With a flash of light and a whooshing sound, the end of the White Rabbit's portal opened beneath them—before any of them could react, they were falling.

"Wha—?!" the March Hare yelped as he tumbled through the air, flailing wildly.

Thud.

Thud.

Crash!

One by one, they landed right in the middle of the Mad Hatter's garden—directly onto the long tea table. Teapots toppled, cups clattered, and an unfortunate cake splattered against Old Lizard Bill's face.

The White Rabbit groaned, pulling himself up from a pile of overturned plates. "I really need to work on softer landings."

The Dormouse, half-buried under a mound of sugar cubes, let out a sleepy grumble. "Five more minutes…"

The March Hare sat up, shaking bits of teacake from his fur. He looked around at the scattered dishes, the overturned chairs, and the eerily empty seat at the head of the table.

His ears drooped slightly. "Now I miss the Hatter."

The Duchess dusted off her coat and scanned the open garden with a deep frown. "This place is too open. We won't be safe here."

The White Rabbit's ears twitched. "It was the fastest place I could think of at a moment's notice," he defended, adjusting his coat and catching his breath. "If I had more time, maybe I could have—"

"That's enough," the Duchess cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. "We can make do with this for now."

Without another word, she knelt down and pressed her fingers against the ground, murmuring an incantation under her breath. Shadows coiled around her fingertips as she traced intricate runes into the soil, each stroke glowing faintly before fading into obscurity. Strange symbols intertwined with the natural curves of the garden, forming a protective barrier unseen to the naked eye.

The March Hare tilted his head. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cloaking this place," the Duchess said without looking up. "We need to stay hidden. If we keep running into those monsters as we are, we'll eventually die in battle." She finished one sigil and moved on to another, her voice steady as she continued the spellwork.

She finally exhaled, watching as the last rune pulsed before vanishing into the earth. "For now, we need to get stronger," she added, "Besides, I need to learn a new spell to use against them. My shadow magic isn't working."

The March Hare crossed his arms, nodding thoughtfully. "You've got a point. We can't keep running blind into fights we can't win." He glanced at his massive mallet, tapping it against his palm. "I need to perfect my hammer swings, make them hit harder… faster."

He paused, his long ears twitching as he pondered. "Now… how would I do that?"

The Dormouse, still half-drowsy from their escape, let out a small snicker. "Maybe hit yourself with it and see if it knocks any ideas loose?"

The March Hare shot her a look. "Ha-ha, very funny," he deadpanned.

The Old Lizard Bill let out a dry chuckle. "I could train you."

The March Hare glanced at him, ears drooping slightly, and replied with a smirk, "Yeah, sure." His tone dripped with sarcasm, but there was no real malice in it.

Bill didn't seem fazed. Instead, he leaned on his sword and began, "You know, back in my day, I used to train soldiers—real fighters, not just brawlers swinging weapons around like a tea-drunk dormouse."

The Dormouse, shot up from her drowsiness and narrowed her eyes. "Hey…"

Bill ignored her and continued, his voice taking on a nostalgic weight. "I trained them to be precise, to be disciplined, to know how to read their enemy's movements before striking. A proper warrior doesn't just swing blindly—he strikes with intent."

The Duchess smirked as she continued drawing the last of her protective runes. "Whatever you do, make sure it doesn't involve smashing our cover to bits."

The March Hare's ears suddenly perked up, turning his attention to the Duchess while Old Lizard Bill went on with his narrative. "Hold on. How about we go to your hideout?" He turned to the Duchess. "One of your goons might be able to train us."

The Duchess let out a sigh, shaking her head. "That's too far from here. It'll be too risky." Her gaze shifted to the White Rabbit. "I assume you can't portal us there yet?"

The White Rabbit threw up his hands. "Oh, come on, give me a break, will you? I just got us all here!"

The Duchess crossed her arms. "That's what I was saying." She exhaled sharply, then looked at the others. "But let's not waste time for now. Perhaps there's some sort of training you can all do here in the meantime."

The White Rabbit rubbed his stomach. "Shall we get something to eat first?"

"That I agree!" the Dormouse suddenly chimed in, jolting awake from her usual half-slumber.

"Well, you're the ones who know this place. Help yourselves out," the Duchess said with a dismissive wave, already refocusing on her spellwork.

"And we will," the March Hare replied with a grin, striding past the White Rabbit and heading further into the garden.

The White Rabbit huffed. "Oi! At least wait for me!" But the March Hare was already rummaging through the Hatter's kitchen, searching for anything edible.

The Dormouse let out a yawn as she trailed after them, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"...I'm saying that that hammer of yours is powerful, but power means nothing if you don't know how to use it properly." Old Lizard Bill continued, tapping the hilt of his sword against the ground. "So if you're serious about getting stronger, I'll show you how to actually fight."

The Old Lizard Bill trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he realized—no one was listening to him anymore.

The March Hare, the White Rabbit, and the Dormouse had completely vanished from sight. Meanwhile, the Duchess remained where she was, completely engrossed in her incantations, carefully drawing intricate sigils into the earth. Shadows flickered and twisted unnaturally around her as she whispered ancient words under her breath, reinforcing their hiding place with layer upon layer of magic.

Bill let out a slow, tired sigh, rubbing the bridge of his snout. "Typical."

Shaking his head, he tapped his sword against the ground once more, muttering, "One of these days, they'll regret not paying attention." But despite his grumbling, there was a faint smirk on his face.

Turning his gaze back to the Duchess, he crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby tree. "At least someone here takes things seriously."

The Duchess didn't look up, but she did smirk. "Oh, don't flatter me, old lizard. I'm just making sure we don't get slaughtered in our sleep."

Bill chuckled dryly. "Fair enough." He glanced back toward the kitchen and muttered, "Still, I hope they remember to bring me something to eat."

Inside the Mad Hatter's kitchen, the trio began rummaging through the cupboards and overturned teapots, searching for anything edible. The place was in its usual state of chaos—stacked cups teetering precariously, mismatched plates crammed into shelves, and an assortment of pastries left half-eaten on delicate saucers.

As the March Hare inspected a tray of scones, he sighed. "Do you think the Rift Guardians are alright?"

The White Rabbit, poking at a sugar bowl filled with something not sugar, hesitated. "I do hope they are. I hope they were able to save themselves."

The Dormouse, nibbling on what might have once been a biscuit, chimed in. "Well, they seem tough. They were able to enhance our abilities, even if only for a while." She swallowed and glanced between them. "I'm sure they had something up their sleeves to protect themselves... or at least to escape."

Outside, the Duchess remained kneeling on the ground, her fingers tracing the final symbols of her incantation.

Old Lizard Bill, leaned against a nearby tree with his arms crossed, watched in silence before finally speaking.

"So… what's next?"

The Duchess dusted off her hands and stood, arching a brow. "What do you mean?"

Bill tapped the hilt of his sword. "You're planning something. I can see it in your eyes."

She smirked but didn't deny it. "Of course, I am. We can't just sit here and hope for the best. Wonderland is in chaos, and if we don't start taking control, we're just waiting to be picked off one by one."

Bill nodded slowly. "Agreed. But you're thinking long-term, aren't you?"

"Obviously." The Duchess crossed her arms. "Our current problem is survival, but that's only temporary. If we want to win this war, we need more than just brute force—we need a strategy. And that means figuring out exactly what our enemies are after."

Bill let out a low chuckle. "Hmph. You almost sound like a proper commander."

The Duchess scoffed. "I prefer the term 'queen,' but I'll take the compliment."

Bill shook his head, smirking. "Fine, 'queen.' But tell me this—where do you plan to start?. And what about the remaining key fragments?"

The Duchess tapped a finger against her arm, her expression darkening. "That's the problem, isn't it?" She turned slightly, glancing toward the Hatter's house where the others were still rummaging inside. "We need to complete the key and revive our champion. But our enemies are out there as well, and we can't fight them head on."

Bill exhaled through his nose. "Well, at least we have the Chronosphere."

The Duchess let out a frustrated sigh. "And that's another problem. We have the Chronosphere, but we have no idea how to operate it." She crossed her arms, pacing slightly. "It's supposed to be powerful—capable of bending time itself. But what good is it if we don't know how to use it?"

Bill scratched the back of his head. "Then maybe it's time we asked someone who does."

The Duchess stopped, narrowing her eyes. "And who exactly would that be?"

The old lizard smirked. "Time, of course. That's his relic."

The Duchess's expression darkened. "If they've infiltrated the Rift of Time, then perhaps they've gotten into Time's domain as well. It's dangerous to go there right now."

Bill let out a thoughtful grunt before shrugging. "Then how about the Caterpillar?"

She blinked, then scoffed. "That junkie?"

Bill chuckled. "He may be a junkie, but he seems to know everything in Wonderland. If there's anyone who might have an idea about how the Chronosphere works, it's him."

The Duchess tapped her fingers against her arm again, thinking. "You have a point… but he's not the most cooperative."

Bill shrugged. "Neither are you."

She shot him a glare, but there was no real venom behind it. "Fine," she relented. "We'll go see the Caterpillar. But for now, I need to make myself useful before we step out of this place."

Bill nodded in agreement. "Aye, I too need to sharpen my skills." He stretched his old limbs, rolling his shoulders. "It's been a while since I've had a proper fight. Can't afford to get rusty now."

The Duchess smirked. "Then I suppose we both have work to do." She turned her attention back to the sigils she had been etching into the ground, reinforcing the concealment spell over their temporary hideout.

Bill took a deep breath and lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs as he placed his hands on his knees. His tail curled slightly behind him, resting against the dirt. Closing his eyes, he muttered to himself, "First, I got to get this body back to its prime…"

The air around him seemed to still as he entered a meditative state. His breathing slowed, his muscles relaxed, and his mind focused inward. Years of experience, of battles fought and wounds endured, ran through his thoughts like an old storybook flipping open. He had been strong once—faster, sharper. He needed to be that again. No, he needed to be even better.

The Duchess glanced over but said nothing, letting him be. She knew better than to interrupt someone deep in their own training. She then stood up,

dusting off her hands as she traced the last sigil into the ground. The air shimmered faintly around their hideout, the magic settling into place like an unseen veil. Satisfied, she reached into her coat and pulled out what seemed like an old, weathered scroll.

She turned it over in her hands, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the intricate markings along its edges. The parchment was fragile, its corners curled with age, yet the power within it still pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Now, let's see what I can learn from you," she murmured, carefully unrolling the scroll. The ancient text gleamed under the dim light, revealing cryptic symbols and incantations that had long been forgotten by most of Wonderland.

Her eyes flickered across the text, her lips silently forming the unfamiliar words. If she could master a new spell, then perhaps they would stand a chance.

Back in the Rift of Time, cracks splintered across its once-fluid pathways, their jagged lines glowing with unstable energy. Frozen remnants of ice jutted out unnaturally from the fractured ground, their surfaces glistening with the last traces of fading magic. Shattered fragments of weapons and armor lay scattered—some still flickering between past and present, appearing whole one moment and broken the next. A heavy silence hung over the battlefield, save for the occasional ripple in time itself, distorting the air with ghostly echoes of the fight that had taken place.

At the heart of the wreckage, two figures knelt, bound in thick, enchanted chains. The Rift Guardians. Their bodies were battered, their strength nearly drained, but their eyes still burned with defiance.

Standing before them, an ominous shadow in the flickering light, was the Headless Swordsman. His armor, stained with the remnants of battle, bore deep scratches, but he stood firm, unaffected. The eerie glow of his runed blade cast long, jagged streaks of light across the broken ground. With slow, deliberate movements, he tightened the last of the chains, ensuring their bonds held firm.

One of the Guardians struggled, their form flickering slightly as they attempted to phase out of their binds. But the magic-infused chains reacted instantly, pulsing with dark energy and forcing them back into solidity.

"Just kill us!" the Guardian spat, breathing heavily.

Dullahan let out a hollow, echoing chuckle, the sound reverberating unnaturally through the warped space. He tilted his blade, letting the edge gleam in the unstable glow of the Rift.

"We need you better alive for now," he mused, his voice carrying a chilling finality. Then, with an almost casual air, he took a step closer, looming over them like a specter of death.

"But don't worry," he added, drawing his sword just slightly from its sheath, letting the metal sing. "I'd gladly take your lives once we're done with you."

The Guardian's breath hitched, but their glare remained unwavering. The other clenched their fists, their gaze darting toward the swirling, broken fragments of time around them.

Then, a low, haunting whistle from Dullahan pierced the silence.

It carried with it an unnatural weight, sending ripples through the fractured air. The very ground beneath them trembled as the whistle echoed, resonating with something beyond this place, something old.

Then came the sound of hooves.

Slow at first—a rhythmic, distant clatter that seemed to emerge from the void itself. A shadow twisted and coiled at the edge of the Rift, stretching unnaturally until it took shape, solidifying into a towering warhorse. Its body was as dark as the abyss, its eyes glowing with an unearthly fire. Wisps of smoke curled from its nostrils, and its massive hooves left behind scorched imprints on the broken ground. The beast let out a heavy, rasping snort, rearing up slightly before planting its hooves firmly beneath its master.

Dullahan stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. With practiced ease, he mounted the monstrous steed, his armor barely making a sound as he settled into place. He gripped the reins with one gauntleted hand while the other rested lazily on his runed sword, as if this were nothing more than routine.

Then, without so much as a glance at his captives, he moved.

Effortlessly, with the strength of something beyond human, he lifted the bound Rift Guardians as though they were nothing more than sacks of grain. Their struggles were meaningless. The enchanted chains ensured that their powers were suppressed, their limbs weak. In one swift motion, he slung them over the back of his steed, securing them in place.

The horse let out a guttural snort, its fiery eyes narrowing as if it could sense the weight of their desperation.

Dullahan tilted his head slightly, his body language unreadable, before uttering a single command.

"Go."

The warhorse surged forward.

The moment its hooves struck the ground, black smoke exploded around them, thick and choking, curling and twisting like living shadows. The Rift of Time distorted violently as the horse galloped, but it did not move across the ruined landscape—instead, it vanished into the darkness itself.

In an instant, they were gone.

The only thing left behind was the lingering echo of hooves fading into nothingness… and the eerie silence of a battlefield left in ruin.