The warm aroma of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee filled the loft as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the windows. The soft hum of the stovetop vent and the occasional clatter of utensils punctuated the morning calm. Emma stretched in bed, the smell luring her from the remnants of sleep. She glanced at the clock—later than usual, but the promise of food was enough to shake off her drowsiness.
Downstairs, Mary Margaret was flipping pancakes, her movements graceful and precise. A box of apple turnovers sat neatly on the counter, the flaky pastries glistening under the soft kitchen light. David stood by the door, grabbing his jacket. "I'm off. Try not to let Henry eat all the pancakes, okay?" he joked.
Mary Margaret smiled, turning off the stove. "I'll make sure there's at least one left for him."
David kissed her cheek and left for work. Moments later, Mary Margaret followed, leaving the breakfast spread and the mysterious box on the counter.
Emma padded into the kitchen in her pajamas, her hair a tousled mess. She poured herself a cup of coffee, her gaze falling on the turnovers. The smell was intoxicating, the golden crust almost begging her to take a bite. She picked one up, inspecting it with a faint smile.
"Breakfast dessert," she muttered to herself, breaking off a piece.
Just as she was about to take a bite, Henry came bounding down the stairs, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He froze mid-step when he saw her holding the turnover. His eyes widened in alarm. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
Emma blinked, startled. "Good morning to you too. It was just sitting here on the counter."
Henry rushed over, his face pale. "Don't eat that! It's cursed!"
Emma frowned, her brow furrowing. "What? Henry, it's a pastry. Relax."
"No, Mom, I'm serious!" He snatched the turnover from her hands. "Don't eat it!"
Emma crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "Henry, you need to stop with this magic stuff. It's a turnover. People don't curse pastries."
They argued, voices rising. Henry's face turned red with frustration, and Emma's patience wore thin. Finally, in a moment of exasperation, Henry took a bite of the turnover.
"There, see," he said, his voice defiant, crumbs on his lips.
Emma smirked. "Fine, then. Want some milk with that?"
But before she could turn to the fridge, Henry's expression changed. His face went pale, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed onto the floor. Emma's coffee mug shattered as it slipped from her hands, panic seizing her chest.
"Henry? Henry!" Emma dropped to her knees, shaking his body. "Wake up! Henry!"
Emma rushed Henry to the hospital, the box of turnovers shoved hastily into a bag. Dr. Whale met her in the emergency room, his face calm but concerned. "What happened?" he asked as the nurses wheeled Henry into a room.
"He ate… this." Emma handed over the bag, her hands trembling. "There has to be something in it. Poison, or something."
Dr. Whale glanced at the bag, his brow furrowing. "We'll run tests. Stay here."
Emma paced the waiting room, her mind racing. Minutes felt like hours as she replayed the moment over and over. When Dr. Whale returned, his face was unreadable.
"We analyzed the turnover," he began. "There's no trace of poison or any harmful substances."
Emma's heart sank. "What? That doesn't make sense. He ate it, and then—"
"I understand your concern, Ms. Swan," Dr. Whale said, his tone professional. "But there's nothing unusual about the turnover. It's just a pastry."
Emma stared at him, disbelief etched on her face. "You're telling me my son just collapsed for no reason?"
Dr. Whale hesitated. "We're still running tests on Henry. I'll update you as soon as I can."
The sterile quiet of the waiting room pressed down on Emma as she sat motionless, Henry's backpack clutched in her trembling hands. She pulled it open, her fingers brushing against the familiar, worn edges of the book he never went anywhere without. It felt heavier than usual, as though the weight of its contents mirrored the doubts now sinking into her chest.
She opened the book to its middle, the pages softened by years of eager hands flipping through them. The illustrations leapt out at her—bright, fantastical, and far removed from the reality she clung to. Yet, as her eyes scanned the familiar lines, the vibrant depictions of queens, wolves, and poison apples took on a chilling familiarity.
The image of a dark king with amber eyes and a crown wreathed in magic froze her. Emma's breath hitched as she traced the edge of the page with her finger. A queen with a fractured heart, one capable of great power and even greater pain. The accompanying text told a tale she'd skimmed dismissively before, but now it seemed to leap from the page, written not as a fairy tale but as a prophecy.
She flipped to another page, her eyes catching on an image of a wolf pack. In the center stood a black wolf, its eyes blazing red, surrounded by others bowing in submission. Emma's heart pounded as the image stirred memories of the stories Henry had desperately tried to tell her—about Regina, the alpha queen, and the power she kept hidden beneath her composed surface.
"No," Emma whispered, closing the book sharply. The sudden motion sent a sharp crack echoing through the empty room. She shook her head, setting the book on her lap. "It's not real."
But even as she said the words, doubt gnawed at her resolve. The poison apple in the book's illustration flashed in her mind, its vibrant red skin glistening with something sinister. She remembered the box on the counter, the turnovers she'd almost eaten, and the way Henry had screamed for her to stop.
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the book, her knuckles white as she stared down at the worn cover. "It's just a story," she muttered, trying to convince herself. But the threads were unraveling, memories and fragments connecting in ways she couldn't ignore.
Henry's words echoed in her mind: "It's all real, Mom. Magic is real."
She flipped through more pages, her movements frantic now. Each new image—wolves running under the full moon, a child destined to bring balance, a queen torn between darkness and light—hit her like a blow. It was Henry's world, a world she had refused to see. But now, with Henry lying in a hospital bed, his life hanging in the balance, she couldn't ignore the possibility.
The door to the waiting room opened, and a nurse walked in. Emma snapped the book shut, hiding it against her chest as she looked up. "Anything?" she asked, her voice tight.
The nurse shook her head. "The doctor will update you soon."
Emma nodded stiffly, her throat tight. As the nurse left, her eyes drifted back to the book. She opened it again, this time slower, and let the words wash over her.
"True love's kiss can break any curse."
The sentence hung in her mind, circling like a mantra. It was absurd—fairy-tale logic that didn't belong in the real world. But then, nothing about this situation felt real. She thought of Henry, lying motionless, and the feeling of helplessness clawed at her. If magic was real—if everything Henry had tried to tell her was true—then maybe, just maybe, there was something she could do.
Her pulse quickened as the crack in her skepticism widened. It wasn't a leap, not yet, but a cautious step toward the unknown. For Henry, she would believe in anything.
She clutched the book tighter, its edges digging into her palms as she whispered, "What if he was right all along?"
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, jarring Emma from her spiraling thoughts. She turned sharply, her heart thudding as she saw Regina stride into the waiting area. Her face was pale, her amber eyes frantic as they darted around the room until they landed on Emma.
"Where is he?" Regina demanded, her voice trembling but firm.
Emma didn't answer right away. The sight of Regina—composed yet visibly shaken—ignited the fury simmering inside her. She pointed vaguely toward the hallway, but before Regina could take another step, Emma surged forward and grabbed her arm.
"Not so fast," Emma snarled, dragging Regina toward a nearby supply closet. The door slammed shut behind them, the small space immediately feeling suffocating.
Emma pushed Regina against the wall, her breath coming in sharp, angry bursts. "This is your fault," she hissed, her voice low but venomous. "You and your damn secrets. What the hell is going on?"
Regina's eyes widened for a brief moment, but they quickly narrowed. "My fault?" she retorted, her voice laced with incredulity. "I had nothing to do with this!"
"Bullshit!" Emma snapped, slamming her palms against the wall on either side of Regina, pinning her in place. "He ate that turnover, and now he's lying in a hospital bed! What did you do?"
Regina didn't flinch under Emma's anger. Instead, she met her gaze with a mixture of guilt and defiance. Her voice softened, but the weight of her words was unmistakable. "It wasn't meant for him."
Emma froze, her hands still braced against the wall. "What?"
"It wasn't meant for Henry," Regina repeated, her voice cracking slightly. "It was meant for you."
Emma stared at her, the words echoing in her mind. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Regina's expression darkened, her voice trembling with barely concealed fury and guilt. "The Keepers. They want you to believe. They want to distract me—break me. And they knew hurting Henry would be the fastest way to do it."
Emma's mind reeled, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. Every strange event, every cryptic warning, suddenly seemed to make a twisted kind of sense. She felt the ground shift beneath her, her reality cracking open in a way she wasn't ready for.
"You're telling me this is some kind of twisted setup?" Emma's voice rose, a mix of disbelief and anger. "That they poisoned my son just to get to you—and me?"
"Yes," Regina said, her tone unflinchingly honest. "Our son. They want me distracted. And they want you to believe in magic."
Emma's grip loosened, her arms falling to her sides as the weight of Regina's words sank in. She stared at her, searching for any hint of deception, but all she saw was raw, unfiltered guilt.
"I don't care what they want," Emma said finally, her voice shaking. "How do we save him?"
Regina's jaw tightened, her composure slipping as she took a steadying breath. "There's someone who can help," she said, her tone measured but heavy with reluctance.
"Who?" Emma demanded.
"Mr. Gold," Regina said, her voice bitter as the name left her lips. "He has the knowledge—and the means. But he'll want something in return. He always does."
Emma's stomach twisted. She didn't trust Mr. Gold, but if he could save Henry, she had no choice. "And you?" she asked, her voice quieter now, the anger giving way to desperation.
Regina straightened, her amber eyes burning with renewed determination. "I'll follow other leads," she said firmly. "I'll find the source of the poison. I'll make the Keepers pay for this."
Emma hesitated, her hands clenching into fists. "Is it true?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Regina tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. "What?"
"All of it," Emma pressed, her voice trembling. "The stories Henry told me. About you, about magic, about this whole damn town. Is it true?"
Regina's gaze softened, the weight of Emma's question pressing heavily between them. "Yes," she said finally, her voice quiet but unwavering. "It's all true."
Emma staggered back a step, the confirmation striking her like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and she looked away, trying to process the impossible. Emma looked up, her blue eyes meeting Regina's amber ones. The storm of emotions swirling within her—anger, fear, disbelief—clashed with the glimmer of hope she couldn't quite extinguish.
Emma straightened, brushing a hand through her hair as she steadied herself. "Fine. I'll deal with Gold. You find out who did this."
Regina nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her face. "Be careful," she said, her voice low. "He'll demand more than you're ready to give."
Emma turned toward the door, her resolve hardening. "Right now, I don't care what he wants. I'm getting my son back."
Regina watched as Emma stepped out of the closet, her heart heavy with the weight of what was to come. Alone in the quiet, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Her mind raced, not with guilt, but with fury. The Keepers had gone too far. They had made a critical mistake.
Because if they wanted to see her as a threat, she would gladly become one.
The dark, suffocating air of the Keepers' underground lair hung heavy with the acrid scent of burning herbs and arcane energy. The room pulsed with an eerie, low hum as Marcus stood before the glowing scrying pool. Ripples of silver light danced across the surface, showing fragmented images of Storybrooke. The hospital room, Regina's distraught face, and Emma storming into Mr. Gold's shop flickered like scenes from a film.
Marcus leaned forward, his sharp features illuminated by the pool's light. His lips curled into a cold smile. "It's all falling into place. The Queen is distracted, her focus fractured. And the Savior... she's beginning to believe."
A younger Keeper, standing by Marcus's side, hesitated. "And if she fully awakens?"
Marcus's smile widened, his tone dripping with menace. "Then the real fun begins. Chaos will force the Savior to make her move. And when she does, she'll tear down everything Regina has tried to build."
The scrying pool darkened, the flickering images fading into shadow. Marcus turned to the circle of Keepers standing behind him. Their faces were obscured by the dim light, but their eyes gleamed with purpose.
"It's time to ensure Regina's allies are... preoccupied," Marcus announced. "Send the Guardians to Safe Haven and Graham's sanctuary. Kill anyone who stands in their way."
A hushed murmur spread through the room. One Keeper stepped forward, a wiry woman with dark hair pulled tightly back. "The Guardians have been dormant for decades. Their wrath form is unstable."
Marcus's voice was like steel. "Then wake them. Their instability will only make them more dangerous."
The Keepers gathered around the central altar, where a crude stone bowl sat filled with black liquid that shimmered unnaturally. They began to chant in low, guttural tones, their words echoing like a chorus of nightmares. The air grew colder, the flames of nearby candles flickering violently before extinguishing altogether.
From the shadows, the Guardians emerged.
The first to appear was a towering figure, its body flickering like a shadow caught between dimensions. The Guardians' wrath forms were monstrous—half human, half nightmare. Their elongated limbs ended in claws sharp enough to rend steel. Their faces retained disturbingly human features but were twisted into grotesque expressions of rage. Their wolf-like teeth gleamed, and their hollow eyes burned with an eerie, pale light.
Their voices were unearthly, a mixture of growls and whispers that sent chills down spines. As they moved, their forms shifted seamlessly between their wrath forms and human shapes, as if reality itself couldn't contain their malice.
Marcus stepped back as the Guardians took shape. "You've been patient, biding your time," he said, his tone reverent. "Now, fulfill your purpose. Seek out every wolf loyal to Regina. Leave no one standing."
The Guardians didn't respond with words. Instead, they let out a collective snarl that reverberated through the lair. In an instant, they vanished, moving with an unnatural speed that left only a faint wisp of shadow in their wake.
In the dense forest surrounding Safe Haven, the air suddenly grew cold, the kind of chill that sank deep into the bones. Ruby, who had been scouting the perimeter, froze mid-step. Her wolf instincts screamed a warning just as an unnatural silence fell over the woods. No birds, no wind—just an oppressive stillness.
Then they came.
The first Guardian appeared like a shadow materializing from the mist. Its wrath form was monstrous, its claws gleaming in the faint moonlight as it lunged toward Ruby. She dodged, her heightened reflexes barely keeping her ahead of its attack.
But the Guardians weren't alone. More of them emerged, their forms flickering as they moved with inhuman speed. They tore through the forest, their claws rending tree trunks and their howls echoing like the cries of the damned.
At the heart of Safe Haven, Mason stood guard with Dax and Sabine. They heard the commotion before they saw the first wave of Guardians. Mason's sharp eyes caught the glint of claws, and his body tensed. "We're under attack!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the clearing.
The pack sprang into action. Wolves shifted mid-stride, their forms blurring as they prepared to defend their sanctuary. But the Guardians were unlike any enemy they'd faced. Their wrath forms made them nearly impervious to physical attacks. Claws and teeth seemed to pass through their shadowy bodies, and when struck, they dissolved into smoke only to reappear moments later.
Dax lunged at one, his powerful jaws snapping shut on its arm. For a moment, he thought he had it, but the creature's body shifted, its shadowy essence coiling around him like a vice. With a guttural snarl, the Guardian flung Dax into a tree, leaving him dazed.
Sabine snarled, her silver-streaked fur bristling as she charged another Guardian. She managed to land a slash across its chest, but it barely flinched. The creature twisted unnaturally, its claws raking across her side and sending her sprawling.
Mason fought valiantly, his claws slashing and teeth snapping at anything that came close. But the Guardians' sheer numbers and resilience were overwhelming. One by one, the pack was forced to retreat, their defensive lines crumbling under the relentless assault.
At the ruins of Graham's old sanctuary, the Guardians struck with equal ferocity. Wolves who had sought refuge there were caught off guard, their peaceful haven turned into a battlefield. The Guardians moved through the sanctuary like a plague, their claws and teeth leaving destruction in their wake.
One wolf, a young scout, tried to raise the alarm but was silenced before he could howl. The Guardians spared no one, their attacks swift and merciless. The sanctuary, once a symbol of safety, was left in ruins, the wolves scattered or dead.
Miles away, in Storybrooke, Regina felt it. Sitting in her office, reviewing reports late into the night, she froze as a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her chest. It wasn't physical—it was something deeper, a connection to her pack being severed.
Her pen clattered to the desk as she stood abruptly, her amber eyes blazing. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and dread.
Reaching for her phone, she dialed Ruby. The line rang endlessly, each unanswered tone tightening the knot in her stomach. Finally, it clicked.
"Regina," Ruby's voice came through, breathless and panicked. "Safe Haven's under attack. It's—" A crash sounded on Ruby's end, followed by a guttural snarl. "We're holding them off, but it's bad."
Regina gripped the phone tightly, her voice steady despite the chaos. "Get everyone out. Fall back to the diner if you have to. I'm on my way."
Ruby hesitated. "You can't come alone—"
"I'm not asking," Regina cut her off. "Get them to safety. That's an order."
She hung up, her mind racing. The Keepers had escalated their game, and now they were targeting her family—her pack. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door, her resolve hardening with every step.
"Marcus. Efron," she muttered under her breath, her amber eyes flickering with a dangerous light. "You've made a grave mistake."
As the Guardians continued their rampage, the forest around Safe Haven burned with an eerie, unnatural glow. In the lair beneath Storybrooke, Marcus stood before the scrying pool, watching the chaos unfold with satisfaction.
"She'll come for them," he said, his voice calm but dripping with malice. "And when she does, we'll be ready."
In Storybrooke, the rain began to fall, the storm brewing as Regina stepped out into the night. Her every movement radiated purpose, her eyes gleaming with the unyielding fire of an alpha ready to defend what was hers.