Back in the Frozen North, the huge shadow stood amidst the vast desolation, his fur-lined armor and broad shoulders radiating an air of casual dominance. He flexed his gauntleted hand, watching frost cling to his fingers as though it were an extension of his being. A low growl escaped his lips, the sound rumbling like distant thunder.
He turned his gaze to a jagged boulder of ice and stone nearby, raising one hand. Power surged through him, crackling with an audible hum. With a grunt, he thrust his palm forward, unleashing a concentrated wave of dark energy. The boulder shattered into fragments, spraying the icy field with shards.
The shadow grinned, satisfied, but as he moved to test himself further, his movements slowed, and his breath grew heavier. His knees buckled slightly, forcing him to stabilize himself with one hand on the ground.
"Damn it," he muttered, his voice deep and gravelly, tinged with frustration. "Still not enough. This eons of slumber has taken more from me than I thought." He clenched his fists, the cold biting into his exposed skin as if mocking his diminished state.
Before he could attempt another display of strength, a shift in the air drew his attention. The snow beneath him swirled unnaturally, and a figure emerged from the blizzard—a dark silhouette clad in tattered armor, its form almost spectral. The headless swordsman approached with measured steps, his massive blade resting against his shoulder.
Without looking, the shadow smiled faintly. "You're late, swordsman. I was beginning to think you'd lost your way in the storm."
The headless figure halted a few paces away. Though it lacked a head, an unnatural voice echoed from within, reverberating as though spoken from the depths of the void.
"Apologies, my lord. This worsening storm did little to ease my—"
"Ah Dullahan," the shadow interrupted with a deep chuckle, turning to face the swordsman, his glowing eyes glinting with mock amusement.. "I'm kidding, of course. Now, what news do you bring me, my faithful messenger?"
The headless swordsman shifted his massive blade from one shoulder to the other, the eerie voice resonating once more. "As you predicted, my lord, our foes have entered the Everdusk Forest. The Puppeteer confirms their presence.
The shadow's grin widened, a wicked satisfaction curling his lips. "And how many, may I ask?"
"A small force," the swordsman replied. "The Puppeteer counted seven of them."
The shadow let out a low hum, stroking the fur trim of his cloak thoughtfully. "That would be enough for our little experiment. And the Puppeteer?"
"Watching, as instructed," the swordsman affirmed.
"Good," the shadow said with a nod. "Let them wander a while. I'm curious to see what today's creatures of Underland are made of."
"I believe nowadays, they call it 'Wonderland'."
The shadow let out a deep, rumbling laugh that echoed across the frozen expanse. "Wonderland? Is that what they've named it now?" He turned to face the swordsman fully, his grin sharp and sardonic. "How quaint. Anyway, let's see how interesting these creatures of 'Wonderland' are."
The swordsman shifted his stance slightly. "Should I allow the Puppeteer to intervene this time?"
The shadow paused, considering for a moment. "No, not yet. Let the Puppeteer observe. Let the forest do what it does best. Confuse them, drain them, test them. I want to know if these creatures are truly worth the bother of crushing."
"As you command, my lord." The swordsman began to turn but paused. "Shall I prepare the others to await your orders?"
The shadow's grin widened, his teeth gleaming like shards of ice. "Let the others conserve their strength for now. I believe these creatures will make their way here eventually. And when they do..." He gestured toward the massive, empty throne behind him. "I'll remind them what kind of power they've dared to awaken."
With a low, mocking chuckle, the shadow waved the swordsman away. The headless figure bowed slightly, his blade gleaming in the dim light, but before he could turn, his voice echoed once more. "Ah, my lord," he said, his hollow voice tinged with a peculiar hesitation. "There is one more thing."
The shadow's smile did not fade, but his eyes narrowed with faint interest. "Oh? Speak, Dullahan."
"The temple of Enoch has been opened," the swordsman reported, his blade lowering slightly.
The shadow's grin vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. He tilted his head slightly, his massive frame seeming to loom even larger. "Enoch's temple?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble that sent a faint tremor through the icy ground. "And tell me—does this mean my old foe has awakened as well?"
"No, my lord," the swordsman replied quickly, his tone firm. "The one who opened the temple was not him."
The shadow's eyes gleamed, their glow piercing through the storm. "Then who?"
"The group responsible for defeating the shadow wolf," the swordsman explained. "Someone from among them was able to open it."
For a moment, the shadow was silent, his lips curling into a sly smile as a deep, rich laugh erupted from his chest. It was a sound devoid of warmth, echoing through the frozen wasteland like the creak of ancient glaciers. "These creatures grow more and more fascinating," he mused, his voice carrying an air of amusement. "To be able to open Enoch's temple... How delightful."
He turned to face the swordsman fully, his grin sharp and cold. "I want a full report on this group. Watch them closely. I want to know their strengths, their weaknesses... everything. Let's see how far their wits carry them."
"As you command, my lord," the swordsman replied, bowing once more before vanishing into the swirling snow, leaving the shadow alone in the eerie silence of the Frozen North.
The shadow turned his gaze back toward the horizon, his expression one of intrigue and dark anticipation. "Creatures of Wonderland... or whatever you call yourselves now," he murmured. "You've piqued my interest. Let's see just how far your light can endure before it flickers and fades."
Back in the Everdusk Forest, inside a damp, dimly lit cave, the group that the General of the Queen of Hearts led huddled together. Their breaths were heavy with exhaustion, their forms visibly devoid of any strength. The General's armor itself bore scratches and dents, evidence of relentless battles that they had fought so far. Silence filled the weary group except for the soft crackle of a small fire they'd managed to light and the occasional distant howl of the creatures that stalked them.
The White Knight who sat near the entrance, his sword resting against the cave wall suddenly turned toward the General of the Queen of Hearts. Like the others, his face painted a form of weariness. "We've encountered no small number of these shadowed creatures," he said. "Our strength is visibly waning. We've done what we can, but perhaps it's time to return and report to the Queens. There's no use pressing further if it costs us everything."
The General stood near the fire, his imposing frame casting long shadows on the cave walls. His crimson cape bore the stains of battle, but his posture remained upright, commanding. He gazed at the White Knight, his expression unreadable at first, then softened with a hint of understanding before his tone turned sharp.
"I know," he began, his voice steady but edged with determination. "I told you earlier that our safety should be our top priority. And I stand by that. But tell me—how much have we truly accomplished so far?"
The group looked toward him with expressions of curiosity and unease.
"We haven't gathered nearly enough information to justify turning back," the General continued, his crimson eyes narrowing. "We don't even know where these creatures are brooding, what their numbers are, or how they organize themselves. If we leave now, we've gained nothing to prepare Wonderland for what's coming."
The White Knight shifted uncomfortably but nodded slightly, conceding the point. "Then what's your plan?" he asked. "We can't keep fighting like this indefinitely."
The General glanced at the group, his sharp gaze falling on each of them in turn. "We'll rest for now. Gather what strength we can," he said. "But once we're ready, we press further. There must be some sign—some clue around here. A hive, a leader, something. That's what we need to find. Until we do, turning back is not an option."
The group exchanged hesitant glances, the weight of the General's words settling over them like the oppressive air of the forest itself. After a moment, the White Knight sighed and nodded. "Very well. But know this—we're trusting your judgment, General. If it leads to our ruin, that burden falls on you."
The General's lips curled into a faint, grim smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Alas," the Mock Turtle suddenly spoke, his voice carrying the weight of sorrow as he gazed at the flickering flames. "To the brave souls who dared tread this darkened path, who clashed with shadows born of despair—what fate awaits you? A silent grave beneath the forest's boughs, or a triumph carved in fleeting memory?"
The Flamingo, who had been pacing restlessly near the entrance, stopped mid-step and turned toward him, her feathers ruffling in irritation. "Oh, for pity's sake, Mock Turtle," she squawked. "Must you always sound like we're already six feet under? We're not dead—yet."
The Mock Turtle didn't falter. Instead, he gazed mournfully at her, his expression a portrait of wounded patience. "I merely seek to honor our struggles, dear Flamingo, to give voice to the inevitable—"
"The inevitable is that we'll go mad if you keep this up," the Flamingo shot back, flapping her wings for emphasis. "I swear, you've eulogized us more times than I've had feathers plucked."
The General raised a hand, his voice cutting through the budding argument. "Enough, both of you. Mock Turtle, save your lamentations for when we truly need them. We're not giving up yet."
The Mock Turtle tilted his head thoughtfully, his large, mournful eyes blinking slowly. "Words can be a salve for the soul, General, even in times of struggle. But as you wish. I shall hold my tongue—for now."
The Flamingo rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Hold it a little tighter, would you?"
Nearby, the Lion stretched out with a low, rumbling groan, his muscles visibly tense despite his reclining position. His claws flexed against the ground, raking shallow grooves in the dirt as his tail swished rhythmically behind him. His sharp, golden eyes darted between the General and the others, his silence speaking volumes of his unyielding focus.
The Walrus leaned against the cave wall, his broad frame sagging under the weight of weariness. His tusks gleamed faintly in the firelight as he rubbed at a wound along his arm, his heavy breaths the only sound accompanying the faint crackle of the fire.
The Carpenter, perched on a nearby rock, meticulously inspected his tools with hands that trembled slightly from exhaustion. One by one, he tested the edges of his saw and hammer, as if the simple routine could anchor him against the chaos they faced. Every so often, his gaze drifted toward the General, seeking reassurance without a word.
The General of the Queen of Hearts remained motionless, his back pressed against the cave wall as he sharpened his blade with deliberate precision. The steady, scraping sound of steel against stone cut through the quiet like a metronome, marking the moments that stretched into an uneasy eternity.
Finally, he looked up, his eyes sweeping over the group. He saw the weariness etched into their movements, the flickers of doubt lingering behind their gazes. And yet, there was still something unbroken in their silence—a shared determination, fragile but present.
"We rest for a moment longer," the General declared, his voice firm, yet not unkind. "Then we move."
No one argued. The group settled into an uneasy quiet, the cave now filled only with the sound of shallow breaths, the crackling fire, and the occasional whistle of the wind outside.