The stone under Varian's feet darkened as the sky overhead grew thick with clouds, threatening to snow again. His head down low, he hastily pulled out Xavier's note; he was so quick to do it that he nearly ripped the parchment as he folded it out against the nearby wall, the cold of the brick seeping through the paper and into his fingertips. He groaned deep in his throat when he saw the chicken-scratch Xavier wrote in; making it out was almost as bad as deciphering the Crimson Caster's journal. "Let's see…south of the farmer's market…take a left towards the…" He squinted. "This should be it. But I don't see any –"

"Check down here," he heard a voice say near the end of the alley. He froze and peeked down the path to see a patrol guard strolling casually towards him. Varian felt panic escalate from his stomach and into his throat, wrapping around inside him as his breath caught. He frantically began sweeping the wall before him with his desperate hands, screeching in his mind to find the right niche before his time was up. Xavier's note crumpled in his sweaty palm, his finger finally felt an indent within a crevasse, and he jammed fiercely at the trigger.

The wall slid out before him as the guard rounded the corner, and the soldier gaped openly at the teen as he threw himself inside. Varian's system surged with adrenaline as he scrambled to close the secret entrance, shoving himself with twice his normal strength against the false wall. "Come on, come on!" he growled through his teeth. With one final shove, he cut off the light of day, forcing the entrance closed with the sound of grinding stone.

But not before the guard managed to fling himself in.

Darkness flooded the cold space, leaving Varian horrified as the guard's heaving breaths filled his ears. He reached hastily into his bag, scrounging around for the pink vial Shay had given him. He whipped it out in time to see the guard lunge for him; Varian ducked, and the guard went tumbling over him with the force of a bookshelf. They both crumpled to the ground, and Varian found himself in a very sloppy, very one-sided brawl. It didn't take much for the trained soldier to pin the alchemist to the dusty earth, his arm wrenched painfully behind his back and his hair tossed askew, the vial in his hands tumbling from his fingers in a clatter of clinking glass.

"I knew it!" The guard exclaimed breathlessly. "I knew you would come back, you little brat!"

Varian opened his mouth to make a salty retort, but he stopped when he realized he recognized the voice. "Martin?" The prison guard who was on duty when Varian had escaped; his tenor voice and surprisingly light weight confirmed it. "Martin, wait –"

"Save it, kid," Martin cut him off, wrenching his arm tighter behind his back. "You're the reason why I got shoved into the back end of the city slums. Do you know what happens when you're the one on guard when the top criminal in Corona decides to escape prison?" Varian felt the guard shudder. "You become a joke, a laughingstock! I'm lucky I wasn't thrown into the stocks! But if I turn you in, I'll regain the respect I deserve, and then some."

It had been a while since Varian had seen Martin, but he could tell immediately that the guard was bluffing. He could feel the hesitation in the young man's grip, hear the wavering tone of fear behind his caustic words. "Listen, Martin," he grimaced, ignoring the pain in his arm. "I don't want to have to hurt you, so can't we just –"

"Na-a-ah, I don't want to hear it," Martin huffed, hauling Varian to his feet. He might have been young, but the soldier knew how to keep Varian restrained. "I don't know who you think you are, but you're not escaping again. This time, the king will be sure to give you a real trial, not some half-baked hearing like when you were first dragged in. Now, let's…"

Martin trailed off when he realized what Varian already knew. With the stone entrance closed, there was no way to reopen it from their side. Varian heard the guard's breath catch, and the grip on his arm weakened for an instant. Varian took his chance and swerved, wrenching his arm out of Martin's grip and whirling on the spot with an arrow in his hand. He flicked the tip in Martin's direction as the guard made to lunge at him, and the soldier stopped in his tracks.

"Here's how it is, Martin," Varian said, forcing himself not to revert to his habitual, chill tone. "We can't get back out the way we came in. This tunnel wasn't designed for that."

Panic flashed in Martin's eyes, flickering through his helmet in fragile flecks of reflected light from the still vial of pink fluid on the ground. "Then…then what do we…" He reached to take his helmet off, revealing the ashen expression on his pale face. His hair was straw-blonde and sweaty, his eyes bloodshot brown, and weak stubble framed his clenched jaw. "Fix it," he demanded through terse teeth. "Whatever it is you did, you fix it right now!"

"I can't," Varian answered bluntly. "The only way out now is forward."

"You're a lying liar, and I don't have time for your games!" Martin's hands were shaking so much that he dropped his helmet; it fell to the ground with a clatter, eliciting a startled yelp.

Varian took no advantage of the guard's minor meltdown. In fact, he sighed and sat down on the ground, tucking his arrow away. The helmet was close enough for him to reach, and he slowly took it in his gloved hands. "Are you ready to listen to me, now?" he asked calmly.

Martin's eyes twitched down at him. He didn't move, but he didn't say anything, either.

"You want to bring me back for trial. That's something I was prepared for even before I escaped. Once I've accomplished what I've set out to do, I swear by my father's blood that I won't resist arrest. I won't try to run, and I won't hurt you."

Martin made a sharp sound of disbelief. "Like you can hurt me," he mumbled.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Varian dismissed. "The point is, at the end of all this, you win."

"But not before I let you go about causing more trouble, hurting other people instead?" The dull look of fear in Martin's eyes was burned away by indignation. "I don't think so, kid."

"Come on," Varian snapped. "You're what, three years older than me? Do you really have to call me 'kid'?"

"I could think of a few lesser things to call you."

Varian rolled his eyes. "Fine. Yes, there are things I still need to do. Important things that involve saving people, not hurting them. This isn't about just my dad anymore. It's about something much bigger than that." He looked at the helmet in his hands, fingering the filigree of Corona's crest. The symbol flickered in hues of pink from the small vial on the ground. "This isn't about redeeming myself or about apologies. This is about people's lives, now." His blue gaze flicked up to Martin's pallid face, and he extended the helmet out to him. "You're a Coronan soldier, aren't you? Isn't that what you're all about, saving people's lives?"

Martin seemed to have stopped breathing. He stood there, unmoving for nearly half a minute. Then he hesitantly reached out and snatched his helmet from Varian's fingertips. "I'm saving lives by making sure you're brought to justice," he said thinly. "Now, show me the way out of here."

Varian scooped up the pink vial and held it tightly in his hand. He hadn't planned for this, but he could work around it. Once he made it back to Shay, they could figure out together what to do with Varian's new 'friend.' In the meantime, Varian would have to make sure he didn't do anything to aggravate Martin to the point of doing something stupid…especially when they were travelling through an unknown, secret tunnel. "Come on," he said to Martin as he took the lead. "And don't fall too far behind. We don't know what's down here."

"If you don't know what's down here," Martin said as they started following the tunnel walls, "then why did you come here in the first place?"

"This tunnel is supposed to lead us to Mount Saison."

Martin choked on a swallow. "Mount Saison?! That's almost twenty miles away! It'll take us hours to get there!"

"Yep," Varian quipped. "About six-and-a-half, if you factor the average walking speed, which might be even slower if you keep freaking out every five seconds. So," he paused and turned, the light in his hand illuminating his condescending smirk, "think you can handle being underground for the rest of the day with a dangerous wanted criminal as we venture into the unexplored chasms of Corona's ancient and deadly countryside?"

Martin's brown eyes narrowed to slits under his helmet. "Just keep moving," he growled.

They kept on in silence for a while. Varian sifted through his bag for his watch, which triggered Martin's restraining grip on his arm. "Will you relax?" Varian shook him off. "I told you, I'm not going to hurt you." He pulled out his watch and checked the time; it had been an hour since they'd first entered the tunnel. "Besides, weren't you the one saying I couldn't if I tried?"

Martin gave a dismissive grunt. "What's that, anyway?"

"It's a watch, to tell time." Watches were a luxury in Corona, often expensive and used as a show of prideful wealth. Naturally (and since he couldn't afford to buy one), Varian had made his own. "Time that we're wasting. Let's keep moving."

After a few more minutes of walking, the tunnel started to narrow. Soon, Varian and Martin had to walk single-file, and claustrophobia caused them to sweat. The atmosphere grew cold and damp, and Varian could hear water flowing somewhere beyond the rock.

"So," Varian started talking after a protracted period of uncomfortable quiet. "How come you didn't confiscate my weapon?"

"There's no point down here," Martin answered. "We're in too close quarters for you to try anything with it, but I'll be sure to relieve you of it once we see the light of day."

"Oh, so it's not just a helmet rack, then."

"And you're not just a little rat-faced weasel."

Varian feigned surprise. "Martin, we're giving each other compliments, now? What's next, are you going to ask me to dinner?"

"I can still gag you, kid. By the way, what happened to the racoon? Did he get sick and tired of you?"

"Well, he would have come, but he hates guards. I can't imagine why."

They went on, trading banter with each other until the tunnel expanded to normal size once more. Varian checked his watch again when Martin gruffly announced that he needed to find a corner. "You don't need anything to wipe with, do you?" Varian jabbed as Martin disappeared.

"I could use your face," Martin replied from the dark.

Varian actually chuckled, but the dry wit in his throat died as he checked the time; they were three hours in, now. That meant it would be dusk outside. It would be almost midnight by the time they made it to the surface, and that was if they didn't take any more pit stops and picked up the pace. That was also not taking into account any detours the tunnel might bring; in which case they might not make it out until mid-morning the next day. He made no mention of this to Martin as they continued, the dim light of the agent in his hand granting little comfort as the minutes wore on.

"I don't suppose I'm privy to knowing what exactly it is you have planned once you make it out of here," Martin said.

"It's a long story."

Martin sighed. "Kid, I've literally got nothing but time right now. You're going to have to come up with a better excuse."

"Fine," Varian conceded. "Here's a better excuse. You're not privy."

"Touché. You got any water?"

"Yeah, here." He heard Martin pop the canteen open and take a few sniffs of the contents. "Oh, for heaven's sake, you really think I'd poison my own water?"

"It might not be water that you're handing me," Martin retorted. Varian heard him take a few more sniffs before taking a tentative test swig.

"Hey, don't drink the whole thing," Varian told him after a minute. "I have enough for only one."

"I knew that," Martin grumbled, passing it back over with an embarrassed look.

As Varian drank, his thoughts wandered to what had happened that morning. Could the Celestial have known this would happen? She might have known about Caius, but there was no way she could have predicted this situation. Deep in the dark with only a guard for company, Varian's thoughts felt lonely and aimless. He started to miss Rudiger's wobbling weight on his shoulder, the tug of Shay's nervous fingertips on his elbow. The light of day was hours behind him, and for once, there was no moon to light his way.

It's just the dark getting to you, Varian chided himself. You'll see them again. I'm sure of it.

"Hey, look!" Martin's voice cut into his mind. "There's light up ahead!"

"What?" It couldn't be that soon. Varian looked up, peering with dark lashes through the dim. Sure enough, light painted the rough-hewn walls further up the tunnel, shimmering and blue-green. "Wait," he grabbed Martin's arm before the guard moved forward any further. "That's not daylight."

Martin paused, frowning. "Who cares what kind of light it is? It's the first real light we've seen in hours now."

"Okay, fine," Varian hissed, "charge ahead. See what I do when you get yourself killed for not listening to me."

"Well, what do you think it is?"

"I don't know," Varian answered tersely. "That's the point."

Martin folded his arms. "That's our only way forward, alchemist. What do you suggest we do?"

"Move forward slowly," Varian said in a low voice.

"Fine," Martin conceded after a moment. "But you're going first."

Varian said nothing as he took his bow and placed an arrow over the drawstring. He took careful steps across the stone, treading cautiously as he kept his eyes peeled for a trap. He placed his weight lightly as he rounded the corner; Martin mimicked his footwork, the guard's hand grasped tightly on the hilt of his standard-issue soldier's blade.

As Varian rounded the corner, a door came into view, solid stone and bleeding light from beyond. There was no handle, like the doors to Haderon's tomb, and as Varian looked, he saw the same symbol. He reached to trace the three lines with his fingertip, and the mark blossomed with blue light.

"How did you do that?" Martin asked from behind as the stone door slowly opened inward. "And what's up with your hair?"

Varian didn't answer; the sight that unfolded before him made him stop in his tracks, his jaw lowering as his eyes widened into blue saucers. "Oh, my."

"What? What is it?" Martin squeezed around, straining to see. He gaped openly at the polished corridor before them, the path expanding into polished limestone. Water pooled in gentle streams down obsidian walls, raining in rivulets down into deep aqueducts. Azure light filtered in flickering sheets from the depths of the clear waters; Varian couldn't identify the source, but it looked very similar to the light from the Celestial's chamber. "What is this?" Martin continued, straining around Varian's shoulder.

But Varian refused to budge. "Hold on," he put his arm out, stopping the guard from moving forward any further. "We don't know what's down here, okay? Something like this doesn't mean we get to relax."

Martin gave Varian's shoulder a gruff push; to his credit, Varian still didn't move. "It's not like there's any other way forward, is there?"

Varian blew out his cheeks. "I'll take point," he grumbled, testing his bowstring. "Not like you can trust me to watch your back, right?"

Silence fell between them as Varian led the way down the underground corridor. He glanced upward and saw that the ceiling was so high that it dipped into darkness above; a reverse chasm with a sea of watery light beneath them. The corridor continued to expand into an entire hall, flanked with towering columns and sconces filled with orange fire. The limestone ground melded into a monochrome mosaic, stretching out in a field of intricate imagery. Varian hesitated to walk on it, trying to make out the scene that unfurled before him. It looked very surreal, with lighter patches illustrating orbs of light and trailing comet tails.

"This looks like some kind of sky map," Varian concluded slowly, placing his feet carefully as he continued to sweep for traps. "I don't have many star charts at home, astronomy isn't exactly my forte."

"Hey, there's more on the walls," he heard Martin call from the left side of the hall.

But Varian was too lost in thought. "Let's see, that's…that's ursa minor, which means Cassiopeia is there. Orion…"

"Hey, kid, did you hear me?"

Varian raised a gloved hand and cupped his chin with it. "No, that's not it," he continued to mutter. "There's something…" He snapped his fingers. "Something's missing, that's it!" He strode purposefully now, towards the vacant spot in the mosaic where a cluster of stars was absent. "There should be one right here, but I – I can't remember which one it is."

"Varian!"

The alchemist jumped at the sound of his name, breaking out of his thoughtful stupor. Reluctantly, he jogged over towards the guard's voice. "What is it?" he asked when he reached Martin's shoulder.

Martin pointed up at the wall before them; the light from the water illuminated a limestone frieze, the relief carved so deeply that Varian could almost see the depicted figures in the round. It was a battle, fierce and bloody, with soldiers falling by the sword and arrow in droves. To Varian, it seemed very familiar; it took him a moment of studying to realize why.

"I don't know this battle," Martin admitted, breaking the silence with a wary voice. "I'm not even sure this is Coronan."

"It's not," Varian answered gravely. "I've seen something like this before." He reached a finger out to indicate one soldier's shield. "That symbol is Greek. And this…" He stepped closer towards the focal figure – with his billowing robes and hooded cloak, it could only be Haderon, the ancient necromancer. Varian looked closer and saw that the braided rope around Haderon's waist was tied with a Celtic knot. "Haderon wasn't from Corona," Varian spoke aloud. "He came from the isles, like…like the Crimson Caster."

Martin frowned. "The Crimson who? Who's Haderon?"

Varian shook his head. He didn't want to answer Martin because he was trying to find answers of his own. "Why does Corona have records of a battle between the Greeks and the Celts?" Obviously, it had something to do with Haderon, but what sort of involvement did Haderon have with Corona in the first place?

"Well, the Celts did fight the Greeks at one point," Martin explained.

Varian paused to fix the guard with wide eyes.

"What?" Martin donned an indignant expression. "I was educated! It's important to study battle history if you're going to be a soldier."

Varian's stare turned into a frown; he would never admit it out loud, but he hated it when someone else in the room knew more about something than he did. "Well then, educate me."

"I…well…" Martin's face turned red. "It wasn't unheard of for the Greeks to have fought the Celts, that's all."

Varian smirked. "That doesn't tell me why Haderon came to Corona."

Martin clapped his hands to his sides. "I don't know who Haderon is."

"Him," Varian jutted a finger at the mage in the center. "He was a necromancer, a powerful sorcerer who raised an army of the dead to fight early Corona." He shook his head again. "But this battle between the Greeks and the Celts must have happened over a thousand years ago."

"More like fifteen hundred years," Martin corrected. "Maybe even two thousand."

Varian coughed. "Either date places it way too far back in history for Haderon to have possibly been involved in both battles."

"You said he was a necromancer, right?" Martin folded his arms. "Maybe he raised himself from the dead."

"You can't raise yourself from the dead!" Varian exclaimed. He held up a hand before Martin could counter. "But you can prolong your life."

Martin snorted. "No, you can't."

"Yes," Varian's eyes widened. He took a few steps back from the frieze, looking upwards at the top of the piece. "Yes, you can, if you have one thing." He saw the Sun's rays etched into the limestone sky. He could feel the frail texture of the petals when he'd crushed them to dust in his desperate hand. Cellular regeneration, Shay had said. "It was said that the witch who kidnapped the princess was using Rapunzel's power to keep herself young…to perpetuate her life. What if she wasn't the first?"

"You're cracked," Martin stated flatly.

"Greek mythology tried to justify different natural phenomena," Varian continued. "Changes in weather, the landscape, political affairs…The Celts did the same for psychological maladies, questions about life and death. What if magic was all part of it? What if Haderon was one of the last great mages before the culmination of the western world? He must have recognized what was happening to the world around him, how magic users were dying off one by one. He was desperate, he tried to find a way to preserve his trade, to prolong his life long enough to pass on the knowledge of his art."

"So why not just write it all down?"

"No, that would have been too dangerous." Varian knew that from his own experience. "He must have searched the entire eastern world, maybe even Asia, to find the source of magic strong enough to fight back the grave. When that yielded no results, he came here, to Corona. And once he found it, the key to stopping death…he was willing to raise an army of the dead to keep it."

Martin swallowed audibly, loosing a strap on his breastplate to he could breathe better. "Look, I have no idea what you're talking about, but even if any of it is true, then what could have stopped an army of the dead?"

Varian looked to the other side of the frieze. Framed between two mountains, shrouded by a great white tree, was a moon in eclipse, crowned with a blinding violet corona. A cluster of six stars hovered in the sky over the moon's dark circle, painted blood-red – the missing constellation from the mosaic.

"Pleiades," Varian breathed.

"Like the constellation?"

Varian nodded. "The stars gave birth to a myth about seven sisters who were hunted and chased down by Orion, the hunter. Hunted, like the mages."

Martin looked increasingly anxious. "A mage hunt?"

"But there are only six stars," Varian mused. "Why seven sisters, but only six stars?"

"Varian," Martin tugged at his cotton collar. "I think I just saw something move."

"What happened to the seventh star?"

"Varian!" The sound of hollow leather clattered through the air as Martin unsheathed his sword, aiming the blade into the dark.

Varian snapped out of it, whipping around to see.

An entire troop of armored skeletons emerged from the depths of the hall, rusted weapons trained with an unnatural steadiness in their direction. The sight of the undead sent horrified chills down Varian's spine, and he drew his arrow so quickly that his scarred shoulder popped.

This time, the skeletons spoke. Only those chosen by the Celestials may enter here. Lights glowed in hot embers inside the empty skulls, reflecting eerily along the tips of their blades. Those who are unworthy must perish. The secret will survive by blood!

"Not again," Varian moaned.