The Castle of Hearts was least for its original master, the Queen of Hearts, who now stood in a dimly lit hall inside the Duchess' hideout. The air reeked of spices and old wood, an undeniable mockery of the grand halls she once ruled. This was her reality now.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

Her subjects shuffled inside—silent, weary, broken. The few who remained of her once-mighty kingdom cast uneasy glances at the twisted architecture, the slanted walls, the too-narrow corridors.

The irony was suffocating.

She, the terror of Wonderland, now reduced to seeking shelter in the home of an old rival.

The White Queen placed a gentle hand on her sister's shoulder. "At least we are safe."

The Queen of Hearts let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Safe?" She turned on her heel, eyes flashing. "We're forced to retreat to this stupid bunker, and you're saying we are safe?"

The White Queen did not answer. She simply stood, watching her sister's pride crumble in silence.

A low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

The Queen of Hearts exhaled sharply, then strode further into the hideout. She would endure this disgrace.

The Cook, wiping her hands on a stained apron, barely spared them a glance as she led them deeper into the hideout. Her perpetual scowl deepened as she surveyed their guests..

"Hmph. Buncha displaced royals, eh?" She snorted. "Well, don't go expecting no silver platters 'round here."

The Queen of Hearts bristled at the tone, but bit her tongue. For now.

The Cook jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Kitchen's that way. You want food, you either eat what's made or you don't eat at all." A heavy iron pot clattered onto the counter behind her as if to emphasize her point. "I don't take requests."

She turned sharply and pointed toward a narrow hallway. "That there's the makeshift latrine. Ain't no royal baths, but it'll do if you don't mind the smell." She cackled, clearly enjoying the Queen's barely contained outrage.

"As for sleepin' quarters, you lot can take the backroom." She gestured toward a dimly lit corridor. "It ain't no palace chamber, but at least it's dry. Got some mats, some blankets. Better than the ground, eh?"

The Queen of Hearts clenched her fists, her face a storm of barely contained fury.

The White Queen, however, only smiled gracefully. "Thank you for your hospitality."

The Cook scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." She turned away, already muttering under her breath as she disappeared into one of the rooms.

.The Queen of Hearts exhaled sharply, then turned to her people. "Rest, eat—do whatever you must. But don't get comfortable." Her gaze darkened. "This is only temporary."

Her subjects nodded solemnly, shuffling toward their designated spaces, the weight of their loss pressing upon them.

The Talking Rose swayed gently, her petals trembling as if choosing the right words.

"I do apologize for the Cook's behavior," she murmured, her voice soft yet tinged with guilt. "She means well. She just… isn't the best at showing it."

The Queen of Hearts scoffed, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Tch. Could have fooled me."

The White Queen tilted her head, watching the Talking Rose with quiet amusement. "She has always been this way, hasn't she?"

The Rose sighed, her leaves drooping slightly. "She has… rough edges. But her heart is in the right place. This hideout, the food, the blankets—whether she grumbles or not, she still provides."

The Queen of Hearts clicked her tongue but said nothing.

The Talking Rose hesitated before adding, "And… to be fair, she isn't wrong."

The Queen's glare snapped back to her. "Excuse me?"

The Rose stood firm. "You are outsiders here. Enemies, even, not long ago. This isn't a castle, and she isn't your servant. She fought to protect this place, just as you fought to protect yours."

The room fell into silence.

The Queen of Hearts clenched her jaw, but deep down, she knew the Talking Rose was right.

After a long pause, she let out a sharp exhale. "Fine. I don't like it, but I suppose we'll have to endure it. For now."

The Talking Rose gave a small, knowing nod. "That's all anyone can ask."

The White Queen let out a gentle smile, her gaze sweeping over the room, settling on each uneasy face.

"We are allies now," she said softly but firmly. "Let bygones be bygones."

Her voice carried a warmth that contrasted the heavy weight of their circumstances. She turned to her sister, her eyes unwavering. "We all fought for something dear to us, and we all lost something in return. But we are not enemies. Not anymore."

The Queen of Hearts huffed, looking away as if refusing to acknowledge the truth in those words.

The White Queen continued, stepping forward. "What matters now is that we unite for a common cause. Gorlois is still out there, and he will not stop until all of Wonderland is his."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

"But before we think of battle strategies and vengeance, we must first think of each other." Her expression softened. "If we are to stand a chance, we must learn to get along. To trust one another. For the sake of Wonderland."

Silence hung between them.

The Queen of Hearts tapped her fingers against her arm, deep in thought. She loathed being told what to do—especially when it was the White Queen doing the telling—but…

She was right.

With a sharp sigh, she turned her gaze toward the others. "Fine." She waved a hand. "I won't cause trouble. But if anyone gets in my way, I make no promises."

The White Queen chuckled, "That's good enough for now."

Meanwhile, in the corner of the hideout, the General of Hearts stood with arms crossed, his jaw tight. His gaze flickered toward the gathered survivors—wounded, weary, yet holding onto hope. But his own heart felt restless, uneasy.

Beside him, the White Knight adjusted his gauntlets.

The General exhaled sharply. "I don't like this."

The White Knight glanced at him. "What part?"

"All of it." The General's fingers curled into fists. "The Jester had us at his mercy back at the castle. He could have finished us all. But he didn't."

A shadow crossed the White Knight's face. He had thought the same thing.

"Why did he let us escape?" The General's voice was low, edged with suspicion. "What is their real plan in all of this?"

The White Knight turned his gaze to the entrance of the hideout, where the White Queen and Queen of Hearts were still conversing with their people.

"For now, we need to stay sharp…," he said finally, his eyes still fixed on the others, "...and get stronger. We can't have them toying with us like this."

The General of Hearts remained silent at first, his eyes dark and thoughtful. Stronger. The word echoed in his mind. He had strength, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

His fingers curled unconsciously. If only he could master it.

The power within him—the beast that lurked just beneath his skin—had always been a double-edged sword. Uncontrolled, it was a danger to himself and everyone around him. But if he could truly harness it…

He could protect them.

He could make sure they would never be toyed with again.

The White Knight studied his silence but didn't press. Instead, he continued, his voice steady. "We may have lost our home… but not our will to fight."

That pulled the General out of his thoughts. His eyes lifted, sharp and resolute.

"You're right." His voice carried conviction. "From this day on, I swear—I'll be the one to protect us. Even if it costs me my life."

With that, he stood, his movements purposeful, his resolve set in stone.

The White Knight watched him but didn't stop him. He knew when a man needed his space.

Instead, as the General of Hearts strode away, the White Knight turned back to the others, tending to their wounded and providing encouragement.

In another corner of the hideout, an unusual quietness filled the air as the Walrus, the Carpenter, the Lion, the Flamingo, and the Tweedle Twins sat together, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on them like an invisible force.

The Lion shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat. "Flamingo… are you alright?"

The others turned their gazes toward her.

The Flamingo was quiet, her bright feathers seeming duller than usual. She stared at the ground, her beak trembling as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Then, without warning, she broke.

Tears welled up in her eyes before spilling down her face, her sobs shaking her small frame. "I… I still miss him." Her voice cracked, her grief raw and unfiltered.

The Mock Turtle.

The name didn't have to be spoken aloud. They all knew.

The Carpenter let out a slow sigh, lowering his head. "We all do." His voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual gruffness. "But we've got to let go. Not forget—never forget—but we can't let his sacrifice be for nothing."

The Tweedle Twins sat unusually still, their usual antics absent. Even the Walrus, who often drowned his sorrow in jokes and distractions, only nodded solemnly.

The Carpenter looked at each of them, his grip tightening into fists. "We need to keep fighting. For him. For everyone we've lost."

The Flamingo sniffled, wiping her eyes with her wing. Her voice was still shaky, but there was a flicker of determination beneath the sadness.

"For him."

The others nodded in agreement.

Inside one of the hideout's rooms, the Mouse stood on a makeshift platform—a stack of overturned crates—and cleared his throat dramatically.

"Ahem! My dear friends, in times of great hardship, it is words that ignite the flames of perseverance in our weary hearts! And so, I say to you—"

Before he could go any further, the Eaglet let out an exasperated sigh and cut him off. "Not now, Mouse."

The Mouse blinked, clearly taken aback. "But—"

The Eaglet shook his head. His voice wasn't sharp, but there was a tiredness to it. "Can't you read the room?"

The Duck, the Dodo, and the Lory sat nearby, silent, their expressions heavy with exhaustion and loss. Even the usual bickering between the Duck and the Lory had ceased.

The Mouse hesitated, his tiny hands gripping the edge of his coat. He had meant well—he always did—but looking around, he finally saw it. The weariness in their eyes, the slump in their shoulders, the way the weight of everything pressed down on them like an unseen burden.

Slowly, he stepped down from the crates, sighing. "Alright. Maybe later."

The Eaglet gave him a small nod before settling back down, saying nothing more.

"I thought we'd finally get to stay in the castle," the Duck suddenly said. "But now we're back here."

The Dodo let out a slow sigh, shifting his weight as he sat on the cold floor. "So did I."

The Lory ruffled his feathers, frowning. "All that effort, all that fighting… and for what?"

The Eaglet stared at the dim ceiling, his sharp eyes narrowing. "For survival." His voice was firm but low. "For the chance to fight another day."

The Duck let out a bitter chuckle. "Some chance. The Jester played us like fools." He dipped his beak, glancing toward the others. "What if next time, we don't get another day?"

A heavy silence settled again.

The Mouse—who had remained uncharacteristically quiet—finally spoke up. His voice lacked its usual dramatic flair, now carrying only sincerity.

"Then we make sure there is a next time."

The others turned toward him, waiting for him to elaborate.

The Mouse straightened his coat, eyes glinting with determination. "We may have lost a castle, but we haven't lost each other. And as long as we stand together, there's still a fight left to win."

The Eaglet gave a slow nod. The Dodo rubbed his beak, considering. The Lory sighed but didn't argue.

The Duck was the last to respond. He let out a long exhale, staring at the ground. Then, finally, he muttered: "Yeah. I guess you're right."

Meanwhile, the Queen of Hearts stormed into the dimly lit makeshift room, throwing herself onto the creaky wooden bench, which she seemed to have treated as her throne. She crossed her arms, her face twisted in frustration.

"Ugh! This place is a disgrace! The walls are uneven, the air is damp, and do you smell that? It's like... burnt bread and despair!" she grumbled, waving her hand dramatically in front of her nose. "How does that wretched Cook live like this?!"

She didn't stop there.

"And the beds—if you can even call them that! Straw and cloth? Hah! I might as well sleep on the floor. And don't get me started on the lighting—does no one in this forsaken hideout believe in proper chandeliers?!"

As the Queen of Hearts continued her tirade, the White Queen simply listened, an unreadable expression on her face. Without a word, she lifted a delicate hand, subtly motioning to her assistants and the Queen of Hearts' Card Guards. They exchanged quick glances before quietly bowing and slipping out of the room, leaving the two queens alone.

The White Queen watched in silence until the last of the attendants and Card Guards had slipped away, leaving only the two of them in the dimly lit room. Then, in a voice as soft as a whisper yet as steady as stone, she spoke.

"It's okay now, sister. We're alone."

At those words, something inside the Queen of Hearts shattered.

Her lips trembled, her shoulders shook, and before she could stop herself, hot tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

"If only I was stronger…" she choked out, gripping the edge of the rickety table beside her as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. "If only I had seen it coming… if only I had—"

Her words were swallowed by sobs, raw and unrestrained, the weight of their loss finally breaking through the iron walls she had built around herself.

The White Queen stepped forward without hesitation, closing the space between them. Then, with all the warmth and grace she possessed, she wrapped her arms around the Queen of Hearts in a gentle embrace.

For a brief moment, the Queen of Hearts stiffened, her pride resisting the comfort offered to her. But the moment was fleeting. The exhaustion, the grief, the crushing weight of failure—it all came crumbling down as she clenched the fabric of the White Queen's gown and buried her face against her sister's shoulder.

"I tried," she whispered through her sobs. "I tried to protect them. To protect our home. But I failed, sister. I failed them all."

The White Queen held her tighter, stroking her back in slow, soothing motions. "No, sister… you fought for them. And you're still fighting. That is not failure."

But the Queen of Hearts only gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms. "Then why does it feel like I lost everything?"

The White Queen pulled back just enough to look her sister in the eyes, her hands resting gently on the Queen of Hearts' shoulders.

"Because loss is painful," she said softly. "Because it reminds us of how much we cared, how much we loved. But sister, as long as you still stand, as long as you still fight, then nothing is truly lost."

The Queen of Hearts sniffed, wiping her eyes furiously. "It's easy for you to say. You've always been the graceful one. The wise one." She let out a bitter chuckle. "And me? All I know is war. Strength. Ruling with an iron fist."

The White Queen shook her head. "No, sister. You know loyalty. You know how to inspire. Your people follow you not because they fear you, but because they believe in you." She reached out, gently taking the Queen of Hearts' hand in hers. "And I believe in you."

The Queen of Hearts opened her mouth as if to argue, but the words never came. Instead, she gritted her teeth and turned away, gripping her hands into fists.

"I can't afford to be weak," she muttered. "Not now."

The White Queen smiled faintly. "And you aren't. Even now, you're carrying the weight of all of them on your shoulders. But remember, sister… you are not alone. You have me. You have them."

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, finally, the Queen of Hearts let out a deep, shuddering breath.

"...Fine," she murmured. "But if you ever repeat any of this to anyone, I'll have your head."

The White Queen let out a soft laugh, squeezing her hand. "Of course, dear sister. It will be our secret."

The Queen of Hearts took another deep breath, straightening her posture. She wiped away the last traces of her tears, her usual fire returning to her eyes.

"Enough of this," she declared, voice steadier now. "Crying won't rebuild my castle. It won't bring back those we've lost. And it certainly won't stop that damn Jester and his master."

The White Queen watched as her sister's hands clenched into fists once more—not in despair this time, but in renewed determination.

"I was too weak before. Too blind," the Queen of Hearts continued, her voice sharpening like a blade. "I thought ruling with fear was enough. That strength alone would keep Wonderland in line. But I was wrong."

She turned to her sister, her crimson eyes blazing. "We fight. Not for power. Not for vengeance. We fight because Wonderland is ours."

The White Queen smiled gently. "And we fight together."

The Queen of Hearts scoffed but didn't disagree. Instead, she pushed past her sister and strode toward the door. "Come. We've wasted enough time. I need to see what we have left, who can still fight, and what we need to take back my throne."

She threw the doors open with a flourish, stepping out into the common room. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. The sorrow that had weighed upon the group mere moments ago now met the unyielding presence of their queen—standing tall, fierce, unbroken.

The Queen of Hearts raised her chin, her voice carrying across the room.

"I hope you're all done sulking. Because I'm not sitting around waiting for that Jester to play his next trick. We will reclaim Wonderland. And we will start now."

Murmurs spread through the group—uncertainty at first, but then… agreement. The fire of resistance was rekindling, sparked by the Queen's resolve.

"We start by getting stronger. We will not cower in the shadows, licking our wounds. We will not be pawns in someone else's game. And we will certainly not allow outsiders to claim what is rightfully ours!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd—uncertainty, at first, then something more… a spark of resolve.

The Queen of Hearts smirked. "Wonderland is ours. And we will not allow them to take it from us!"

A brief pause hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their losses—yet within it, something stirred. The hesitation, the doubt, the grief—they were all still there, lingering like shadows. But beyond that, beyond the pain, there was something stronger.

A fire waiting to be rekindled.

The Queen of Hearts let the silence stretch for just a moment longer before she raised her chin, eyes burning with defiance.

"So who's with me?!"

The murmur swelled into something louder—a spark turning into a blaze.

The General of Hearts stepped forward first, slamming a fist over his chest. "I am!"

The White Knight nodded, his voice steady. "For Wonderland."

The Tweedle Twins exchanged a glance before raising their fists. "Us too!"

The Lion let out a roar. "I fight for Wonderland!"

One by one, voices rose in unison, echoing through the hideout—the Walrus, the Carpenter, the Flamingo, the Mouse, the Eaglet, the Dodo, the Duck, the card guards, the white pawns, and various creatures of Wonderland—each declaring their allegiance.

Even the Cook grinned from the back of the room, waving a ladle in the air. "'Bout time we got our bite back!"

The White Queen watched with a serene smile as the fire took hold in their hearts.

The Queen of Hearts let the sound wash over her, a slow smirk curling on her lips. "Good." She turned on her heel, fire in every step. "Then let's make those bastards regret ever setting foot in our Wonderland!"