The forest thickened as the Hatter and the Gryphon pressed forward, the gnarled trees twisting in unnatural angles, their branches curling like skeletal fingers. Strange spores floated in the air, glowing faintly before vanishing into nothingness. The ground beneath them felt softer than it should—like walking on the remnants of forgotten dreams.

The Hatter adjusted his hat, glancing around with wary eyes. The deeper they ventured, the more reality seemed to bend. Shapes danced at the edge of his vision, figures half-formed and whispering nonsense before vanishing when he tried to focus on them. The Gryphon, despite his usual bravado, kept his wings tucked close, his talons digging slightly into the soil with each step.

Then they saw it.

Suspended between two towering trees, wrapped in thick layers of shimmering silk, was a massive cocoon. The surface pulsed faintly, as though breathing, and strange symbols glowed across it—letters shifting, reforming, never settling into words. The whole thing hummed with an energy neither of them could place.

The Hatter stopped, tilting his head. "Well. That's unsettling."

The Gryphon let out a low whistle. "So… this is saving the Caterpillar?"

The Hatter sighed, rubbing his temples. "I was expecting something a bit more… dramatic. A villain, a cursed tower, maybe a cage—" He gestured vaguely at the glowing cocoon. "Not this."

Then, a new voice slithered through the clearing, smooth as silk. "Names are fragile things, you know."

They turned sharply.

At the edge of the clearing stood a woman draped in layers of dark, tattered silk. A thin veil obscured most of her face, but her eyes burned with shifting colors, like ink swirling in water. She moved with effortless grace, one hand delicately lifting as she gestured toward the cocoon.

"The Caterpillar cannot wake," she said, voice calm yet heavy with unspoken weight, "because his name has been stolen."

The Gryphon scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Who steals a name?"

The woman's lips curled behind the veil. "Oh, many things steal names. Time. Silence. Forgetfulness. But this one? This one was taken deliberately."

The Hatter adjusted his coat, stepping forward. "By who?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Not who. What. The Dreaming Fog."

A chill ran through the clearing. The trees seemed to breathe, their branches shifting as though listening.

"The Caterpillar's true name is lost within it," the woman continued, "and until it is spoken again, he will remain in this state—neither awake nor asleep."

The Gryphon folded his arms. "And let me guess… we have to go in there and get it back."

The woman let out a soft, knowing laugh. "That is the only way."

With a slow movement, she gestured behind her. The trees bent and twisted unnaturally, forming an archway that hadn't been there moments before. Thick mist coiled like living tendrils, shifting with whispers too faint to understand.

The Hatter exhaled, shaking his head. "Of course. Of course, it's never simple."

The Gryphon muttered, "I hate this already."

The Hatter smirked, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder. "Then you're in for a terrible time."

And together, they stepped into the Dreaming Fog.

The forest vanished behind them, swallowed whole by thick mist. There was no ground beneath their feet, yet they did not fall. The air smelled of old parchment, ink, and something faintly metallic, like forgotten blood on a rusted blade.

Shapes moved within the mist—tall, spindly figures, shifting as though carved from smoke and bone. Their faces were obscured, blurred like unfinished paintings, and their elongated fingers trailed through the air, leaving ripples in the fabric of reality.

The Hatter pulled his coat tighter around him, tilting his hat forward. "Charming place. Lovely decor. I especially like the looming dread in the air."

The Gryphon flicked his tail. "Yeah, real cozy."

Then, a voice, cold and layered, as though spoken by many mouths at once:

"You tread upon the land of the Forgotten."

One of the figures drifted forward. Its presence alone felt heavy, pulling at their very thoughts.

"You seek a name that is no longer yours to claim."

The Hatter smirked, stepping forward. "Not mine, no. But I'm rather attached to the fellow who owns it. So, I'd very much like to have it back."

The figures shifted, murmuring among themselves in a language that sounded like pages turning and ink spilling.

"Names are not freely given."

The Gryphon exhaled sharply. "Right. Of course, there's a catch."

The lead figure tilted its head unnaturally. "The Name is bound by a cost."

The Hatter tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he took a step forward. "Why did you steal the Caterpillar's name, anyway?" His tone was light, almost careless, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath it.

The lead figure barely moved, its shifting form undisturbed. "We did not steal it," it replied, its voice like the whisper of turning pages. "It was the price for saving his life."

The Gryphon scoffed, his wings twitching. "Saving his life? That's rich."

The figures murmured amongst themselves again, their voices overlapping in an eerie, ink-stained chorus. Finally, the lead figure spoke once more. "He was supposed to die—swallowed by darkness, consumed entirely. We severed him from the abyss and anchored him here. His name was the cost."

The Hatter exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against his sleeve. "And did he agree to that price?"

A pause. The shifting shadows stilled. "Does that matter?" the figure asked, tilting its head. "He is alive, is he not?"

The Gryphon's tail flicked, his feathers bristling. "Yeah, barely."

The Hatter let out a soft chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "Funny thing about life. Without a name, is it really his anymore?"

Something in the air changed. The parchment atop the pedestal trembled slightly, and for the first time, the figures hesitated.

The lead figure finally spoke, its tone unreadable. "That is not for us to decide."

The Hatter grinned, tipping his hat forward. "Good. Because we'll be making that decision ourselves."

The air between them was thick with unseen tension, the weight of unspoken rules pressing in from all sides. But the Hatter stood firm, hands in his coat pockets, staring down the faceless beings.

"Now then," he said, voice light but unwavering. "How do we take his name back?"

The lead figure tilted its head, its form rippling like ink disturbed on parchment. "His name was taken in exchange for his life. To reclaim it, the cost must be the same—one life for another."

The Gryphon's feathers bristled. "Of course, it is," he muttered under his breath.

But the figure wasn't finished. It raised a shadowed hand, fingers like curling wisps of smoke. "However… we do not take life outright. That would be far too simple."

The murmuring of the other figures grew louder, an eerie symphony of rustling pages and dripping ink. "Instead, we offer a wager. A game. Win, and the Caterpillar's name is yours to return. Lose, and the price shall be claimed from you."

The Hatter rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as if shaking off the weight of their words. "A game, you say?" His lips curved into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I do love a good gamble."

The lead figure leaned forward, though it had no face to smirk, no eyes to gleam with amusement. And yet, there was something in its presence that carried the weight of a knowing smile.

"So then… what do you say?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. The Gryphon cast a wary glance at the Hatter, but he already knew the answer before the words even left his lips.

The Hatter tipped his hat forward, his grin sharpening. "Deal me in."

The Gryphon's wings flared in alarm. "Hatter, wait—do you even hear yourself?" He took a step forward, his talons scraping against the shifting ground. "They just said the price is your life. If you lose, you—"

"Then I won't lose." The Hatter's voice was light, almost playful, but there was something underneath—something steely, something desperate. He turned to the Gryphon, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the Keepers' domain. "If this is the only way to save Alice, then I'd gamble even my madness for it."

The Gryphon exhaled sharply, his claws curling against the stone. "That's not comforting."

The Hatter's grin widened. "Good. It wasn't meant to be."

The lead figure let out a sound—something between a chuckle and a sigh, like the whisper of an old book being closed. "Spoken like true gentleman. Very well… The game shall begin."

The shadows around them stirred, shifting, rising. The Keepers of Lost Names moved as one, forming a silent circle. The air turned heavy, thick with the weight of something ancient, something binding.

The Hatter adjusted his hat, giving the Gryphon one last look. "Don't worry, old bird. I've played worse hands."

The Gryphon muttered under his breath. "Yeah, and lost plenty of them too."

The Hatter just laughed. "All the more reason to win this one."

And then, the Keepers' world shifted.

The ground beneath them rippled like ink spreading over parchment, warping into something new, something unreal. The air grew thick with the scent of old paper and forgotten things, and in an instant, the Hatter and the Gryphon were no longer standing in the Keepers' chamber.

They were on a chessboard.

Massive, stretching endlessly in every direction, the squares gleamed in stark black and white, shifting underfoot like liquid stone. Pieces loomed around them—some towering like monoliths, others half-sunken into the board like they had tried to escape and failed. The sky above was an endless void, a swirling expanse of deep violet and whispering shadows.

The lead Keeper's voice drifted toward them, hollow and distant.

"I believe you know how this one is played. So I guess I'd only need to remind you to move wisely, play well."

Another voice—softer, laced with something almost amused—followed.

"Or be swallowed by the board."

The Gryphon's feathers bristled. "Hatter, I swear if this is some twisted version of croquet—"

The Hatter twirled his hat between his fingers, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Now, now. Chess is a much classier game." He glanced at the pieces. "Though I do wonder… are we the players? Or the pieces?"

Before the Gryphon could respond, unseen forces yanked him backward, dragging him off the chessboard. He roared in protest, his claws scraping against the tiles as he fought to resist, but it was no use. The invisible pull was absolute.

"Hatter!" he bellowed as he was flung beyond the edge of the board.

The Hatter turned just in time to see the Gryphon vanish into the dark void beyond, his form swallowed by shadow. A moment later, a balcony materialized in the distance, suspended in the air with no visible support. The Gryphon reappeared there, standing behind an elaborate railing.

He was a spectator now.

The lead Keeper's voice slithered through the space. "Only you, the bettor, may play."

The Hatter adjusted his hat, unfazed. "Figures. You lot never did appreciate a good audience, did you?"

The chessboard rumbled beneath him, cracks forming as the first opponent emerged—a towering, armored knight, its form shifting between solid and smoke. It raised a jagged sword, hollow eyes locking onto him.

The Hatter sighed dramatically and reached into his coat. "A bit predictable, but I suppose I'll play along."

With a flick of his wrist, he produced a small glass vial filled with a swirling blue liquid. He popped the cork with his teeth and downed it in one gulp.

The effect was immediate.

The world lurched as the Hatter shot upward, his body stretching and growing until he loomed nearly as tall as the knight itself. His fingers flexed, his strength amplified, his every movement heavy with newfound power.

The knight lunged.

The Hatter grinned, sidestepping with ease, his now-massive hands seizing the knight's sword mid-swing. With a twist, he wrenched it from the creature's grasp and brought his foot down hard, shattering the blade like brittle glass.

"Oh, dear," he mused, rubbing his chin. "Looks like someone's not quite up to size."

The knight staggered back, its form flickering, but the Hatter was already reaching for another vial. This one shimmered a toxic green. He uncorked it and flung the contents directly at the knight's chest.

The moment the liquid made contact, the knight convulsed violently. Its armor began to warp and shrink, its limbs trembling as it collapsed in on itself—growing smaller and smaller until it was no more than the size of a teacup.

The Hatter crouched down, plucking the now-miniature knight between two fingers. "Much better."

He flicked it off the board.

A slow, rhythmic clapping echoed from the far end.

The lead Keeper had appeared on an impossibly tall throne that had not been there before. "Clever. But the game is far from over."

With a wave of its elongated fingers, the chessboard trembled again. More figures emerged from the void—pawns forming neat rows, bishops gliding into place, rooks standing like sentinels. And at the center, a queen loomed, her form shifting with eerie grace.

The Hatter smirked, pulling a handful of vials from his coat, their liquids swirling with impossible colors.

"Well then," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Let's mix things up, shall we?"

A line of pawns advanced toward him—slow, predictable, each moving in perfect synchronization. The Hatter simply took another swig from a purple-tinted vial, his form shimmering before he split into three identical copies of himself.

"Oh, delightful," he mused, twirling a cane that hadn't been there a moment before. "A game of numbers."

His duplicates each produced their own concoctions, tossing vials into the air. One shattered above the board, releasing a cloud of thick pink smoke. The pawns staggered as their movements became sluggish, their rigid formations unraveling. Another copy of the Hatter took a sip of a golden liquid, his body flickering between the spaces like a chess piece being moved by unseen hands.

With a few well-placed strikes—one with a cane, another with a well-thrown flask—the pawns crumbled to nothing.

The Gryphon watched from the balcony, his claws gripping the railing. "This is a joke," he muttered. "They're just testing him."

The Keepers, seated in their impossible throne, merely observed.

The next wave arrived—a pair of bishops that moved unnaturally, gliding in zigzags across the board. Their robes fluttered as they raised their staffs, releasing bursts of sickly green energy that crackled with dark magic.

The Hatter barely dodged in time, flipping backward and rolling into a crouch. A flick of his wrist produced another vial—this one filled with shimmering silver liquid.

Down the hatch.

Immediately, his form blurred, his body moving faster than the eye could track. The bishops cast another volley of magic, but he was already behind them. With a casual flick of his fingers, he tossed two small bottles at their backs.

The moment they made contact, the liquid inside erupted into chains of glowing vines, wrapping around the bishops like a snare. The magic in their hands fizzled. Their bodies stiffened, then shattered into glimmering dust.

"Well, that was fun," the Hatter hummed, adjusting his hat.

But the board kept shifting.

More pieces emerged—rooks that stomped the ground and sent shockwaves rippling toward him, knights that moved impossibly fast, slashing at him with curved blades. The game was escalating.

Still, he fought on.

He used a vial that granted him weightlessness, allowing him to leap over the rooks' tremors. Another one let him stretch his limbs like rubber, catching a knight mid-charge and tossing it aside like a ragdoll. Every challenge had a solution, and the Hatter had no shortage of tricks up his sleeve.

But then—the queen arrived.

She was different from the others. Taller, wrapped in a gown made of shifting ink and mirrored glass. Her face was blank, yet somehow her presence was suffocating.

The moment she raised her hand, the air itself seemed to grow heavier.

The Hatter tried to move—tried to reach for another vial—but he was too slow. A sharp force slammed into him, sending him skidding across the board.

His duplicates vanished instantly.

For the first time, he felt real pain.

His hat tumbled off his head as he struggled to push himself up, coughing. His fingers fumbled for another potion, but the queen was already advancing.

The Gryphon leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Hatter—"

The queen's hand lifted again.

The board cracked apart, and shadowy tendrils surged forward, wrapping around the Hatter's arms and legs. His body went rigid. His magic vials clattered to the ground, rolling uselessly across the broken tiles.

The lead Keeper chuckled from its throne. "Now then, let's see how you deal with this one."

The Hatter let out a shaky breath, staring up at the faceless queen looming over him.

He thrashed against the tendrils, but they only tightened, slithering up his arms, coiling around his chest. A cold seeped into his bones, leeching something from him—his strength, his thoughts, perhaps even the very essence of his existence. His body felt heavier, slower. His breath hitched.

No.

He couldn't lose. Not here.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move, twisting, shifting, straining against his bindings. He reached desperately for his coat—his tools, his concoctions—but the tendrils pinned his arm before he could slip a vial free.

"Ah, struggling already?" The lead Keeper's voice oozed amusement. "But you were doing so well."

The Gryphon snarled from above. "Hatter! Do something!"

The Hatter let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, grand advice! Hadn't thought of that one!"

His fingers twitched. He could still feel the lining of his coat against his fingertips, the familiar shape of something small—his emergency vial, tucked away in a hidden pocket.

If only he could reach it.

The queen moved forward, her form flickering like a distorted reflection in a shattered mirror. In her hands, a jagged blade took shape—formed from the very darkness that bound him.

The tendrils pulled him down further, his knees buckling against the warped chessboard. He fought harder, muscles burning, heart hammering against his ribs. He had never felt this helpless before. His mind, usually a whirlwind of ideas, potions, and solutions, was starting to slip into foggy panic.

The queen raised her blade.

No.

His mind screamed at him, demanded he move. But his body wouldn't listen.

He forced his fingers to curl, his muscles to tense, his thoughts to sharpen. His madness had gotten him out of worse—hadn't it?

The queen struck.

In one desperate motion, the Hatter wrenched his body sideways, the blade missing him by inches. He twisted his arm with everything he had left, just enough to rip open the secret seam in his coat.

A small, glass vial tumbled into his palm.

His fingers clamped around it, just as the shadows yanked him back down.

The queen's blade descended once more—

And the Hatter bit the cork off with his teeth, swallowing the potion in one go.

Heat erupted through his veins. A jolt of power unlike anything he had ever felt.

The shadows faltered.

His eyes snapped open—wild, alight with something untamed.

His laughter rang out, sharp and erratic, tinged with delirium. His body felt weightless, his thoughts racing too fast to catch. The tendrils struggled to hold onto something that refused to be grasped. His limbs twitched, jerking as if pulled by unseen strings.

The queen staggered back, her form flickering uncertainly.

The lead Keeper leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh… now this is interesting."

The Hatter grinned, wide and unhinged, as he wrenched himself free from the last of the tendrils.

He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly, yet perfectly balanced in his own unnatural way. He raised his arms, two more vials slipping into his hands—one filled with a shimmering blue liquid, the other an ominous green.

His grin stretched wider.

"Alright then," he purred, tilting his head. His fingers twitched over the vials, ready to unleash whatever chaos came next.

"Let's play."