All magic comes with a price. For the real, non-magical world, that price was fear. Everyone knew that the town of Storybrooke would be discovered someday, it was inevitable, but no one could have perfectly predicted the pandemonium that would ensue following that fated day. I was only eight years old at the time, and having grown up in a town full of magic and "fairy tales," I never quite understood the panic. To me, the town of Storybrooke was as normal as could be…
The familiar tune of my daily companion's whistling brought me back to the present day, and an unstoppable smile crept at the corners of my mouth. It was a rather mischievous smile, others often told me, a smile that resembled my father's. That thought often took away any smile I managed, though; I missed my father too much to think about him. Instead, I consumed my thoughts around the current moment, leaning farther back between the branches of the giant tree I was occupying and letting the leaves shroud me in secrecy. My companion slowed as he came to our usual meeting spot, observing the scenery expectantly.
"Are we really going to try this again, Ary?" he spoke in that pleasantly deep voice of his, his tone gleeful and confident, if not a bit cocky. "Your little sneak-attack didn't work out so well for you last time."
I remained absolutely silent, refusing to let his unfortunately truthful words sway me. If I was going to improve upon my combat skills, I needed to keep practicing in spite of my many previous failures. He looked around the thicket of bushes surrounding him, the hiding spot I had chosen last time, and I had to suppress a chuckle. Did he really think I was daft enough to hide in the same spot twice? In any case, his assumption caused him to turn his back to me, giving me the perfect opportunity to strike.
Swiftly, I leapt from the tree, my sword already drawn. I landed a little roughly on my feet, but I ignored the pain and continued forward in a sprint. Before he even had the chance to turn around, I had the sword held against his throat, my other hand gripping the soft fabric of the back of his shirt to pull him closer and keep him in place.
"Well, it seems as if I've succeeded this time," I said triumphantly. "So, Drake, are you ready to surrender?"
The only reply Drake gave was his soft, husky laugh before he easily twisted out of my grip. I tried to maintain control over the blade and press it harder against him to prevent his escape, but my hold simply was not strong enough. As he was slipping free, he placed his foot behind me, effectively tripping me. I am not sure of the exact process that took place from there, but his escape somehow ended in me falling to the ground and him getting ahold of my sword, swooping to the ground to hold me down, and turning the sword against me.
"You're going to have to do better than that, love," he whispered as his face hung inches away from mine.
"Alright," I agreed with a grin as I kicked him in the shin and wriggled free.
We commenced combat from that point forward for quite a long stretch of time, Drake pausing every time he disarmed or otherwise defeated me to instruct me on how to improve. With the battle to take back the Enchanted Forest won only a year after our return a decade ago, there was not a great need for me to learn how to fight, but I still felt the need to. Perhaps, I simply wanted to prove something to myself, or to have a chance at being the hero, like my mother had done plenty of times. No matter my reasoning, it seemed only fitting that my instruction come from my best friend Drake, seeing as he was the son of a pirate.
I made a great amount of progress that morning, but the both of us were too exhausted to continue on long before noon. Once that part of our day was over with, we usually just sat around, eating berries off of the bushes nearby and talking about whatever came to mind. With a fairly small population of Storybrooke citizens left and almost nobody else in our age range, there was not much else for us to do.
"So…time passes quickly, doesn't it?" Drake commented after our conversation had fallen off a bit.
"What do you mean?" I raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he was referring to.
"Don't you know what day it is?" he asked, giving me a very serious look, which was unusual for him, as humorous and carefree as he generally was. I only shook my head. I did a rather terrible job at keeping track of dates. "Oh, well, I don't mean to bring it up when it was off of your mind, but I guess now that I've ruined that for you, I might as well. Today's the anniversary of our return to the Enchanted Forest. It's been ten years exactly since we came back."
"Technically our parents came back; we were both born in Storybrooke, so we were coming here for the first time," I pointed out, attempting to brush off the subject.
"Yes, but you see my point." Drake shrugged. "I just can't believe that so much time has already passed."
"I can," I mumbled. "Every day has gone by painfully slow for me."
"I understand…" he attempted at sympathizing with me.
"No, you don't!" I cut him off. "Your parents survived, Drake. Both of them made it back to the Enchanted Forest. My family was completely torn apart by this disaster, and most everyone else's families were as well!"
I huffed in agitation, always reluctant to relive what we had all been through. When the town of Storybrooke and its magical residents were discovered by the rest of that world, it was almost immediately destroyed. There were limits to even my father's magic, and eventually it was not enough to keep the bombs from completely disintegrating the town. Before the protection spells ran out, however, my brilliant nephew, Henry, came up with the plan to save us all. We would go back to the Enchanted Forest, he insisted, take back the land from the ogres and every other creature overrunning the place and have a new, safer home where magic truly belonged.
It was a seemingly flawless plan, and I still do not understand how it went wrong. Maybe the portal could only carry a certain amount of people, maybe it closed too quickly, or maybe the bombs were set off before everyone could make it to the portal. Whatever the circumstances, only about a third of the residents of Storybrooke made it to the Enchanted Forest. My father, my brother, his wife and Henry's mother, and Henry's grandparents were among those unable to make it through. Without the knowledge of what happened to Storybrooke after that point, we had no way of knowing if those loved ones of ours were dead or alive. Given that ten years had passed now, it was not looking hopeful that those loved ones were ever coming back.
"Aryadne, I'm sorry!" Drake replied at the sight of the tears in the corners of my eyes.
"I'm fine," I insisted, quickly flicking the water away. "I refuse to feel this way on this day every year for the rest of my life."
"I shouldn't have brought it up," he continued apologetically.
I had barely opened my mouth to reply before we heard the sound of crunching leaves and twigs, signifying the approach of another. Over the last ten years, we were always the only two people in this part of the forest, so the sound alerted the both of us, and we jumped up with swords at the ready. It was an unnecessary reaction, of course, and after a few moments of suspense, a figure crossed into the clearing that I recognized immediately.
"Mulan, what are you doing here?" I demanded with a huff, though I was sighing in relief at her appearance over a possible enemy. She walked nearer, her battle armor that she never ceased to wear clinking with every step, and gave me the most terrifyingly stern look I had ever received from her.
"You left without telling your mother where you were going before the sun even had a chance to rise this morning," she said pointedly. "You really worried her, Aryadne, and you know that she doesn't like it when you spend so much time with him." She did not even look at Drake as she said the last word, but it was very clear to all three of us that he was who she was referring to.
"What I do in my spare time may be my mother's business, but it is none of yours!" I scoffed in defense. Drake did not bother to defend himself, but merely stepped aside and left me and Mulan to our own, private conversation.
"She sent me out to find you, and therefore, it has become my business," she returned authoritatively. I did not wish to argue heatedly with her, having a great deal of respect for her as a fighter and a fairly close friend of my mother's, but it infuriated me that even at the age of eighteen, they all still treated me like a child.
"I can take care of myself in broad daylight long enough to find my own way back to the castle," I said shortly. "I will return immediately since you are all so needlessly concerned about me, but I will say my goodbyes to my friend in private."
"Fair enough," Mulan reluctantly agreed. "But if you are not back within a few minutes after me, I will turn straight around and come and find you again."
I gave one, frustrated nod in return as Mulan turned on her booted heel and walked with clunking steps back from where she entered the clearing. Drake returned immediately upon her absence, his expression mixed between frustration and embarrassment. For quite a long moment, neither of us spoke, unsure of what to say when we both simply wanted to express how agitating the situation was.
"You'd better keep to your word, as I have no doubt Mulan would keep to her's," he finally spoke with a slight, sighing chuckle.
"Believe me, I know she would, and I will head back now," I proclaimed. "I'm just frustrated."
"So, I take it your mother still isn't quite fond of me, huh?" he joked.
"No." I laughed along with him, though my laugh was more annoyed. "She apparently can't let it go even after quite a few decades."
"Well, to be fair, I don't entirely blame her," Drake admitted. "My father did shoot her in the back. Even he regrets it now."
"Yes, well, at least he shows remorse," I sympathized. "And if all of us were blamed for our parents' mistakes, then the entirety of people in the Enchanted Forest should hate me, according to the stories I've overheard. Some of them still refer to him as 'The Dark One," whatever that means." I gave a heavy, choking sigh before giving my next statement. "If you want the truth, though, I do not care to know what my father did in his past. All I know is that I miss him, and no one should speak ill of the dead."
I began to walk away before Drake called after me, assuring, "We still do not know that he is dead, and you should never lose hope, Ary."
"It's been ten years," I shouted back without even turning around. "Any hope I had left was lost piece by piece over each one, and I do not think there is any left." I looked over my shoulder at him, finally stopping as I saw the forlorn expression on his face, and he gave a rather loud sigh before giving up on the subject.
"Are we meeting here again tomorrow?" he asked, though he knew as well as I that the answer was always yes.
Still, I managed a small smile before nodding, returning the wide, confident grin that almost always held on him as we parted ways for the day. As much as I wanted to heed to his advice, it was nearly impossible to maintain hope after a decade, even as everyone else around me relentlessly insisted upon the same notion. If the others who had not escaped were truly alive, why had they not returned to us yet, or at least somehow contacted us to let us know of their survival? The one story I knew the entirety of about my father was his endless search for my brother, Baelfire. He crossed realms and went through his own personal hell to find Bae, and I knew with every fiber of my being that he would do the same for me and my mother. If he was still alive, one of us would know by now.