Episode 002 — “Absences”
Aired October 14
Across the realms, roads close, memories fracture, and familiar places begin to feel dangerously wrong.
While old alliances are tested and hidden truths surface, several figures are forced to choose between duty, loyalty, and survival.
From Camelot to Oz, from Eldoria to the North Pole, the signs are no longer isolated.
Something is spreading—and the most frightening part may be what is no longer there.
PROLOGUE — THE CLOSED ROAD
PRIMAL EXPANSE
Shortly after Grimva sealed the realm
The Primal Expanse has never known silence well.
Its forests breathe.
Its mountains groan beneath snow and stone.
Something is always hunting, feeding, calling for a mate, warning away a rival, or dying loudly enough for everything nearby to hear it.
For nearly two weeks, Peter Pan and Captain Hook have learned that lesson.
They have also learned when the Expanse is supposed to make noise.
And when it doesn't.
They move through a narrow break between enormous trees, roots rising from the earth like walls around them. Hook pushes aside a curtain of thick vines with the point of his sword.
His once-immaculate coat bears the evidence of their journey. Mud stains the lower edge. One sleeve is torn. A long claw mark has opened the leather across one shoulder without reaching the flesh beneath it.
Peter looks considerably less bothered by their surroundings.
That irritates Hook almost as much as the surroundings themselves.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Two weeks.”
Peter continues ahead.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Two weeks of mosquitoes the size of cannonballs, reptiles with entirely too many teeth, and beasts whose principal method of communication appears to be attempting to eat me.”
Peter glances over his shoulder.
PETER PAN: “Only three of them tried to eat you.”
Hook stops.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Four.”
PETER PAN: “The horned one wasn't trying to eat you.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “It swallowed my hat.”
PETER PAN: “Maybe it liked the hat.”
Hook glares at him.
Peter grins.
Neither man laughs.
That has been the nature of their partnership from the beginning.
They are not friends.
Given a different mission, they would probably be trying to kill one another.
But when King Richard asked for people willing to enter the Primal Expanse quietly and determine whether the reports reaching him were true, Peter understood why discretion mattered.
Hook did too.
Too many realms had begun experiencing impossible things.
Too many roads had started behaving differently.
And until they understood who—or what—was involved, Richard hadn't wanted anyone inside the Expanse knowing they were being watched.
Not Bigfoot.
Not Yeti.
Not even Grimva.
So Peter and Hook had entered unnoticed.
For almost two weeks they had avoided settlements, trails, hunting grounds, and anything that looked remotely capable of conversation.
What they found had convinced them the reports were not exaggerated.
Animals abandoning territories they should have defended to the death.
Predators traveling beside prey without attacking.
Tracks appearing in places where nothing seemed capable of making them.
Entire sections of forest where the normal chorus of the Expanse simply stopped.
One night, Peter had watched a herd of enormous beasts thunder past their camp.
They had not been fleeing them.
They had been fleeing something farther behind.
Neither Peter nor Hook had gone looking to see what.
That had been one of the few decisions upon which they immediately agreed.
Peter stops.
Ahead, beyond a wall of stone overgrown with pale moss, is a narrow clearing.
In its center stand two ancient stone pillars.
There is nothing impressive about them.
No golden archway.
No glowing magical doorway.
No elaborate inscription announcing their purpose.
But Peter smiles.
PETER PAN: “There.”
Hook steps beside him and looks toward the pillars.
For the first time in several days, relief touches his expression.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Nottingham.”
The gateway should return them to one of the hidden approaches outside Nottingham.
From there, finding Richard would be simple.
They had enough to report already.
More than enough.
The strange migrations.
The silence.
The damaged trails.
The sense that entire portions of the Expanse were reacting to something neither man had actually seen.
Peter walks between the pillars.
Nothing happens.
He stops.
Looks around.
Steps backward.
Then forward again.
Nothing.
Hook watches.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Well?”
PETER PAN: “Give it a second.”
They wait.
The portal remains nothing more than empty air between two pieces of stone.
Hook's relief vanishes.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Pan.”
PETER PAN: “I know.”
Peter reaches out.
Normally there is a sensation here.
Not quite wind.
Not quite warmth.
More like the faint pressure of another place pushing against the edge of this one.
There is nothing.
Peter presses his palm into the empty space.
PETER PAN: “That's strange.”
Hook slowly closes his eyes.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “There are few phrases in existence that inspire less confidence when spoken by you.”
Peter ignores him.
He reaches inside his tunic and removes a small pouch. A trace of shimmering dust catches on his fingertips.
Hook's eyes narrow.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Must we?”
PETER PAN: “Unless you'd rather swim back to Nottingham.”
Peter flicks a small amount of pixie dust between the pillars.
For an instant, golden light hangs in the air.
Usually the gateway would respond.
The dust should scatter toward the boundary.
Instead it falls.
Straight down.
The particles settle onto the moss-covered ground.
Peter's expression changes.
The playfulness disappears.
Hook notices immediately.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “What?”
Peter crouches and touches the fallen dust.
PETER PAN: “The road isn't here.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “We are standing precisely where the road was.”
PETER PAN: “No. The stones are here.”
Peter stands.
PETER PAN: “The road's gone.”
Hook strides between the pillars himself.
Once.
Twice.
On the third attempt he slams the pommel of his sword against one of the stones.
Nothing.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Open it.”
PETER PAN: “That's what I'm trying to do.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Try harder.”
Peter turns.
PETER PAN: “Oh, good idea. Maybe yell at it.”
Hook points the sword toward him.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Do not tempt me.”
Peter's hand goes to the hilt of his own weapon.
For several seconds, the old hostility returns in full.
The comfortable kind.
The familiar kind.
The kind both men understand.
Then a distant sound rolls through the forest.
A deep, guttural call.
Neither man moves.
A second call answers from much farther away.
Then a third.
Peter slowly lowers his hand.
Hook lowers his sword.
They listen.
Silence follows.
Peter looks back toward the gateway.
He examines the pillars again, running his fingertips along the markings carved into the stone.
Nothing appears damaged.
No scorch marks.
No cracks.
No sign of attack.
Hook watches him work.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Could whatever has been causing the disturbances have destroyed it?”
PETER PAN: “Maybe.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “You don't believe that.”
Peter looks toward him.
PETER PAN: “If something broke the portal, there should still be something here. A tear. A weak spot. Something.”
He turns toward the empty space.
PETER PAN: “This feels different.”
Hook's expression hardens.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Different how?”
Peter takes a moment before answering.
PETER PAN: “Closed.”
Hook looks back at the pillars.
That word lands differently.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “From this side?”
Peter shakes his head.
PETER PAN: “I don't think so.”
Hook considers the implications.
Someone had not destroyed their route.
Someone had shut it.
Deliberately.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Try another gateway.”
PETER PAN: “Closest one is days away.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Then we walk.”
PETER PAN: “And if that one's closed?”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Then we try another.”
PETER PAN: “And another?”
Hook turns sharply.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “What precisely are you suggesting?”
Peter looks through the stone pillars one more time.
Nothing waits beyond them except the same ancient forest.
PETER PAN: “I'm suggesting it might not be this portal.”
Hook understands.
For once, there is no insult ready.
No argument.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “The entire Expanse.”
Peter nods.
Somewhere overhead, a flock of enormous black-winged creatures erupts from the canopy.
They do not scatter.
They all fly in the same direction.
Away.
Peter watches them disappear.
Hook follows his gaze.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Richard needs to know what we've found.”
PETER PAN: “Yeah.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “And unless your charming little bag contains enough dust to carry us between realms—”
PETER PAN: “It doesn't.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “—then our options have become rather limited.”
Peter walks away from the gateway and looks deeper into the forest.
PETER PAN: “There's someone who'll know what happened.”
Hook already knows the answer.
He doesn't like it.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Grimva.”
Peter nods.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “The same Grimva we have spent two weeks deliberately avoiding because Richard did not want the inhabitants of this realm to know we were spying on them.”
PETER PAN: “We weren't spying.”
Hook stares at him.
Peter thinks about it.
PETER PAN: “All right. We were spying.”
CAPTAIN HOOK: “At last. Growth.”
Peter starts walking.
Hook remains beside the dead gateway.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “And what exactly do you intend to tell her?”
Peter turns around and walks backward while speaking.
PETER PAN: “The truth.”
Hook actually looks offended.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Absolutely not.”
Peter smirks.
PETER PAN: “Then you talk.”
That makes Hook pause.
Peter's smile widens.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “On second thought, selective honesty may have its merits.”
Peter turns and continues into the trees.
Hook reluctantly follows.
They manage perhaps twenty yards before another sound comes from somewhere behind them.
A heavy impact.
Then another.
The ground trembles slightly.
Both men stop.
Hook slowly turns toward the now-useless gateway.
Something moves beyond the trees.
Not clearly enough to identify.
Only enough to bend several enormous trunks as it passes between them.
Peter's expression loses all trace of amusement.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Pan.”
PETER PAN: “I see it.”
Another shape moves farther to their left.
Then another to their right.
Hook draws his sword.
Peter does the same.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “You said the horned creature wasn't hunting us.”
PETER PAN: “That wasn't.”
A roar explodes through the forest.
Close.
Far too close.
Peter and Hook exchange a look.
Enemies.
Rivals.
Partners only because circumstances demanded it.
And now, apparently, prisoners in one of the most dangerous realms in existence.
Peter points toward the deeper forest.
PETER PAN: “Grimva.”
Hook tightens his grip around his sword.
CAPTAIN HOOK: “Quickly.”
They run.
Behind them, the stone gateway to Nottingham remains silent.
Closed.
And somewhere deeper within the Primal Expanse, something answers the roar.
SCENE 1 — THE EMPTY CELL
Camelot is quieter than it should be.
Not abandoned.
Never that.
But diminished.
King Arthur has taken much of his court and several of Camelot's most prominent figures east for the Mythic Division's tour of Japan. Merlin has accompanied him. So have enough knights, officials, and attendants that the castle's nightly rhythms have changed.
Fewer boots cross the courtyards.
Fewer torches burn along the upper walls.
Fewer eyes watch the roads beyond the gates.
That is precisely why Mordred chose tonight.
Beyond the western wall, hidden beneath the heavy branches of an old oak, Huntsman kneels in the wet grass.
He does not wear the colors of the Shadow Court.
Not anymore.
His hood is pulled low. A bow rests across one knee.
From where he waits, he can see three things at once: the western postern gate, the lower road leading into the forest, and the narrow bridge across the ravine.
A pair of Camelot guards passes atop the wall.
Huntsman watches them disappear.
Then glances toward the moon.
Late.
His jaw tightens.
He hears movement behind him and spins, arrow already halfway to the string.
Nothing.
Only trees.
Still, Huntsman remains staring into the darkness for several seconds longer than necessary.
Somewhere far beyond his position, a church bell begins to strike the hour.
Once.
Twice.
Then stops.
Huntsman looks toward Camelot.
The bell should have struck eight times.
He slowly lowers the bow.
Inside the castle, Mordred and Blood-Moon Warden move through a narrow passage behind the old kitchens.
Neither wears armor that could identify them at a distance.
Warden leads, his heavy cloak concealing most of his frame.
Mordred checks the passage ahead.
MORDRED: “This should take us beneath the eastern stair.”
Warden looks at him.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Should?”
MORDRED: “Camelot has been rebuilt fourteen times.”
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Comforting.”
Mordred almost smiles.
Almost.
They reach a stone door.
Locked.
Mordred takes a small iron key from beneath his sleeve.
Warden notices.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Where did you get that?”
Mordred inserts it.
MORDRED: “Someone who has finally decided honor and obedience are not the same thing.”
The lock turns.
They enter.
Beyond the door, the passage descends.
The deeper they travel, the colder Camelot becomes.
The grand halls above were built for banners, celebrations, courts, and kings.
The levels beneath were built for prisoners.
There are no banners here.
Only stone.
Iron.
And the occasional sound of someone trying not to cry out.
Mordred's expression hardens.
MORDRED: “Arthur never used these cells this way.”
Warden keeps moving.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “He does now.”
Ahead, torchlight spills around a corner.
Both men stop.
Footsteps approach.
Mordred reaches for his sword.
Warden shifts his weight.
A knight steps around the corner.
Sir Lancelot.
All three men freeze.
Lancelot looks first at Mordred.
Then Warden.
No one reaches for a weapon.
For several seconds, nothing is said.
Lancelot finally glances behind him.
SIR LANCELOT: “The lower patrol passed three minutes ago.”
Mordred says nothing.
SIR LANCELOT: “The next one comes in twelve.”
Warden studies him.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Why are you telling us?”
Lancelot looks toward the cells.
Something in his face answers before he does.
SIR LANCELOT: “Because there are things a knight can obey.”
A beat.
SIR LANCELOT: “And things a knight can survive becoming.”
He walks closer and places another key in Mordred's hand.
SIR LANCELOT: “Second corridor. Final cell.”
Mordred closes his fingers around it.
MORDRED: “Come with us.”
Lancelot immediately shakes his head.
SIR LANCELOT: “No.”
MORDRED: “Arthur will eventually learn someone helped us.”
SIR LANCELOT: “Then perhaps you should give him as few names as possible.”
Warden looks toward the corridor.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Twelve minutes.”
Lancelot corrects him.
SIR LANCELOT: “Eleven now.”
They move.
Lancelot watches them disappear around the corner.
Then he turns toward the opposite passage and walks away.
As he does, a torch beside him suddenly stops flickering.
The flame becomes perfectly still.
Lancelot pauses.
Looks at it.
The flame moves again.
He continues walking.
Mordred and Warden reach the final cell.
Mordred unlocks it.
The door opens.
Neither man speaks.
Robin Hood sits against the far wall.
For several seconds he does not react.
His head hangs forward.
His green clothing is torn and filthy. Dried blood marks one side of his face. One eye is swollen. His wrists are raw from shackles, and dark bruising disappears beneath the remains of his tunic.
When Robin finally raises his head, recognition comes slowly.
Then a faint smile.
ROBIN HOOD: “Took you long enough.”
Warden enters immediately.
He drops beside Robin.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Can you stand?”
ROBIN HOOD: “Of course.”
Robin tries.
His legs buckle.
Warden catches him before he hits the floor.
Robin grimaces despite himself.
ROBIN HOOD: “Apparently that answer requires revision.”
Mordred sees the marks around Robin's ribs.
His expression darkens.
MORDRED: “Who did this?”
Robin looks at him.
The humor fades.
ROBIN HOOD: “Men who believed the king wanted answers.”
Mordred's jaw tightens.
ROBIN HOOD: “Do not waste tonight asking which ones.”
Warden helps him upright.
Robin cannot put full weight on one leg.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Lean on me.”
ROBIN HOOD: “I'll ruin your reputation.”
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Move.”
Robin does.
They reach the corridor.
Mordred takes the lead.
They make the first turn.
Then stop.
Voices.
Two guards somewhere ahead.
Mordred looks back.
The route Lancelot gave them should be clear.
It isn't.
Warden shifts Robin's weight against the wall.
Mordred draws his sword.
Before anyone can move, one of the voices speaks.
GUARD: “Orders changed. We're wanted upstairs.”
The footsteps retreat.
Mordred looks toward Robin.
Robin gives him a tired glance.
ROBIN HOOD: “Your friend?”
Mordred sheathes his sword.
MORDRED: “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Robin smiles faintly.
They continue.
Two levels higher, Lancelot stands at the end of another corridor.
A young guard looks confused.
GUARD: “Sir, Captain Bellamy said the lower post remains occupied.”
SIR LANCELOT: “Captain Bellamy is in Japan.”
The guard hesitates.
SIR LANCELOT: “Would you like to wait for him to return and confirm that?”
GUARD: “No, Sir Lancelot.”
SIR LANCELOT: “Then upstairs.”
The guards leave.
Lancelot remains alone.
His hand curls slowly into a fist.
Below, Mordred, Robin, and Warden reach an older portion of the castle.
The walls change here.
Older stone.
Older carvings.
Remnants of Camelot from before Arthur's reign.
Warden stops.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “This is not the way we came.”
MORDRED: “Main passage is too exposed.”
Robin's breathing has become heavier.
ROBIN HOOD: “Where does this lead?”
MORDRED: “Old western chapel.”
ROBIN HOOD: “And then?”
MORDRED: “Outside.”
They move through an arched doorway.
Mordred takes three steps.
Stops.
Something has changed.
He looks to his right.
A pair of carved wooden doors stands partly open.
Light spills through the gap.
Not torchlight.
Something softer.
Almost silver.
Mordred stares.
Warden notices.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Mordred.”
Mordred does not answer.
Robin looks toward the chamber.
ROBIN HOOD: “What is it?”
Mordred steps toward the doors.
MORDRED: “This chamber has been sealed for years.”
Warden moves beside him.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Then leave it sealed.”
But Mordred is already pushing the door open.
The chamber beyond is circular.
No guards.
No banners.
No throne.
Only old stone columns surrounding a raised ceremonial platform.
And at its center—
A stone block.
Robin looks up.
Even injured, even exhausted, he recognizes it.
Everyone in Camelot would.
Embedded within the ancient stone is a sword.
Silver blade.
Golden hilt.
The weapon that has stood at the center of Camelot's greatest legend.
Excalibur.
Mordred stares at it.
MORDRED: “No.”
Warden looks from the sword to him.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “That is—”
MORDRED: “I know what it is.”
Robin's brow tightens.
ROBIN HOOD: “Arthur took Excalibur from the stone years ago.”
MORDRED: “He carries it.”
Robin looks toward the blade.
ROBIN HOOD: “Apparently not tonight.”
Mordred steps into the chamber.
Warden reaches for him.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “We don't have time.”
Mordred stops again.
Something is wrong.
Not painful.
Not frightening.
A pull.
A recognition.
The sensation travels through his hand before he has even touched the sword.
Mordred looks down at his fingers.
MORDRED: “Do you feel that?”
Warden shakes his head.
Robin watches him carefully.
ROBIN HOOD: “What?”
Mordred looks toward Excalibur.
MORDRED: “It's calling me.”
Warden's expression changes immediately.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Then that is an excellent reason not to touch it.”
Mordred almost agrees.
He takes one step backward.
The light within the chamber dims.
Then brightens.
Robin studies the sword.
Studies Mordred.
ROBIN HOOD: “Go to it.”
Warden turns.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “Robin.”
ROBIN HOOD: “Look at him.”
Mordred remains fixed on the weapon.
Robin speaks more quietly.
ROBIN HOOD: “Whatever put that sword back into that stone did not do it for decoration.”
Mordred looks at him.
ROBIN HOOD: “If it is calling you…”
A pause.
ROBIN HOOD: “Then find out why.”
Mordred approaches the platform.
Each step seems louder than the last.
He reaches the stone.
Excalibur's hilt is inches from his hand.
For a moment, Mordred hesitates.
He has known that sword his entire life.
Known what it means.
Known whose story it belongs to.
He closes his hand around the hilt.
The chamber goes completely silent.
Even Robin's breathing seems to disappear.
Mordred pulls.
There is no resistance.
No struggle.
No grinding stone.
With one smooth motion—
Excalibur comes free.
The blade catches the pale light.
Warden stares.
Robin's tired eyes widen.
Mordred himself looks more shocked than either of them.
He holds Excalibur before him.
Not triumphantly.
Almost cautiously.
MORDRED: “That shouldn't have happened.”
Robin gives a faint, breathless laugh.
ROBIN HOOD: “I think we're well beyond what should happen.”
Warden looks toward the corridor.
BLOOD-MOON WARDEN: “And we are still escaping a castle.”
That breaks the moment.
Mordred looks once at the empty stone.
Then takes Excalibur with him.
As the three men leave, the silver light inside the ceremonial chamber fades.
At the far end of the room, an ancient pendulum mounted beneath a forgotten astronomical device stops moving.
No one sees it.
Not one swing.
Not even a tremor.
Then, after the chamber is empty, it starts again.
Outside Camelot, Huntsman sees a small lantern flash twice from one of the lower windows.
He rises immediately.
Two horses wait behind the trees.
A third carries supplies.
Huntsman whistles softly.
Somewhere along the western wall, a gate opens.
Not the main gate.
An old servants' exit hidden within the lower masonry.
Mordred emerges first.
Warden follows, practically carrying Robin.
Huntsman runs to them.
HUNTSMAN: “You're late.”
Then he sees Robin.
His expression changes.
HUNTSMAN: “Gods.”
Robin manages a weak grin.
ROBIN HOOD: “I've looked better.”
Huntsman moves to take some of Robin's weight.
Then notices what Mordred is carrying.
He stops dead.
HUNTSMAN: “Is that—”
MORDRED: “Later.”
HUNTSMAN: “Mordred—”
MORDRED: “Later.”
A horn sounds from somewhere inside Camelot.
Huntsman looks toward the walls.
HUNTSMAN: “That's not us. Not yet.”
Warden helps Robin onto one of the horses.
ROBIN HOOD: “Where are we going?”
Huntsman takes the reins.
HUNTSMAN: “Somewhere Arthur's men won't look first.”
Robin settles painfully into the saddle.
ROBIN HOOD: “That narrows it down to nowhere.”
For the first time, Huntsman almost smiles.
HUNTSMAN: “Then nowhere it is.”
Mordred mounts.
Excalibur rests across his back.
Behind them, Camelot stands dark against the night.
They ride.
Far away—
Japan.
Inside a private chamber beneath the arena hosting the Mythic Division Super House Show, King Arthur stops in the middle of a conversation.
His face drains of color.
Across from him, Merlin notices immediately.
MERLIN: “Arthur?”
Arthur does not answer.
His hand has gone instinctively to his side.
There is no sword there.
He left Excalibur in Camelot.
Or believed he had.
Arthur's eyes close.
For a heartbeat, he feels stone.
Cold.
Ancient.
Then release.
Arthur opens his eyes.
KING ARTHUR: “Excalibur.”
Merlin stiffens.
MERLIN: “What about it?”
Arthur looks directly at him.
KING ARTHUR: “It has been drawn.”
Merlin's expression changes.
Not confusion.
Fear.
MERLIN: “From where?”
Arthur's silence answers.
Merlin immediately moves to a table covered with papers, cups, and ceremonial objects.
He sweeps them aside.
From within his robe he removes a small crystal disc and places it flat against the table.
His fingers move over it.
Ancient words leave his lips.
The crystal darkens.
Then fills with light.
Camelot appears.
Not as it is seen from the road.
As if the castle has been opened and unfolded before them.
Merlin searches.
Corridor.
Staircase.
Lower level.
Dungeon.
Arthur steps closer.
KING ARTHUR: “Robin.”
The image shifts.
The final cell.
Empty.
The door stands open.
Broken shackles lie upon the floor.
Arthur stares.
Merlin says nothing.
Arthur's expression hardens by degrees.
KING ARTHUR: “Show me the ceremonial chamber.”
Merlin hesitates.
Only briefly.
The image changes.
The stone remains.
Excalibur does not.
Arthur's jaw tightens.
For a moment neither man speaks.
Then the image shudders.
At the very edge of the vision, something seems to stand in a corridor beyond the chamber.
Not a person.
Not clearly.
Merely the suggestion that someone should be there.
Merlin turns the crystal slightly.
The corridor is empty.
Arthur does not notice.
His attention remains on the vacant stone.
KING ARTHUR: “Who?”
Merlin studies the image.
MERLIN: “I cannot tell.”
Arthur looks toward him sharply.
KING ARTHUR: “Cannot?”
Merlin's eyes remain on the crystal.
MERLIN: “There is interference.”
Arthur steps away.
The anger comes now.
But beneath it is something much more dangerous.
Recognition.
Fear.
Not fear of Robin Hood.
Fear of what the empty stone might mean.
KING ARTHUR: “Robin Hood escapes my dungeon on the same night Excalibur leaves the stone.”
Merlin says nothing.
Arthur turns toward the door.
MERLIN: “Arthur.”
Arthur stops.
MERLIN: “Do not assume the sword has chosen against you.”
Arthur slowly looks back.
That was not the reassurance Merlin intended it to be.
KING ARTHUR: “I made no such assumption.”
But Merlin can see that he has.
Arthur opens the door.
KING ARTHUR: “Send word to Camelot.”
Merlin rises.
KING ARTHUR: “Close the roads.”
A beat.
KING ARTHUR: “Seal the gates.”
Merlin watches him.
KING ARTHUR: “Until I return, no one enters Camelot.”
Arthur's gaze hardens.
KING ARTHUR: “And no one leaves.”
Back in Camelot, deep within the ceremonial chamber, the empty stone remains beneath the pale moonlight.
For the briefest instant, a shadow stretches across the floor.
There is no one there to cast it.
Then it is gone.
SCENE 2 — THE WOUND IN ELDORIA
ELDORIA
There are realms where magic hides.
Eldoria has never been one of them.
It lives openly here.
In the mountains where dragons nest above ruined kingdoms.
In roads laid centuries ago by wandering orders whose names have become legend.
In ancient fortresses whose lower levels descend farther beneath the earth than their builders ever intended.
In taverns where adventurers exchange stories over ale and argue about which stories are lies.
In forests where ravens carry messages that ordinary birds could never understand.
And in dungeons.
Especially in dungeons.
Eldoria has always possessed places where the boundaries between one location and another become uncertain.
Old doors sometimes open onto chambers that should be miles away.
Forgotten staircases occasionally descend into ruins constructed by civilizations that supposedly never existed.
Magic has rules here.
But those rules have always been more flexible underground.
That is why Shadowmaster does not immediately recognize what he has found as something impossible.
He stands inside the remains of an ancient dungeon fortress carved into the side of a black mountain.
A hooded cloak hangs from his shoulders.
A lantern burns in one hand.
The other rests near the weapon at his side.
Behind him, the passage continues toward the surface.
Ahead—
There should be a wall.
Shadowmaster knows that because he has walked this dungeon before.
Many times.
He knows the collapsed western stair.
The abandoned crypt.
The chamber where three stone knights still turn their heads when no one is looking directly at them.
And he knows this corridor ends here.
Except tonight it does not.
The stone wall is gone.
In its place stretches a narrow passage disappearing into darkness.
Shadowmaster raises the lantern.
SHADOWMASTER: “That wasn't there.”
His voice echoes.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time from much farther away than the corridor should allow.
He does not enter immediately.
Experience has taught him that only fools walk through mysterious doors simply because they are mysterious.
He lowers the lantern and examines the stone around the opening.
No chisel marks.
No broken masonry.
No spellwork that he recognizes.
The passage looks ancient.
As though it has always been there.
Shadowmaster reaches down and brushes dirt from the floor.
Footprints.
Not human.
Three long impressions.
Then another set.
Then dozens.
All leading deeper inside.
None coming back.
Shadowmaster's expression tightens.
He stands.
The lantern flame flickers.
For the briefest instant, the darkness at the end of the passage turns red.
Not fire.
Something underneath the dark.
A thin line of black-red light opens across the air.
Shadowmaster takes one step backward.
The line widens.
Stone behind it bends strangely, as though the corridor has been painted onto fabric and someone is pulling the fabric apart.
Shadowmaster watches.
Whatever this is, it is not Eldorian magic.
The fissure pulses.
A sound comes through.
Not a roar.
Not words.
Something between breathing and stone grinding against stone.
Then—
Silence.
Shadowmaster draws his weapon.
The fissure widens another inch.
Something moves beyond it.
Too large to identify.
Its outline crosses the opening and disappears.
Shadowmaster does not follow.
Instead, he slowly retreats.
The fissure contracts behind him.
For several seconds it nearly vanishes.
Then another black-red pulse travels through the passage.
The walls shake.
Dust falls from the ceiling.
Shadowmaster turns and moves quickly toward the surface.
He reaches the dungeon entrance and steps into daylight.
Eldoria stretches beneath him.
Vast forests.
Distant towers.
Snow along the mountain peaks.
A dragon circles high above the valley, its enormous wings catching the afternoon light.
For one moment everything appears exactly as it should.
Then the dragon suddenly turns.
Not gradually.
Not as though changing direction.
It recoils.
Its wings beat violently as it climbs away from the mountain.
Shadowmaster watches it flee.
That concerns him more than the fissure.
Dragons in Eldoria flee very few things.
A group of black birds bursts from the trees below.
Ravens.
They spiral upward.
Circle the mountain.
Then scatter.
Shadowmaster follows them with his eyes.
One remains.
It lands on a broken stone marker near the dungeon entrance.
The bird tilts its head toward him.
Shadowmaster stares back.
SHADOWMASTER: “You're a long way from your archer.”
The raven gives a short call.
Shadowmaster's expression changes.
Kellyn.
For years, Kellyn Chrisari, the Raven Archer, had traveled roads like these.
Bow.
Blade.
Song.
The impossible Raven's Feather that had bound him to Eldoria's ravens and sharpened senses already far beyond most men.
Kellyn had fought monsters here before he ever fought wrestlers.
And alongside him had been Alex Justice.
Skyhawk.
Together they had crossed from adventurers into something neither realm had expected.
Professional wrestling.
Steel Justice.
Shadowmaster had once stood beside them.
Managed them.
Guided them.
Until Count Vlad Dragomir decided otherwise.
The memory still irritates him.
Vlad's visit.
The offer.
Money in exchange for walking away from HCW.
Shadowmaster had accepted.
At the time, leaving had seemed simple enough.
A business decision.
Steel Justice could survive without him.
They had.
But this was not HCW business.
This was Eldoria.
Their home.
The raven calls again.
Shadowmaster looks toward the distant mountains.
A second dragon has appeared.
It too changes course before approaching the black mountain.
Shadowmaster turns back toward the dungeon.
The passage inside is dark.
Nothing red can be seen from here.
That somehow makes it worse.
SHADOWMASTER: “No.”
The raven watches him.
SHADOWMASTER: “I am not going back down there alone.”
The bird gives another sharp call.
Shadowmaster looks at it.
Then toward the horizon.
SHADOWMASTER: “Yes.”
He almost sounds annoyed that the raven has reached the same conclusion.
SHADOWMASTER: “Them.”
The raven launches from the stone.
Its wings carry it over the valley.
Shadowmaster remains at the dungeon entrance for several seconds.
His eyes drift once more toward the world below.
Villages.
Roads.
Castles.
Ruins.
Places filled with people who have no idea something beneath this mountain has changed.
Whatever Shadowmaster had seen inside that fissure, he did not know whether it was entering Eldoria—
—or whether Eldoria had begun opening into somewhere else.
Either possibility was unacceptable.
He pulls his cloak tighter around himself.
SHADOWMASTER: “Kellyn.”
A pause.
SHADOWMASTER: “Alex.”
He turns away from the dungeon.
SHADOWMASTER: “Your holiday is over.”
Shadowmaster begins descending the mountain.
His destination is not another Eldorian kingdom.
Not another dungeon.
Not one of the great adventuring halls.
He is leaving the realm.
For the Core Realm.
For HCW.
For Steel Justice.
Behind him, deep within the mountain, the impossible corridor pulses again.
This time the fissure opens wider.
Along the stone wall beside it is an ancient carving depicting a dragon standing above the founders of some forgotten Eldorian kingdom.
Below each figure is a name.
Except one.
Where lettering once existed, there is now only smooth stone.
As though the name had never been carved there at all.
The fissure pulses.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond it—
something moves closer.
SCENE 3 — THE CLOSED GATE
OZ
The great map room of the Emerald City was never designed to become a war room.
There are no military banners hanging from the walls.
No weapons displayed beside the doors.
No generals standing over miniature armies.
Instead, the chamber was built for travelers.
For explorers.
For scholars trying to understand the strange geography of Oz and the roads that occasionally refused to behave like roads.
Now nearly every table is covered.
Maps of the Core Realm.
Camelot.
Wonderland.
Neverland.
The Fairy Realm.
The Primal Expanse.
Other realms known only through fragments of reports.
Scrolls lie open beside handwritten notes from messengers, travelers, witches, knights, and creatures who have crossed places they insist should not have existed.
At the center of the room stands the largest map.
Oz.
Across it, thin lines of gold trace ancient mystical pathways beneath the realm.
Some follow the Yellow Brick Road.
Others cross forests, mountain passes, ruined castles, and places far removed from any conventional road.
And over those lines—
new markings have appeared.
Black.
Red.
More than there were before.
King Richard stands at the table with Glinda and the Wizard of Oz.
Richard studies one cluster near the eastern edge of the map.
His expression grows steadily more concerned.
KING RICHARD: “There were three here.”
The Wizard adjusts his spectacles.
WIZARD OF OZ: “There were.”
Richard points.
KING RICHARD: “Now there are seven.”
WIZARD OF OZ: “Eight.”
Richard looks at him.
The Wizard indicates a faint black-red mark almost hidden beneath one of the golden pathways.
WIZARD OF OZ: “That one appeared this morning.”
Glinda leans over the table.
She holds one hand above the map without touching it.
A soft white glow passes over the surface.
Several of the golden lines brighten.
Others flicker.
One disappears entirely for a moment before returning.
Glinda's expression tightens.
GLINDA: “They're spreading along the old crossings.”
Richard looks toward her.
KING RICHARD: “The fault lines.”
The Wizard nods.
WIZARD OF OZ: “That's the simplest name for them.”
He walks around the table and gestures toward the network beneath Oz.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Oz has always been unusually connected. Most realms have gates. Specific crossings. Doors. Mirrors. Rivers. Forest paths. Things with beginnings and endings.”
He taps one of the golden lines.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Oz has those too.”
Then another.
WIZARD OF OZ: “But underneath them are older pathways.”
Glinda finishes the thought.
GLINDA: “Places where the boundaries between realms are naturally thin.”
The Wizard nods.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Mystical fault lines.”
Richard studies the map.
KING RICHARD: “And they are what made Oz useful.”
GLINDA: “Yes.”
She looks toward the increasing number of black-red markings.
GLINDA: “And what makes it vulnerable.”
For weeks, Oz has gradually become something none of them formally declared it to be.
A headquarters.
Not a kingdom commanding other kingdoms.
Not an alliance capital.
Nothing so official.
But when reports needed to be compared, they came here.
When travelers disappeared between realms, Oz was where the routes were charted.
When fissures opened, their locations were added to these maps.
When Richard needed to know whether an incident in one realm resembled an incident in another, Glinda and the Wizard had usually already placed both reports beside each other.
Oz connected too many places to ignore.
And if those connections could be used by Richard and his allies—
they could be used by something else as well.
Richard's eyes move to another map hanging along the wall.
Wonderland.
Its markings are different.
Mirrors.
Rabbit holes.
Court roads.
Paths that change depending upon direction, mood, or occasionally who is asking.
Several have been circled in red ink.
KING RICHARD: “Oz and Wonderland.”
Glinda follows his gaze.
GLINDA: “The two most interconnected realms we've identified.”
WIZARD OF OZ: “And therefore the two most useful.”
Richard turns back toward them.
KING RICHARD: “Or the two easiest places from which to spread.”
No one answers immediately.
That possibility has already occurred to all three.
The Wizard looks down at another report.
WIZARD OF OZ: “There is another problem.”
Richard waits.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Some of these fissures aren't appearing near known crossings anymore.”
He slides a parchment across the table.
Several sketches accompany it.
One depicts a forest road ending somewhere it did not the day before.
Another shows a doorway standing alone in a field.
A third is simply a jagged black line drawn across what appears to be open sky.
WIZARD OF OZ: “At first I thought whatever is happening was using the fault lines.”
Glinda looks at the page.
GLINDA: “And now?”
The Wizard looks toward the map.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Now I think it may be learning from them.”
Richard's eyes narrow.
Before he can respond—
the doors burst open.
Tinker Belle races into the chamber.
Not walking.
Not merely flying.
She shoots through the doorway in a blur of light and nearly crashes into the edge of the central table before stopping herself.
The Wizard jerks backward.
Several papers scatter.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Tinker Belle!”
She ignores him.
Her eyes find Richard immediately.
TINKER BELLE: “Peter didn't come back.”
Richard straightens.
Glinda's attention sharpens.
KING RICHARD: “What happened?”
Tinker Belle is already talking faster than any of them can comfortably follow.
TINKER BELLE: “He was supposed to be back today. You said today. He said today. I waited at the portal because if I didn't wait he'd come through and pretend he wasn't late, and then he'd say something ridiculous about pirates or crocodiles or weather—”
Richard raises a hand.
KING RICHARD: “Tinker.”
She stops.
Barely.
KING RICHARD: “Start with the portal.”
Tinker Belle draws a breath.
TINKER BELLE: “It won't open.”
Silence.
Richard and Glinda exchange a look.
GLINDA: “Which portal?”
Tinker Belle stares at her.
TINKER BELLE: “The Primal Expanse.”
The Wizard immediately leaves the table.
Richard follows.
KING RICHARD: “Show us.”
Tinker Belle turns and shoots back through the doorway.
Richard looks toward the Wizard.
KING RICHARD: “Get the Black Knight.”
The Wizard nods.
Glinda is already moving.
Minutes later, they are crossing one of the quieter sections of the Emerald City.
Tinker Belle flies well ahead of the others, then doubles back when she realizes they cannot possibly match her speed.
She has only been back from the Fairy Realm for a few days.
Since returning, she has asked about Peter repeatedly.
Where was he?
When was he returning?
Why had Richard sent him somewhere without telling her first?
Richard had answered carefully.
Peter was on a special mission.
He would return soon.
Today, supposedly.
Tinker Belle had accepted that answer only because she expected to see him.
Now she is furious.
And frightened.
She lands briefly beside Richard.
TINKER BELLE: “Why didn't you tell me where he was?”
Richard does not evade it.
KING RICHARD: “Because the mission required secrecy.”
TINKER BELLE: “From me?”
KING RICHARD: “From everyone who did not need to know.”
She glares at him.
TINKER BELLE: “I needed to know.”
Richard says nothing.
Tinker Belle takes off again.
The Black Knight joins them near an old courtyard on the western edge of the city.
He carries no visible concern in his posture, but one hand remains close to his sword as he falls beside Richard.
They pass through an archway and enter a lower garden.
Unlike the brilliant emerald stonework around much of the city, this place is old.
Far older.
A circular platform sits beneath a canopy of twisted trees.
Seven stone markers surround it.
Each is carved with symbols representing a different known realm.
One of them bears markings associated with the Primal Expanse.
Tinker Belle lands in front of it.
TINKER BELLE: “Here.”
The space between two standing stones appears completely ordinary.
Richard looks toward her.
KING RICHARD: “Tell us exactly what happened.”
Tinker Belle folds her arms.
TINKER BELLE: “I waited.”
Richard waits.
TINKER BELLE: “A long time.”
The Wizard glances toward Glinda.
Glinda wisely says nothing.
TINKER BELLE: “Then I decided if Peter wasn't going to come through the portal, I would go through and find him.”
Richard's eyes close briefly.
KING RICHARD: “Of course you did.”
Tinker Belle points at him.
TINKER BELLE: “Don't start.”
KING RICHARD: “I wasn't going to.”
TINKER BELLE: “You were thinking it.”
KING RICHARD: “Probably.”
She turns back toward the portal.
TINKER BELLE: “It wouldn't open.”
Glinda approaches the stones.
GLINDA: “Did anything happen at all?”
TINKER BELLE: “Nothing.”
Glinda looks at her.
TINKER BELLE: “No resistance. No flash. No pull. Nothing.”
That interests Glinda.
She raises both hands.
Soft white light gathers around her fingers.
The stone markers respond.
Faint runes illuminate along their edges.
The Wizard steps closer.
The Black Knight remains several paces behind, watching the trees and surrounding paths rather than the magic.
Glinda speaks several quiet words.
The air between the stones ripples.
For a moment, everyone can see something on the other side.
Dense forest.
Dark trees.
Mist hanging low along the ground.
The Primal Expanse.
Tinker Belle surges forward.
TINKER BELLE: “Peter!”
Glinda throws one arm outward.
A wall of light stops her.
The image disappears.
Tinker Belle turns angrily.
TINKER BELLE: “Why did you close it?”
GLINDA: “I didn't.”
Tinker Belle stops.
Glinda steps closer to the stones.
The white light around her hands shifts.
One side of the portal glows.
The other does not.
Glinda tries again.
This time the gateway shudders.
Then goes still.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Well?”
Glinda lowers her hands.
GLINDA: “The portal is intact.”
Richard frowns.
KING RICHARD: “Then why can't we cross?”
Glinda looks toward the empty threshold.
GLINDA: “Because it has been sealed.”
Tinker Belle takes a step closer.
TINKER BELLE: “Can you open it?”
Glinda doesn't answer immediately.
She touches one of the standing stones.
The light travels from her hand into the ancient carvings.
Stops at the threshold.
GLINDA: “Not from here.”
Richard's expression changes.
KING RICHARD: “You're certain?”
Glinda nods.
GLINDA: “This isn't damage.”
She looks through the gateway that is no longer visible.
GLINDA: “Someone closed the crossing from the Primal side.”
The Wizard turns toward Richard.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Grimva.”
Richard says nothing.
But it is the first name that occurred to him as well.
Tinker Belle looks between them.
TINKER BELLE: “Who's Grimva?”
KING RICHARD: “One of the leaders of the Primal Expanse.”
TINKER BELLE: “Then tell her to open it.”
The Black Knight finally speaks.
BLACK KNIGHT: “If she closed every gate deliberately, she had a reason.”
Tinker Belle turns on him.
TINKER BELLE: “Peter is in there.”
BLACK KNIGHT: “I know.”
TINKER BELLE: “Then that's the reason to open it.”
Richard walks closer to the threshold.
He remembers the reports.
Impossible tracks.
Animals abandoning hunting grounds.
Old things becoming silent.
Then Bigfoot's warnings.
And now this.
A realm does not isolate itself casually.
Especially not the Primal Expanse.
Richard studies the stones.
KING RICHARD: “How many portals connect directly to the Expanse?”
The Wizard thinks.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Known portals?”
Richard nods.
WIZARD OF OZ: “Several. Oz. Core Realm. At least one old northern crossing. Possibly others.”
KING RICHARD: “Check them.”
The Wizard shakes his head.
WIZARD OF OZ: “If Glinda is right, I already know what we'll find.”
GLINDA: “If Grimva sealed the realm itself rather than individual gateways, every crossing will be closed.”
Tinker Belle stares at the dark space between the stones.
For the first time since entering the room, she goes quiet.
TINKER BELLE: “He's trapped.”
Richard looks at her.
He does not soften the truth.
KING RICHARD: “Peter and Hook both are.”
Tinker Belle's head snaps toward him.
TINKER BELLE: “Hook?”
Richard nods.
Her expression somehow becomes even less pleased.
TINKER BELLE: “You sent Peter into the Primal Expanse with Hook?”
KING RICHARD: “They were the two people I trusted to survive there without drawing attention.”
Tinker Belle stares at him.
TINKER BELLE: “You have a very strange idea of trust.”
The Wizard mutters almost under his breath.
WIZARD OF OZ: “She isn't entirely wrong.”
Richard looks at him.
The Wizard immediately becomes interested in the portal.
Richard turns back toward Glinda.
KING RICHARD: “Can you contact anyone across it?”
GLINDA: “Possibly.”
KING RICHARD: “Grimva?”
GLINDA: “Not without something connected directly to her.”
Richard considers that.
Then another name comes to him.
KING RICHARD: “Yolgrimm.”
The Black Knight looks toward him.
BLACK KNIGHT: “The mystic?”
Richard nods.
Yolgrimm had already demonstrated an understanding of the Primal Expanse's deeper crossings.
Enough to know when Grimva had sealed them.
Enough to warn that forcing one open could be extraordinarily dangerous.
Richard turns toward Glinda and the Wizard.
KING RICHARD: “Go to the Core Realm.”
Tinker Belle immediately steps forward.
TINKER BELLE: “I'm coming.”
Richard continues as though she did not interrupt.
KING RICHARD: “Find Yolgrimm.”
He looks directly at Glinda.
KING RICHARD: “I don't want the portal broken.”
Tinker Belle opens her mouth.
Richard raises a hand.
KING RICHARD: “Not until we know why Grimva closed it.”
Glinda nods.
KING RICHARD: “Find out whether Yolgrimm can contact her. If there is another safe route, use it. If there is some way to reach Peter and Hook without opening whatever Grimva intended to keep closed, find it.”
WIZARD OF OZ: “And if there isn't?”
Richard looks at the sealed gate.
KING RICHARD: “Then we decide how much risk we're willing to accept.”
Tinker Belle moves beside him.
TINKER BELLE: “Good. When do we leave?”
Richard turns toward her.
KING RICHARD: “You don't.”
Her face falls instantly.
Then hardens.
TINKER BELLE: “No.”
KING RICHARD: “Tinker—”
TINKER BELLE: “No. Peter is trapped in there. I'm going.”
KING RICHARD: “I need you here.”
TINKER BELLE: “You need me to go get him.”
KING RICHARD: “I need you in Oz.”
She stares at him.
Richard gestures toward the old portal stones.
KING RICHARD: “If Peter finds another way out, where do you think he'll go?”
Tinker Belle doesn't answer.
KING RICHARD: “Here.”
He looks toward the Emerald City beyond the garden.
KING RICHARD: “Oz is where everyone has been told to bring information. It is where the routes are being tracked. It is where anyone trying to reach us is most likely to come.”
Tinker Belle's wings flicker irritably.
KING RICHARD: “And you know Peter better than any of us.”
That gets through.
KING RICHARD: “If he sends a message that makes no sense to the rest of us, you may understand it.”
Tinker Belle looks back toward the sealed gateway.
Richard lowers his voice.
KING RICHARD: “I am not asking you to do nothing.”
She says nothing.
KING RICHARD: “I'm asking you to be where Peter is most likely to need you.”
A long pause.
Tinker Belle folds her arms.
TINKER BELLE: “I don't like it.”
KING RICHARD: “I know.”
TINKER BELLE: “And if they find a way through?”
Richard nods.
KING RICHARD: “You will know immediately.”
She looks at Glinda.
TINKER BELLE: “Immediately.”
Glinda gives her a small smile.
GLINDA: “Immediately.”
Tinker Belle finally relents.
Barely.
TINKER BELLE: “Fine.”
The Wizard exhales.
Tinker Belle points at him.
TINKER BELLE: “Don't look relieved.”
The Wizard quickly stops looking relieved.
Richard turns toward the Black Knight.
KING RICHARD: “You're going with them.”
The Black Knight nods.
BLACK KNIGHT: “Of course.”
KING RICHARD: “If the roads are changing, Glinda and the Wizard don't travel alone.”
Glinda gives him a look.
GLINDA: “I am standing right here.”
KING RICHARD: “And I'm still sending the Black Knight.”
The Wizard smiles slightly.
Glinda notices.
The smile disappears.
Richard looks once more at the portal.
A few days ago, it was simply another route.
Today it is a wall.
And walls are beginning to appear in places that once connected worlds.
Behind him, Oz stretches outward in every direction.
Bright.
Beautiful.
Connected.
Too connected.
Richard's attention shifts toward the distant towers of the Emerald City.
KING RICHARD: “Wizard.”
The Wizard pauses.
KING RICHARD: “Before you leave, mark every known Primal crossing on the main map.”
WIZARD OF OZ: “All of them?”
KING RICHARD: “All of them.”
Richard glances toward the portal.
KING RICHARD: “Then mark Wonderland's major crossings again.”
Glinda studies him.
GLINDA: “You think this could happen there.”
Richard looks toward her.
KING RICHARD: “I think we've spent too much time assuming the danger is the places opening.”
He gestures toward the sealed Primal gate.
KING RICHARD: “Perhaps we should start worrying about the ones that close.”
No one argues.
The Black Knight turns toward the path back to the city.
Glinda follows.
The Wizard lingers for one final look at the ancient gateway before joining them.
Tinker Belle remains beside Richard.
Watching.
Waiting.
For something to happen.
Nothing does.
The gateway to the Primal Expanse remains silent.
Sealed.
Far beyond it, in a realm none of them can presently reach, Peter Pan and Captain Hook are already moving deeper into the wilds in search of Grimva.
But Oz does not know that.
All Richard knows is that another road between worlds has disappeared.
And on the maps waiting back inside the Emerald City, the number of black-red marks continues to grow.
SCENE 4 — THE CALL HOME
CORE REALM — COLUMBIA COLISEUM
BACKSTAGE — HCW
The Columbia Coliseum is alive.
Even backstage, the noise from the crowd rolls through the concrete corridors in waves.
Music hits somewhere beyond the curtain.
A ring announcer's voice echoes faintly through the building.
Crew members hurry past carrying cables, production cases, towels, bottled water, and pieces of equipment needed for a show that never seems to stop moving once the doors open.
None of them are expecting Shadowmaster.
That becomes obvious almost immediately.
A stagehand carrying a headset nearly walks straight into him.
The man stops.
Looks Shadowmaster up and down.
Then looks again.
STAGEHAND: “Can I help you?”
Shadowmaster keeps walking.
SHADOWMASTER: “No.”
STAGEHAND: “You can't just—”
Shadowmaster disappears around the corner before the man finishes.
The stagehand considers following.
Then decides against it.
Shadowmaster knows enough about HCW's backstage layout to find where he is going.
He has been here before.
More than once.
That does not mean he enjoys being back.
Every corridor seems to carry a reminder.
A conversation.
A deal.
A decision.
And one particular man he would prefer not to see.
Shadowmaster rounds another corner.
Ahead, two wrestlers stand near an open locker-room door.
Kellyn “The Raven Archer” Chrisari is halfway through restringing part of his gear while speaking to Alex “Skyhawk” Justice.
Alex is listening with the expression of someone who has probably already heard too much of whatever story Kellyn is telling.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “I'm only saying that if the referee had allowed the raven—”
Alex looks past him.
His expression changes.
Kellyn notices.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “What?”
Alex does not answer.
Kellyn turns.
For several seconds, neither member of Steel Justice says anything.
Shadowmaster stops several feet away.
The reunion is not warm.
But it is not hostile either.
It is something more complicated.
Recognition mixed with old irritation.
History.
Kellyn slowly lowers what he is holding.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Well.”
Alex folds his arms.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Didn't expect to see you here again.”
Shadowmaster glances down the corridor before answering.
SHADOWMASTER: “Neither did I.”
Kellyn studies him carefully.
The joking tone is already gone.
Whatever relationship they once had, Kellyn knows Shadowmaster well enough to notice when something is wrong.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “What happened?”
Shadowmaster looks toward the open locker room.
SHADOWMASTER: “Somewhere private.”
Alex raises an eyebrow.
ALEX JUSTICE: “You disappear, get paid to walk away from HCW, and now you show up wanting privacy?”
Shadowmaster's expression tightens.
SHADOWMASTER: “Yes.”
Kellyn looks at Alex.
Alex exhales through his nose.
Then steps aside.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Inside.”
They enter.
Alex closes the door.
The sound from the arena becomes muffled.
Shadowmaster remains standing.
Kellyn leans against one of the benches.
Alex stays near the door.
Neither offers Shadowmaster a seat.
Shadowmaster does not ask for one.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “All right.”
A pause.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “What happened?”
Shadowmaster reaches beneath his cloak.
Alex immediately straightens.
Shadowmaster notices.
SHADOWMASTER: “Relax.”
He removes a small wrapped object.
Places it on the bench.
Kellyn steps closer.
Shadowmaster unfolds the cloth.
Inside is a fragment of dark stone.
A thin line runs across its surface.
Not carved.
Not cracked.
Something else.
Black at the center.
Faint red along the edges.
Kellyn's expression changes.
Alex looks toward Shadowmaster.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Where did you get that?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Eldoria.”
That single word changes the room.
Kellyn stops moving.
Alex's arms drop from where they had been folded.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Where?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Western mountain range. Old dungeon fortress.”
Kellyn steps closer to the stone.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Which one?”
Shadowmaster names the location.
Kellyn looks immediately toward Alex.
Recognition.
Not casual recognition.
The kind that comes from having been there before.
ALEX JUSTICE: “That place was cleared years ago.”
SHADOWMASTER: “It still is.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Then what's this?”
Shadowmaster looks down at the fragment.
SHADOWMASTER: “A corridor that wasn't there.”
Alex frowns.
SHADOWMASTER: “It should have ended at a wall.”
He looks at Kellyn.
SHADOWMASTER: “It didn't.”
Kellyn says nothing.
Shadowmaster continues.
SHADOWMASTER: “There were tracks inside. Dozens. All moving in one direction.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “Into the passage?”
Shadowmaster nods.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Anything coming back?”
SHADOWMASTER: “No.”
Kellyn reaches toward the stone.
Shadowmaster stops him.
SHADOWMASTER: “Don't.”
Kellyn looks at him.
Shadowmaster releases his wrist.
SHADOWMASTER: “I don't know what it is.”
That admission carries weight.
Shadowmaster is not a man accustomed to saying he does not know.
SHADOWMASTER: “There was a fissure.”
Kellyn's eyes narrow.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “A magical breach?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Maybe.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Maybe?”
SHADOWMASTER: “I've seen portals.”
He looks toward the stone.
SHADOWMASTER: “I've seen dimensional gates. Dungeon crossings. Failed summoning circles. Arcane fractures.”
A beat.
SHADOWMASTER: “This wasn't any of them.”
Alex steps closer.
ALEX JUSTICE: “What did it look like?”
Shadowmaster considers how to describe it.
SHADOWMASTER: “Like someone cut the world open.”
Silence.
The crowd outside suddenly roars.
Inside the locker room, nobody reacts.
SHADOWMASTER: “Black through the center. Red around the edges. The stone around it bent without moving.”
Kellyn looks toward Alex.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Anything come through?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Not while I was standing there.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “But?”
Shadowmaster looks at him.
SHADOWMASTER: “Something was on the other side.”
That lands.
Kellyn looks back at the stone.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “What kind of something?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Big.”
Kellyn's mouth twitches.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Very descriptive.”
Shadowmaster does not smile.
SHADOWMASTER: “Big enough that I did not stay to improve the description.”
That removes the humor.
Alex walks several steps away and runs a hand over the back of his neck.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Anyone else know?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Not enough people.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “And that's why you're here.”
Shadowmaster nods.
SHADOWMASTER: “Eldoria needs you.”
Kellyn looks at him.
Alex turns back.
There is no hesitation in either man's face.
Only calculation.
Responsibility.
Home.
ALEX JUSTICE: “How soon?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Now.”
Kellyn gives him a look.
SHADOWMASTER: “Tonight.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “That's not happening.”
Shadowmaster's expression hardens.
SHADOWMASTER: “Alex—”
ALEX JUSTICE: “We have obligations here.”
SHADOWMASTER: “Eldoria may have something tearing through the realm.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “And walking out of HCW in the middle of a show doesn't magically get us there faster.”
Shadowmaster steps forward.
SHADOWMASTER: “You don't understand what I saw.”
Alex meets him evenly.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Then explain it better.”
Kellyn raises a hand before the argument sharpens.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Enough.”
Both men stop.
Kellyn looks toward Shadowmaster.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “We are going.”
Shadowmaster says nothing.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “That's not the question.”
He glances toward Alex.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “We need a few days.”
Shadowmaster immediately shakes his head.
SHADOWMASTER: “You don't have a few days.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Neither do we have the luxury of disappearing without explanation.”
Shadowmaster looks increasingly frustrated.
Kellyn continues calmly.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “We have matches. Commitments. People here who deserve to know we're leaving.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “And if we're gone longer than expected, those loose ends become somebody else's problem.”
Shadowmaster looks between them.
SHADOWMASTER: “Eldoria is your home.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “We know.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Which is why we're going.”
A pause.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Give us a few days.”
Shadowmaster turns away.
His eyes move toward the door.
He is clearly unhappy.
But there is something else beneath it.
Kellyn notices.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “You're not staying.”
Shadowmaster looks back.
SHADOWMASTER: “No.”
Alex almost laughs.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Of course you're not.”
SHADOWMASTER: “I have somewhere else to be.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Where?”
Shadowmaster hesitates.
Only slightly.
SHADOWMASTER: “I need to find King Richard.”
That gets both men's attention.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Richard?”
SHADOWMASTER: “If this is happening anywhere besides Eldoria, he'll know.”
Kellyn studies him.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Maybe.”
Shadowmaster's expression tells him there is more.
Kellyn steps closer.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Or maybe you just don't want to be here when Vlad finds out you're backstage.”
Shadowmaster goes still.
Alex looks from Kellyn to Shadowmaster.
ALEX JUSTICE: “There it is.”
Shadowmaster's jaw tightens.
SHADOWMASTER: “This has nothing to do with Dragomir.”
Kellyn gives him a long look.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “You took his money.”
Shadowmaster says nothing.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “He paid you to leave HCW.”
SHADOWMASTER: “I remember.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “And now you're standing backstage at an HCW show.”
SHADOWMASTER: “Temporarily.”
Alex crosses his arms again.
ALEX JUSTICE: “I'm sure the Count will appreciate the distinction.”
Shadowmaster looks toward him.
SHADOWMASTER: “I did not come here to resume employment.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “You came backstage.”
SHADOWMASTER: “To find you.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Which still means you're backstage.”
Shadowmaster exhales.
Kellyn can see he has hit the truth.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “You're worried about him.”
SHADOWMASTER: “I am not worried about Count Vlad Dragomir.”
Alex immediately answers.
ALEX JUSTICE: “You're worried about him.”
Shadowmaster stares at him.
Alex shrugs.
ALEX JUSTICE: “That's how that sentence works.”
Kellyn almost smiles.
Shadowmaster does not.
SHADOWMASTER: “I made an agreement.”
That changes the tone slightly.
SHADOWMASTER: “Whatever I think of Dragomir, I accepted his terms.”
Kellyn watches him.
SHADOWMASTER: “Returning here permanently would violate that agreement.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “So you're afraid of crossing him.”
Shadowmaster considers arguing.
Instead:
SHADOWMASTER: “I prefer not to create enemies unnecessarily.”
Alex gives Kellyn a sideways glance.
ALEX JUSTICE: “That's the longest possible way to say yes.”
Shadowmaster points toward him.
SHADOWMASTER: “And this is why I am leaving.”
For the first time, Kellyn laughs.
Only briefly.
Then the seriousness returns.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “You really think Richard needs to hear about this?”
SHADOWMASTER: “Yes.”
Shadowmaster looks down at the fragment again.
SHADOWMASTER: “If Eldoria is the only place affected, then we deal with Eldoria.”
He pauses.
SHADOWMASTER: “If it isn't…”
Alex finishes quietly.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Then this is bigger.”
Shadowmaster nods.
Kellyn picks up the cloth around the fragment without touching the stone itself and folds it closed.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Take that with you.”
Shadowmaster looks at him.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “If you're going to tell a king the world has developed a hole, bring proof.”
Shadowmaster takes the bundle.
SHADOWMASTER: “A few days.”
Alex nods.
ALEX JUSTICE: “A few.”
SHADOWMASTER: “Not a week.”
KELLYN CHRISARI: “We heard you.”
Shadowmaster moves toward the door.
Stops.
Looks back.
There is something almost reluctant in his expression.
Something that might once have been easier to say.
SHADOWMASTER: “Be ready.”
Kellyn nods.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “We will be.”
Shadowmaster opens the door.
The noise of the Columbia Coliseum rushes back into the room.
Before he steps out, Alex calls after him.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Shadowmaster.”
He looks back.
ALEX JUSTICE: “If you see Vlad…”
Shadowmaster waits.
Alex gives the smallest smile.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Tell him we said hello.”
Shadowmaster's expression immediately hardens.
SHADOWMASTER: “Absolutely not.”
He disappears into the corridor.
Kellyn watches the doorway for several seconds.
Then looks toward Alex.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “He is definitely afraid of Vlad.”
ALEX JUSTICE: “Terrified.”
Kellyn looks down at his gear.
The humor fades again.
KELLYN CHRISARI: “Eldoria.”
Alex nods.
ALEX JUSTICE: “Yeah.”
The two men stand quietly.
Outside, HCW continues around them.
The crowd cheers.
Music plays.
Another match begins.
But for Steel Justice, everything has already changed.
Their lives in the Core Realm now have an expiration date.
In a few days, they are going home.
And somewhere between Columbia Coliseum and Eldoria, Shadowmaster begins searching for King Richard—
while making very sure he does not accidentally find Count Vlad Dragomir first.
SCENE 5 — THE BLACK LEDGER
CORE REALM — CAMELOT
Camelot sleeps uneasily.
Even with King Arthur and much of his court away in Japan, the castle never truly becomes quiet. Guards still patrol the walls. Servants still cross torchlit corridors. Somewhere below, iron doors open and close as Arthur's increasingly rigid orders continue to be enforced in his absence.
But there are older places within Camelot.
Rooms forgotten when newer towers were built.
Passages hidden behind tapestries whose subjects no longer have names.
Chambers that exist on architectural plans from one century and disappear entirely from plans drawn during the next.
Dark Hatter has found one of them.
A single candle burns on a stone table.
His hat rests beside it.
His gloves remain immaculate.
Before him lies the Black Ledger.
Dark Hatter slowly turns a page.
He has filled many since the Nameless Courtier first placed the book into his hands.
Names.
Places.
Relationships.
Patterns.
Who trusts whom.
Who fears whom.
Who travels between realms.
Who guards the crossings.
Who investigates the fissures.
Who possesses influence without realizing it.
Some entries are extensive.
Others consist only of a name and a question.
KING RICHARD
Organizing response across multiple realms.
Trusted by Glinda. Peter Pan. Black Knight.
Increasingly suspicious of Camelot.
Dark Hatter turns the page.
GLINDA
Recognizes magical inconsistencies.
Observed memory failure following encounter with Alice.
He stops.
Dark Hatter looks closer.
The ink beneath the name has moved.
Not smeared.
Moved.
The letters rearrange themselves slowly.
Observed memory failure following encounter with—
The final word fades.
Dark Hatter leans closer.
The ink returns.
ALICE
Then:
A L I —
Then something else.
Characters he cannot read.
Not another language.
Not any alphabet he knows.
The symbols appear almost understandable if he looks at them from the corner of his eye.
The moment he focuses, they become meaningless.
Dark Hatter's expression hardens.
DARK HATTER: “No.”
He reaches for his pen.
The instant its point touches the page, the word changes again.
ALICE
Dark Hatter freezes.
Then another line appears beneath it.
He did not write it.
ALICE
Two identical names.
He stares.
Slowly, he flips backward through the Ledger.
Earlier entries.
Wonderland.
The Queen of Hearts.
White Rabbit.
The Fairy Realm.
The Lost Boy.
There.
His original record.
ALICE — WONDERLAND
Dark Hatter turns the page.
Another entry.
ALICE — WONDERLAND
Different handwriting.
His handwriting.
But he does not remember writing it.
He touches the page.
DARK HATTER: “Interesting.”
For once, the word does not sound amused.
He compares the entries.
The first describes the Alice he knows.
The second describes someone who returned to Wonderland.
Different details.
Different behavior.
Yet the Ledger identifies both without qualification.
Dark Hatter flips rapidly through several more pages.
He stops.
PETER PAN
The name remains.
CAPTAIN HOOK
Still there.
PRIMAL EXPANSE
The letters darken.
Then the words beneath them begin disappearing.
Multiple accessible realm crossings.
The sentence fades.
Dark Hatter watches as new words slowly form in their place.
Crossings unavailable.
His eyes narrow.
DARK HATTER: “I didn't write that.”
He turns another page.
MYRRDEN THE HOLLOW
The surname flickers.
MYRRDEN THE H—
Then—
MYRRDEN
Then—
Nothing.
Dark Hatter grabs the page.
DARK HATTER: “No.”
He reaches for the pen again and writes forcefully.
MYRRDEN THE HOLLOW
The ink sits normally.
For three seconds.
Then THE HOLLOW bleeds into the paper and vanishes.
Dark Hatter stares.
His amusement has disappeared entirely.
He turns to another section.
KING ARTHUR
Stable.
MERLIN
Stable.
MORDRED
Stable.
But beside Mordred's name, a line that had not existed before now appears.
Excalibur.
Dark Hatter stops.
He reads it again.
DARK HATTER: “Now when did that happen?”
The candle flame behind him becomes perfectly still.
Dark Hatter notices.
He does not turn immediately.
A voice speaks from behind him.
Familiar.
And somehow impossible to remember the instant it finishes speaking.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “More recently than you would think.”
Dark Hatter's eyes close briefly.
A smile slowly returns.
Not warmth.
Recognition.
DARK HATTER: “You.”
He turns.
The Nameless Courtier stands near the far wall.
Dark Hatter knows he has seen this figure before.
He remembers their conversations.
He remembers the cadence of the voice.
The black Ledger.
The Hall of Suits.
He remembers everything they said.
Yet even while looking directly at the Courtier, Dark Hatter cannot later imagine how he would describe their face.
Every feature seems perfectly clear.
Until he tries to hold it in memory.
DARK HATTER: “You have atrocious manners.”
The Courtier says nothing.
DARK HATTER: “Doors exist for a reason.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “So do walls.”
Dark Hatter smiles.
DARK HATTER: “And yet neither seems particularly relevant to you.”
The Courtier's attention moves toward the Black Ledger.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “May I?”
Dark Hatter places one hand protectively over it.
DARK HATTER: “You gave it to me.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “I did.”
DARK HATTER: “That usually implies possession.”
The Courtier raises one hand.
The Ledger jerks beneath Dark Hatter's palm.
He presses down.
The book moves anyway.
It slides across the stone table.
Dark Hatter grabs for it.
The Ledger lifts into the air.
Pages flutter.
Then the book crosses the chamber and settles calmly into the Courtier's waiting hand.
Dark Hatter looks at his empty fingers.
DARK HATTER: “Rude.”
The Courtier opens the Ledger.
Pages turn without being touched.
One after another.
Camelot.
Wonderland.
Oz.
Neverland.
Fairy Realm.
Primal Expanse.
North Pole.
Names.
Hundreds of observations.
The Courtier pauses at King Richard's entry.
Then Glinda.
Then Merlin.
Then Arthur.
A faint expression of satisfaction appears.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Very good.”
Dark Hatter tilts his head.
DARK HATTER: “Very good?”
The Courtier turns another page.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “You listen.”
Another.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “You watch.”
Another.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “And unlike most people, when something does not make sense…”
They look toward Hatter.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “…you do not immediately try to make it sensible.”
Dark Hatter smiles.
DARK HATTER: “Sense is tremendously overrated.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Yes.”
The Courtier looks down again.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “That is one of the reasons you were useful.”
Dark Hatter's smile fades slightly.
DARK HATTER: “Were?”
The Courtier continues reading.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Are.”
A beat.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “For now.”
Dark Hatter watches them carefully.
The Courtier reaches the Alice entries.
The page stops turning.
For the first time, they seem genuinely interested.
Two names.
Same name.
Two histories.
Dark Hatter steps closer.
DARK HATTER: “That.”
The Courtier does not look up.
DARK HATTER: “Explain that.”
Silence.
DARK HATTER: “I wrote one.”
The Courtier gently runs a finger beneath the second entry.
DARK HATTER: “I apparently wrote the other.”
Still nothing.
DARK HATTER: “I do not remember doing so.”
The Courtier finally looks at him.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “And?”
Dark Hatter frowns.
DARK HATTER: “And I dislike mysteries that believe they are cleverer than I am.”
The Courtier closes the Ledger halfway.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Which Alice is false?”
Dark Hatter answers immediately.
DARK HATTER: “The second.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Why?”
Dark Hatter hesitates.
DARK HATTER: “Because I know the first.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Do you?”
Dark Hatter's expression changes.
DARK HATTER: “Careful.”
The Courtier opens the book again.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “You assume contradiction means one thing must be removed.”
They look at the two entries.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Perhaps contradiction means something has been added.”
Dark Hatter listens.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Or perhaps something was removed…”
Their finger touches the space between the names.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “…and the world dislikes an empty place.”
Dark Hatter's eyes narrow.
That answer has given him considerably less comfort than no answer at all.
DARK HATTER: “Did you change my Ledger?”
The Courtier looks almost amused.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “No.”
DARK HATTER: “Then something else did.”
The Courtier says nothing.
Dark Hatter steps closer.
DARK HATTER: “The words are changing.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Yes.”
DARK HATTER: “Names are disappearing.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Yes.”
DARK HATTER: “Information I know I recorded has become nonsense.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Yes.”
Dark Hatter waits.
DARK HATTER: “You are remarkably pleased about this.”
The Courtier looks down at the Ledger.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “I am pleased with you.”
That is somehow worse.
They reopen the Myrrden entry.
The name is intact again.
The title beneath it is not.
Dark Hatter sees it.
DARK HATTER: “I tried correcting that.”
The Courtier's head lifts sharply.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Don't.”
Dark Hatter pauses.
The command is quiet.
Absolute.
DARK HATTER: “Why?”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Because a change is information.”
The Courtier turns several pages backward.
A name fades as they watch.
They do nothing to stop it.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “If a name changes, record that it changed.”
Another line becomes incomprehensible.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “If a memory contradicts the page, record the contradiction.”
They reach the Primal Expanse entry.
Crossings unavailable.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “If a road disappears…”
Their finger rests beneath the sentence.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “…do not redraw the road.”
Dark Hatter studies them.
DARK HATTER: “You want the errors.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “I want the difference.”
Dark Hatter's smile returns.
Smaller now.
Sharper.
DARK HATTER: “Between what?”
The Courtier closes the Ledger.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “What was.”
A pause.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “What is.”
Another.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “And what everyone eventually agrees was always true.”
For the first time, Dark Hatter looks genuinely unsettled.
The Courtier extends the Ledger toward him.
Dark Hatter takes it.
DARK HATTER: “You've read my work.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Yes.”
DARK HATTER: “You are pleased.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Very.”
Hatter places the book back on the stone table.
DARK HATTER: “And naturally that means you want more.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Much more.”
The candle begins flickering again.
The Courtier slowly walks around the table.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Names alone are insufficient.”
Dark Hatter waits.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “I want roads.”
A page turns by itself.
The maps and crossings section.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Doors.”
Another page.
Wonderland's mirrors.
Oz's pathways.
The Primal crossings.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Oaths.”
Camelot.
Knights.
Kings.
Allegiances.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Relics.”
Excalibur.
The Crown.
Objects connected to realms and histories.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “And people.”
Dark Hatter laughs softly.
DARK HATTER: “The Ledger is predominantly people.”
The Courtier looks at him.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Not these people.”
Dark Hatter's amusement fades.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Find the ones who notice.”
DARK HATTER: “Notice what?”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “When something is missing.”
They begin listing them without names.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Those who remember a road where no road remains.”
A page showing the Primal Expanse.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Those who recognize a person everyone else accepts.”
Wonderland.
Alice.
White Rabbit.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Those who see the past and discover they are absent from their own memories.”
The words hang strangely in the room.
Dark Hatter watches the Courtier more carefully now.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Those who guard boundaries.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Those who carry crowns.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Those who believe their names cannot be taken from them.”
Dark Hatter's fingers slowly settle on the Ledger.
DARK HATTER: “And what exactly will you do with all of this?”
The Courtier smiles.
It is the kind of expression Dark Hatter knows he will be unable to remember once they are gone.
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Read.”
Hatter stares.
DARK HATTER: “That answer is insultingly incomplete.”
NAMELESS COURTIER: “Then collect enough information to complete it.”
Dark Hatter almost laughs.
The Courtier steps away.
DARK HATTER: “One more question.”
They stop.
DARK HATTER: “The Ledger.”
The Courtier waits.
DARK HATTER: “Does it record what is happening?”
A long silence.
DARK HATTER: “Or does it decide what matters?”
For the first time since entering, the Courtier gives no immediate answer.
Dark Hatter notices.
That interests him enormously.
Finally:
NAMELESS COURTIER: “You are asking better questions.”
The candle goes out.
Darkness swallows the chamber.
Dark Hatter immediately reaches across the table.
His fingers find the Ledger.
Still there.
A few seconds later, he strikes a match.
The candle relights.
The Nameless Courtier is gone.
No open door.
No footsteps.
No sound of retreat.
Dark Hatter looks toward the empty space where they stood.
Then down at the Ledger.
The book has opened itself.
A blank page waits.
Dark Hatter sits.
Takes up his pen.
He begins writing.
THE CHANGES ARE THE INFORMATION.
He stops.
The ink remains.
Beneath it, he writes:
FIND THOSE WHO NOTICE WHAT IS MISSING.
That remains too.
Dark Hatter leans back.
Then notices something at the bottom of the page.
A line already written.
Not by him.
MORE.
Dark Hatter stares at it.
Slowly, he smiles.
DARK HATTER: “Greedy thing.”
He turns the page.
And begins again.
SCENE 6 — WHAT WAS HERE
OZ — NIGHT
The Emerald City glows beneath a clear night sky.
Its towers rise like green glass against the stars, each catching moonlight and returning it in softer shades of emerald.
Beyond the main streets, away from the palaces and crowded avenues, lies one of Oz's oldest protected places.
The Emerald Rose Garden.
It is immaculate.
Rows upon rows of green roses fill the garden, every blossom different in shade. Some are pale as polished jade. Others are so deep they seem almost black until moonlight touches their petals.
Stone paths wind between the hedges.
Small fountains whisper beneath archways covered in flowering vines.
At the center of the garden stands an ancient circular structure built from green marble.
A portal.
One of Oz's oldest crossings to the Core Realm.
For several seconds, nothing moves.
Then the air inside the arch ripples.
Green light flashes.
A figure stumbles through.
Shadowmaster nearly falls.
He catches himself against one of the stone pillars.
The portal closes behind him.
He remains there, breathing hard.
His cloak is dirty from travel. His face shows exhaustion that has gone well beyond simply missing sleep.
One hand remains clenched tightly around a small leather pouch.
For several moments, he simply looks around.
The garden.
The impossible green roses.
The distant towers.
The faint golden roads visible between buildings farther up the hill.
Recognition slowly comes.
SHADOWMASTER: “Oz.”
He has never stood here before.
But Eldoria has stories.
Every realm does.
Stories of a city of emerald.
Of witches.
Of impossible roads.
Of a wizard who ruled without being what people believed him to be.
Of travelers arriving from places they never intended to leave.
Shadowmaster looks toward the tallest tower visible beyond the garden.
He knows where he needs to go.
SHADOWMASTER: “Wizard's tower.”
He starts along the path.
His pace is hurried.
Not running.
Not yet.
He keeps looking over his shoulder.
The fissure in Eldoria remains burned into his thoughts.
The impossible corridor.
The missing inscription.
The thing moving on the other side.
Steel Justice had agreed to return.
Eventually.
A few days.
Shadowmaster had hated those words.
But there was someone else who needed to know.
The man supposedly gathering information about the disturbances spreading between realms.
King Richard.
Shadowmaster reaches an intersection in the garden path.
He stops.
Something is wrong.
The roses are no longer moving.
There had been a breeze.
He is certain of it.
Now every leaf is still.
Shadowmaster slowly turns.
Nothing.
He listens.
No insects.
No fountains.
Even the distant sounds of the Emerald City seem farther away.
SHADOWMASTER: “Hello?”
His voice sounds too small.
He takes another step.
A rose beside him changes.
Not color.
Something stranger.
For an instant, Shadowmaster cannot tell whether the flower is there.
His eyes slide past it.
He forces himself to look directly at the blossom.
Green petals.
Stem.
Leaves.
Normal.
He exhales.
Then hears something behind him.
Not footsteps.
Not breathing.
An absence of both.
Shadowmaster turns.
At first, he sees nothing.
Then he realizes that is wrong.
There is a section of the garden where his eyes cannot settle.
Not darkness.
Darkness is something.
It has shape.
Depth.
Color.
This has none.
The path continues behind it, yet Shadowmaster cannot remember seeing the path through it.
The roses are there—
until they aren't.
The stars above remain visible—
except in a place where he cannot identify which stars are missing.
Shadowmaster backs away.
SHADOWMASTER: “What are you?”
The absence moves.
Not forward.
It simply occupies less distance between itself and him.
Shadowmaster reaches for his weapon.
His fingers fail to close properly around the hilt.
The absence begins taking form.
Something roughly human.
Arms.
Shoulders.
A suggestion of a head.
But every feature is defined only by what cannot be seen.
Shadowmaster draws his weapon.
Or tries to.
His hand trembles.
The thing extends one arm.
Shadowmaster opens his mouth.
SHADOWMASTER: “Help—”
No sound follows.
His eyes widen.
He tries again.
Nothing.
His throat works.
His lungs fill.
But the word does not exist once it reaches his mouth.
The absence touches his chest.
Shadowmaster jerks backward.
His weapon falls.
He looks down at his own hand.
The fingertips are becoming indistinct.
Not transparent.
Not dissolving.
Simply harder to perceive.
Shadowmaster stares in horror.
He tries to scream again.
Nothing.
His arm fades next.
His cloak loses definition.
The edges of his body become uncertain.
Shadowmaster reaches desperately toward the path.
Toward the tower.
Toward anyone.
His other hand opens.
The leather pouch drops to the stones.
It lands with a dull thud.
Something inside cracks against the pavement.
Shadowmaster looks down at it.
Then at himself.
His face begins to disappear.
Not burn.
Not decay.
Not transform.
Disappear.
For one horrifying instant, his eyes remain.
Then even those are difficult to remember.
Heavy footsteps sound from beyond the rose hedges.
The absence stops.
Another step.
Metal shifts against leather.
Someone is approaching.
The thing withdraws.
Again, it does not move in any ordinary way.
It simply occupies less of the garden.
Then less.
Then nothing.
The fountains begin running again.
The roses move in the breeze.
The sounds of Oz return.
The path is empty.
Shadowmaster is gone.
No body.
No ash.
No magical residue.
Nothing to suggest anyone stood there at all.
Except the pouch.
And the fallen weapon—
No.
The weapon is gone too.
Only the pouch remains.
Heavy footsteps enter the garden.
King Richard appears around the curve of the path.
One hand rests on the hilt of his sword.
He stops.
Looks around.
KING RICHARD: “Hello?”
Nothing answers.
Richard advances slowly.
His hand tightens around the sword.
KING RICHARD: “Who's there?”
Silence.
He studies the hedges.
The fountains.
The portal arch.
Nothing.
Richard finally relaxes slightly.
KING RICHARD: “Could have sworn I heard someone.”
He takes another step.
His boot nearly lands on the pouch.
Richard stops.
Looks down.
He kneels.
The pouch is old leather, travel-worn, with no crest or identifying mark.
Richard picks it up.
He looks toward the empty portal.
Then opens it.
Inside are two objects.
A folded map.
And a piece of black stone.
Richard takes out the stone first.
A thin red-black line runs across its surface.
His expression immediately changes.
He has seen enough fissure reports to recognize that this does not belong in an ordinary garden.
Richard turns the stone over.
No markings.
No inscription.
He sets it carefully in his palm and unfolds the map.
It depicts a realm he does not recognize.
Mountain ranges.
Forests.
Fortifications.
Marked dungeon routes.
Ancient roads.
Several handwritten notes.
One location has been circled repeatedly.
Beside it, someone has drawn a rough representation of a jagged fissure.
Richard's eyes move to the title.
ELDORIA
He reads it again.
KING RICHARD: “Eldoria.”
Nothing.
No recognition.
He searches his memory.
He has heard the names of hundreds of kingdoms and realms.
Nothing matches.
Richard looks back toward the portal.
KING RICHARD: “Who were you?”
Footsteps approach from the opposite direction.
Richard immediately folds the map.
Two figures enter the garden.
Sir Eric Roseguard walks first.
Beside him is St. George.
Both are armed.
Roseguard notices Richard's posture immediately.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Your Majesty.”
Richard looks toward them.
ST. GEORGE: “Something wrong?”
Richard glances toward the portal again.
KING RICHARD: “Possibly.”
Roseguard looks around.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “You summoned us.”
KING RICHARD: “I did.”
St. George notices the pouch.
ST. GEORGE: “What is that?”
Richard unfolds the map again.
He shows them the name.
KING RICHARD: “Have either of you heard of Eldoria?”
Roseguard considers it.
Shakes his head.
St. George studies the map longer.
The drawings of mountains and what appears to be a dragon near one of the borders catch his attention.
ST. GEORGE: “No.”
He looks closer.
ST. GEORGE: “But whoever made that map knows dragons.”
Richard raises an eyebrow.
ST. GEORGE: “Those markings there.”
He points toward a mountain chain.
ST. GEORGE: “Roosting territories. Territorial boundaries.”
Richard looks back down.
KING RICHARD: “Interesting.”
Roseguard gestures toward the black stone.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “And that?”
Richard holds it up.
KING RICHARD: “Found with the map.”
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Here?”
Richard nods.
KING RICHARD: “Someone came through this garden.”
He looks toward the portal.
KING RICHARD: “Or intended to.”
St. George scans the garden.
ST. GEORGE: “Where are they?”
Richard looks toward the empty path.
KING RICHARD: “That is what troubles me.”
A beat.
KING RICHARD: “I don't know.”
Roseguard's expression becomes serious.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “You think this is connected to the fissures.”
Richard examines the stone again.
KING RICHARD: “I think I am becoming very tired of coincidences.”
He places the stone and map back into the pouch.
KING RICHARD: “I'll have Glinda examine this when she returns.”
St. George looks toward the Emerald City.
ST. GEORGE: “You did not bring us here for Eldoria.”
Richard shakes his head.
KING RICHARD: “No.”
He starts walking through the garden.
Roseguard and St. George follow.
KING RICHARD: “I need your help with Camelot.”
Both men immediately become more attentive.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Arthur.”
Richard nods.
ST. GEORGE: “We've heard enough.”
KING RICHARD: “Then you've heard less than I have.”
They continue past rows of green roses.
KING RICHARD: “Robin Hood warned me Arthur had changed.”
Roseguard listens.
KING RICHARD: “Glinda believes Merlin is hiding something.”
St. George's expression darkens.
KING RICHARD: “Mordred told us Myrrden the Hollow began questioning Merlin shortly before he disappeared.”
Roseguard looks toward Richard.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Then send us to Camelot.”
Richard immediately shakes his head.
KING RICHARD: “No.”
St. George frowns.
ST. GEORGE: “If Arthur is compromised—”
KING RICHARD: “That is exactly why I am not sending two armed knights into his kingdom to investigate him.”
St. George almost argues.
Richard stops walking.
KING RICHARD: “Arthur is still king.”
A beat.
KING RICHARD: “And until I know what has happened, I will not turn suspicion into war.”
Roseguard nods slowly.
He understands.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Then what do you want us to do?”
Richard looks between them.
KING RICHARD: “Find Myrrden.”
Silence.
ST. GEORGE: “The Hollow.”
KING RICHARD: “Yes.”
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “No one knows where he is.”
KING RICHARD: “Then begin with the last people who saw him.”
Roseguard considers.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Merlin.”
Richard gives him a look.
KING RICHARD: “Preferably not Merlin.”
St. George almost smiles.
Richard continues.
KING RICHARD: “There will be traces. Old associates. Magical contacts. Places where he studied. People he trusted before Camelot.”
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “And if he doesn't want to be found?”
Richard's expression turns grim.
KING RICHARD: “Then ask yourselves why.”
They continue walking.
ST. GEORGE: “What exactly do you want from him?”
Richard answers immediately.
KING RICHARD: “The truth.”
St. George waits.
Richard elaborates.
KING RICHARD: “I don't need another opinion about Arthur.”
He looks toward the distant skyline.
KING RICHARD: “I need the man who was asking questions before Arthur changed.”
Roseguard nods.
KING RICHARD: “If Myrrden saw something in Camelot—something connected to Merlin, the fissures, any of this—then I need to know what it was.”
St. George folds his arms.
ST. GEORGE: “And if Merlin was right?”
Richard looks toward him.
KING RICHARD: “Then we learn that too.”
A pause.
KING RICHARD: “I am not looking for evidence against Arthur.”
Richard's tone hardens.
KING RICHARD: “I am looking for evidence.”
That satisfies both men.
Roseguard gives a single nod.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “We'll find him.”
St. George looks toward Richard.
ST. GEORGE: “And if we discover Camelot is in danger?”
Richard's eyes move toward the stars.
KING RICHARD: “Then come back before deciding how to save it.”
St. George understands the warning.
Heroism without information can become catastrophe.
Richard looks again at the pouch in his hand.
Eldoria.
A realm he has never heard of.
A stone marked by something disturbingly familiar.
Someone had apparently crossed into Oz carrying both.
Now they are gone.
Richard glances back toward the Emerald Rose Garden.
For just a moment, something bothers him.
Not something he sees.
Something he almost remembers.
A voice?
Movement?
Someone standing near the portal?
Richard's brow furrows.
The thought is gone before he can hold it.
SIR ERIC ROSEGUARD: “Richard?”
Richard looks at him.
KING RICHARD: “Nothing.”
He slips the pouch beneath his cloak.
KING RICHARD: “Go tonight.”
Roseguard and St. George nod.
They turn toward another path.
Richard watches them leave.
Then looks once more toward the Emerald Rose Garden.
The roses move gently beneath the night wind.
Perfect.
Green.
Beautiful.
Empty.
Richard stands there for several seconds.
KING RICHARD: “Eldoria.”
The word means nothing to him.
Not yet.
He turns toward the Wizard's tower.
Behind him, one green rose at the edge of the path begins to fade.
Not wilt.
Not darken.
Fade.
By morning, there will be an empty space in the hedge.
And no gardener in Oz will remember planting anything there.
SCENE 7 — THE VEIL OF VATRAXYS
VALE OF SHADOWS — CASTLE NOAPTE
THE SEEING ROOM
Castle Noapte has rooms built for war.
Rooms built for feasting.
Rooms built for burial.
And one room built for seeing things no one was ever meant to see clearly.
Deep within the ancestral fortress of the Dragomirs lies the Seeing Room.
Its walls are circular, made from old black stone carved with symbols predating much of the castle itself. No windows break the masonry. No torches burn here unless specifically lit.
At the chamber's center stands a low pedestal of blackened silver.
Ancient sigils wind around its base.
Mounted above them rests the relic known as the Veil of Vatraxys.
Despite its name, there is no cloth.
No curtain.
No physical veil at all.
Instead, the relic appears as a nearly perfect sphere of dark crystal—or perhaps obsidian—large enough to fill both hands.
Mist moves continuously within its surface.
It curls.
Separates.
Reforms.
Sometimes shapes almost appear inside it before dissolving again.
The Veil does not simply show the future.
It reveals echoes.
Possible outcomes.
Intersections of fate.
Paths that may exist for only a moment before dying completely.
And sometimes—
the past.
Not as memory.
As warning.
Count Vlad Dragomir stands before it.
For once, he is not alone.
Several paces behind him stands Infernus Rex.
The Demon King appears almost too large for the chamber.
Vlad keeps his attention on the Oracle.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “It has been inconsistent.”
Rex folds his arms.
INFERNUS REX: “An oracle being unclear. How unprecedented.”
Vlad gives him a sideways look.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Unclear is not the problem.”
He turns back toward the sphere.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “The Veil has shown me impossible futures before.”
The mist inside the crystal rolls slowly.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “It has shown me futures that never occurred.”
A pause.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “It has shown me the past because something within that past mattered to what came next.”
Rex watches.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “But lately…”
Vlad's expression hardens.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “…information has been missing.”
Rex steps slightly closer.
INFERNUS REX: “From the visions?”
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “From me.”
That gets his attention.
Vlad raises one hand toward the Oracle.
The sigils around the pedestal illuminate.
The dark sphere seems to deepen.
Mist begins rotating inside it.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
A scene emerges.
Backstage corridors.
A wrestling event.
HCW.
An earlier Count Vlad Dragomir stands speaking with another man.
The image is not perfect.
It comes in fragments.
A handshake.
Money.
The other man's face.
The words Steel Justice.
An agreement.
Departure.
Vlad leans closer.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I remember this.”
Rex says nothing.
The vision repeats differently.
Not exactly the same event.
Another angle.
Another fragment.
Vlad handing something over.
The other man accepting.
A sense of consequence rather than chronology.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I remember deciding Steel Justice would be better without him.”
The man's face appears again.
Clear.
Distinct.
Vlad studies it.
Nothing.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I remember making the offer.”
The image shifts.
The man speaks.
Vlad remembers the conversation.
But not the speaker.
His frustration rises.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I remember paying him.”
Rex looks toward him.
INFERNUS REX: “But?”
Vlad points toward the man inside the crystal.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I do not know who that is.”
The Oracle's mist curls around the man's face.
For an instant, his features become impossible to resolve.
Then they return.
Vlad stiffens.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Again.”
The Veil responds.
The scene re-forms.
HCW.
The payment.
The stranger.
Again, Vlad recognizes everything except him.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “This happened.”
INFERNUS REX: “Clearly.”
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I was there.”
INFERNUS REX: “Clearly.”
Vlad turns toward him.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “You are being remarkably helpful.”
Rex smiles faintly.
Vlad looks back toward the sphere.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I know the decision.”
A new fragment appears.
Vlad watching the man depart.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I know why I made it.”
Another.
Steel Justice without their manager.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “I know what happened afterward.”
Then the unknown face again.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “But him?”
Nothing.
Vlad shakes his head.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Nothing.”
Rex steps nearer the pedestal.
The red glow in his eyes reflects faintly across the black crystal.
INFERNUS REX: “Perhaps the relic is simply failing.”
Vlad looks toward him.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Failing?”
INFERNUS REX: “Old magic wanes.”
Rex gestures toward the sphere.
INFERNUS REX: “Even this.”
Vlad's expression suggests he finds the idea offensive.
INFERNUS REX: “The witch who created it was powerful.”
A pause.
INFERNUS REX: “But still mortal.”
Vlad looks sharply toward him.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “You underestimate Vatraxys.”
INFERNUS REX: “Perhaps.”
Rex studies the Oracle.
INFERNUS REX: “Or perhaps you overestimate anything made by mortal hands.”
Vlad turns fully toward him.
Rex smiles.
INFERNUS REX: “Different philosophical traditions.”
Vlad gives him a dry look.
Then the Oracle changes.
Not because either man commands it.
The HCW fragments dissolve.
Gold appears within the mist.
Faint.
Distant.
A shape that could be an eye.
A mane.
Something leonine.
Vlad steps closer.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “There.”
Rex watches the sphere.
The golden image disappears.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “You saw it.”
Rex does not answer immediately.
INFERNUS REX: “I saw a distortion.”
Vlad studies him.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “A very specific distortion.”
INFERNUS REX: “Then perhaps your failing relic has imagination.”
Vlad looks back toward the Veil.
The mist settles.
The HCW memory does not return.
Vlad's frustration gives way to caution.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Enough.”
He lowers his hand.
The sigils dim.
The sphere returns to its natural state.
Dark crystal.
Slow-moving mist.
Uncertain depths.
Vlad remains before it.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “You may be right.”
Rex raises an eyebrow.
INFERNUS REX: “A sentence worth preserving.”
Vlad ignores him.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “The Veil will rest.”
Rex looks toward the Oracle.
INFERNUS REX: “For how long?”
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Until I understand whether the fault lies in the relic…”
He pauses.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “…or in me.”
Rex's expression becomes more serious.
INFERNUS REX: “That is probably wise.”
Vlad turns toward the door.
Then stops.
Looks back.
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Do not use it.”
Rex looks almost wounded.
INFERNUS REX: “Count.”
Vlad continues staring.
INFERNUS REX: “Would I?”
COUNT VLAD DRAGOMIR: “Yes.”
Rex smiles.
Vlad leaves.
The heavy stone door closes.
Silence returns.
Infernus Rex does not move.
Not immediately.
He waits.
One second.
Two.
Then turns slowly toward the Veil of Vatraxys.
The smile returns.
INFERNUS REX: “Now that we are alone.”
The Oracle reacts.
Rex has not touched it.
The mist accelerates.
The sigils around the pedestal glow faintly.
An image forms.
Fire.
Black iron.
Chains.
A cage.
Rex's amusement disappears.
He recognizes it immediately.
The prison that once held him.
The place where the Demon King had been confined.
The Veil does not show the memory as a continuous scene.
It offers fragments.
A chain pulled taut.
Flames striking iron.
Runes glowing beneath Rex's feet.
His own hands gripping the bars.
A roar.
Then silence.
Present-day Rex approaches.
INFERNUS REX: “I know this.”
Another fragment.
The cage.
Himself inside.
Something is wrong.
Rex's eyes narrow.
There is another presence there.
Or there should be.
The vision cannot resolve it.
It is not hidden behind smoke.
Not concealed by shadow.
Not obscured by the Oracle's mist.
It is simply—
absent.
A space inside the memory where something should exist.
Rex steps closer.
The younger Rex inside the vision suddenly turns his head toward that empty place.
Present Rex notices.
The Oracle shifts again.
The flames inside the memory bend.
Away from the absence.
Rex's face hardens.
Fire does not retreat from him.
Not then.
Not now.
The vision offers another fragment.
The bars of the cage.
His younger self.
That same impossible nothing beside him.
Then something stranger.
For the briefest instant, the absence seems to turn.
Not toward the Rex within the memory.
Toward the one watching now.
The Demon King's eyes ignite.
Fire-red.
The chamber responds.
Ancient sigils flare along the pedestal.
Rex leans toward the sphere.
INFERNUS REX: “That will be enough from you.”
The mist churns violently.
The vision refuses to vanish.
Rex's eyes burn brighter.
INFERNUS REX: “Enough.”
The Oracle goes black.
Completely.
The moving mist disappears.
The sigils extinguish.
Even the faint reflective quality of the crystal dies.
The Veil of Vatraxys becomes an opaque sphere of darkness.
Rex stands over it.
Waiting.
Nothing returns.
Slowly, the fire leaves his eyes.
INFERNUS REX: “Good.”
He turns.
Takes two steps.
Stops.
Behind him, the Veil gives one faint pulse.
Not light.
Pressure.
Something seems to move beneath the black surface.
Rex looks back.
The Oracle goes still again.
INFERNUS REX: “Do not make me repeat myself.”
He leaves.
The door closes.
Farther within Castle Noapte, Count Vlad Dragomir waits.
He still believes the Veil merely needs rest.
He still cannot remember the man he paid to leave HCW.
He still does not know why a golden lion keeps appearing within the Oracle's echoes.
And he has no idea that Infernus Rex has just seen something missing from his own past—
or that the Demon King has deliberately forced one of Dracula's most dangerous relics into silence.
EPILOGUE — STILL TIME
THE NORTH POLE
HUNTERS ENCLAVE SECRET SANCTUARY
DEEP BELOW THE ARCTIC ICE
Far beneath the lights of the North Pole—
beneath the streets—
beneath the reinforced levels of the Hunters Enclave Sanctuary—
beneath even the sections known to most of the hunters stationed there—
lies something older.
The surrounding facility was not built first.
The Heart of Hope was.
Everything else came later.
Ancient stone corridors descend through layers of frozen earth and crystal until modern construction gives way almost completely to something far older.
At the end of one such passage stands an ancient archway.
There is no visible guard.
There does not need to be.
White-gold energy stretches across the entrance, forming a transparent magical barrier.
Beyond it waits an enormous cavern.
Its ceiling disappears into darkness.
Ancient bridges and stone walkways circle a central abyss. Veins of frozen crystal run through the cavern walls, carrying faint aurora-like colors beneath the rock as if pieces of the Northern Lights have been trapped below the earth.
And suspended above the bottomless chasm—
the Heart of Hope.
An immense crystalline heart.
Faceted.
Radiant.
Impossible.
It hangs unsupported above the darkness.
Light flows continuously through it.
Gold.
Blue.
Violet.
Emerald.
Crimson.
Silver.
And colors for which ordinary language has no name.
The entire cavern seems to breathe with it.
A slow pulse.
Light.
Dark.
Light.
Dark.
The Heart is more than a relic.
More than a source of magical power.
It is one of the oldest magical anchors of the northern realms, helping hold the North Pole itself securely against the Core Realm while strengthening protections, barriers and ancient promises surrounding the North.
Tonight—
the chamber is sealed.
Empty.
The Heart pulses.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
something changes.
There is no portal.
No explosion of magic.
No flash of light.
No disturbance in the protective barrier outside.
One moment, the circular observation platform overlooking the chasm is empty.
The next—
someone is standing there.
A man.
Tall.
Lean.
Battle-hardened rather than massive.
Long wild black hair hangs past his shoulders, streaked heavily with silver. A trimmed dark beard carries the same traces of age.
A broken bronze circlet rests across his forehead.
Dark ceremonial fabric hangs from his shoulders in the form of a weathered sleeveless mantle.
Deep indigo and black dominate the wrestling attire beneath it, broken by tarnished bronze and faint celestial markings.
One eye is dark.
The other—
pale violet.
Glowing softly.
For the first time—
the audience sees Zorath the Last Oracle.
He does not look around in wonder.
He does not seem surprised by where he is.
Instead, Zorath stands perfectly still.
Watching the Heart.
The crystalline structure pulses.
Its light washes across his face.
For several seconds, Zorath says nothing.
Then his head tilts.
Not as though he is listening to the Heart.
As though he is listening to something happening far beyond it.
His violet eye brightens.
For an instant—
the cavern is gone from his perception.
Something else replaces it.
Stars.
Thousands of them.
Then fewer.
One disappears.
Another.
Another.
Darkness spreads between constellations.
A black circle hangs where the heavens should be.
A burning red edge surrounds it.
Zorath inhales sharply.
The vision changes.
The North Pole beneath a black sky.
The Heart—
dark.
Another possibility.
The cavern empty.
The Heart—
shattered.
Another.
Nothing.
Not destruction.
Absence.
The Heart was never there.
Zorath recoils.
His natural eye closes.
His glowing eye remains fixed upon the real Heart suspended before him.
The vision passes.
Gold.
Blue.
Violet.
Emerald.
Crimson.
Silver.
Still burning.
Still whole.
Zorath steps toward the railing.
He grips it with both hands.
The intensity in his face eases only slightly.
ZORATH: “Not broken.”
The Heart pulses.
Zorath watches.
Another pulse.
His voice drops.
Almost relieved.
ZORATH: “Good.”
He closes his eyes.
For several seconds, nothing happens.
Then—
somewhere within the vast chamber—
a faint mechanical sound can be heard.
Tick.
Zorath's eyes open.
Tick.
There are no clocks here.
Tick.
His violet eye flares.
Zorath looks beyond the Heart.
Beyond the cavern.
Toward something only he can see.
His expression changes.
Relief gives way to urgency.
ZORATH: “Still time.”
A beat.
His gaze moves over the crystalline Heart one last time.
ZORATH: “Not much.”
The ticking stops.
Zorath disappears.
No flash.
No smoke.
No opening in space.
He is simply—
gone.
The Heart continues to burn.
Light.
Dark.
Light.
Dark.
Several seconds pass.
Then—
footsteps.
Heavy.
Measured.
Approaching from beyond the chamber.
The white-gold barrier across the archway reacts.
Its surface ripples.
A figure appears beyond it.
Natanis.
The Frost-Walker.
Ancient protector.
Founding Eternal.
His tall frame fills the passageway, layered Arctic garments marked with protective symbols. One hand rests close to the great weapon he carries.
His glowing blue eyes narrow.
The barrier recognizes him.
White-gold light parts.
Natanis steps through.
Immediately—
he stops.
He listens.
Nothing.
Only the distant movement of air through the cavern.
The low magical resonance of the Heart.
Natanis looks toward the observation platform.
Empty.
He advances.
NATANIS: “Hello?”
His voice travels through the cavern.
Returns to him as an echo.
Nothing else answers.
Natanis continues forward.
His gaze searches the bridges.
The upper walkways.
The cavern walls.
No movement.
He reaches the platform.
Stops.
The Heart floats before him.
Whole.
Radiant.
Stable.
Natanis studies it carefully.
One of the oldest anchors in the North.
Something he has already sworn to defend.
Something dangerous forces have already begun searching for.
The Heart pulses.
Natanis watches the light move through it.
Gold.
Blue.
Violet.
Emerald.
No fracture.
No visible contamination.
No instability.
His expression eases slightly.
NATANIS: “Strange.”
He looks behind him.
Nothing.
Natanis had heard something.
A voice.
He is certain of that.
Or—
almost certain.
He looks again toward the Heart.
NATANIS: “Still secure.”
The Heart pulses once.
Natanis gives the chamber one final inspection.
Then turns.
He walks back toward the archway.
The moment he passes through—
the protective barrier reforms.
White-gold energy spreads across the opening until the chamber is sealed once more.
Natanis remains outside for several seconds.
Listening.
Silence.
Finally, he turns and disappears up the ancient passage.
The Sanctuary settles again.
Deep beneath the North Pole—
the Heart of Hope continues to burn.
Light.
Dark.
Light.
Dark.
For the briefest instant—
one pale-violet reflection appears across one of its crystal facets.
There is no one in the chamber to cast it.
Then it disappears.
The Heart pulses again.
Still whole.
Still burning.
And somewhere beyond the North Pole—
beyond Camelot—
beyond Oz—
beyond Wonderland—
beyond all the roads presently opening and closing between worlds—
the Last Oracle has begun to move.
FADE TO BLACK.
No comments:
Post a Comment