The Hatter wandered through a mist-laden woods, his boots crunching against the withered leaves below. The eerie quiet of Wonderland's outskirts pressed down on him, suffocating in its stillness. There were no tea parties here, no laughter, no nonsense. Just the distant echo of his own footsteps and the rhythmic beating of doubt hammering in his chest.
His hands trembled as he adjusted his crooked hat, tugging it lower over his eyes. "Brilliant, absolutely brilliant," he muttered to himself. "Run off with no plan, no clue, and barely a shred of sanity left. That's a new record, even for me."
But there was no turning back.
The White Rabbit, the March Hare, the Duchess—they were all chasing their own answers. He couldn't trust their way. No, he had to be the one to bring Alice back. He owed her that much.
But… how?
His fingers traced the rim of his hat, as if searching for an answer hidden in its seams. Nothing. Just fabric, time, and regret.
His emotions had carried him this far, but now, standing alone in the vast uncertainty of Wonderland, the weight of his decision pressed down like an iron teapot on his chest.
A cold wind swept through the trees, making the twisted branches groan like tired bones. Shadows flickered at the edge of his vision, dancing and shifting with every step he took.
"Oh, wonderful," he mumbled, adjusting his coat. "Now the trees are whispering. That's never a good sign."
He knew he had to keep moving, had to find something—anything—that could bring Alice back. But the path ahead twisted like an unfinished thought, leading nowhere and everywhere all at once.
And in the silence, an old, familiar voice echoed.
"Lost, are we?"
The Hatter froze.
From the shadows, two gleaming, crescent-shaped eyes opened. And then—a grin.
A most familiar grin.
—-
Back at her castle, the Queen of Hearts stood at the center of the battlefield, her crimson gown tattered at the edges, her once-impeccable curls damp with sweat and speckled with dirt. Around her, the sounds of clashing steel and the guttural cries of the undead filled the air, drowning out everything but the battle itself. The Red Army fought valiantly, but the tide was shifting—they were being overwhelmed.
Perched just beside her, floating as if the carnage below was of no real consequence, the Cheshire Cat watched with lazy amusement. His tail flicked rhythmically, his crescent grin ever present as he surveyed the battlefield like a casual observer at a chess match.
A Card Soldier was struck down near the Queen's feet, his body crumbling as the skeletal hand of an undead warrior clawed at him. The Queen's grip on her sword tightened as she raised it high, slashing through the abomination with practiced ease. "This is getting tiresome." She exhaled, flicking blood from the blade. "Where are those fools? If they do not come soon, I swear I shall—"
Then—a great horn sounded.
Not from her own forces.
From beyond the battlefield.
The Queen's narrowed eyes flicked toward the distant ridges, where figures moved against the moonlit sky. A new force was approaching—not the undead, but something else entirely. A new army. Reinforcements.
The Cheshire Cat's ears twitched. The perpetual smugness in his expression wavered for just a fraction of a second.
A strange sensation coursed through him—a tingle, an echo, a pull. Something was happening. Far from here.
Something important.
His grin faltered, just slightly, as he straightened, his gaze momentarily drifting from the battlefield. Ah. Now that's interesting.
The Queen of Hearts, catching his shift in demeanor, scowled. "Where do you think you're going?"
The Cheshire Cat gave a slow, exaggerated stretch, his body elongating unnaturally as he floated higher above the battlefield. "I do believe," he mused, "that I am needed elsewhere."
The Queen's voice sharpened. "If you vanish now, I swear, you insufferable creature, I will—"
Too late.
He was already gone.
A flicker of stripes. A shimmer in the air. And then—only his lingering laugh, drifting through the wind like a half-forgotten melody.
Tata.
—
The Hatter stiffened, his breath catching as the crescent grin grew wider in the darkness. Then, like ink bleeding into parchment, the Cheshire Cat materialized from the shadows, his striped form stretching lazily across a low-hanging branch. His luminous eyes flickered with mischief as his tail swayed, curling in lazy spirals.
The Hatter exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on his coat. "Oh, joy. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, here comes trouble with a tail."
The Cheshire Cat only chuckled, his body flickering in and out of visibility as he circled the Hatter like a lingering thought. "You wound me, old friend. Here I was, thinking you might be happy to see me."
"Happy?" The Hatter scoffed, adjusting his hat with a sharp tug. "Oh yes, absolutely thrilled, my dear feline. I simply adore being reminded how utterly lost I am."
The Cheshire Cat's grin widened. "Ah, but being lost is just another way of saying you have yet to be found." He twisted upside down midair, resting his head against an invisible surface as if lounging on a phantom chair.
The Hatter's scowl deepened. "I don't have time for riddles."
"No? But you always did love a good puzzle." The Cat's eyes gleamed. "And this one is particularly interesting. A Hatter, alone, in search of the impossible."
The Hatter's jaw clenched. "Alice isn't impossible."
For the first time, the Cat's grin dimmed, ever so slightly. He tilted his head, observing the Hatter with unreadable amusement. "Ah. You really do intend to bring her back, don't you?"
"I have to." The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. Raw, desperate.
The Cheshire Cat swayed, floating closer. "And how, pray tell, do you plan on doing that? It's not as if Wonderland is brimming with resurrection guides or 'bring back your best friend' potions."
The Hatter stayed silent. He didn't have an answer.
The Cat hummed. "No plan, no guide… just you, your hat, and a whole lot of desperation. I do love a hopeless cause."
"Then help me," the Hatter said, his voice sharper than intended. "If you know something—anything—then tell me!"
The Cheshire Cat's grin returned, full force, stretching unnaturally wide. "Ah, but that would be too easy. And you know I simply detest easy."
The Hatter's fists clenched. "Cheshire—"
The Cat suddenly vanished, his laugh echoing around the trees. Then, just as suddenly, his voice whispered in the Hatter's ear—soft, close, dangerous.
"But… if you truly wish to chase the impossible, I have a task for you."
The Hatter whirled around, but there was no one there.
Only the lingering sound of a fading purr.
And then another whisper—
"Save the Caterpillar. Then you'll save Alice."
The words left a bitter taste, a riddle with no clear answer—just like everything else in Wonderland.
His fists loosened as his thoughts whirled. The Caterpillar? The one who spent his days smoking and mumbling cryptic nonsense atop his mushroom throne? What did he have to do with Alice? And why does he need saving?
The mist curled around the trees, shifting in unnatural ways, as if waiting for him to move.
Then, finally—he did.
He turned on his heel, adjusting his tattered coat, his jaw set. He didn't know what kind of game the Cheshire Cat was playing, but he had no other lead. No other choice.
At least he knows where the Caterpillar's home is.
—-
The journey to the Caterpillar's last known resting place was not a straightforward one.
The Hatter stalked through the twisted forest, branches curling like skeletal fingers overhead. Shadows stretched in the wrong directions, the sky flickered between morning and dusk, and the path beneath his feet shifted when he wasn't looking.
He pressed forward. He had no time for Wonderland's nonsense.
Then—a noise.
A deep, rattling breath. Not his own.
The Hatter slowed. His fingers curled around the handle of the broken teacup tucked into his belt—his only weapon now that he'd abandoned everything else.
Another breath. Wet. Labored.
And then—a voice.
"Hatter...?"
He stiffened.
It was weak. Familiar.
The Hatter's breath hitched. He turned sharply, scanning the dim-lit forest, and there, sprawled among the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, lay a battered figure. Feathers matted, wings limp against the earth, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
The Gryphon.
The Hatter rushed forward, dropping to a knee beside him. "You great, feathery fool," he muttered, eyes flicking over the Gryphon's wounds. "What in Wonderland happened to you?"
The Gryphon groaned, half-opening one golden eye. "Came… looking for you."
The Hatter frowned. "For me?"
The Gryphon let out a weak chuckle, the sound barely a whisper. "I realized… you were being an idiot. Thought I'd knock some sense into you."
The Hatter huffed, but his chest felt tight. "And how did that work out for you?"
"Not… well." The Gryphon winced as he tried to shift his wings. "Haven't regained all my strength. Fainted mid-flight. Took a lovely nosedive." He gestured weakly to the broken branches above. "Tree caught me. Barely."
The Hatter exhaled sharply, his frustration warring with concern. "You could've died."
The Gryphon smirked, albeit weakly. "You did run off alone. Did you expect me to not follow?"
The Hatter opened his mouth to argue—but found no words. The Gryphon had always been stubborn. Loyal. Perhaps more than he deserved.
He let out a breath and straightened. "Can you move?"
The Gryphon grunted, attempting to lift himself. His talons dug into the dirt, wings trembling as he struggled to stand—but his strength failed, and he slumped back with a sharp inhale.
"…Not yet," he admitted through gritted teeth.
The Hatter rubbed his temples. "Brilliant."
He glanced at their surroundings, the towering mushrooms, the shifting shadows. This wasn't a place to linger. They needed to move before something else—something worse—found them.
The Hatter exhaled, raking a hand through his unruly hair. One thing at a time.
He couldn't go chasing riddles when the Gryphon lay barely clinging to consciousness. Saving the Caterpillar could wait.
Right now, he needed to find shelter.
His sharp eyes darted through the gloom, scanning for anything that resembled a safe haven. The towering mushrooms cast eerie shadows, their caps wide enough to act as cover—but too exposed. The gnarled roots of ancient trees twisted into hollowed spaces, but most were too small for the Gryphon's frame.
Then—there.
A little further into the underbrush, nestled between two enormous mushrooms, a crooked burrow yawned at the base of a knotted tree. The entrance was just large enough to fit the Gryphon if he crouched. The Hatter's gaze flickered toward the faint glow of luminescent fungi inside.
It would have to do.
"Come on," the Hatter muttered, moving to the Gryphon's side. "We need to get you under cover before something nastier than you comes prowling through."
The Gryphon let out a weak, breathy chuckle. "Bold of you… to assume I'm nasty."
The Hatter looped an arm under the Gryphon's, bracing himself as he tried to lift the feathery brute. The Gryphon gritted his beak, muscles tensing in protest, but he pushed forward. Step by grueling step, they made their way to the burrow.
By the time they stumbled inside, the Gryphon was panting, his wings trembling from exertion. He slumped against the cool earthen wall, eyes half-lidded.
The Hatter straightened, dusting off his coat, then crouched beside him. "Stay put."
The Gryphon smirked tiredly. "Not going anywhere."
The Hatter huffed but didn't argue. His mind was already racing—supplies, water, something to ease the Gryphon's pain.
He rose, casting a wary glance toward the burrow's entrance. The woods beyond loomed, dark and shifting.
One thing at a time.
With a final glance at his wounded friend, the Hatter adjusted his hat and stepped back into the wilds of Wonderland.
—-
The Hatter returned not long after, his coat heavier than before, his arms laden with an assortment of strange herbs, fungi, and peculiar objects he had gathered from the forest. He unceremoniously dropped them onto the burrow's dirt floor before brushing off his hands with a satisfied huff.
The Gryphon cracked one eye open. "That's… quite the haul."
"Had to make do with what I found," the Hatter replied, already fishing inside his coat. One by one, he pulled out an array of odd tools: a mortar and pestle, a small glass beaker, a silver spoon, a set of delicate tongs, and even a tiny glass vial that sloshed with something unnervingly green.
The Gryphon eyed the setup warily. "You sure you know what you're doing?"
The Hatter scoffed, rolling up his sleeves. "Of course not."
With practiced ease, he began crushing leaves and dried petals in the mortar, his hands working with the speed of someone who had done this far too many times. The beaker sat beside him, ready to hold whatever concoction he planned to brew.
He picked up a glowing blue mushroom, tapped it twice against his sleeve to shake off the excess spores, then carefully shaved a bit of its cap into the mix. Next, he pulled out a thorny root, snapped it in half, and let a few drops of its sap dribble into the beaker.
The Gryphon shifted slightly. "That better not be poison."
The Hatter waved him off. "Oh, don't be dramatic. Poison doesn't glow like this. Well… most of the time." He hesitated for half a second, then shrugged and kept stirring.
As the mixture thickened, he grabbed a small metal flask from his coat and poured in a dark, syrupy liquid. The scent of bitter herbs and something faintly sweet filled the burrow.
He held up the beaker, tilting it in the dim light. "There. Should help with the pain and keep your insides from turning into Wonderland mush."
The Gryphon groaned. "Comforting."
The Hatter smirked, giving the mixture one last stir. Then, without further warning, he pressed the beaker into the Gryphon's talons.
"Drink up."
The Gryphon stared at the beaker in his talons, his beak twisting slightly in distaste. He sniffed it once, then sighed. "If I die drinking this, I'm haunting you."
The Hatter grinned. "Fair trade."
With another sigh, the Gryphon finally tilted the beaker back, downing the concoction in a few gulps. He winced as the taste hit—bitter, slightly metallic, with a strange aftertaste that tingled on his tongue. "Ugh. That's foul."
The Hatter shrugged, gathering his tools back into his coat. "Good medicine usually is."
Silence settled between them for a moment as the Gryphon wiped his beak with the back of his talon. Then, after shifting slightly to test his strength, he exhaled. "So," he began, flexing his claws, "where exactly are you going, anyway?"
The Hatter dusted off his coat. "Off to save the Caterpillar."
The Gryphon blinked. "The Caterpillar needs saving? From what?" His brows furrowed. "And I thought you were trying to find a way to revive Alice?"
The Hatter twirled a spoon between his fingers. "Beats me. And yes, I'm still off to revive Alice. But the Cheshire said, 'Save the Caterpillar, then you'll save Alice.'"
The Gryphon scoffed, shifting his weight onto his elbows. "The Cheshire Cat? And you believed him?"
The Hatter let out a dry laugh. "As if I have any other choice." He tucked the spoon away and adjusted his coat. "Besides, I can always ask the Caterpillar what he knows—after I save him from whatever it is that he needs saving from."
The Gryphon stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a talon over his face. "You've got a point. Annoyingly so."
He rolled his shoulders and tested his wings, wincing slightly but feeling strength returning. "Guess I'm coming with you, then."
The Hatter smirked, adjusting his hat. "Figured as much. Would've been a lonely trip without you."
The Gryphon scoffed but couldn't hide the faintest twitch of amusement in his expression. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make me drink anything else."
The Hatter gestured dramatically. "No promises."
With a grunt, the Gryphon pushed himself up, still shaky but far better than before. He stretched his wings, testing their range, and though they ached, he was confident he could manage a flight if needed.
"So," the Gryphon said, rolling his shoulders, "where exactly is the Caterpillar?"
The Hatter spun on his heel, pointing vaguely into the thick mist beyond the towering mushrooms. "Somewhere that way."
The Gryphon deadpanned. "Fantastic. You have no idea where we're going."
"None at all." The Hatter grinned. "Exciting, isn't it?"
The Gryphon muttered something under his breath but motioned for the Hatter to lead the way. With no other choice but to trust the maddened logic of his companion, he fell into step beside him as they ventured deeper into the strange, shifting landscape of the Mushroom Glade.
Unbeknownst to them, in the shadows of the towering fungi, something stirred. Something watching.
And waiting.