Chapter 12: Questions & Answers
Buck's shoulders loosened as the figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the warm, amber glow of his apartment. The dim light illuminated dark, wavy hair that cascaded just past her shoulders, framing a face that was equal parts familiar and enigmatic. Her eyes were sharp but looked him over with a softness he knew all too well.
She was dressed in a tailored black dress, the fabric hugging her form with an understated sophistication. The high neckline balanced against a subtle plunge, while a wide leather belt, cinched tightly at her waist, its silver buckle gleaming softly in the light, adding a bold. There was an elegance in her movements as she stepped closer, her high-heeled boots clicking softly against the floor; hands resting casually in the pockets of her dress. Around her neck hung a trio of delicate silver chains, each catching the light, but it was the pendant that held his gaze. A teardrop-shaped gem lay nestled against her collarbone, its iridescent hues shifting subtly — soft lilacs, pinks, and golden yellows that seemed to mimic the last rays of a twilight sky. Encased in a swirling silver frame that flowed into a cascade of tiny, sparkling stones, it shimmered with a quiet radiance.
And then she smiled. It was a smile that transformed her entirely, warm and genuine.
"Hello, Evan,"
"Prue," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms. His embrace was fierce, nearly lifting her off the ground.
A delighted laugh bubbled from her lips, rich and warm, as she wrapped her arms around him just as tightly. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. When he finally set her back on her feet, the world seemed quieter, stiller, as he stepped back just enough to take her in. His hands lingered on her arms, reluctant to let her go, his gaze softening as it traced the contours of her face.
"Prue," he whispered again, his tone reverent now.
She smiled, her lips curving gently, and her eyes crinkled at the corners — a look that was entirely hers. She raised a hand and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin with a tenderness that made his chest ache. They stood eye to eye, a perfect match in height.
"It's good to see you," she said softly, her voice carrying an understated warmth as she stepped back. Her hands lingered for a moment, tracing the breadth of his shoulders before she dropped them to her sides. "You certainly don't look the same."
He chuckled, the sound a little self-conscious as he ducked his head. "The extra muscle helps with the job." His lips twitched into a crooked grin. "You, on the other hand, haven't changed a bit."
She laughed, the sound airy and melodic as she shook her head and began to circle him, her boots clicking softly against the floor. "Well, I haven't been running into burning buildings, rescuing people from tsunamis, or scaling cranes to pull someone out of a jam." Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of admiration.
"I… uh…" Buck began, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure how to respond.
She turned to face him, her expression softening. "I'm not chastising you," she assured him, her voice dipping into a tone that was both sincere and affectionate. "I mean it in the best way. This life suits you. I can hear it in your voice when we talk, but seeing it in person? That's something else." Her dark blue eyes caught the light, shimmering with a mix of pride and affection. "I'm very proud of you, Evan. And I'm very happy to see you alive."
Her words hit him like a wave, and for a moment, all he could do was blink, the weight of her sincerity leaving him momentarily speechless. "Thank you," he finally managed, his voice quiet.
Her demeanor shifted, her expression turning more composed, almost businesslike. She straightened her posture, tilting her head as if resetting herself. "Now, onto business," she said, her tone brisk.
But Buck wasn't ready to let go of the moment. He closed the gap between them again, wrapping her in another firm hug. "Thank you for coming," he murmured, his voice earnest.
She patted his chest lightly, breaking free with a playful roll of her eyes. "All right, all right. Let's see what you've got. That was quite a bit of power you just used."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the dining table where a box sat in quiet anticipation. "I had to," he admitted, making his way to the refrigerator. His hands moved instinctively, pulling out a glass pitcher filled with pale red liquid and a bowl of chopped fruit
Prue approached the table, her hands slipping into the pockets of her dress. Her steps slowed as she eyed the box, her expression shifting from curiosity to something more intense. "You weren't very clear when we spoke," she said, her voice quieter now. "But you've got me curious. After everything you've been through in the last six years, this is what made you break your self-imposed ban on using your powers?"
Buck paused, his hands hovering over the counter as he poured the drink. "Oh, I was tempted before," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "Especially after that stupid lawsuit. I even pulled out the book, tried to make sense of things, but... I couldn't see all the threads. And there was so much going on at the time. By the time everything calmed down, it just… wasn't worth the risk."
Prue tilted her head, considering his words as she made her way closer to the box. "And this was?" she asked, her tone probing. "Let me guess — someone other than you was in troub…" Her voice faltered as her eyes locked onto the box. She froze, her gaze tracing the intricate symbol etched into its surface. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she took an unconscious step back.
"Evan…" she said, her voice sharper now, pointed. Her eyes flicked up to meet his as he approached, holding two glasses. "What happened?"
"You might want to sit for this one," he replied, sliding a glass across the table toward her. He moved to the chair opposite hers, his movements measured but heavy with purpose.
Prue hesitated for a moment before lowering herself into the chair. Her fingers wrapped around the glass, but she didn't lift it. Instead, her gaze remained fixed on the box, her breath shallow as if bracing herself. "Start talking," she said, her voice steady but laced with a tension that hadn't been there before.
Across the table, Buck fidgeted, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the wood before he took a deep breath and began.
"It started with a fire… well, technically, it started the day before the fire with this professor… but I'll come to that later. So, it started with a fire at a toy store…"
His voice wavered at first, but as he pressed on, the details began spilling out in a torrent. He painted the events of the previous evening vividly, his words thick with emotion. Prue listened in silence, her expression carefully neutral, though her grip on the glass tightened slightly. She took a sip of her drink now and then, her eyes flicking between his face and the box on the table.
Mostly, though, her gaze stayed on him. The way his brow furrowed deeply as he recounted the chaos. The subtle flinch in his shoulders when he spoke about his sister and friends. The way his hands gestured, sometimes trembling, sometimes clenching into fists before he caught himself. Pain, guilt, and something darker hovered in his voice, and though Prue's expression didn't change, a knot twisted tighter in her chest with every word.
Her heart lurched when he described what had happened to his sister, his voice thick with anguish as he glossed over the details of his own ordeal. She wanted to reach across the table, to touch his hand, to anchor him, but something told her he wasn't ready for that yet.
"And get this," he said, a hollow laugh escaping him as he leaned back in his chair. "Athena's victim — the professor who had the game before Chimney found it — he got his soul back too. Just… popped back to life while he was in the morgue." Buck shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Can you imagine? One minute you're… gone. The next, you're back. I can't even fathom what he must've felt. Or what the poor kid who found him went through."
Prue nodded slowly, setting her glass down with a faint clink. Her lips pursed thoughtfully before she spoke. "Hmm… that tracks, I suppose. It was a short enough duration that the soul could seek out the body and rebind itself." She glanced at the box, her brow furrowing slightly, then turned her attention back to Buck. "So you rewrote reality to change their experiences?"
He shrugged, the movement stiff and uncertain. "Kind of. I didn't change what happened last night, not exactly. Just what they took away from it. So, we still went to Chim's and played the game. I just made it so we didn't really like it. But we still had fun hanging out… and maybe I nudged things so everyone starts forgetting about it completely."
Prue tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. "And the price?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with a sharp edge.
Buck blinked, his gaze darting away from hers. His shoulders hunched slightly as if trying to shield himself from her scrutiny. "Evan…" she pressed, her tone firmer now.
"Fine," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor. "I remember everything. In vivid detail."
Her lips parted slightly, a quiet gasp escaping before she whispered, "Oh, Evan…" She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her hands folding as she considered him. There was no judgment in her tone, only a deep, aching sadness.
He shrugged again, forcing a crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's the best outcome," he said, his voice uneven. "I mean… it was going to stay with me anyway. Now I'll just never forget. But that's okay."
"Is it?" Prue asked softly, her gaze steady as she tilted her head slightly, watching him carefully.
"I had to do it, Prue." His voice was low now, and he looked up at her with something raw and unguarded in his eyes. His hand tightened around his glass as he drew a shaky breath. "It was bad," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. "Really bad."
The moment Buck began recounting the previous night's events, his mind yanked him back into the chaos, dragging him through every harrowing detail as though he were there all over again.
They had watched the souls leave in stunned silence, their translucent forms spiraling upward like ribbons of smoke, vanishing through the ceiling and out the window. For a brief, breathtaking moment, there was awe — an almost sacred quiet as the room seemed to exhale. Buck's heartbeat roared in his ears, his chest tightening as he looked around the room, the lights flickered back on and Maddie, Eddie and Chimney regained consciousness.
The relief that flooded him as he hugged his sister and his best friend was incomparable. He almost didn't want to let them go but stepped back with Bobby as Hen took charge, herding her patients to the couch. As he leaned into the older man's support he kept his eyes on the three of them, their faces were pale, taunt with unease and tears were spilling from Maddie's eyes but they were breathing and Hen did not seem alarmed by what she saw as she took each of them through basic checks.
Bobby steered him into the kitchen and sent him to prep glasses with water and juice while he took stock of the food they had. Buck nodded and turned to the cabinet to fetch some glasses but he could Bobby's eyes on him. He turned around slowly and found the older man lingering behind the island, his figure hunched, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. There was a raw guilt in his gaze that made Buck's stomach churn.
"Bobby," Buck began, his voice tentative, but Bobby shook his head sharply, cutting him off.
"I'm sorry," Bobby murmured, his voice hollow. "I… should have… I'm sorry."
"Bobby, this isn't your fault!" Buck snapped, the force of his own voice startling him. "None of this is your fault!"
"I saw it Buck, I saw myself as one of those things that were hurting you… It used me to hurt you."
"Exactly!" Buck exclaimed as he set the glasses down and marched around the island, grasping Bobby's shoulder. "It used… not you exactly, just a memory of something that happened long ago. It wasn't you… and honestly, you didn't… well vision you?... whatever… he didn't pop up until after I started fighting it, so he… it never got to the chance to say anything."
"Kid.."
Buck's eyes softened. "Bobby, things happened. I'm not going to pretend that they didn't hurt nor am I going to pretend that I didn't hurt you. But we got past that and we'll get past this. Now let's get some food in these guys."
Bobby smiled, it didn't quite meet his eyes and the guilt was still just beyond his eyes but he was spurred into movement and began trying to reassemble the food set out into sandwiches.
"Chim! What's happening?"
"Chim!"
The two of them rushed into the living room and found Athena standing back with Eddie while Chimney sat crouched in a corner with Hen trying to reason with him. "Do you hear that?" His voice was small, trembling, and barely audible. He gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles gleamed white, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
"Chim, what's wrong?" Buck asked, stepping closer, his stomach knotting as anxiety clawed at his chest.
"They're whispering," Chim said, his voice breaking as he shook his head violently, like a man trying to shake off an unseen attacker. "I didn't mean to — I'm sorry — I didn't mean to!" His words dissolved into a panicked chant, and then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Chimney crumbled. He slid to the floor, curling into a tight ball in the corner, his body trembling uncontrollably. His hands flew to his ears, pressing hard against his skull, as if trying to block out sounds only he could hear.
"Chim! Hey, Chim, snap out of it!" Hen crouched beside him, reaching out with hesitant hands, his voice trembling with both urgency and helplessness. But the moment her hand grazed his shoulder, Chimney flinched violently, shrinking further into himself. His wide, unseeing eyes were glazed with terror, his lips moving in a litany of whispered apologies.
"Dammit," Buck muttered under his breath as he watched Hen try to pull Chim out of this spiral.
Then came Maddie's scream.
Buck spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance, his breath catching as his sister bolted down the hall like a woman possessed. "Jee! Jee-Yun!" she cried, her voice shrill with desperation. She threw open doors at random, peering into empty rooms with a frantic energy that made Buck's stomach lurch.
"Maddie! Maddie, stop!" Buck sprinted after her, his footsteps pounding against the floorboards. He caught up to her just as she turned to face him, her tear-streaked face contorted with raw panic. The sight hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"Doug's here," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Buck, I saw him — he's here. He's —" Her words dissolved into a choked sob as she collapsed against him, clutching his shirt with trembling hands. "I'm sorry, Buck. I'm so sorry I didn't choose you. I should've — I'm sorry — I'm so sorry —"
Buck's arms closed around her automatically, holding her as tightly as he dared, even as his own fear and helplessness threatened to swallow him whole. Her sobs racked her body, and her grip on him was desperate, almost painful, but he didn't care.
"It's okay, Maddie," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It's not real. Jee's safe, remember? She's with the Lees. She's safe. You're safe. You're okay." He repeated the words like a mantra, hoping they'd seep through her panic and anchor her, though he wasn't sure he believed them himself.
Behind them, Eddie's voice cut through the chaos like a crack of thunder. "This is ridiculous!" he barked, his tone sharp with fury.
Buck turned just in time to see Eddie slam his fist onto the table, the sound reverberating through the tense room. "Eddie, calm down," Athena said, stepping forward with her palms raised, her tone gentle but firm.
"Calm down?" Eddie snapped, his eyes blazing with anger that seemed disproportionate, almost feral. "This whole thing is a sick joke, and you're telling me to calm down? Fine!" He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but his movements were jerky, his face twisted with barely contained rage.
"Yes, calm down," she stated, her tone sharp. "We'll figure this out," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I've already called Ransone. Whoever did this, we'll find them."
Buck shook his head as the memory faded, dragging him back to the present. He blinked, his chest heaving as though he'd run a marathon. Across the table, Prue sat in silence, her gaze unwavering. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass absently, but her eyes were sharp, studying him as though trying to piece together the full weight of what he'd just relived.
Buck shot to his feet, pacing toward the window as though moving might help him breathe. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists to stop the shaking, but it didn't help. He stared out at the darkening sky, the deep indigos and charcoals swirling together like the chaos in his head. His voice, when it came, was low and thick with emotion.
"I had to do it," he said, his words clipped, deliberate. "I couldn't let them suffer like that. And I had to get Athena to back off. I know her, she'd push and push until she stumbled into something she couldn't handle. This thing… it would have destroyed her." His breath hitched, and his shoulders sagged.
Prue moved silently to his side, her steps soft but purposeful. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that was equal parts grounding and protective. She rested her chin on his shoulder, her voice a soft whisper in his ear.
"I know," she murmured, her tone a mixture of understanding and quiet sorrow. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't trying to help everyone else. But I hate that you're the one paying the price every time."
Buck let out a soft, bitter chuckle and pulled away, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "All magic has a price, right?" he said with a forced smile. "Isn't that what Dyson kept drilling into our heads?"
Prue nodded, blinking rapidly to keep her own tears at bay. "Yeah," she said softly. "A price."
She stepped back toward the table, pulling a pair of bright purple gloves from her coat pocket. The moment she slipped them on, intricate runic circles flared briefly across their surface, glowing with a faint lavender light before fading away.
Buck raised an eyebrow as he watched her lean over the table, her attention shifting to the ominous box that had been the source of all their torment.
"You can never be too cautious," she said without looking up, her voice tinged with both humor and unease. "You did have to rewrite reality to undo the damage this thing caused. I'm not taking any chances."
He moved aside as she carefully pulled the box toward her, examining it like a bomb that could detonate at any second. Her gloved fingers traced the edges and symbols with deliberate precision, tilting and turning the box without ever attempting to open it.
"You said it looked like a Hollow?" she asked, her voice sharp and focused.
"It looked like one, yeah," Buck replied, taking a step closer, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "But…"
"But?" Prue prompted, glancing up at him briefly before returning her attention to the box.
"I've only ever seen sketches of them before," he admitted, his voice unsteady. "This… this was something else. It had the shroud, yeah, but those teeth… those hands... God, the scars…" He shuddered, the memory sending a cold ripple down his spine. "And it did that thing — the way it sucked the warmth out of the air like it was feeding off of it… I don't know."
Prue's eyes narrowed, her fingers pausing over one of the runes etched into the box. "You felt it in your head, didn't you?" she asked, her voice quiet but certain.
He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. It was like… it reached into my mind. Playing with my fears, my regrets. My guilt. Twisting everything into something worse. I knew it wasn't real, I told myself that over and over, but…" He trailed off, his throat tightening.
"But your mind was foggy," Prue finished for him, her tone grim. "Numbed. And for even just a fraction of a second, it forced you to believe it."
"Yes," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Exactly. But I've never read about Hollows doing that. Aren't they just supposed to… you know… make you vulnerable and then eat your soul?"
Prue straightened, rubbing her gloved fingers over a symbol on the box. "Your average Hollow? No, they don't do that. But I don't think we're dealing with an 'average' Hollow here." She turned the box around and tapped a particular marking on its surface. "Do you know what this is?"
Buck leaned closer, his brow furrowing. "It's familiar," he said slowly. "I recognized it immediately, but I couldn't place it. I figured I'd seen it in a book or a scroll at the library. That's how I knew it had to be from our world, but… no, I don't know what it is."
Prue's voice dropped, almost reverent. "It's the mark of one of the 13."
The words hit Buck like a physical blow. He choked on the sip of water he had just taken, coughing violently as the glass slipped from his fingers. Liquid splattered across the table and floor. Prue sighed, raising her left hand and curling her fingers like she was grasping a dial and turned her hand counterclockwise. Tendrils of purple energy wove through the air, and time seemed to reverse — the glass righted itself, and the spilled liquid streamed back into it as if nothing had happened.
But Buck barely noticed. He was staring at her, his jaw slack with disbelief. "One of the 13?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "As in, the 13? The ones from that crazy story you used to obsess over?"
Prue tapped the symbol again, her expression solemn. "I think it's safe to say it's more than just a story now. History might be a better word."
Buck shook his head, his mind racing. "Prue… this thing stole my sister's soul. My best friend's soul. And God knows how many others. There were so many trapped in that orb. Enough power to…" He trailed off, his voice breaking.
She sat back, weaving her fingers together and resting her elbows on the table. "If that's true," she said quietly, "then it's been doing this for a long time. Years. Decades. Centuries, maybe. That would explain a lot."
Buck's eyes narrowed. "What does it explain?"
Prue sighed, leaning forward. "Why your friends were affected so strongly. If their souls came into contact with a concentration of other souls — all of them extracted while living their worst fears and memories — that's going to leave a scar. Soulcraft… it's messy. And there's so little we actually know about it."
She gestured to the box. "It also explains how this thing was able to manipulate the physical world outside the game. You said it disappeared from the professor's house and ended up in a toy store, right? It moved on its own. That's not something a regular Hollow can do. To project monsters outside the game? It would've needed to gather and concentrate those souls, use them like a battery to fuel that kind of power."
Buck ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "So what, this thing has just been… lurking here? In this world? Feeding on innocent people?"
"It's a possibility," Prue said evenly. "Or it was in Viridian first and was brought when someone didn't realize what they had. Either way, it should never have been out in the world at all. It should have been under lock and key, protected by every spell and seal imaginable."
Buck let out a humorless laugh, sinking back into his chair. "I know more than I did last night," he muttered. "And yet I feel more confused than ever."
Prue smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Welcome to my world," she said. "It's not just confusing — it's dangerous. And we're only scratching the surface."
Buck moved with purpose, darting into the kitchen, yanking open cabinets and clattering pots together before heading to the refrigerator to rummage through its contents. When he emerged, arms loaded with vegetables, Prue arched a brow.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone both curious and exasperated.
"Making dinner," he replied, placing a cutting board on the island with a deliberate thunk. "My head's on a rollercoaster ride, and I need to do something with my hands. Plus, we need to eat."
"You should be resting," she countered, leaning forward on the stool. "You have a shift tomorrow, and you just used a massive burst of magic. You need to recharge."
He snorted softly, setting to work chopping with a determination that spoke louder than his words. "Do you really think I'm going to be able to rest after that conversation? Besides, this is a good distraction. And, if you must know, I've gotten better at this."
She smiled, shaking her head. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Fully aware," he said with a sly grin before returning his focus to the vegetables.
She smiled fondly and shook her head as she joined him, taking a stool by the island.
"So what is the deal with the creepy 13? I know they're like really evil and stuff but all I can remember is snippets of the story you told me. I don't think I've actually read anything."
"That's because there is no written account of it. What I found was by accident and hidden very well. I haven't been able to find much more on it and Dyson almost bit my head off for asking."
Prue pulled off her gloves and put them away. With a flick of her wrist, the air above the island rippled like water disturbed by a stone, and a thick, leather-bound book fell from the ether, landing with a heavy thud on the countertop.
Bound in rich purple leather, the cover was intricately embossed with runic patterns that drew. A gold compass rose sat in the centre over an embossed four-point star. Two sturdy leather straps were fastened over the edges, secured by gold buckles. The spine was thick, slightly creased, while the edges of the parchment pages peeked out, uneven and frayed.
Buck raised an eyebrow to which she responded with a simple shrug. "What? Did you think only Hemocrafters got bonded tomes? I'm a Lore Weaver, it's in the name."
"I've never seen you use it before."
She sighed, running her hand over the embossed compass rose. "I started relying on it more after you left. It's not as… active a component as it is with your magic, but it's a solid tool. And, conveniently, a great storytelling companion."
With a flick of her wrist, the golden compass spun, and the leather straps came undone. The book opened itself, flipping through blank pages as though searching for something. When it finally stopped, Prue placed her fingers on the page. A faint purple fissure spread across the parchment, spilling out shimmering ink that pooled in the center.
Buck leaned in, knife forgotten in his hand. "Okay, that's cool."
She smirked. "Not the coolest part."
The ink rippled, shifting and swirling, forming shapes in midair. As the patterns solidified, her eyes began to glow an intense purple, and her voice took on a cadence both commanding and reverent.
"Three thousand years ago," she began, "The Gate to Shadow Vale was breached. No one knows whether it was an intentional act or the fraying of ancient magic, but the gate — thought unbreakable — shattered. And through its cracks spilled chaos. Prisoners, mutations and unknown entities from its depths."
The ink danced, rising into a three-dimensional image of a massive gate. Its ancient, circular frame was carved with intricate symbols that pulsed faintly, as though alive. A deep purple light bled from the seams, casting eerie shadows. The double doors bore faint scars, their once-impenetrable surface marred by jagged cracks. Around the gate, twisted vines clawed upward. Then a bolt of purple energy cut through it and the ink dripped down taking the form of several different creatures that spread across the pages.
Prue continued, her voice low and steady, "As you'd expect, they wreaked havoc across Viridian and its effect spilled over into this world too. It's probably where some monster or curse myths came from. The call was sounded and our people stepped up, fighting the monsters. Several of them were killed and those that were left were thrust back into Shadow Vale once the gate was reforjed."
The image changed. The ink split to create human-like figures with weapons. The figures danced across the pages mimicking a battle, those that were slain turned back into ink that pooled at the head, once again transforming into the gate. Once the battle concluded the ink dropped to the page again and rose once more as 13 hooded figures with slight differences in their forms.
"13 hollows remained," Prue said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They weren't just monsters. They were something worse — corrupted beings that fed on souls. Their power was unparalleled, their ability to twist memories and weaponize fears unmatched. No one could stand against them."
The ink mirrored her words, creating a pantomime of the hooded figures pulling the souls from people and others falling to their knees before them, clutching their heads. Then another figure rose in the middle, holding a book in his hand while around him sat 13 objects that were just random shapes.
"That was until a Blood Scribe took matters into his own hands. He trapped them in objects with the hope that they would be cut off from their supply of souls and eventually become weak enough to be destroyed."
The ink shifted once more, forming a lone figure holding a book. Around him, thirteen shapes appeared — objects whose forms were vague and indistinct. The hooded figures were pulled into these objects, their forms dissipating like smoke into glass.
The light in Prue's eyes dimmed and the ink dripped down onto the pages and slowly seeped into them, leaving them in their original pristine form. She let out a long breath, closing the tome with a resounding snap.
Buck stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. "Okay… that was something. You've clearly been busy."
Prue scoffed, pulling out a yellowed parchment from the folds of the book. "That was just the basics. I've spent years piecing this together. And now, thanks to you, I know what one of the objects looks like."
He resumed chopping. "You didn't say what happened to the objects."
She sighed and pulled out one of the loose sheets of paper, a yellowed parchment, frayed at the edges. On it were 13 symbols arranged in a triangle with a sigil in the centre - a jagged cross with a double-edged arrow running through it.
"Because I don't know. There was a little whisper that they were cast into Shadow Vale but then there's this." She turned over the parchment and pointed to the edge of the scroll where there were some scribbles. Most of it was faded but he could make out the word for 'dispersed'.
"Dispersed? What does that mean?"
Prue squinted at the faint markings on the parchment. Her fingers traced the edges of the faded text, lips pressing into a thin line. "I think it means they were split apart, sent to different places. The word 'protection' is in there too, so my guess is they were hidden, likely shielded by wards strong enough to keep them contained."
Buck leaned forward, his brow furrowing as he stared at the parchment. "But then how does one of them end up in LA? Isn't that the opposite of protection?"
Prue shrugged, though her face was tense with thought. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it was hidden in this world and unearthed by accident. Or…" She hesitated, her voice dropping. "As much as I hate to think it, maybe someone intentionally released it into the world."
Buck's knife slipped with an audible clang. He flinched, slicing into his finger, and let out a sharp breath.
"Evan!" Prue shot up from her stool, rushing to his side. She grabbed his hand, her gaze flicking to the shallow cut on his palm, but golden motes of light already began to flicker over the wound, knitting the skin back together before her eyes.
But it wasn't the cut that made her breath catch. As her hand brushed his, she felt it — a deep, roiling wave of anger and anguish vibrating beneath his surface. The force of it battered against her empathic walls, pushing past the cracks. She froze, her body stiffening.
When she looked up, Buck's eyes were alight with a fury she hadn't seen in years.
He ripped his hand free, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "What — this — this thing," he spat, jabbing a finger in the direction of the game. "It's been stealing souls for God knows how long. It has killed people. Innocent people. My sister. Eddie. Chimney." His voice cracked, but he kept going, his words tumbling out faster now. "It's hurt so many more. I can't even look at Bobby and Hen without seeing what they looked like when they came out of that thing!"
Prue flinched but didn't move, her chest tightening as she watched him pace.
"I know," she said softly, taking a cautious step forward. "It hurt you too. And that's reason enough for me to keep looking into this. I'm sorry I don't have the answers you're looking for, but I swear to you, Evan, I'll find them."
"That's not good enough!" he shouted, spinning back toward her. His voice cracked with the weight of years' worth of frustration. "Isn't that what the Circuirum is for? They're supposed to protect people, right? All the rules and secrets, they're supposed to protect both worlds, aren't they? Isn't that what they drilled into us? Isn't that why I have to keep who I am a secret from my family? How — how could they let this happen?"
Prue stopped moving, her shoulders sagging under the weight of his words. She looked down, wrapping her arms around herself. For a moment, the only sound in the room was Buck's ragged breathing.
As his breathing evened out, his eyes widened and his face fell. "Prue, I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," she cut him off, her voice sharp but brittle.
"Prue…"
"I said it's fine," she snapped, holding up a hand to stop him. Her tone softened, but her posture stayed rigid as she took a step back. "I understand. You've been carrying this for a long time, Evan, and I know how hard it is. I'm not upset with you, okay? But I just… I need a minute."
Buck looked like he wanted to say more, but he nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor.
Prue inhaled deeply, forcing herself to steady. She turned her attention to the counter, where the knife and half-chopped vegetables still lay. Raising her hands, she twisted her left hand counterclockwise. Tendrils of purple energy spilled out, curling across the counter to wipe away the blood on the knife, the cutting board, and the specks that had sprayed on the counter. With a clockwise twist of her right hand, the energy shifted. The knife rose into the air, chopping the remaining vegetables at a speed that seemed almost mechanical. Once done, the blade gleamed with a flash of purple before slipping neatly back into its slot in the knife block.
"There," she said, her voice clipped as she rounded the island. "Now that the sharp objects are away, let's talk, shall we?"
"Prue…"
"Evan, I told you, it's okay." She held up her hand again before he could interrupt. "I know you didn't mean to take it out on me, and I don't expect you to bottle up your emotions for my sake. Not after everything you've been through. You're right about the Circuirum — they should be more vigilant. But…" She sighed, her gaze softening. "I don't think they even know these things exist. The story of the 13 is so shrouded in secrecy, and what little we know is almost impossible to find. My best guess? The Circuirum of that time erased all records of the event. If there's any mention of it, it's probably buried deep in the Archon's Tome."
Buck let out a bitter laugh as he turned back to the stove. "And there's no way they're letting anyone read that."
"Certainly not an anomaly like me," she replied, her tone dry. "But it's possible the current Archon hasn't even read that far back. Or maybe they're confident the wards are still intact. If these things have gone unnoticed for this long, it's likely they're not giving off much of a magical signal."
Buck's shoulders sagged as he stirred the pan. "So what now?"
Prue stared at the game for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. "Now that I have proof that this thing exists, I'll reach out to a few people. There are ways to destroy it — we just need to find them."
Buck nodded, though his expression remained grim.
Her lips quirked in a faint smile. "That said, I could get you some answers right now."
His head snapped toward her, nearly spilling the pan. "What? How?"
"Easy there, Evs. Maybe turn that off first," she said with a chuckle. "I was planning to wait until I got back, but if you're okay with me crashing here for the rest of the night…"
"Yeah, of course. But what are we doing?"
"Turn off the stove and follow me."
Prue squared her shoulders, her breath steady but her resolve clearly sharp. She approached the table, her gaze locking onto the game with an intensity that made Buck feel as though the room itself had grown colder. She reached out and picked up the box, turning to him with a flicker of determination in her eyes.
"Hold this," she said, her voice calm but tinged with authority.
Buck took the box hesitantly, his hands closing around its edges. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but before he could get a word out, the pendant around her neck began to glow.
"Hold on," she murmured, her lips curving into the faintest smirk.
"Wait, hold—"
The world erupted into a kaleidoscope of purple light. Buck staggered, clutching the game tightly as his vision warped and twisted. When the light finally faded, he found himself standing in a small, empty room with walls that pulsed faintly with shifting purple energy. The game trembled in his hands, glowing faintly before it vanished in a shimmer of sparks.
"What the hell just happened?" Buck exclaimed, his voice echoing strangely in the confined space.
Prue turned to him, her hands glowing faintly as she motioned to the walls. "We're tracing the history of the game," she explained, her tone almost clinical. Buck blinked, struggling to absorb her words as the walls around them began to dissolve, turning translucent before shifting entirely. They now stood in a study — a grand, almost cathedral-like space with arched ceilings and towering bookshelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. The room was bathed in spectral purple light, but he could imagine how it would look in reality: the soft glow of flickering candles, the warm hues of polished wood, and the scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air.
At the center of the room sat a long, sturdy table, its surface cluttered with open books, scattered parchment, and quills resting in inkwells. Behind it sat a man, broad-shouldered with light hair dressed in long robes, he was hunched over a book scribbling with a quill. The man's free hand had some kind of cloth wrapped around it - like a bandage. Beside him was a pot of ink with a few droplets staining the wood around it.
"So were in the past?"
"More like a projection of it," Prue explained as she approached the windows. "It takes a lot out of me to do it but it's helpful. She gestured for him to join her and that's when he noticed for the first time, 13 stools placed equidistant apart in a rune circle, on each of them was an object, nothing ostentatious, just simple things like a mirror, a lantern, a pipe, an hourglass, a quill and a few things he didn't recognize. But his eyes widened when they fell on a long rectangular box.
"Is this? Are these?"
He whipped around to look at the man. "Is that?"
"This is the moment the game became a container for the Hollow," she explained as she moved around the desk and peered over the man's shoulder. Her lips curled into a frown, "He's writing in Xeric runes. Not my strong suit."
Buck stared at the man watching his hand move effortlessly across the page. The dark spots weren't ink then, it was blood. He was fascinated and mesmerized by the way his hand moved, with no hesitation. He pressed the quill into the book one last time and the runes around it immediately flared to life, a shimmer running over the page.
The candles in the room flickered. Buck turned to the window as wispy shadows were pulled through the windows. There was no rushing wind, no screams or screeches just silence which made the whole experience more eerie. The forms were pulled into the objects and glowing symbols appeared over them.
A strange fog filled the space and when it cleared they were back in the room. Only this time the man wasn't hunched over the desk. He paced in front of the windows talking to three hooded figures.
"Wait. What?"
"We're following the game, think of it like a highlight reel of important events."
"Okaaay."
They watched the man pick up the rectangular box and hand it to the figure in the middle, none of the other objects were around. The figure nodded and the three of them left. The fog began to fill the room again, and as it did Buck's eyes were drawn to the man and he noticed another silhouette step up behind him.
"Wait!" he called out as the fog clouded his vision. "Can we go back? There was someone else there."
"Sorry Evan, we have to move with the box," Prue said softly as the image cleared once again. When the fog cleared, the room had shifted again. They now stood in a cavern, its walls rough and unpolished, lit only by the faint glow of runes etched into the stone. The same rectangular box was there, cradled in the hands of a hooded figure. Two others flanked them, their faces obscured as they murmured incantations, drawing glowing symbols in the air. The box was placed into a small nook in the wall, which sealed itself shut with a flash of light as the runes burned brightly before fading into the stone.
"Are they… hiding it?" Buck asked, his voice low.
"Looks like it."
"That box… is it the same game? There weren't any pictures on it."
"It's the same box. Hold on we'll find out when it changed.
The fog returned, and when it cleared again, the cavern was no longer pristine. Dust hung in the air, and parts of the wall had crumbled, revealing jagged edges and gaping holes. Two figures lay unconscious on the ground, their bodies sprawled lifelessly near the nook. Another figure emerged from the shadows, his face obscured by a pale mask. He approached the sealed nook and placed a gloved hand on the stone. The runes flared violently, crackling with energy that surged up his arm, but he didn't flinch.
Buck watched in horror as the figure staggered back, collapsing to his knees, only for another masked individual to step forward and finish the task. This one pushed aside the stone effortlessly, reaching inside to retrieve the box.
"What… What was that?" Buck whispered, his voice trembling.
Prue didn't answer immediately. She was staring at the scene with wide eyes, her face pale. "Someone broke the protections," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Before Buck could press her further, the fog swallowed them again. When it cleared, they stood in a cozy living room. The purple hue softened the warm tones of the space, but Buck could make out the details: the white-painted fireplace, the antique furniture, the faint scent of home that seemed to linger even in this spectral projection.
Several figures entered the room at once, children, two boys and a girl, the youngest boy carrying a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. Two adults followed, a man dressed in high-waisted pants and a vest over his shirt and a woman wearing a simple dress, her curls pulled to one side, carrying a tray with a pitcher and five glasses. The man picked a book off the table and set it aside as the children placed the parcel on it and began tearing through the paper to reveal the box. They opened it and found a board game. The girl looked to the adults and the man nodded before smiling at the woman. The children immediately began to assemble the game.
"No!" Buck cried as he dove for the table but he passed right through it and hit the floor, his torso partially within the desk. "What the?"
"It's just a projection," Prue reminded him as he helped him up. "We can't interact with what we see. This has already happened."
"But.."
Rapid movement drew their attention and they turned to the family, the three children were laying on the ground, unconscious with a familiar symbol on their foreheads. The woman was standing standing, her mouth open wide. The man knelt down beside one of the boys and touched the game on the table. He instantly fell forward. The woman, who was obviously screaming - though they couldn't hear a sound - tugged on his shirt but as her fingers brushed the game she too fell unconscious.
Buck's grip tightened around Prue's hand as the fog flooded in. "Hang in there" she whispered.
When the fog cleared they were back in the room, from the change in the shades and the moon visible through the window, it was easy to tell that night had fallen. The bodies of the family remained as they were.
"What's going on?"
The answer to his question came in the form of a man walking through the door. The same man with the mask. He barely glanced around the room before raising his hand. The symbols on the foreheads flickered as something brushed over them covering them up. He packed up the game, secured it in his arms and left.
Buck and Prue shared a look as the fog swirled in once again. The next time they surfaced the game was on a large circular table with six people around it. They held on to each other as they watched anyone who interacted with the game fall to the floor.
The images keep moving quickly, different places, different people, same story. After a point, the man stopped appearing and after its players had fallen the game simply vanished and ended up at the next location. The game itself though changed, its appearance morphed to fit the era it was in and the way it drew on the souls changed, becoming more complex. People weren't falling by simply touching it anymore, they had to play the game - and be played - until they lost.
Prue clutched her abdomen as the fog surged around them, her knees buckling under the strain of maintaining the vision. Buck steadied her, his face etched with worry, but before he could ask if she was okay, the swirling mist pulled them into another scene. The images moved with a frenetic energy, snapping between faces, places, and moments. Each scene was a harrowing vignette—a young woman trembling as the game took hold of her, a group of friends laughing before their joy turned to terror, a solitary man in a darkened room desperately praying as the game consumed him.
Finally, the mist settled, and they found themselves in a dimly lit study. The air was thick with the smell of old paper and ink. A professor sat at his coffee table, his glasses perched low on his nose as he examined the game. Unlike the others, there was no hesitation in his demeanor — only a gleam of fascination in his eyes. He traced the symbols on the box with trembling fingers, muttering to himself as if deciphering some ancient script.
When he opened the game, Buck flinched, expecting the usual chaos, but instead, the professor's expression shifted to one of sheer wonder. The dice seemed to roll on their own, landing with an unnatural precision. As they did, lines of text appeared in the manual, glowing faintly as they inscribed themselves across the page. The professor's hand shook as he read them aloud, his voice laced with equal parts excitement and fear.
He played his first turn with an eagerness that bordered on obsession, his eyes darting between the game pieces and the manual. When the room began to warp around him, its edges shimmering with an otherworldly light, he didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned forward, eagerly peering into the vortex that opened before him.
Then, in an instant, he was gone.
Buck gasped, his grip tightening on Prue's arm. "Did it take him?" he whispered, though he already knew the answer.
Moments later, the professor reappeared in his chair, his body jerking as if expelled by an unseen force. His hair was disheveled, and a sheen of sweat coated his face. But unlike others they had seen, he wasn't screaming or unconscious. He was grinning. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and his hands trembled violently as he clutched the edges of the table. His lips moved as he scribbled something in a notebook, before picking up the dice again.
Prue nodded to the notebook and Buck reluctantly left her side to peer over his shoulder. "It's a lot of scribbles but he says 'it's alive' and 'it's sentient'. Oh and something like, 'this might be the answer' and he's circled it."
The professor reached for the dice again, his movements jerky. Buck instinctively rushed to Prue's side as the professor began dancing around the room as a scaly creature with large teeth chased after him.
"Wha… I thought only people who pulled the cards could see them."
"This is the game's perspective," Prue said with a wince.
They continued to watch as the professor answered the riddle before he was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Athena," Buck whispered as they watched the spectral version of the woman step into the apartment. After Athena and the other officer left the professor hurriedly packed up the game and moved to the study even as a swarm of insects buzzed around him, dissipating only once he had rolled the dice.
"It does that when you take too long to play the next turn," Buck whispered.
The professor watched his game piece move, apprehension visible in his expression as he blindly made a note in his book. The mist poured out of the board and once again he was pulled into the game. He returned moments later, slamming into the chair with a thud. But this time, something was wrong. His body was rigid, his head lolling unnaturally to one side. His eyes were wide, but they held no spark of life — until they fluttered shut and a dark symbol emerged on his forehead.
The fog poured in once again. As the familiar outlines of Maddie and Chimney's living room took shape he closed his eyes. Prue clenching and releasing his hand and her soft gasps were the old markers he had of what was happening.
He gets her settled and they talk about the man, how the game kept getting more powerful and adapting and the possibility of others being released as well. All too soon his stomach lurched and his eyes opened as they were thrust into the present — into Buck's loft. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the change in light and colours as he once again found himself standing across Prue, holding the game.
She staggered and he moved, wrapping an arm around her waist and tossing the game back onto the table as he guided her to the couch.
An hour later they sat at the dining table enjoying a light dinner and wine. The atmosphere was relaxed but tinged with the quiet weight of all they had just seen. Plates clinked faintly as they ate, the comforting sounds of an ordinary evening offering a stark contrast to the extraordinary revelations they had just uncovered.
Buck leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass as he regarded Prue. "So… what's next?"
Prue set down her fork and leaned forward, her expression calm but determined. "What's next is what I do best: research. Now that I have some leads, I can dig deeper, find out more about the game and the hollow it contains. Destroying the one we have in our possession is priority number one," she said firmly, her gaze steady, "but I'm also going to investigate the others. If one escaped, it's possible more have."
Buck nodded thoughtfully, watching her closely. "Let me help," he offered. "I mean it. Whatever you need, just say the word."
Prue's lips curved into a soft smile, one tinged with both gratitude and resolve. "I appreciate that, Buck. Really, I do. And I might take you up on the offer when I need someone to vent to—because trust me, things will go wrong," she said with a chuckle. "But for now, you should focus on the life you've built here. We worked hard to give you that, and you deserve to live it."
Buck raised an eyebrow at her, his mouth quirking into a playful grin. "You worked hard, you mean," he said, pointing his fork at her. "I was just along for the ride."
Prue laughed, the sound light and genuine. "You did your part," she said, shaking her head. "None of this would have been possible without your pen and you paid the price for it. The most important thing is you put in the work and have built something pretty impressive… even if it is still a work in progress."
Buck leaned back again, the grin fading into something more contemplative. "Well, I just hope I didn't do too much damage to the protection spell earlier," he admitted, his voice quieter.
Prue waved her hand dismissively. "Please," she said with a smirk. "It's nothing I can't fix. Just don't do it again."
They shared a smile, and for a moment, the heaviness of the evening seemed to lift.
Buck took another sip of his wine, then set the glass down, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know," he said, leaning forward, "sometimes I think about how ridiculous it all is—the life we made up for me. Remember all those postcards?"
Prue laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "How could I forget? 'Hey, Maddie! Greetings from Peru! Here I am living the dream, mixing drinks and soaking up the sun.'" She shook her head. "We really went all out."
Buck chuckled. "I still can't believe we pulled it off. All those fake travels and different jobs… the whole mysterious, globe-trotting brother thing. We made it sound so convincing."
"Well technically it is true," she said with a smirk as she lifted her glass to her lips. "The moment you set things in motion, all of it construction worker, ranch hand, even Navy seal I think, it all became a part of your reality. As strange as it is you have lived both lives. Besides it's better than the alternative."
Buck placed his glass on the table and fidgeted with his fork. "Still I wonder how telling her the truth might have gone."
Prue raised an eyebrow. "You mean something like this, 'Hey, Maddie, Mom and Dad might tell you I ran away, but I didn't. I'm fine. I'm just in magic school, and it's nothing like Hogwarts'. Because yeah, that'd go over great." She chuckled, her voice taking on a mock-serious tone as she continued, "'Turns out we're descended from an ancient line of magic users whose powers went dormant because they chose to live in the human world. But for some reason, mine woke up. Crazy, huh? So, what's new with you?'"
Buck burst out laughing, almost spilling his wine. "That's perfect. She'd be convinced in no time."
"Please," Prue said, rolling her eyes. "If you told her anything close to the truth, she would've had you committed. If she could find you, that is. Not that she ever bothered to respond either way."
"Prue…"
"Yeah, yeah douchey Doug. I know."
Buck leaned back in his chair, his smile fading slightly as he thought aloud. "You think she'd have told me about Daniel? About me being a savior sibling?"
Prue's expression softened, her eyes meeting his with quiet understanding. "Maybe," she said. "Or maybe not. That's a lot to lay on someone, especially without knowing how they'd take it. Especially it could be the possible cause of their dormant magic waking up. But from what you told me this whole thing with your parents and Maddie is more complex than fractals in a dodecahedron. And the possibilities for how that information could have changed things are endless."
He shrugged, his gaze distant. "It's not like I could've done anything about it back then. Still, it's a lot to process. My life's been a rollercoaster ride ever since I found out about…" He looked down at his hands for a moment. "But then learning about Daniel and figuring out that my parents weren't the way they were because they thought I was a freak…"
She reached over and grabbed his hands. "Stop. I know you've been through a lot, but you were never a freak. You were just around people who were lost in their grief and didn't see what was in front of them. They also had no idea about the magic stuff and this entire world that they are connected to. And despite it all, here you are. You thrived after Dyson found you and you learned a little about yourself and yes you hit a major road bump, but you made a choice for yourself and are finding your way back again. And I know you'll find a way to place where you don't have to choose. I believe in you and I'm so proud of you."
He squeezed her hands and smiled. "Finding out about this whole other life, the magic, the things I've seen, done even. It has been remarkable. Despite how messy things got I'm always going to be grateful that Dyson found me and that I found you."
"As am I," she said as she pulled back. "You helped me just as much. And I know I haven't been able to be here in person for you these last few years but we're always going to be family. And I'm always going to have your back."
Buck's lips quirked into a small smile as he lifted his glass. "To family," he said.
Prue raised her own glass as she echoed, "To family."
And that's a wrap on this story.
I'll probably do another one to fill in some more pieces of the puzzle, let's see how that goes. If you have any questions though feel free to shoot.
Thanks so much for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoyed it.