A thick coil of smoke curled lazily through the air as Absolem exhaled, his luminous eyes half-lidded in thought. His voice, slow and deliberate, stretched out like the wisps of his hookah's mist.

"The flowers have been restless lately," he mused, his voice slow and drawn out while his wings fluttered. "They whisper secrets to the wind, though the wind rarely listens." He took another long draw before opening his lips once again. "And the sun, ah… not quite what it used to be. A shame, really. Everything changes, even when it stays the same."

The Gryphon listened for a time, his tail twitching with growing irritation. He shot a glance at the Hatter, who seemed content to sip his empty teacup as if it contained the finest brew in Wonderland. Finally, the Gryphon huffed, his patience fraying.

"I thought we were here to talk about reviving Alice."

Absolem blinked languidly, then exhaled another puff of smoke. "Reviving Alice?" His tone was mild, almost indifferent. He took another slow drag before tilting his head. "Alice died? Unfortunate."

The Gryphon's beak fell slightly open. He turned to the Hatter, lowering his voice. "Are you sure he's what we need to bring Alice back?"

The Hatter tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, the Seer Cat said so."

The Gryphon groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh, great. Yeah, let's listen to that other lunatic."

The Hatter scoffed, throwing up his hands. "What choice do we have? Do you have some grand idea on how to revive Alice?"

The Gryphon grumbled, crossing his arms. "Well, no. But we're not getting anything from him either." He gestured at Absolem, who seemed more interested in the patterns his smoke was making than the conversation at hand.

The Hatter sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. As much as he hated to admit it, the Gryphon had a point.

The Gryphon clicked his beak. "We should've stayed with the Duchess."

With that, the Hatter's head snapped up, his voice rising. "What? Those cowards? You think they would've done anything differently? Where's the Duchess now, hmm? Where are the others?" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Slinking off to their own little schemes, waiting to see which way the wind blows! We're the only ones actually doing something for Alice."

He jabbed a finger toward the Gryphon. "So don't you dare say we should've stayed with them. If we had, we'd be sitting around, twiddling our thumbs while Alice remains lost."

As the Hatter and the Gryphon's argument heated up, Absolem, who had remained quiet throughout their exchange, took a long, deliberate inhale from his hookah. Then, without warning, he exhaled a thick cloud of shimmering blue smoke directly at them.

The haze swirled around their faces, carrying a strange, calming scent—something like lavender, honey, and a whisper of forgotten dreams.

"This ought to calm your minds, my friends," Absolem murmured in his usual slow, measured tone. "It is not good to fight with friends."

The Hatter blinked rapidly, momentarily distracted, while the Gryphon coughed, waving a clawed hand in front of his face to clear the air.

"Oi! What in blazes was that?" the Gryphon grumbled, shaking his head but his expression eventually dulled into a daze.

Even the Hatter's frustration seemed to have melted gradually. "It does feel… oddly pleasant."

Absolem chuckled, reclining slightly. "Good. Now, shall we return to the matter at hand?"

Absolem took another long draw from his hookah, his glowing eyes half-lidded as he exhaled a slow spiral of smoke into the air. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment before finally speaking again.

"Wonderland is changing." His voice was calm, distant, as if he were merely observing the tides rather than being caught in them. "It always has, but this time… it feels different."

A thick haze of blue smoke curled around the Gryphon and the Hatter, seeping into their senses like a slow-moving tide. The world around them felt… softer, dreamlike. The edges of reality blurred, and colors bled into one another like spilled ink.

The Gryphon shook his head, blinking rapidly. "What—" His voice trailed off as his vision wavered. The walls of the chamber seemed to stretch and twist, the air shimmering with strange, shifting hues.

The Hatter hummed, swaying slightly as he adjusted his hat. "Not good at all…" He squinted at the Gryphon, who now appeared to have three wings instead of two. "…How long have you had an extra wing?"

The Gryphon groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh, Wonderland's teeth, I do not have an extra wing."

Absolem chuckled, his form flickering slightly in the haze, shifting between solid and transparent. "And sometimes, it is good to be scattered."

The Hatter tilted his head. "Scattered… like tea leaves?" His voice was oddly thoughtful as he wobbled on his feet.

Absolem twirled his long fingers through the drifting smoke. "Pieces lost, but pieces found. It is only when things break apart that they can be rebuilt into something new."

The Gryphon's vision swam, his surroundings shifting again—Were they floating? Was the ground even still there? He scowled, trying to focus. "And what exactly do you think is being rebuilt here?"

Absolem smiled, slow and cryptic. His body flickered again, his silhouette shifting into the shapes of Wonderland's landmarks—the Castle of Hearts, the Grand Clock, the Well of Wonders—before settling back into his usual form. His next words came soft, yet heavy with meaning.

"That depends. Do you intend to revive the past… or build something for the future?"

The haze thickened, swirling lazily around the Gryphon and the Hatter like a lullaby woven from smoke. Their heavy eyelids fluttered, their limbs growing slack as the world softened into a dream. The Gryphon, despite his usual stubbornness, felt his wings droop as the warmth of drowsiness overtook him. The Hatter let out a slow, sleepy chuckle, tilting his head back as if he were sinking into an unseen cushion.

"Sleepy… so very sleepy…" the Hatter mumbled, his voice drifting like a feather on the wind. "I suppose… a little nap won't hurt…"

The Gryphon tried to protest—he really did. But the effort was sluggish, his words coming out in a slurred mutter. "This better not be another one of your riddles, Absolem…"

Absolem merely watched as the two succumbed to the weight of slumber, his lips curling into a knowing smile. He let a final stream of blue smoke escape from his lips, watching as it settled gently over them like a misty veil.

"Don't worry, my friends," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of something far older than the moment itself. "I'll wake you up once your turn is up. But for now…" He leaned back, gazing beyond them, as though seeing something—or someone—far away. "…Let the others fulfill their part."

With that, he fell into silence, the only sound in the air being the quiet breathing of his slumbering guests and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the ever-present smoke.

The silence, however, did not last long. The swirling smoke in Absolem's abode shifted, curling unnaturally as if disturbed by an unseen force. Within the thick haze, a shadow stretched and twisted, forming the outline of a visitor stepping forward from the veil of mist.

Absolem remained calm, his many-eyed gaze settling upon the figure with an almost amused indifference. He exhaled another slow stream of smoke, the tendrils of vapor parting just enough to reveal his guest's face.

"Ah, Pierrot," Absolem mused in his slow, deliberate tone. "It's good to see you again."

A burst of laughter rang through the air—sharp, theatrical, and dripping with satisfaction. The Jester stepped fully into view, his painted smile stretching wide with delight. He gave an exaggerated bow, his bells jingling softly.

"I knew killing you wouldn't be that easy," Pierrot crooned, his voice rich with amusement. His sharp eyes flickered with interest as he tilted his head. "And oh, you've finally accepted that form. How quaint."

Absolem took another drag from his hookah before answering, his voice carrying the weight of time itself. "Wonderland is changing," he murmured. "And I ought to as well."

Pierrot's grin widened, his fingers twitching with excitement. "Oh, now that is interesting." His mismatched eyes gleamed in the shifting light. "Tell me, dear Absolem, what do you ought to accomplish in all of these?"

Before Absolem could respond, the air shifted.

From the swirling haze, thin strands of silk lashed out toward Pierrot, twisting through the smoke like living things. The movements were eerily precise, aiming to ensnare his limbs before he could react.

But Pierrot was quicker. With a sharp laugh, he twisted his body, slipping through the gaps with practiced ease. His bells jingled softly as he landed lightly on his feet, untouched.

"Oh? I didn't know you got yourself a company." he mused, eyes flicking toward the source of the attack.

From the far corner of Absolem's abode, a figure emerged—slowly, deliberately, like a shadow unraveling from the darkness. She was draped in layered silks, their frayed edges trailing behind her like whispers of forgotten tales. A thin veil concealed most of her face, but as Pierrot turned to her, the smoke shifted just enough to reveal her eyes.

They shimmered strangely, shifting with fluid colors, like oil spilled over water. They locked onto him—calculating, unreadable.

Pierrot straightened, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "You wound me." He let out a breathless chuckle. "If I had known I'd be walking into such hostility, I might have worn armor."

The woman did not respond immediately. Instead, the silks that had missed their mark curled back toward her, winding around her wrists like obedient serpents.

"You will not succeed this time, Pierrot," she finally spoke, her voice soft yet firm, carrying an undeniable weight. Her silks slithered against the ground as she lifted her hands. "For this time, I'll be your foe."

Pierrot's ever-present grin faltered—just for a heartbeat. Something in that voice sent a strange ripple through him, a feeling that clawed at the edges of his memory. It was familiar. Uncomfortably so.

But he had no time to dwell on it.

That fleeting moment of hesitation was all she needed. With a flick of her wrist, the silks snapped forward again, this time moving faster, sharper. They shot toward him like fangs of a striking serpent.

Pierrot barely had time to leap back, twisting his body to avoid the first lash. Another came from the side—he spun, his bells jingling as he barely dodged it.

Through the smoke-filled room, Absolem remained seated, completely unbothered. He took another slow drag from his hookah, exhaling a thick swirl of mist. His gaze followed the fight lazily, as if watching a passing cloud.

"Hmmm," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "So it begins."

The dim light in Absolem's abode shifted strangely around Pierrot, twisting like a living thing. His lips curled into a wicked grimace, his grin sharper than ever.

"Alright, I'll play."

And just like that—he vanished.

The lady barely had time to react. Her veil fluttered as her eyes darted around, scanning the shifting shadows. A chill ran down her spine—then instinct took over. With a sharp motion, she whipped her silks behind her.

Clang!

A dagger was caught mid-strike, its blade quivering against the tightly woven fabric.

Pierrot clicked his tongue, still partially obscured by the darkness. His fingers hovered where the weapon had been a second ago. "You're quick." His voice was amused, almost approving.

Then, just as swiftly, he disappeared again.

Pierrot emerged from the shadows like a phantom, his masked face inches from the lady's own. A dagger gleamed in his grasp, its tip just shy of her throat—halted only by the silks that had coiled around his wrist, pulling him back.

Yet, instead of frustration, the Jester let out a delighted giggle. "Columbine," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "Of course. That's why you felt so familiar."

The lady's eyes narrowed, her stance shifting as she sent another set of silks lashing toward him. But Pierrot was quicker than his manic persona let on. With a sharp breath, he let out a volley of darts from between his lips.

Columbine reacted instantly, retracting her silks to shield herself. The tiny projectiles embedded themselves into the fabric, their venomous tips barely missing her skin.

The Jester let out a mock sigh. "Now, now, my dear. If you're going to fight me, you really should keep your eyes on all my tricks."

And then—he disappeared once more.

Pierrot flickered back into existence right behind Absolem, his daggers flashing as they sought their mark. But the Caterpillar—no, the Butterfly—was quicker than he appeared. With a smooth, almost lazy motion, Absolem drifted aside, his wings unfolding just enough to carry him out of reach. The daggers sliced through empty space.

"Tsk, tsk," Absolem murmured as he exhaled a cloud of shimmering dust. The fine particles swirled around Pierrot, clinging to him like a silken web. The Jester staggered, blinking rapidly as the world blurred around him.

Columbine did not waste the opportunity. Her silks shot forward like striking vipers, wrapping around Pierrot's limbs, tightening, binding—

But the Jester only grinned through his haze. With a sharp inhale, he filled his lungs and then—whoosh—spat out a sudden burst of flame. The fire roared to life, licking hungrily at the silken threads. In an instant, they shriveled and burned away, the embers scattering like fireflies in the dimly lit chamber.

At the corner, the Gryphon and the Hatter remained blissfully unaware, their slumber undisturbed despite the chaos erupting around them.

Another set of silks lashed out toward Pierrot, striking like the fangs of a serpent. But with effortless precision, the Jester twirled his daggers, slicing through each one before they could reach him. The severed strands fluttered to the ground like torn ribbons.

He tilted his head, a slow smirk creeping across his painted lips. "I really ought to make sure people are actually dead before I leave them."

Columbine's silks recoiled back to her as she took a steady step forward, her gaze burning through the veil. "And you ought to make sure to choose your enemies wisely."

Pierrot let out a wicked cackle, twirling one of his daggers between his fingers. "Oh, but I already have. It's enough that I sided with the right faction." His grin widened. "And you? You're fighting a battle that was lost long ago."

His laughter abruptly cut off as a sudden plume of thick smoke blew toward him. His instincts kicked in, and he leaped back, flipping gracefully through the air before landing on the edge of a crooked table. He waved a hand to clear the haze, his grin returning as he narrowed his eyes at Absolem.

"Smart move," he mused, twirling a dagger between his fingers. "But unfortunately for you, I've known you far too well to fall for your tricks, old friend."

He hadn't even rested a bit when another flurry of silks lashed out at him, faster and more relentless than before. He twisted and contorted his body, dodging with ease at first—until, for the first time, one of the razor-sharp threads grazed his shoulder. A thin line of crimson bloomed against his colorful garb.

Pierrot's eyes widened momentarily before his grin stretched even wider, filled with dark amusement. He flicked the blood off his fingertips and chuckled.

"Ooh, your attacks are getting stronger, Columbine." His voice was laced with excitement. "Perhaps it's time I up my game as well."

With that, he flipped his dagger, and in a single swift motion, he bit down on the handle. His hands suddenly snapped into a series of rapid gestures—fingers twisting in a chaotic yet precise pattern, as if weaving an unseen spell into the air. The atmosphere around him began to distort, and the flickering shadows in Absolem's abode seemed to stretch unnaturally, swirling toward him like eager wraiths.

Columbine's silks darted toward him, but the moment they reached him, they slipped harmlessly through his form—nothing but an illusion. A second later, a sharp, ghostly whisper came from behind her.

"Slower than I remember, dear Columbine."

She spun just in time to see the glint of a dagger flashing toward her ribs. Her silks barely intercepted it in time, but the sheer force of the strike sent her skidding backward. Absolem, too, found himself struggling—the thick smoke he conjured was swallowed by Pierrot's darkness, dissipating before it could take effect.

For the first time in the battle, Columbine's stance faltered. Pierrot was winning.

But then, she exhaled slowly. A different kind of energy began to ripple from her—calmer, but undeniably potent.

She whispered something under her breath, and her silks began to change. They no longer moved as separate strands but wove together into something greater—an elegant, seamless tapestry that shimmered with an unnatural gleam.

A web.

Pierrot's next step faltered slightly as the floor beneath him shifted. The air around him was no longer empty—threads of silk, impossibly fine, had woven themselves into the very space he occupied. A single careless movement, and he'd find himself ensnared.

Columbine straightened, her eyes gleaming behind her veil.

"You aren't the only one who's evolved, Pierrot."

Pierrot clicked his tongue, eyes darting around the shimmering web of silks that had formed around him. His usual smirk remained, but there was a tension in his stance now. A single misstep, a single wrong move, and he would be caught.

"Clever girl," he mused, testing the strands with the edge of his dagger. The moment the blade touched them, the silks rippled—reacting, waiting to strike the instant he committed to an attack. "But I do so hate being caged."

He was about to make his move when another shift in the air caught his attention.

A deep hum vibrated through the room. The thick, lingering smoke that had once seemed ineffectual began to change, the haze swirling and twisting like a living thing. The air around Absolem shimmered, and then—

Fwump.

His wings that were delicate and iridescent things suddenly pulsed with strange patterns, ever-shifting, hypnotic in their beauty.

Pierrot took a step back without thinking.

A mistake.

The moment his foot shifted, Columbine's silks reacted. The web flexed, shifting toward him with a dangerous snap, forcing him to immediately twist his body to avoid getting entangled.

Absolem exhaled another plume of smoke—this time, it did not simply drift aimlessly. It coiled around Pierrot, thickening into something else. It blurred his vision, distorted his surroundings. Colors bled into one another, shapes stretched and twisted. The room no longer seemed real.

The Jester swayed slightly, blinking rapidly as if trying to focus.

"Ah… a mind trick, is it?" he muttered, his usual playful tone strained. "You always did enjoy toying with perception, Absolem."

Absolem's voice was calm, unhurried. "Wonderland is ever-changing, old friend." His wings beat once, sending another ripple through the illusion. "Perhaps it is you who has remained stagnant."

Columbine wasted no time capitalizing on the moment of disorientation. Her silks surged forward, weaving tighter, constricting the battlefield more and more.

Pierrot chuckled, but there was a sharp edge to it now.

"Well then." His grip on his dagger tightened. "Let's see who has truly gotten stagnant."

The moment Pierrot prepared to counter, a deep, hollow clang echoed through the chamber. A sharp, unnatural chill flooded the air.

Then—shrrkk!—Columbine's intricate web of silks was sliced apart in a single instant, the strands falling limp as if they had never been enchanted in the first place.

A figure loomed in the dissipating mist, tall and foreboding. The Headless Swordsman had arrived.

His voice resonated without a mouth, deep and commanding, echoing in the air around them.

"His Majesty requires all our presence."

Pierrot, who had been so animated just moments ago, clicked his tongue in mild disappointment. He twirled his dagger between his fingers before letting out a dramatic sigh.

"Oh, come on." He spread his arms in exasperation. "Can't you see I'm having fun here?"

Columbine tensed, her silks twitching as if ready to attack again, but something held her still. Absolem, despite his wings still spread, did not move either.

It wasn't hesitation.

It was force.

A crushing, unseen weight pressed upon them both—something suffocating, oppressive, and undeniable.

The Headless Swordsman did not turn, but his horse took a step forward, shifting its eerie gaze toward Absolem.

"The Seer is the least of our concerns right now." His voice reverberated through the chamber. "Our master requires us for something far more important."

For the first time since the battle began, Pierrot's expression grew more serious. He studied the Headless Swordsman for a beat, then—grinning—twirled his dagger once more before tucking it away.

"Well, when you put it that way…" He stretched theatrically, rolling his shoulders. "I suppose I shouldn't keep him waiting."

With a casual flick of his wrist, Pierrot snapped his fingers. A thick, black smoke erupted from beneath his feet, coiling up like living tendrils. The Headless Swordsman's horse let out a low, haunting snort as the same darkness coiled around him as well.

Then, in a single breath, they both vanished—consumed by the abyss.

As soon as they were gone, Columbine and Absolem gasped in unison, their bodies suddenly freed from the unseen force. Columbine clutched her chest, steadying her breath, while Absolem exhaled a long stream of smoke—this time, not out of leisure, but as if he had been choked and was only now able to breathe again.

For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for their labored breathing.

Absolem exhaled a long, curling stream of smoke, his wings fluttering slightly as he steadied himself. His many-lidded eyes, glimmering with deep contemplation, turned toward the two still-slumbering figures of the Hatter and the Gryphon.

With a dry chuckle, he murmured, "Oh, Champions of Wonderland…" He paused, drawing in another deep breath from his hookah before exhaling slowly. "You better make haste."

Columbine, still catching her breath, turned to him. "Shouldn't you wake them up?"

Absolem took a slow draw from his hookah, the embers within glowing faintly. "No," he said, his voice as steady as ever. "It's not their time yet."

Columbine's silks twitched slightly, but she did not argue.

Absolem exhaled another thick plume of smoke, watching it coil through the air before dissipating into nothingness. "For now, we patiently wait…" His many-lidded eyes gleamed as they turned toward the distant unknown.

"…until the others fulfill their tasks."