"I don't understand," Rapunzel flustered, running agitated fingers through her brown hair. She was standing in Quirin's kitchen, frantically searching her companions for solutions with her green eyes. Eugene offered sympathy, but he had no answers. "Where could they possibly have gone?"

"Well, obviously, she took him back to the Haderon Forest," Martin asserted, pacing back and forth with his eyes centered on Yaeger. "I mean, that's where Shay would be, right?"

"This doesn't feel right." Finished with her hair, Rapunzel began to wring her fingers instead, completely at a loss for what to do. "None of this feels right!"

"I agree," Yaeger said, unfolding his arms with a sharp exhale. "We need to find them. We don't have time to sit around and wait to see if they return."

Rapunzel sighed, then started making her way to the door. "Rudiger's fast, he can get me there in time before something terrible happens."

"Get you there?" Eugene stood, crossing over to her before she could leave outside. "Rapunzel, you're not going alone."

"I have to," Rapunzel insisted. "If this is dangerous, I don't want anyone else getting hurt. And someone should stay here in case they come back."

"I'm going with you." Quirin stood in the kitchen entryway, dressed from head-to-toe in black, tempered armor. His greying hair was clean and brushed out of his face, his eyes bright and alert as he tucked a helmet under his arm. Rapunzel saw the mark of the Brotherhood emblazoned across its surface, and she gave pause as he continued. "Lyra has undoubtedly taken the Moonstone from Varian…and I let it happen. It's my responsibility to stop her from doing anything reckless."

"Why does she need the Moonstone?" Rapunzel asked. "What could she possibly need it for?"

Quirin's expression was grave. "Something she'll regret if we don't reach her in time. It's concerning that her daughter was absent. She's always kept Shay safe, it was the reason why she left Old Corona."

Rapunzel crossed to him, placing a hand on his cold, armored arm. "We need to find your son. Let's go!"

Varian stood outside Lyra's cabin, staring at the front porch. His breath puffed out in crisp white clouds from his heaving lungs, blue eyes wide as he took in the sight before him. A line of blood had been dripped across the wooden steps, leading to the half-open front door in an erratic red line. For a moment, he remembered standing here all those months ago, hoping to find the Crimson Caster and ask for her help. If he had known he would stand here again, like this…

He pushed himself forward, knocking the door aside and nearly stumbling over the threshold. Standing in the doorway, he readied himself for a spell or some other threat to throw itself at him. What he saw instead made him both alarmed and strangely relieved at the same time.

"Caius!"

The witch hunter sat at the table, Spellbane strewn across the surface like before, but the fireplace behind him was cold as ice, and Varian could sense that any traces of magic and life had fled the place: the kitchen knives were silent, the cauldron almost dusty. The wind outside had stopped as Varian closed the door behind him, fighting back a fresh wave of nausea as he stared in horror at the bloody stump where Caius' right arm had been. The man had been dismembered at the shoulder, a seemingly clean cut, and his body had worked effectively to stem the bleeding. But the man looked half-dead, his hairy chest glistening with sweat as he used what was left of his shirt to methodically dress the wound with his remaining hand, tugging at blood-soaked fabric with his teeth. He didn't look at Varian when he spoke, his voice uncharacteristically broken.

"Come to see what's left of me, boy?"

Varian was at the man's side in a heartbeat, working quickly to help tie the makeshift bandaging more securely. "What happened?!"

"What do you think happened?" Caius droned, almost a mumble as blood loss made him sway. Varian steadied him, and the witch hunter managed enough strength to shoot him a perplexed glare. "Why do you care? I'd think you'd be pleased to see me like this."

"Don't flatter yourself." Varian was looking around for something to use, anything that could help. He spotted a jar of honey on one of the shelves and scrambled to it, praying it wasn't empty. About half the jar remained, and he crossed quickly back over to Caius' side, slathering a handful onto the dressing. "I doubt there's any isobutylphenylpropionic acid stored around here. An opiate would be ideal, but apothecaries would never sell that in broad daylight, not since they passed that law, and that's without addressing the very real possibility that you need a transfusion –"

"Calm down," Caius slurred.

"I am calm!" Varian suddenly shouted. "My best friend is stuck in a tomb, and her insane mom is planning on assaulting the kingdom with an army of undead after tricking me for months just so that she could get her hands on one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the known world, of course I'm calm!"

He finished tying off another layer of fabric around Caius' shoulder stump and stepped back, shaking. Caius trained his blind eye on Varian's bloody, sticky hands, wheezing. "How does the honey help?"

"It's a natural antibiotic," Varian answered in a narrow tone. "It'll help keep the wound from getting infected." He tried to take a deep breath, but trying just brought his nausea back. "You were right," he groaned. "You were right about everything." He squinted at the witch hunter, anxiety choking his words. "Did I even really see you kill your brother?"

"Yes, you did." Caius sighed, his arm settling limply with his blood-stained hand in his lap. "And if I don't stop the witch, his death will have been in vain."

"She told me…" Varian gulped, fighting the bile in his throat. "She fed me all these lies about timelines and how you would kill Shay if I didn't keep her away from you."

Caius managed a fatigued frown. "I would never hurt the hawk. She is all that's left of my brother. She is good, if misled. I would have kept her with me, if I could. But then she read her mother's journal." He spared his stump a forlorn glance. "I allowed my own distrust to cloud my judgment. Even after driving her away, she still sought me for help. And I couldn't protect her." Varian witnessed as tears began to slide down the man's cheeks, his expression unchanged. "I've failed my sworn duty as a witch hunter, and now Corona will pay the price for my folly."

Varian stared at him, pity welling in his chest. "I'm sorry, Caius."

Caius tried to shake his head, but it came across as more of a lopsided loll. "Do not pity me, boy. It won't change the way things are."

"Lyra has no pity for you," Varian pressed. "Why didn't she finish you off?"

Caius chuckled dryly. "After all these years, for the sake of my niece, I was willing to let the witch live, for a price. In her own twisted sense of honor, she offered the same courtesy. She let me live, at the cost of my sword arm." He gazed at Spellbane on the table. "Though I think she merely wishes for me to watch her works and despair. I am no longer of any use to you, or anyone."

"That's not true," Varian whispered. "You still have your left arm."

"It will take months for me to recover."

"Not if we reach the princess," Varian insisted.

"Quirinson," Caius forced himself to look Varian squarely in the eye. "Leave this place. Go to your father."

Varian's answer came more immediately than he had expected. "No. No, I'm not leaving you." He felt the nausea begin to subside as he found purpose, for however long it might last. "I'm going to take care of you, until we can both leave together."

Caius looked at him like he'd just grown a tail. "Why?"

"Because…" Varian squared his shoulders. "Because it's what Shay would do."

The next few nights were dismal and filled with eerie silence. The forest was quiet, and Varian kept expecting to hear the rattle of bones and clanking of rusted, ancient armor. But he heard nothing, and the silence was arguably worse, in his opinion. The sky was either a constant mask of late-winter white and grey or black and filled with milky stars.

Caius slept, literally too drained to do much else. Varian fed him what he could and forced him to drink, changing the dressing on his wound every morning and night. Varian kept a constant fire outside for the purpose of burning used bandages, but he also hoped it would help signify their presence. He knew that if no one else would come, his father would be searching for him, at least.

Varian slept when he could, tucking himself down near the hearth or slumping in one of the chairs. Each time sleep came, he was plagued with feverish nightmares of Shay pounding on the inside of that coffin, tears streaming into her hair as the undead fought to reach her from the outside. In his waking moments, Varian wondered if the dreams really were Shay calling to him for help, and the possibility only made him lose his appetite.

Thankfully, that meant more food for Caius, who was regaining strength with each sunrise, walking about and even patrolling the borders of the meadow after the fourth day. Varian didn't try to stop him, but he watched carefully, worried that the man might crumple at any second. But Caius was made of hearty stuff, and Varian was glad to see the stump of his shoulder wash relatively clean the next day.

"No infection," Varian sat back after redressing the wound. "That's good."

Caius hummed a brusque note of approval. "Honey."

"Yeah, thank the bees." Varian washed his hands clean and crossed over to the pantry. "Do you want rice and dried beef, or…dried beef and rice?" He sighed. "I would literally kill for a ham sandwich right now."

"Boars live in the forest," Caius suggested. "Go hunt one."

Varian genuinely considered it. "I can't. I don't have my bow."

"Use a knife."

"Sure, and stab myself for my trouble." Varian reached for a sack. "Rice, it is, then."

Caius' head twitched, and his eyes darted to the window. "Quirinson. Something's outside." When Varian started to move, the witch hunter held his arm out. "Stay here."

"Yeah, right," Varian hissed. "I have both my arms, I'll go look!"

Caius cuffed him on the ear. "Do as I say, boy."

"Fine," Varian rubbed at his red ear. "Don't blame me if it's a wolf."

Caius crossed to the window and parted the curtain, peering outside with his good eye. After a few heart-freezing moments, he pulled back and looked at Varian. "It's fine."

Varian went to the door and opened it, then gasped in surprise as a big, pink tongue ran itself over his face. "Rudiger! Rudiger, it's you!" He couldn't help a chuckle of relief as the raccoon nuzzled and panted into his chest, large eyes drinking in the sight of his master. "That means – Dad!" He ran over to meet his father, bouncing from one foot to the other as he waited for Quirin to dismount. Rapunzel was with him, her face flushed and awash with relief.

"Thank goodness, you're alright!" she exclaimed, embracing him once he slipped out of his father's hug. "We were worried sick! What happened?"

Varian felt reality settle in, seeping from the ground up into his bones. "Karma happened," he answered, his spirits falling. "Rapunzel, the whole reason why I thought…I'm no chosen person for the Moonstone. There's no Lunar Celestial, it was Lyra putting on a show. She lied to me about everything so that she could get her hands on it."

"That doesn't make any sense," Rapunzel stammered. "You said there were records about the Celestials, that King Crieghton had –"

"King Creighton was crazy!" Varian cut her off. "And any information we found about the Celestials was written by Lyra herself."

Rapunzel was having a hard time wrapping her head around it. "Maybe she usurped the Lunar Celestial, stole its place," she suggested, but she didn't sound confident.

"She had a piece of the Moonstone with her," Varian explained. "She stole it years ago, probably before she even came to Corona. She's had it with her the whole time, it's how she was able to communicate with me through the chambers. She's had a vendetta against the king ever since the witch hunt, and she's using the Moonstone to augment her knowledge of necromancy. She's raised an army of undead, and she's heading for the capitol!"

Silence followed that statement, and Rapunzel leaned back against Rudiger, sinking into the fur. "I think I need to sit down." She sat on the spot, curling her arms around her knees. "This is nice. Friendly. Friendly seat."

"Dad," Varian looked to Quirin, desperate. "Lyra was trapped in a coffin in Haderon's tomb for seven years. Shay and I found her, but we thought it would do terrible things if we released her. I guess we were right, just not in the way we thought. She's trapped Shay in the same coffin, I have to get her out!"

"Varian," Quirin removed his helmet, revealing his alarmed expression. "If what you say is true, the situation is far more dire than Cainsdaughter's imprisonment. We have a war on our hands, she may already be sieging the gates."

"It may not come to that," Caius spoke from the cabin door, casting a long shadow from his full frame in the entryway. "The witch will likely make demands before resorting to brute force."

"Caius," Rapunzel shrank at the sight of him. "Your arm!"

Quirin stepped towards the witch hunter, his gaze cold as he approached. "I should have known you weren't dead. You should know that I place a token on your brother's grave every year."

Caius inclined his head. "I thank you." He jutted his chin in Varian's direction. "Your son made sure I didn't bleed out."

"Lyra did this?"

"Payment long due."

Quirin blinked. "If she didn't kill you, then there may still be a chance to reason with her."

"She didn't spare me out of kindness," Caius spat. "If you stand in that woman's way, she will reap you. She spared no mercy for her own daughter, what makes you think anyone else would be the exception?"

"What do we do?" Rapunzel mumbled, still shrinking. "What do I do?"

"What demands do you think she'd make?" Quirin asked.

Caius inhaled. "For the king to confess his crimes against his people. Then she'll probably conduct a public execution and kill anyone who tries to stop her."

Rapunzel moaned. "I'm going to be sick."

Quirin looked crestfallen and anxious, a look that made Varian more frightened than ever. "I don't know how to stop a necromancer."

Caius turned and disappeared into the cabin. He returned with Spellbane in his hand, propped steadily against his shoulder as he crunched through the grass to Quirin. "Necromancy is just another form of magic."

Quirin frowned. "One sword won't stop an army of undead."

"This one can." Caius offered the hilt. "The witch won't stop until she's dead. Kill her and secure peace for your son."

Varian stopped breathing as he watched, waiting to see what his father would do. Quirin stared widely at the blade, his jaw tight as he reached for it. "It's been a long time," he admitted, holding the sword out before him. "It's beautiful."

"That sword was paid for with my brother's blood," Caius stated gravely. "Use it better than I have."

"We can't stay here," Rapunzel was wobbling to her feet, and Varian reached to brace her. She waved him off and straightened herself, summoning her authority. "We need to get back to my father, before it's too late."

Varian turned to Caius. "Rapunzel…can you heal him?"

Rapunzel stalled, already halfway up in Rudiger's saddle. A blush of shame crept up her face, and she immediately hopped back down, crossing over to Caius. "I…I can't replace it," she looked up at him, her brow creased with an emotion Varian couldn't quite identify. He watched as she reached hesitantly to the man's stump, fingers barely brushing the bandaging. "I'm sorry."

Caius slowly brushed her small hand away. "I am the last person on this earth to rely on magic to solve my problems, Princess." The space between them was palpable, stretching out as he slowly took a step back. "I will be stronger for it."

Rapunzel pulled her fingers back to her chest, almost like she'd been burned. A chill breeze played with the nape of her neck, and she shivered involuntarily. "Does that mean there's nothing I can do to help stop this…this war that's coming?"

"We will do what we can," Quirin told her. "Time will tell if it's enough."

"It has to be," Varian asserted. Though it was more in an effort to defy his own uselessness, he could feel his determination resurface as he continued. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being jerked around by demons and phantoms and magic. My best friend is stuck in a coffin, and if teaching her mother a lesson is the only way to get her out…then I'm all in." He furrowed his brow. "In fact, I might even know a way to do it."

Quirin looked concerned, but he nodded his head. Rapunzel still looked pale, but she forced herself straight and pursed her lips. "The crown trusts you, Varian. What did you have in mind?"

King Frederick was in the middle of a heated discussion with Nigel when the news came to him of an undead army amassing from the southeast. At first, he wasn't certain he had heard correctly, and when the scouts repeated themselves, he demanded an escort to the highest bastion to see for himself. He sent word to his wife, just in case, to caution her against the potential threat, and as he stepped up to the stone wall high over the castle courtyard, he found himself praying as he brought the spyglass up to his eye.

"Dear Heaven," he took the eyeglass down, his face stark with shock.

"Your Majesty, what are your orders?"

The king stood in complete silence for a moment, speechless. Then he snapped himself out of it and began brandishing the spyglass at the nearest scout. "Get Yaeger and every other soldier assembled. Nigel, prepare the war table!"

"That won't be necessary, my king."

The guards whirled about to see an ageless, beautiful woman standing on the bastion, dressed in a deep red swathe of fabric, eyes white and burning with magic. An opalescent, shimmering stone orbited her like a small planet, trailing wisps of light in dripping drapes across her shoulders. It was her hair, a mane of silver and red, that caused Frederick's memory to spark.

"Lyra," he grimaced.

"Sire!" The guards stepped before him, crossbows aimed squarely at the woman. "You will not touch our king!"

The Crimson Caster pursed her lips. "Conscripting children into your service, my lord? I would say I'm surprised, but this is you. Sleep," she ordered, twitching a finger. A flurry of violet sparks, and the men fell in a heap across the stone. Lyra clucked her tongue. "Is that really how you greet an old friend?"

"Lyra," Frederick took an unconscious step back, slowly raising his hands. "What are you doing here?"

"That is an excellent question," the Crimson Caster answered. "Why do you think I'm here, my king?"

The king swallowed, trying to remain calm. "What is it that you want?"

Lyra smiled pleasantly, and the sight of it made Frederick feel like he was standing on a sheet of ice. "What do you think I want?" she asked patiently.

"That army," the king pointed out into the distance. "Is that yours?"

"Yes."

"Then it's clear that you want to fight."

"Only if I have to." Lyra took a step closer, folding her arms. "Tell me, what is it that you love most?"

"My family," Frederick answered.

Lyra hummed a low note, as if he'd given the wrong answer. "Your actions suggest otherwise, my king."

"If I was your king," Frederick leveled, "you'd accept my order for you and your unholy legion to stand down."

"Your actions suggest instead that you love the crown on your head far more than anything else in this world." Lyra raised a finger before she could be interrupted. "I'll explain. You see, you had a child. A beautiful little girl upon whom you could entrust the security of your kingdom. Your wife was healthy, your future was bright. Everything was perfect, wasn't it? But then your child was taken away from you. I can't imagine how much that must have hurt. In fact, I'm sure it hurt so much that even if you had known who was truly responsible, you still would have sealed the order for a hunt. But not just any hunt, no, this was a hunt for magic."

Frederick's brow was dark with anger. "It was a hunt for you, Lyra. If you really wanted to prevent what happened, you would have turned yourself in."

"No," Lyra shook her head, eyelids low, her jaw relaxed. "No, you see, even if I had turned myself in, you still would have hunted all the magic down, every. Last. Drop of it. You would have found it all and killed it, just the same, just to spite whoever had taken your precious child away. But it wasn't just that you would hunt down magic. You would make sure that no one else would ever know. No one to breathe a word, to even consider the possibility that the great and noble King Frederick of Corona could ever sanction such a…vile thing."

They were inches apart now, Lyra's hands still at her sides. King Frederick didn't move.

They were inches apart now, Lyra's hands still at her sides. King Frederick didn't move. "So, you've come for revenge?"

Lyra hummed that low note again. "Revenge is an ugly word, and not entirely accurate. Judgment is better. Yes, I am here to judge you, King Frederick. I do hope that's alright."

Frederick felt fear prick his heart, but he squared his shoulders. "If I let you 'judge' me, will you spare my kingdom? My family?"

"Of course," Lyra said, and Frederick believed her. "Your kingdom isn't at fault, here. You are. But first, we need to clear the stage."

Frederick watched as the woman climbed up onto the bricks, surveying the entire island with her flaming white eyes. She extended her fingers and began to chant a spell, weaving threads of red and blue magic together. They branched out like a net through the air, growing and stretching and sparking with light. The weather shifted, clouds gathering in dark sheets overhead, and Frederick felt thunder rattle his teeth as the spell branched across his castle, the town, the bridge, clear to the borders of the sea.

Then Lyra snapped her fingers, and the spell descended in one fell swoop, a blanket of magic that washed over everything. The king felt a wave of heat blast his hair back, knocking his crown from his head. It fell to the stone with a melodic clang, spinning to a halt near his fallen soldiers.

Then everything became silent.

"What did you just do?" Frederick breathed.

"Not to worry," Lyra reassured him. "Everyone is asleep, now. If you'll follow me, we will head to the judgment hall to await our jury."

"Jury?" Frederick stared as he watched her descend and stride purposefully towards the stairs. "What sort of jury?"

"You will see," Lyra answered without turning around. "They'll be here, soon."