Varian woke up to darkness creeping in on him and the insufferable sound of rain impinging on the window. He rolled over and felt Ruddiger move near his thighs. For a moment, the alchemist let himself imagine that he was in his bedroom in Old Corona.

His head felt heavy and dirty in a way, as if its contents were too muddled and inflated for his skull to hold. It must've been a side effect to the medication he had been forced to drink for the fourth time this month.

Lying down quickly became aggravating—the duvet, or air, pressed him too firmly against the mattress. Well, apparently there would be no more sleep for Varian. He sat up and laid his stinging eyes on a little stain on the wall across.

The world kept turning. The rain kept falling from the sky. The room looked exactly as the day he was moved there, with the stupid pillow on the floor and the table awkwardly shoved in the middle. The guards changed shifts, Ruddiger sighed in his sleep and first people surely walked on the streets below.

And his dad was still gone.

It had been more than five weeks since Varian's last attempt to free him.

Drops of rain banged against the glass and rang in the boy's ears, making him feel on edge. Something about this weather agitated him. It stirred up more difficult thoughts.

A snowy storm, freezing air burning his lungs, adrenaline rushing him through the forest, the river, the caves. Hope, anxiety, triumph, determination. The way back again, the mountains getting more and more treacherous as he ran alone, afraid of what he might find at the end of that race. The day everything turned out to be a lie, the day he had lost his family. That day, Varian knew fear.

He took a deep breath. No.

Wishing he could distract himself with work, as he had learned to do after the storm, the alchemist tried to think about anything else.

His mind wandered without direction, stumbling on useless information all the time. Like this year's apple harvest dates his dad predicted, or the recipe for Rapunzel's favorite cake. How easy it had been to deceive her about the flower. How she'd hugged him, looking happy to see him, oblivious to the fact that his heart had been changed forever.

That only made her stupid, he thought. No point in pondering it.

Varian searched for a topic that wouldn't be uncomfortable, but everything he came up with, and everything in this room, reminded him of something painful.

Even „The Tales of Flynnigan Rider. Volume 1", laying untouched on the table, annoyed him. He knew that book by heart, its contents only repelling now. How could he have ever idolised this man? And... what did Eugene think of him now?

Thinking about the five unstable heaters in the caverns under Old Corona, he felt a sick longing for a home he couldn't return to.

The alchemist rested his head on the wall, desperately trying to imagine that he was sitting at his dad's feet and it was the amber so cold and hard against his back. That place where he had sat for hours on end, it turned into a weird haven. When Varian wasn't sketching, calculating, building and moving, it was the only place he could stand to be, even when he couldn't turn around to look anymore. So he rested there, being as close to his dad as he could without making himself sick with the sight.

Now that he was, shamefully, still in New Corona, something happened to him—something that he had prayed for before, but wanted it no longer. The horrid picture of his father encased in amber, previously almost embedded into his eyelids, disappeared.

Varian spat bitterly. Of course when he needed to focus and work, his imagination would constantly distract him with the image. But now that he was stuck in this tiny room, void of anything useful, with nothing to do but wait for an opportunity, suddenly the sight was gone.

And now he missed it.

Ruddiger must've woken up at some point in his friend's dwelling, because he appeared by his side out of the blue. A paw rubbed Varian's arm when his head dropped, as though it could hide the child-like sobs tearing through him.

It was all pathetic, whimpers and snot running, and there was no point in pretending to Ruddiger. But the alchemist pressed his hands to his face anyway. He felt so terribly bare, and weak, crying like that.

He should focus, figure it all out, fix it.

But he was so spent.

Without his dad, everything seemed cruel and fractured. In a world full of people troubled by Varian, hating him and wanting him gone, Dad wasn't there to soften the blow anymore.

He mourned—he mourned what he'd had and lost, and what he never had.

The boy no longer cared about the things his father refused to tell him. He didn't care if he could stand by his side in front of the King, and he didn't even care if they could talk about Mom. He just wanted the man to be okay.

Everything he held dear, everything he wanted or believed in had been ripped away from him. And to think it had started with Varian's own compound… there was an idea in the back of his mind, an idea too painful to even begin to articulate. To say it out loud, it would ruin what remained of him.

He hugged his knees, letting out a cracked whimper, wishing he could go back in time and never touch those stupid rocks. Or never shout at his dad, or never be born.

The boy wiped his face and looked at the animal pressed to his side, shaking along with him.

„Do you miss him too?" he whispered brokenly. „Don't worry. I'm getting him out."

Ruddiger's eyes widened for a second and he stretched his paw out, only reaching Varian's collar.

„No matter what, we won't give up, okay?"

I will make you proud. Get the answers and set you free.

And then they would move far away, and Varian would be better, he'd help out more and stay away from alchemy. Or he would leave forever if need be.

Don't you worry. Whatever it might take, I'm finding a way.

The boy sighed when someone loudly pounded on the door. It meant that he was expected to be up and ready for the day in fifteen minutes. If he wasn't, it would be his problem—the guards would escort him to the washroom and then take him wherever they wanted in his pyjamas.

With a heavy heart, he threw the duvet aside and got up.

„Remember, Ruddiger," he muttered into a fresh shirt, pulling it over his head. „The more we leave the room, the easier it's going to be to find a plan."

It was perplexing that they haven't come up with one already.

He barely managed to drink a glass of water before a bearded guard came into the room. The man glanced over to the bed, nodding after seeing it made.

„Morning," his voice sounded indifferent as usual. „You good?"

„Yeah."

He knew that this guard had no interest in the answer to his question. They didn't like him—most of them, anyway. It didn't surprise the alchemist. In fact, he was very much content to have his hatred reciprocated. But nothing infuriated him more than their empty greetings and false concern they were obviously commanded to exhibit.

Anger crackling through him anew, Varian couldn't help himself. „Like you care."

The guards had stopped telling him to watch his mouth long ago, so his mean comment was left without an answer. But the hand that soon appeared on his shoulder felt heavy and harsh, fingers digging into his collarbone.

As always, another guard was waiting for them outside. The men seemed to be in a rush, sighing loudly while their prisoner cleaned his teeth with ground sage and washed his face. In a matter of minutes, they were hurrying down the corridor.

„Woah, what's the rush?" the boy asked, irritated.

The bearded one grunted. „There are problems with one of your… machines."

Varian's heart sped up. 'Your machines'? There was an automaton they wanted him to take care of? Intact and nearby?

„You'll assist in turning it off," the guard continued. „Something about it's, uh… clock-thing."

Vengeful satisfaction rose along with Varian's excitement. „Timing cylinder," he corrected.

This was a blessing. A blessing.

They had to resort to calling for him, because they had no idea how to handle his creation. Beautiful.

He sent Ruddiger an alien-feeling smile. The racoon returned his gaze a bit nervously, scurrying at his side—always at his side.

So I've decided to divide this chapter into parts... *malicious laughter*

Thank you for reading and I hope to get your feedback!