” Ghent couldn’t begin to imagine such a thing possible. At least, he couldn’t imagine himself against Drust. It was difficult enough fighting with his peers, how could he take down someone created for combat? By all accounts, Drust seemed indestructible. Except for his one weakness, of course.
While all of the information was new, Drust being weak against magic didn’t come as a surprise to Ghent. He remembered Elayra saying something about that during their misadventures through the forest. It was something he didn’t think much about before, but it was kind of awesome to have access to the Knight’s kryptonite.
“Sorry about earlier,” Ghent piped up, feeling compelled to offer some sort of apology. “I never meant to hit you. Or Elayra.” He wanted to ask how Drust used magic when it posed such a threat to him, but the Knight went on to reveal perhaps the most shocking piece of information about himself.
“You…what?” Ghent leaned too far forward and almost fell. He knew Hatter was powerful, but not that powerful. He stared at the Knight in a mixture of amazement and disbelief, his blue eyes wide with wonder. In that rare moment, he was at a loss for words.
“He created you?” Ghent blanched. “But, that’s…I mean,” he ran a hand through his hair before gesturing to him with the same hand. "Look at you! You're perfect! I can't even make a paper plane!" he paced back and forth, shaking his head while he tried to comprehend that such magic existed. The power to create beings was insane. Nearly godlike. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He couldn't believe he was the son of someone so exceptional.
Thirty-five years ago... Ghent stopped mid-pace, frowning at his sneakers in thought. He fell quiet again, but the silence didn't last long. "Did he create all of you? Or...were their other vinifcium then?"

The last thing the Knight had expected from Ghent was an apology. It gave Drust pause in his explanations, his gaze resting momentarily on the boy. He exhaled heavily and nodded. “You’re inexperienced,” he began, his tone a stiff drone as he struggled to keep the guilt of why that was from rising to more than a whisper in the back of his mind. “Accidents are to be expected. But use caution.”
Drust looked over when Ghent nearly fell, the movement catching his eye. His brows rose as he took in the boy’s wonder. Drust’s mouth twitched downward in a frown. There was far too much the boy didn’t know.
He sighed heavily at Ghent’s final comments and last questions. He took a deep breath, turned back to the fire, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should’ve woken Ghent up earlier.
“I’m far from perfect, boy,” he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. “Hatter created a decent amount of us. But no, not all of us of the non-human guard. His master created many of us before him. The palace has only ever had one official vinifcium at a time.”
He took another breath and glanced toward Ghent. “Creating White and Black Knights takes a tremendous amount of energy. And a sound connection with magic itself. I know little about its process. But Hatter always said magic does most of the work. Nonetheless, his first attempt left him drained and unconscious for a week.” A small smirk quirked his lips. “He theorized he’d put too much of himself into the process with me. As a result, that leaked into the final product. Making me a bit different.”
He curled the hand resting on his knee into a fist, then opened it. He stared at it as if waiting for something unusual to demonstrate his difference, but nothing happened.
He sighed heavily and let his hand dangle from his knee. “I don’t need much sleep. But I still need it.” He reached over and readjusted his pack. “If you have no further questions regarding taking a watch, we’ll continue our conversation upon the morrow.”

Ghent was too amazed to be concerned over Drust's initial irritation. Almost everything about Wonderland provided something that would have been thought impossible on Earth. Every moment spent in their world challenged him to adapt.
"Two weeks..." Ghent murmured, disbelief written all over his face. Since Hatter put so much of himself into Drust's creation, he wondered if any of that was visibly apparent. Did the Knight resemble Hatter? Did they sound alike? Did they share similar mannerisms? Ghent’s mind spun with so many questions, his head hurt. He could have easily spent his two hours of watch duty by questioning Drust.
"That's pretty intense,” he added, still marveling over the fact that Drust was a result of his father’s connection with magic. He took notice of the smirk, and the way the Knight stared at his palm. Ghent waited for something to happen, but nothing did. Perhaps the Knight was reflecting on his creation date. Ghent couldn't imagine starting life as a teenager -- it was strange, and a little sad that Drust didn't have a childhood to look back on, or a family. Unless...
Ghent's eyes widened as a realization hit him. Since his father was responsible for Drust's creation, did that mean they were related? Perhaps not by blood, but...
Just as Ghent began to ask, Drust put an end to the conversation.
“O-oh. Okay.” Even though he had more things he wanted to say, Ghent wasn't disappointed. He managed to get more information out of the Knight than he expected to, and learned some more about his father in the process.
“Well, talk to you tomorrow.” Offering a small wave, Ghent turned, hopeful that was the case. If he spoke to Drust beforehand, that would mean they had an intruder. Or intruders. Biting his bottom lip, Ghent surveyed the clearing as much as the firelight would allow. From what he could tell, nothing seemed amiss.
Thankfully, the conversation stimulated his mind enough to stay awake. He remained sore and overall terrified, but at least he had answers. Little by little, the pieces of his past were coming together.
Keeping his staff at his side, Ghent began to circle the clearing. Taking care not to disturb the others, he kept his footsteps light and kept his head on a swivel. If anything ambushed them, he knew he had mere seconds to react. Pushing his fear aside as much as possible, Ghent continued onward, determined to fulfill his task.

Drust bristled slightly. Though he could barely begin to fathom exactly what ran through Ghent’s mind, the plethora of unending questions still radiating from the boy were neigh palpable.
Drust grunted in response when Ghent resigned himself to postponing further questioning. He checked that his katana rested in quick reach, then, with the gentle rustle of grass and clothes, readjusted and laid down.
He stared at the flames for a long moment, hesitant to let down his guard with such fresh blood keeping watch. His head twitched slightly, the Curse latching on to the distrust.
Drust grit his teeth. He had to believe Ghent would do well enough. Sometimes, fear had its advantages; the boy was jumpy and tense, making him that much more attentive and ready to wake his companions.
With a heavy sigh, Drust forced himself to close his eyes. He fell quickly into his usual light sleep, a part of him ever ready to jump to alertness at the slightest provocation.




Elayra didn't need the OmniChrono to know when the sun began to rise on Hollow Forest. The muffled sounds of the ghosts beyond the Safe Zone stilled. An eerie, still silence settled back over the woods.
As Drust—and the Chrono—had predicted, fog had rolled in during her watch. It hung thickly in the slowly lightening woods, yet it didn't dare fully enter the Safe Zone. Tendrils of silvery-white mist licked at the grass around the clearing. They stretched out only to recoil, slinking back like an impatient child’s hand after a whacking from a cook’s spoon. It brought with it a pleasantly sweet, yet damp smell somewhere between rain and autumn decay. It fought with the lingering scent of the campfire.
Elayra stood near the fire, watching the dying embers fight for life. The remaining light glinted on the blue blade of the saber held leisurely at her side. A worn leather tie kept her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, the platinum strands recently freed of larger debris and tangles.
She had woken up feeling more refreshed than she had in ages. Better, even, than she had a right to feel after all the physical and mental labor of the last couple days.
She scratched absently at the part of the scab spiking beneath her left eye—or, rather, the slight indentation the King’s Curative had turned it into. The fresh, pink skin stood out even amidst the thin layer of grime that had begun to make its home on her.
She transferred her sword to her left hand, then retrieved the OmniChrono from the pouch at her belt. Paying its appearance no mind, she popped it open and checked the time. As she watched, the bottommost silvery hand met the line marking the end of her watch. With a sigh, she snapped it closed. She replaced it in her pouch, then returned her sword to her dominant hand.
She glanced out to the trees, giving the immediate forest one last visual sweep. Only the fog moved between the faint ghosts of trees. It swirled about, bound by its own, unusual laws. It created the occasional clear path, allowing a bit of warm morning light through, before flooding down in tumbling waves to refill it.
With a shiver from the air’s chill, she sheathed her sword as quietly as she could. She grabbed her cloak from where she had left it near the fire, then stepped to wake Drust.
The Knight shifted as she stopped near him.
“I’m awake, girl,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.
Of course you are, she thought with a quiet sigh.
He sat up as she opened her mouth to ask if he had even slept, but he interrupted her.
“The curative did its job?” he asked in his usual monotone, kneeling and reaching for his pack-turned-pillow.
“And then some.” Elayra draped the cloak over her shoulders. The fabric retained some of the heat of the fire. She drew the tattered, dirt-stained garment closed, relishing the extra warmth for as long as it lasted.
Drust gave a stiff nod and reached inside his pack. “Wake him.” He jerked his head toward Ghent. “We’re wasting daylight.”
She nodded, then approached Ghent. He slept soundly, looking more like a log than a person wrapped beneath Drust’s cloak.
Unsure how he’d react to being woken, she crouched down so Ghent laid just within her reach. She stretched out her arm, but paused. The temptation to ‘test’ how quickly he’d wake up in the event of an emergency settled over her.
A sly grin spread over her face. She inhaled and leaned forward, ready to whisper an alarmed wake-up call. But at the last moment, Drust's movements across the dying embers caught her eye.
She glanced to him as the Knight pulled his cloth-wrapped bundle of toatunt jerky from his pack. She squinted slightly as she did her best to gauge his mood in the dim gray lighting. He looked no more dour than normal, the dark lines spreading from the corners of his eyes little more than short, thin veins.
Even so, with a remorseful sigh, she decided it best not to stir the waters this early. Especially with the length of Hollow Forest stretching before them.
There's always tomorrow, she thought, frowning, trying to banish the regret.
“Breakfast time, Featherhead!” she said, shaking his shoulder and hoping the promise of food would be enough to break through his sleep.

As soon as it was Elayra's turn to keep watch, Ghent handed over the OmniChrono and returned to his backpack. He mumbled some sort of warning about the fog to her, but the words came out in a slurred, jumbled mess. Unsurprisingly, it didn't take long for him to fall into a deep sleep, his surroundings completely lost to him.
When morning came around, Ghent was lying on his back, his arms and legs sprawled out in weird angles like he’d fallen from a tree. He would have stayed that way for hours, had it not been for Elayra. The grip on his shoulder pulled Ghent out of his dreamless sleep, startling him awake.
“What? What’s going on?” Ghent started to sit up, completely disoriented. As Elayra came into focus, he heard her mention breakfast. Normally, that would be enough to entice him, but he was too tired to care about food. He groaned and flopped his head against his backpack, pulling the cloak over his face in the same action.
“Breakfast? My stomach isn’t even awake yet!” Ghent complained, the words muffled underneath the fabric. He wasn’t ready to face the day, and he definitely wasn’t ready to face Wonderland.
As if to prove his statement wrong, his stomach growled. Ghent grimaced. He wanted nothing more than to get a few more precious moments of sleep, but the prospect of getting out of Hollow Forest was enough for him to reconsider.
Slow as a sloth, he sat up, the cloak slipping down to settle in his lap. “Fiiine,” he sighed in defeat, suspecting had no choice in the matter regardless of what he wanted. He began to stand, stiff and sore after their misadventures through Wonderland.
“Let me guess. We’re eating that weird, bumpy jerky again,” he rubbed at his eye, sniffing once as he studied her face. “And it’s Ghent, Blondie," he grumbled, knocking a stray twig out of his hair. "How'd you sleep? Man, that Kingly Cure-All sure knocked you out. I thought you were in a coma or something."

Elayra pulled back when Ghent stirred. Remaining crouched, she rested her hands on her knees. He wasn’t the quickest waker, but at least it didn’t take more than one attempt to get him up.
She rolled her eyes as his stomach contradicted Ghent’s statement. “Riiight.”
She stood as he did. Her cloak shifted as she crossed her arms over her chest. She sighed heavily, noticing his stiff movements. If that didn’t work itself out, he’d slow them down. And the last thing she wanted was to have to spend more time in Hollow Forest than necessary.
She glanced to the lightening forest. A couple shapes swirled in the fog, wandering almost in a confused state before vanishing.
She turned her attention back to Ghent with a snort at his comment about the jerky. “Get used to it. There’s nothing to hunt here, anyway.” She frowned as the memory of her last kill, the deerdrin, came longingly to mind. Though she didn't mind the toatunt jerky, she'd take deerdrin instead any day. “Living animals don't come here. Even the Cursed ones are too smart for that.”
She shrugged at his question. “Felt like I was in a coma. But it worked.” She rubbed the back of her head lightly, the bump that had formed there already gone. “And it’s Elayra, Featherhead,” she added, smirking to attempt hiding her annoyance at the nickname.
She glanced to Drust as he pulled a worn hooded cowl from his bag. He let it drop beside the bundle of jerky, a piece of the cured meat in his mouth.
She reached into her pouch again and removed the OmniChrono. “Drust.”
As soon as he focused on her, Elayra tossed the Chrono to him.
He caught it easily in one hand and grabbed the bundle of jerky in the other. Without missing a beat, he tossed the bundle to her. He jerked his head to Ghent as he placed the Chrono in one of the belt pouches already in their place at his waist.
“What’s it gonna be?” She held the long bundle out to Ghent. “Breakfast, or starve until you have the time to hunt and skin something else?”
Drust tore off the end of his jerky with his teeth. “There won’t be time,” he growled around the jerky. He closed his pack and glanced to Ghent. “Keep out a couple pieces. Put the rest in your pack.” He slipped the cowl on over his head, keeping the hood down. It matched the rest of his brown and black clothing, its once vivid coloring faded with use and age. “We’ve delayed enough as it is.”

The comment threw Ghent through a loop. Was he actually expected to hunt and skin his own food? The idea didn’t sit well with him. He almost threw up in the school bathroom after he got stuck dissecting an abnormally large rat. Before he could dwell too much into it, Drust’s irritable voice reminded him that he needed to make a decision.
“U-uh. Yeah. I’ll dissect – eat -- the toatunt,” he hastily corrected himself as he took the bundle. He inwardly cringed as he unwrapped the cloth, selecting a few pieces of jerky before handing the remaining half back to Elayra.
Sniffling, Ghent bit off a corner piece with the least amount of bumps on it. He studied Drust as he instructed him what to do with the extra portions, their conversation from the night before fresh in his mind. He wanted to ask the Knight more about himself and Hatter, but realized it was a poor time.
Keeping the jerky between his teeth and the rest in his fist, Ghent returned to his belongings. He tossed the extra pieces inside of his backpack without bothering to wrap them in anything, grunting as he struggled to zip the now-stuck zipper. With one final tug, it zippered shut, but the zipper pull broke off.
"Seriously?" Ghent's mutterings were difficult to decipher with his mouth full of toatunt. He sat on top of his backpack like it was a beanbag chair, a weary sigh escaping him. He forced himself to take another bite of the strangely textured jerky, studying the hooded Knight as he ate.
Inspired by Drust and influenced by the temperature, Ghent grabbed his own cloak from the ground. He adjusted the fabric so it rested against his shoulders, secretly envying Drust's ability to make everything look cool.
“You know, if this didn’t have bumps all over it, it wouldn’t be half bad.” Ghent swallowed another bite of breakfast, doing what he could to convince himself that the flavor wasn’t as terrible as he remembered it. “It’d probably taste better with ketchup though."

The distress on Ghent’s face at her comment about hunting gave Elayra pause. Remembering a conversation they'd had back on Earth, she let out a low groan as Ghent took the bundle from her.
“Right,” she began through a sigh. “You've never hunted before.” She watched him take out more pieces of the jerky than she expected. He must’ve been extra hungry.
Her brows furrowed in confusion when he returned the remaining cloth-wrapped bundle to her instead of taking it and adding it to his pack as Drust had instructed. She took it nonetheless, trying to figure out what he was doing. When he tossed most of what he had grabbed into his backpack, realization dawned.
“For real, Featherhead?” she groaned as Drust growled softly and ran a hand down his face. “How hopeless are you?”
She really hoped incompetency wasn’t contagious
An involuntary snarl on his face, Drust’s neck twitched. He took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes as Ghent rambled on about the toatunt jerky.
Elayra rolled her eyes at Ghent and went to her rugged pack. “What do you expect from toad meat?”
Drust’s lips tightened into a pale line. “Elayra!” he growled.
The girl sucked in a breath and spun toward him, hand moving to the hilt of her sword beneath her cloak. She opened her mouth to ask what she’d done, but then realized. He’d tried to keep that bit of information from Ghent the other night. And likely for good reason.

“What?” Ghent couldn't tell if Elayra was annoyed by something he said, did, or didn't do. Oblivious to his mistake, he took another bite of toatunt, an incredulous look on his face. He would never understand her.
In order to get his less-than-ideal breakfast over with, he stuffed another piece in his mouth, just in time to hear Elayra’s disparaging comment.
Ghent’s eyes went wide. He whipped his head around to seek out Drust, hoping – praying – that Elayra was playing a cruel joke. The Knight's reaction confirmed his fears. He'd eaten a toad. Twice.
Horrified, Ghent stared at the last bit of jerky in his hand, the texture suddenly making sense. His stomach lurched. Those weren’t bumps, they were warts.
With a yell, Ghent dropped the jerky as if it had burned him. Suddenly, he was back in the school bathroom again, doing everything in his power not to throw up. Warts. He'd eaten warts! A few dozen of them, most likely.
The knowledge was scarring enough on its own, but his mouth was still full, and Ghent didn’t dare spit out their rations in front of Drust. As if to make matters worse, his saliva was soaking into the jerky, helping extract what he believed to be swamp water. He had a choice: he could taste Drust's blade, or swallow what he now knew to be toad meat.
Ghent’s skin crawled. He leaned forward on his palms, his head aimed downward. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to spit everything out – or vomit – but he did neither. He forced himself to choke down the rest, sputtering and coughing afterward as if he'd been poisoned. For all he knew, he had been.
"You…” Ghent drew a breath, his sentence broken by a ragged cough. "You guys didn't want me to eat chocolate...but you'll let me eat a TOAD?!" He clasped a hand over his mouth, clutching his side with the other as he gave an overdramatic groan. "...I think I'm gonna hurl."

Elayra’s gaze turned back to Ghent. The White Knight bent his head and gripped the bridge of his nose, his teeth clenched as he tried to keep his breaths metered.
Elayra took her own quick breath at the expression on Ghent’s face as he looked to the jerky. This couldn't end well. Trying to warn Ghent against whatever reaction he’d have to it, she jerked her head to Drust, eyes begging him to keep quiet.
Alas, he apparently didn’t notice her. Or didn’t care.
She raised an eyebrow as Ghent shifted off his backpack to his hands and knees, the unhooked cloak fluttering off his shoulders. She couldn’t help but smirk; he'd been just fine before he knew what he was eating. But what amusement she got out of watching him overreact came to an abrupt end.
Drust looked to Ghent with a snarl as the boy groaned out his complaints. His neck twitched. The pulsating lines at the corners of his eyes had stretched out over his skin, just visible in the gray morning light.
Inhaling, her heart quickening, Elayra reached to draw her sword.
But Drust was faster.
In the span of two long, quick strides, the Knight closed the space between him and Ghent. He gripped the back of the boy’s neck and wrenched him up. Not giving him time to retaliate, Drust pressed his free arm across Ghent’s chest and pulled the boy’s back into him, his hold tight. His opposite gloved hand adjusted to clamp over Ghent’s mouth, cutting him off from spouting out any focus words.
Elayra stood, frozen, in front of the two, her blue saber held uselessly before her. The red in Drust’s eyes pulsated with the lines on his face. The Curse had yet to completely consume him, the veined red of his irises still threatening to overtake his pupils, but that brought her little comfort.
“Drust,” she tried, softly, struggling to keep her voice firm and even. She took a slow half-step toward the two. “He didn't—”
“Silence, girl!” he snarled, a menacing, gravely undertone threatening to take over his voice. His gaze flicked to her feet as she moved to take another cautious step toward him. “Stay!”
Elayra stopped. She glanced between Drust’s and Ghent’s faces. Disobedience meant risking further provocation. She grit her teeth and swallowed. Drust had been willing to go for the kill with Ghent in his Cursed state the previous night. If he lost to the Curse now, he could easily snap the boy’s neck before she could so much as twitch to help.
“Chocolate won’t sustain you,” Drust growled down at Ghent. His head twitched again, and his fingers involuntarily curled, claw-like, at Ghent’s face, digging into his cheek. “The luxuries you had on Earth are gone, boy. That toad is all we could manage that wouldn’t spoil. Refuse what food we have. And you’ll die.”
With visible effort, Drust forced himself to release Ghent. He transferred his hand from the boy’s mouth back to behind his neck, and shoved Ghent away from him, hard.
Elayra took the opportunity to hurry toward Ghent. She kept her sword raised, ready to defend him against Drust if the Knight fully snapped.
“Adapt, boy,” he snarled, glowering at Ghent. His fists trembled slightly at his sides. “Or you won’t survive Wonderland.” Drust turned from the teens. Head bent, he again gripped the bridge of his nose, his breaths heavy. “Gather your things.”
Keeping his back to his charges, Drust returned to his pack and katana. He knelt in front of them, but didn’t reach for them. He clenched and unclenched a fist at his side, the other tangling in his messy dark hair.
Elayra watched him for a moment as he tried to steady his breathing. She glanced to Ghent as she reached up to unhook her cloak with her empty hand.
“You alright?” she half-whispered, not daring to let her guard down quite yet. She tossed her cloak in the general direction of her pack, fully freeing her movements. Just in case.

Ghent's theatrics may have continued, had Drust not intervened. At the sound of the heavy footsteps, Ghent lifted his head. He grit his teeth, bracing himself for a lecture of some kind. If Drust thought he could force him to finish the toatunt, he had another thing coming.
Before Ghent could so much as turn his head, he felt a large hand grip his neck from behind. Needless to say, it wasn't the reaction he expected. His startled shout was cut short as he was lifted from the ground, his hands shooting instinctively to his neck. He remained suspended this way until Drust put an arm across his chest, pinning him in what could be viewed at the most terrifying bear hug ever.
With the pressure off of his neck, Ghent drew in a panicked breath. "Drust! Don't-" he began to yell, but the Knight clasped a firm hand over his mouth. He was completely helpless, and Drust was absolutely furious.
A sick sense of dread overcame Ghent. Although he wasn't able to see Drust’s face, he knew this was the same Drust who had tried to run him through with a katana. This wasn’t the Drust created by Hatter, but the one lost to the Curse. This was the Drust that would kill them if he didn't regain control.
Ghent’s heart hammered against his chest with every beat. He looked to Elayra pleadingly, silently begging her to do something. He watched as she was brave enough to face the much-taller male, going so far as to draw her own sword against him. Ghent dared to hope she had enough influence over Drust to change his mind, but she didn’t. If anything, her interference seemed to fuel the Curse more.
The ferocity in Drust’s voice sent chills down Ghent's spine. The enranged Knight snapped at Elayra as if she was a dog, and she had no choice but to obey, else risk a potential double murder.
Desperate, Ghent made a pathetic attempt to squirm loose, but Drust’s hold was too tight. He made a weak muffled sound as he tried to nod to show he understood what was said to him, but Drust didn’t seem to care. Ghent winced – more from fear than from pain – as Drust’s gloved fingertips dug into his cheek. He could practically feel the man trembling with rage, and his inability to do anything about it.
Amazingly, Drust found the inner strength to release him. Ghent landed awkwardly, visibly shaken from what had occurred. The shove against his neck made him stumble forward, and he fell onto the ground with a light thud. He started to push himself up as Elayra ran toward him, but his eyes didn't dare stray from Drust. The pure, unadulterated anger in the Knight's gaze was truly horrifying.
Finally, Drust turned away from them. Ghent slowly straightened to his full height, his pulse thundering in his ears. He glanced at Elayra as she spoke to him, feeling the smallest pang of embarrassment for causing so much trouble. His life hadn't been the only one at risk.
"Y-yeah.” Ghent’s voice shook as he answered, but he didn’t care. Elayra must have shared his fear that they weren't out of the clear, because she didn't lower her sword. He placed a hand to his neck absentmindedly, unable to help but stare. Even from a distance, he could tell Drust was struggling.
Ghent didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He decided his best hope at pacifying the Knight was to follow orders without delay. With a rare, apologetic look in Elayra's direction, Ghent moved to retrieve the rest of his belongings, Drust's words replaying in his head.

Elayra glanced away from Drust at Ghent’s response to her question. A look that said, ‘Good, because I’m going to kill you later,’ crossed her face. But the expression softened as she took in Ghent’s pallor.
She knew all too well what it felt like to be at Drust’s mercy. Only she had the luxury of knowing her life wasn’t in danger from him.
Torn between glad and shocked that Ghent had the sense to keep his mouth shut beyond his answer, Elayra took his lead. She slowly lowered her sword and went to her own pack, collecting her cloak from the ground as she passed it. She hesitated by her pack, glancing between her stuff and Drust.
Drust looked upward toward the canopy and ran a hand down his face. He took another deep breath and held it. He closed his eyes and his shoulders relaxed slightly as he exhaled. Opening his eyes, he reached for his katana. Keeping his movements reassuringly slow, he slung the katana’s sheath over his back and tightened its strap.
Hesitantly, Elayra sheathed her sword at her belt. Holding the cloak in front of her with both hands, she sought out a crease at its back near the shoulder. She pulled the crease apart, two sides of a hidden slit kept together by snaps. She quickly did the same with another on the opposite side.
Elayra put the cloak back on, knelt down, and slipped the straps of her pack around her shoulders through the slits.
His own pack shouldered, Drust stood and adjusted it so its presence wouldn’t hinder drawing his katana. Muscles still tense, he reached into his belt pouch and retrieved the OmniChrono.
“Smaya’s kept her promise,” he growled, his voice low.
Elayra looked to him and dared a quiet sigh of relief. Though the black lines still pulsed at the corners of his eyes, they had grown less severe, and the shadow of the Curse’s undertone had abated from his voice.
“The fog.” He jerked his head toward the wall of mist creeping at the treeline. “It confuses the spirits.” He popped the lid of the Chrono open. “They won’t disturb us. If we don’t disturb them.”
Drust examined the Chrono, then nodded to his left. He stepped to the treeline. He stopped, still in the safety of the clearing, waiting for the teens. A tendril of fog licking at the ground curled around his feet hungrily, impatient for him to fully enter its embrace.
Elayra looked to Drust and swallowed. The idea of going into the forest so soon after narrowly avoiding a Curse flair-up made her uneasy. But he wasn’t exactly giving them much of a choice.
With a frustrated sigh, she turned to Ghent to make sure he’d readied himself, or see if he needed a hand.

Ghent collected his cloak from where it fell, cringing when he discovered his discarded portion of toatunt nearby. He crouched down next to his backpack, pulling it toward him by one of the straps.
Adapt, boy. Or you won't survive Wonderland. Ghent unzipped the backpack by what remained of the zipper, a quiet sigh escaping him. Adapt, or I won't survive you, he responded in his head, his inner voice bitter. He hated that he seemed to have a knack for pushing all of Drust's buttons. I ate it, didn't I? Why's he gotta nitpick everything?
Although Drust's movement was slow, Ghent froze when he reached for his katana. If Drust’s abilities also covered reading minds, Ghent was as good as dead.
Thankfully, Drust was merely getting ready. Ghent resumed breathing, embarrassed by how easily the man terrified him. He checked that Hatter’s journal was still there, pausing when he realized he hadn’t put on his cloak yet.
Putting on a cloak with a bulky backpack wasn’t ideal, but Ghent doubted he could fit the cloak in with the rest of his clothes. Plus, the early morning air was chilling, and he didn't want to be the only one without a cloak.
Zipping up his backpack, Ghent slipped it on and drew the cloak over himself, pulling the hood over his head to keep the fabric in place. He began to fidget with the clasps to secure them, but Elayra’s movement caught his eye. From what he could tell, she undid something on her cloak, which created an opening to allow her backpack to fit through.
Curious if his cloak had the same feature, Ghent removed the cloak and turned it over to examine the back. At first, he couldn’t see anything, but then he noticed a seam of sorts. He pulled on opposite sides of the fabric, and two snaps came undone. He mimicked the action on the other side, which offered room for his backpack.
Smaya's kept her promise.
Ghent looked up sharply, startled by Drust's voice. He nodded in response, thankful that at least something had gone right.
You're welcome, by the way. Ghent tugged at the cloak to fix it, reflecting on his second visit with Smaya. He thought about the lost souls in the pool, their troubles significantly worse than accidentally consuming toad meat. He suddenly felt heavier, and it wasn't because of the weight of his backpack.
Noticing the others were waiting, Ghent hurried over to regroup with them, adjusting his cloak as he moved. He tugged at the fabric, attempting to lock the clasps together with one hand. In his opposite hand, he carried his staff.
Seeing Drust near the edge of the Safe Zone was troubling. If the trek through Hollow Forest was anything like yesterday, their emotions would be tampered with, which would make their journey more dangerous than he already was.
After some trouble, both clasps finally locked in place. Ghent glanced at Elayra, suspecting she had similar concerns when it came to their guardian.
Doing what he could to mask the worry he felt, Ghent nodded to show he was ready. At least, as ready as he could be.

To her surprise, Ghent had even figured out the hidden slots at the back of Drust’s cloak. She wiped the shocked, yet impressed look from her face as Ghent finished and joined her.
She returned Ghent’s nod with one of her own. Turning, she strode to where Drust waited.
Drust glanced to Elayra as she slowly stepped up just behind him. “As before.” He looked back out to the swirling fog. “Ghent in the middle.”
Elayra hesitated. If he suddenly gave in to the Curse, having Ghent as the nearest target seemed like a horrible idea. “Might be better if I take center.”
Drust looked to her again. His eyes narrowed, but Elayra held her ground, chin raised. With a grunt, he gave a single, curt nod. OmniChrono still in hand, Drust took a deep breath and stepped out of the clearing.
A blue light rippled outward from Drust’s form. Between the fog and clearing’s barrier, the knight became little more than a blur.
Elayra looked over her shoulder at Ghent. “Like yesterday, even if the ghosts do take interest, they’re weak during the day.” She turned back to the tree line. “And try not to let the fog get to you.”
Elayra took a deep breath of her own, trying to prepare herself for the onslaught of emotions she knew awaited her. Holding her breath, she stepped into haunted forest.
As it had when she entered, the world around her seemed to stretch, the sensation extra disorientating paired with the swirling mist. But this time, she was ready for it. She stumbled out on the other side, but kept her footing.
The despair of the place hit her first. Then the utter silence, dampened further by the chilled fog. The morning’s cool hung heavier outside the Safe Zone, the once bright colors of the forest coated in glittering gray.
She grit her teeth and swallowed, hard. Remembering Ghent was likely right behind her, she stepped forward to give him room.
The fog danced around her and toyed at her form. It created its unnatural patches of mist-coated air and clear spaces around her. Drust stood no more than a pace away. He looked fuzzy, but the mist abated around him long enough for her to make out that he had his fingers again tangled in his hair, head bent slightly.
Elayra quickly reached for her sword. “Drust?” she asked, slowly drawing her weapon, just in case. The gentle shing as it left its scabbard sounded loud in the eerie silence.
“Fine, girl.” He inhaled and pulled his hand from his hair, the strands already limp from the dampness in the air. He spared a quick glance back, checking that both the teens were with him. Satisfied, he focused on the Chrono and stepped forward.
Elayra looked back at Ghent. “Stay close. If we lose each other in this fog, remember we’re heading south. Following the rising sun.”
Not wanting to risk Drust getting too far ahead, Elayra turned and followed after the Knight.

Without questioning the order, Ghent began to move into place. He halted mid-step, his mouth falling open slightly after Elayra objected to the idea. He gripped his staff tighter, anxious as he waited for Drust to react. To his disbelief, the Knight approved and no one died.
Amazed by her fearlessness, Ghent kept to Elayra’s left. He nodded stiffly, staring dead ahead. He suspected the ghosts would take interest in them, but if what Elayra said was true, he had nothing to fear. He steeled himself in a false sense of confidence, hopeful Smaya's help would be enough to secure them a safe and undisturbed passage.
His attempt at optimism didn’t last long. The second Ghent followed Drust and Elayra into the forest, Wonderland’s nonsensical ways trifled with reality. The way his surroundings stretched was similar to a funhouse, only Ghent wasn’t having any fun. He averted his gaze to quell the dizzying sensation, but it didn't help. If anything, looking away made him feel worse.
Ghent fell forward near the end, dangerously close to colliding into Elayra. He used his staff to regain balance, silently thankful he went through last. Shaking his head to refocus, he staggered, taking up the room Elayra provided by moving ahead.
What struck Ghent first was the overwhelming silence. A sudden rush of despair overpowered him, a feeling so strong it hurt to breathe. Brows furrowed, he studied what he could of the clearing, most of it lost in the fog. Elayra was already hazy, and she was barely a foot away. Drust was harder to see, but Ghent could tell the Knight was fighting against his own emotions. He tensed as Elayra drew her sword, lessening his hold on his own weapon once Drust responded.
"O-okay." Ghent's mouth felt dry. He didn't want to get separated. He was fairly certain if he got lost, that was the end of the road for him. Paranoid at the thought, he disregarded personal space and practically became Elayra’s shadow. He continued this way for a better part of their journey, silently struggling against his negative thoughts made worse by Hollow Forest.

The soft gurgle of a stream filled the air with its gentle whispers. It ran alongside Ghent, Elayra, and Drust as they trudged onward, just far enough from its banks to not sink into the soft, damp ground.
It had been a long, grueling march, but, at long last, they had made it out of Hollow Forest, leaving the forsaken place far behind. Thankfully without any further incident.
Here, the evening sun shone through the thick canopy above, long since replacing the chill and fog of Hollow Forest. Leaves and bushes rustled from small animals fleeing from the unexpected newcomers. Though the Wonderlanders remained on edge, ever ready to ward off an enemy or Curse-ridden animal, after the dampened silence of the spirit-infested wood, they were welcomed sounds.
Drust stopped a few paces ahead of Elayra. The Knight seemed in better spirits—or, at least, he had stopped twitching every couple minutes. He glanced around, his gaze lingering on what rubble remained of a bridge a good twenty yards downstream.
Elayra stopped a step behind him, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword.
“What’s up?” she whispered, moving to flank Drust and see what had made him stop.
He glanced to her, then turned to face his charges. His gaze settled on Ghent for an extra moment before turning back to Elayra.
“We’re close. Town’s not more than a mile from here.” He took his backpack from his shoulders. “You two to wait here.” He sat his pack on the thick grass at his feet.
Elayra cringed inwardly at being stuck alone with Ghent again. She eyed Drust, checking to be sure the lines at the corners of his eyes had returned to normal. “Why? Where are you going?”
Drust’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He,” he nodded to Ghent, “needs different supplies. The Forsaken will recognize him as an outsider in an instant.” Drust’s gaze lingered on the boy’s backpack with its skull pattern. “They aren't the smartest. But they're not stupid.”
Elayra followed his gaze and scowled. She opened her mouth to offer to go with him, but Drust cut her off.
“It’ll be quicker and safer if I go alone.” Drust stepped closer to Ghent. He looked to the boy’s staff, its double blades concealed by their sheaths. “In the meantime, focus on that.” He nodded to the weapon, then met Ghent’s blue gaze. “The sooner you can connect with it and properly use it, the better.”
He looked back to Elayra as he dug the OmniChrono out of his pouch. He tossed it to her. “If I’m not back in an hour, get to that Rabbit Hole.”
Elayra clutched the Chrono tightly. Her shoulders stiffened and she looked up at him, her expression hard. “I’m not leaving without you.”
Drust scowled. His chin tilted down, the Knight’s fierce gaze meeting hers. “That wasn’t a request. If it comes to it, yes. You will, girl. Our mission comes first.”
Elayra’s free hand clenched into a fist. The mission could hang itself; she wouldn’t leave him behind.
Giving neither of the teens the time to object, Drust turned on his heels and headed away from the stream. He paused between a couple trees long enough to glance back.
“One hour.” With that, he hurried into the forest.
Elayra growled out a sigh and ran a hand down her face. She popped the Chrono open to check the time. If he wasn’t back in an hour, they were going after him.
Sparing Ghent scarcely a glance, she grabbed Drust’s pack and stepped closer to the stream. Choosing a skinny tree near its edge, she sat the Knight’s backpack down, and shrugged out of her own. With her cloak since abandoned in the warmth outside Hollow Forest, it fell from her shoulders easily.
“Rest up, Featherhead.” She sat on the tall weeds and grass at the tree’s partially exposed roots. “You’ll need what few wits you have running at their best in the town.” She cast him a smirk as she reached into her pack and pulled out her recently refilled waterskin.

The journey through Hollow Forest was far more grueling than Ghent expected it to be. The only thing that kept him going was his desire to get as far away from the spirits as possible. Using his fear as a means of motivation, he ignored his aches and pains and pushed onward. The endless hours of walking gave him plenty of time to think and absorb more of what he'd learned about Wonderland, and himself.
After what felt a lifetime, they reached the end. The intensity of the emotions lifted, and Ghent wanted to collapse from relief. He looked around with a newfound appreciation as they went on, thankful for anything that wasn't in the confinements of Hollow Forest.
Contrary to what Ghent hoped, they weren't done. Even though they were out of Hollow Forest, they traveled for a few more hours until Drust stopped. Curious, Ghent tried to look around the Knight's shoulder, but he didn't see anything to raise alarm. He assumed they were taking another break until Drust announced he would be leaving them.
Ghent’s brows rose. He definitely didn't see that coming. He suspected splitting up wouldn't go over well with Elayra, and it didn't. He blinked as she scowled at his backpack. What'd I do? He wanted to ask. He didn't bother defending himself, though. He didn't have the energy.
Ghent stood a little straighter when Drust stepped toward him, unsure what he'd done to warrant his attention. He glanced to his staff as Drust referred to it, inwardly groaning at the latest order. Even in Wonderland, he couldn’t seem to escape homework.
Resuming his slumped position, Ghent sighed a less-than-enthusiastic ‘okay’. He hoped his staff would be willing to connect with him while he was sitting down. He couldn't wait to get off his feet.
As Drust directed his attention to Elayra, Ghent decided to let the two hash things out. Elayra was obviously upset with Drust’s decision, so much that she objected verbally. Ghent couldn't help but wince as their guardian reacted with a scowl, although his temper stayed in check despite the difference in opinion.
Ghent stayed out of it. If Drust wanted to leave on a solo mission, he wasn’t about to stop him. He turned to watch the Knight leave, an odd mixture of relief and unease brewing in his chest. A lot could happen in an hour.
The pain in his shoulder reminded Ghent that he was still carrying his backpack. "You guys didn't tell me you had a dress code, y'know," he grumbled, suspecting Elayra faulted him for Drust's departure. He approached the river a few feet away from where she sat and dropped his backpack and cloak onto the grass. He studied his staff up close, freezing when Elayra made the remark regarding the town.
“Very funny.” Ghent was never so thankful to sit down. His feet hurt so badly they throbbed, and the rest of him didn't feel much better. He scratched the side of his jaw, the jibe secretly concerning him. He had no idea what the town was like, but if the residents were referred to as ‘Forsaken’, he suspected he was in for another day of terror.
“Just for the record? I have plenty of wits.” Feeling the need to finally defend himself, Ghent placed his staff aside and reached for his backpack. "How else do you think I made it to the Betwixt and back? Twice?"
Inspired by Elayra, he removed a glittery water bottle from his backpack. It was one of the many his mother owned, and this one in particular had 'I don't sweat, I sparkle', printed on the side. It was something Ghent hadn't realized during his hasty packing job.
He unscrewed the top and took a long drink, slowing as he narrowed his eyes at Elayra. He replaced the top, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "This isn't mine, so don't judge me," he warned, pushing the bottle back into the depths of his backpack.
"Anyways, Blondie, you'd better not call me Featherhead when we're in town, because I don't want that name to stick." Ghent took hold of his staff again, giving it a gentle tug near the middle to see if the halves would separate for him. He pretended to be interested in the weapon, but in reality, he was thinking about Gardale and those who lived there. "Just for curosities sake, though...er, what's the town like?"

“Very funny.”
Elayra shrugged, a bit disappointed at his lack of reaction. Though, it did look like he was about ready to just collapse where he stood. The trek had clearly done quite a toll on him. Even her legs had started to tire, and she was accustomed to traveling the world on foot.
“Uh huh, sure you do.” She smirked and took a swig from her waterskin. “That’s what we call beginner’s luck.”
Taking advantage of Ghent’s momentary silence, she listened to the familiar sounds of the forest. Listening for any disturbances. Any sudden silences in the melancholy cries of birds. Trees of various shapes and sizes grew proudly all the way to the stream. Many of their roots reached into the water. The bushes and weeds below growing tall, making for perfect hiding places.
Anything could be lurking anywhere.
She looked to Ghent as the boy pulled out his water bottle. She eyed it curiously, then her brows raised as she read the frilly, pink text on it. A mocking grin spread over her lips. Elayra’s smile only widened when Ghent’s eyes narrowed at her.
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
Her expression fell slowly as Ghent switched the topic to Gardale. She snorted and looked to the river with a shake of her head. “Trust me. No one would notice enough to remember there.” Her brows rose at his question. “It’s populated by living zombies. What do you think its like?”
She sighed; may as well tell him as much as she could to save Drust the time when he returned. She adjusted her scabbard for comfort’s sake, then leaned back into the rough bark of the tree.
“I only know the place by name. But if it’s like all the others, then it’s purgatory. Remember what I told you about the Forsaken?” She looked to Ghent. “They’re the ones infected with the Curse when it first hit,” she reminded, not giving him the chance to answer. “They function on instinct, nothing more. With their own, they’re usually fairly docile, but if an Omitten walks into their midst, the Curse in them senses it. Something about their numbers giving it that ability. Sends them into attack mode.
“But it’s the Forgen you really need to watch out for.” She paused, taking another drink of her water. “The Forsaken are blundering idiots most of the time. They make even you look like a genius!” Her lips quirked upward, but she continued quickly. “Forsaken are easy to trip up or outrun. But their offspring—the Forgen—are a different story. They’re still dumb as rabid animals, but they’re more observant and nimble. If it looks even remotely like it’s under fourteen, don’t go near it.”

But aren’t we Omitten? Ghent was already screaming internally. They were exhausted from traveling all day, which meant they were at a disadvantage. At least, he was. He didn't know about Elayra. He eyed the girl skeptically, searching her for signs of weariness. She seemed tired, but not that tired. He sighed softly in discouragement. Elayra was probably used to traveling on foot all day.
Ghent chewed his bottom lip. The news was enough for him to question the Knight's decision making, but he didn't voice his opinion. He had a feeling Elayra would side with Drust, plus he needed to hear more of what she knew.
He stared at her as she continued to explain, his eyes growing wide as the information grew worse. Hollow Forest suddenly didn’t seem like the scariest place in Wonderland anymore.
Although Ghent remembered the Forsaken, he didn’t remember the Forgen being mentioned. He gave the stiffest of nods, waiting impatiently as she took a drink. He tugged at the drawstring on his hoodie, anxiously awaiting a description to go along with the name.
Ghent relaxed slightly after Elayra referred to the Forgen as idiots. If they were stupid, he hoped they could be outsmarted and therefore avoided. He appeared contemplative, lost in his own thoughts until she compared his intelligence to one.
“Hey!” Ghent protested, but he wasn't mad. The second jab was a nice reminder that he had a matter of revenge to attend to.
“Believe me, I have no desire to mingle with zombies.” Ghent scoffed at the idea, tugging on his hoodie's opposite drawstring to even the laces out. He looked back to the water, his expression tight. Elayra seemed more matter-of-fact than afraid. A smirk ghosted his lips. Maybe it was time to give her a little scare.
“Well...thanks for filling me in.” Ghent leaned back, using his palms to keep himself upright. "It sounds terrible, but we've dealt with ghosts. Not to mention the shadowm--" he stopped midsentence, the words catching in his throat. He sat up with a horrified gasp, pointing behind her frantically. “SHADOWMIRE!”
Despite the overly dramatic warning, nothing was there. It was Ghent's grand idea of a joke. He burst into laughter seconds after, thinking himself hilarious.

Elayra smirked at his comment about the zombies. “Good to know you have that sense!” She glanced to the treeline as a bush rustled. Her body tensed, ready to stand, and her hand went to her the hilt of her sword.
From the underbrush, she saw a trio of tiny chicken-like feet a second before they dashed away.
Content it wasn’t anything harmless—even bloodthirsty prey knew to run from a battle it couldn’t win—she relaxed slightly.
Ghent’s voice drew her attention back to him. She eyed him suspiciously at his thanks. She didn’t much care for the look in his eyes. She raised her brows, waiting for him to return her jibes, but instead, his words cut off, his face twisting in terror.
Heart pounding in her throat, Elayra drew her saber as she sprung to her feet before Ghent’s shout fully left his lips. If a shadowmire had found them, then so, too, had the Red Queen.
Inwardly cursing herself for not noticing approaching danger, she spun around and stepped from the tree. She searched frantically for the feline monsters or their telltale shadows, ready to fight or flee for their lives. Or both. If nothing else, she had to keep the Sorceress from getting Ghent. As much as she hated admitting it, his magic was their best chance at bringing the Crimson Rule to an end.
But she saw nothing out of place. Then, she heard Ghent’s laughter. Slowly, realization dawned on her. There was no danger.
A prank. He’d played a sick, twisted version of a prank.
Heat rose through Elayra’s chest. Her breaths hissed between grit teeth. Her hand tightened on her sword, the other clenching at her side.
Elayra spun back around and barreled into the still guffawing Ghent. Using her weight and momentum, she shoved his back to the ground with a hand at his chest, her sword pressing against his throat. She transferred her free hand to the grass behind him to keep from falling with him. She leaned over him, knees on either side of his body.
“You think that’s funny?” she growled through her teeth, the words coming out breathlessly in her rage. Her gray eyes burned with her fury. “You think our lives are something to joke around with?” She pressed the sharp edge of the blade harder against him, not caring whether or not it broke skin. It took every ounce of willpower to not put an end to him then and there.
Instead, she bent her arm so her face came within inches of his. “You’re a disgrace, you wretched, good-for-nothing—” Instead of finishing, she cut herself off with a heated shout. Gritting her teeth, she bent her head then pulled away before she could do something she’d regret.
She stepped away from him. Incapable of standing to look at him, she turned her back. She tried to take a few breaths to calm herself, but it did little to quell her anger. She glanced down to the sword in her hand.
“Unsheathe your staff,” she growled as she faced back toward Ghent.