The earth smelled of damp rot and old iron as the Duchess led Time and Wilkins through the skeletal remains of the Grove of Forgotten Names. The trees here grew crooked, their bark split with weeping scars, their branches clutching at the trio like beggars' fingers.

The Duchess stopped before a shallow grave, its edges torn open, the dirt flung aside in ragged clumps. The coffin within yawned empty, its lid splintered from the inside.

"Here," The Duchess murmured. "This was where I buried him."

Wilkins' optics whirred as he scanned the scene. "Interesting. No struggle. No forced entry. He walked out on his own—or was pulled."

Time, on the other hand, immediately turned to the Duchess, his fractured gaze unreadable. "Since you retrieved my hourglass, I assume you also have his watch."

A beat of silence. Then—

The Duchess reached into the folds of her dress and drew out a small, silver pocket watch. Its casing was dented, its chain snapped.

Wilkins' gears locked in protest. "Are you seriously sacrificing a fragment of yourself for a mere lover's token?"

Time exhaled, the sound like a dying clock. "I owe her," he said simply. "And beyond that—we need every warrior we can muster against Gorlois." His translucent fingers brushed the empty grave. "You saw it yourself, Wilkins. My powers don't touch him. We need others who could."

The Duchess snapped the watch shut, her jaw tight. "Then let's begin."
Time's fingers curled around the dented watch, his fractured form pulsing with golden light. "First, we need to bring his body back here," he said, his voice layered with echoes. "Are you ready to be the anchor?"

The Duchess didn't hesitate. "Of course."

"Very well." Time's eyes slid shut. The watch in his palm began to tick—first sluggishly, then faster, until its rhythm matched the frantic pounding of a war drum. He then placed it right on the Duchess forehead.

The Duchess gasped as the ritual's energy surged through her. Shadows erupted from her skin, lashing like living ropes around the empty grave. Time's voice boomed, unmoored from time itself:

"By broken watch and borrowed breath,

I call you back—not life, not death.

By debts unpaid and chains undone,

Return, forsaken, vengeful one."

In the dungeon of the Castle of Hearts, Anabelle jerked upright, her porcelain mask cracking at the edges as her hands flew to the tangled web of strings above her.

One of her puppets—the Knave of Hearts—twitched violently on its stand. Then, with a series of sharp snaps, its strings began breaking, one after another, as if severed by invisible shears.

"No, no, no, no!" Anabelle shrieked, her voice a chorus of scraping metal. She lunged for the puppet, but it was too late. The last string—the one threaded through its chest—pinged apart.

Then, the Knave of Hearts lurched—not forward, but backward, as if reality itself had grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked. His limbs jerked in reverse, every movement unraveling like a spool of thread wound the wrong way. The air around him blurred, warping like heat over scorched earth, and then—

He was gone.

Anabelle's fingers closed around empty air where her puppet had been. She stumbled forward, her porcelain mask splitting further as a guttural scream tore from her throat. "NOOOOO!"

She scrambled after him, her clawed hands raking through the space he'd occupied, but it was futile. The Knave's body had been ripped from her grasp.

Back in the grave, the ground heaved. Dirt sprayed upward as the Knave of Hearts' body crashed into the open grave, his form tumbling backward through the reversal of his own death. His coat flapped as if caught in a gale no one else could feel, his limbs snapping into place with unnatural precision—collarbones reforged, ribs realigned, the fatal wound at his chest un-piercing itself in a grotesque reverse ballet.

Then, silence.

The Duchess gasped upon seeing the Knave's body on the previously empty grave. She took a step but Time stopped her. Beside them, Wilkins' optics whirred violently, his mechanical fingers twitching towards his weapon out of pure instinct.

"We're not done yet," He rasped, his voice fraying at the edges. Then he wheezed, his form flickering dangerously as he waved the watch in the air. Wilkins immediately jerked forward, his brass arms outstretched to steady his master, but Time waved him off.
On Time's hand, the pocket watch started to reassemble itself. It's shattered face begin to mend, its gears slowly starting to move.

Wilkins' diagnostics screamed warnings as temporal energy spiked. "Sir, you're not ok—"

"Shut up Wilkins! I'm focusing here," Time interrupted. With a final twist of his wrist, the watch's hands spun counterclockwise in a dizzying spiral.

The Knave's body arched off the ground, his mouth opening in a silent scream as time poured through him. Wilkins recoiled as the Knave's voice emerged backward—"...elcyc eht ni ylno s'tI"—the distorted words making his audio receptors screech with feedback.

And then -

Tick

The Knave's chest rose in a sudden, shuddering gasp. His eyes flew open, pupils dilating wildly as they locked onto the Duchess first. Wilkins immediately shifted into a defensive stance, his weapon systems priming.

"...Alice." The name tore from the Knave's throat like a curse.

Wilkins' targeting systems zeroed in on the revived man. "Master, we should restrain him until—"

"No need," the Duchess said sharply.

The Knave's gaze snapped to Wilkins, then to Time's flickering form. His fingers flexed, grasping for a sword that wasn't there. When he spoke again, his voice was raw but clear:

"Where. Is. She."

Wilkins' combat protocols hummed to full readiness.

The Duchess moved before Wilkins could react. She stepped forward, her boots sinking slightly into the loosened earth as she knelt beside the Knave, her gloved hand hovering just above his cheek—not quite touching, as if afraid he might dissolve beneath her fingers.

"Don't worry, my dear," she murmured, voice softer than Wilkins had ever heard it. "I'm here."

The Knave's breath hitched. His gaze—still sharp with disorientation—flickered across her face, searching for something. Recognition? Betrayal? Wilkins couldn't tell. His targeting reticule remained locked on the Knave's temple, finger hovering over the internal trigger.

A beat passed. Then—

The Knave's hand shot up, grasping the Duchess's wrist. Wilkins' systems flared red, but the Duchess held up her other hand, stopping him cold.

"Get away from me!" the Knave snarled, voice ragged. His fingers trembled against her skin, caught between shoving her back and clinging to her like a lifeline.

The Duchess leaned closer, her usual steel melting into something desperate. "It's me," she insisted, her free hand brushing his cheek. "Don't you recognize me? Your beloved?"

The Knave's breath came in short, sharp bursts. His pupils dilated—confusion, fear, fragments of memory colliding. "I—you—" He recoiled, boots scraping against the broken cobblestones. "No, stop!—"

"GIVE ME BACK MY PUPPET!"

A voice suddenly sliced through the air like a blade.

Wilkins whirled, his internal gun humming to life—but something massive slammed into him before he could fire. A puppet, towering and gleaming, its armored plates carved to resemble a knight of some long-dead kingdom. The impact sent Wilkins skidding back, his stabilizers screeching against the ground.

The Puppeteer—Anabelle—stood at the heart of the chaos, her fingers twitching like a conductor's. Behind her, shadows twisted into life. And one after another, her puppets sprang in front of her.

The Bandersnatch, its stitched-together limbs oozing black ichor, jaws unhinging with a wet snap.

A dark Unicorn, its horn serrated, eyes hollow pits that dripped liquid night.

A Card Soldier, its crossbow already drawn, the bolt's tip glinting with something alive.

And lastly, a masked Assassin, its porcelain face smooth and blank, twin daggers spinning in its palms.

Anabelle's grin was a gash of crimson in the gloom. "Did you really think you could steal from me?" She flicked a finger. The armored knight's sword hissed free, leveling at Wilkins' throat. "That one's mine. And I always collect what's owed."

The Duchess straightened, her grip tightening on the Knave's wrist—protective, now. "He was never yours," she spat. "You just corrupted him."

Anabelle's puppets crept forward. The Bandersnatch growled, saliva pooling at their feet.

Wilkins' systems blared a warning. "Hostiles encircling," he muttered, his gun-arm recalibrating.

"Enough talk."

Anabelle's fingers twitched, and her puppets surged forward.

The Bandersnatch lunged first, its stitched maw gaping wide—only to crash against a shimmering barrier of violet light. The Duchess had thrown up her hands, teeth gritted as the spell flared between them. "Wilkins—now!"

Wilkins didn't hesitate. His gun-arm whirred, barrels spinning as he unleashed a volley of rounds—rat-tat-tat-tat!—straight into the armored knight's chest. The puppet staggered, plates denting, but didn't fall.

The Card Soldier's crossbow snapped up. A bolt loosed—

"Down!" Wilkins barked, shoving Time aside as the projectile grazed his shoulder, spraying sparks. Time collapsed to one knee, breath ragged. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something hollow. "Master—?" Wilkins' voice crackled with static.

"I'm… spent," Time admitted, clutching his chest. "That resurrection took more than I—"

A shadow blurred. The masked Assassin was suddenly behind them, daggers raised—

CRACK!

The Duchess's barrier splintered under the dark Unicorn's horn, the spell shattering like glass. She cried out, stumbling back into the Knave, who caught her roughly—his eyes wide, still unmoored, but his grip firm.

Anabelle laughed, stepping through the chaos. "You're outmatched, darling. Always were." She flicked her wrist, and the Bandersnatch reared for another strike—

Then—

A clock chime echoed, faint but unmistakable.

Time's head snapped up. "…No." His voice was a whisper. "Not her."

The air warped.

The ground split open with a sound like tearing parchment.

And from its depths, they erupted.

The White Rabbit, his pocket watch clutched in a white-knuckled grip, his fur matted with soot. "Late, late, LATE—!"

The March Hare, hefting a gilded mallet the size of a tombstone, its surface dented from prior… enthusiasm.

The Mad Hatter, his coat lined with vials of bubbling concoctions—some glowing, some smoking, one screaming in a high-pitched voice.

The Gryphon, feathers ruffled in fury, lion claws carving trenches in the cobblestones as it roared.

Absolem, drifting upward on a lazy curl of hookah smoke, his many eyes half-lidded but watching.

And then—her.

Columbine rose like a specter, her layered silks cascading around her in a whisper of motion. The frayed edges of her garments twitched, alive, as her veil fluttered just enough to reveal the barest curve of a smile.

Then, without delay, March Hare let out a manic giggle and slammed his mallet down onto the armored knight's helm, crumpling metal like parchment. "FORE!"

The Mad Hatter unscrewed a vial and tossed it at the dark Unicorn. The glass shattered—and the shadowy beast convulsed as its legs turned to jelly, its form melting into a puddle of ink. "Ah, liquefaction," the Hatter mused. "Always a crowd-pleaser."

The Gryphon pounced on the Bandersnatch, talons shredding its stitched hide as it let out a wet, gurgling shriek.

And Columbine—

Her silks lashed out like whips, wrapping around the masked Assassin's wrists mid-lunge. With a flick of her fingers, she yanked, and the puppet slammed face-first into the ground.

Wilkins' optics flickered. "Reinforcements… acceptable."

The Duchess exhaled, her grip still tight on the Knave's wrist. "Took you long enough," she muttered.

Time, still kneeling, managed a weak grin. "Not my doing, I'm afraid."

Anabelle screeched, her fingers twisting in the air as her puppets strained against the onslaught. "You think this is over?!"

Columbine tilted her head, silks coiling around her like serpents. "Isn't it?"

Anabelle's fingers curled into claws, her lips peeling back in a snarl. "You think a few more of you can stop me?"

Black veins pulsed beneath her skin, spiderwebbing up her arms like ink spilled on parchment. The air around her warped, and a sickly violet aura flared around her puppets—

The armored knight's crumpled helm mended itself, dents popping outward with metallic pings.

The Bandersnatch's shredded stitches knit back together, its oozing wounds sealing with a wet snap.

The dark Unicorn reformed from its puddle, ichor-solidifying into something sharper, its horn now serrated like a saw.

The Card Soldier nocked another bolt—this one dripping with the same violet energy.

The Duchess's grip on the Knave tightened. He was shaking, his breath uneven, eyes darting between the puppets and the newcomers like a caged animal. "Stay behind me," she ordered, though her voice wavered—just for a second.

"Now, Let's see you handle this!," Anabelle bellowed while moving her puppets once again.

The March Hare spun his mallet with a grin. "We'll see indeed!" He slammed the mallet down, cratering the ground where the armored knight had been standing, but the knight stood its ground and then attacked.

The Mad Hatter uncorked two vials at once, mixing them mid-air. The resulting explosion sent the Bandersnatch flying, its newly repaired hide now scorched and smoking. "Ah, combustible regret," he sighed. "My finest work."

The Gryphon lunged at the dark Unicorn, but this time, its claws phased through the shadowy hide—as if the beast was no longer entirely solid. "Oh, cheating now, are we?" the Gryphon growled.

Columbine's silks whipped toward the Card Soldier, but the violet-tinged bolt sizzled through them, severing strands like they were cobwebs. She hissed—a rare sound of frustration.

Wilkins' systems blared. "Energy signatures unstable. Proceed with—"

"Yes, shoot them," the Duchess snapped.

He did. His rounds tore into the puppets, but the wounds sealed faster now, the violet energy stitching them back together.

Anabelle laughed, high and unhinged. "You can't win. Not when I own the rules."

The Knave staggered, clutching his head. Flashes of memory—needles in his joints, strings threaded through his bones, Anabelle's voice coiling in his skull like smoke—

"Stop," he gasped. "Stop it—STOP—"

The Duchess reached for him, but he flinched away, nearly colliding with Absolem, who exhaled a slow, contemplative plume of smoke.

"Interesting," the caterpillar mused. "So you had him back to life."

The Duchess remained silent, maintaining her focus on protecting the Knave.

The March Hare dodged the armored knight's attack and countered. His mallet cracked against the armored knight's ribs, sending it skidding back—but this time, violet energy snapped like over-taut wires, and the puppet staggered instead of healing instantly.

"Oi! The glow-y bits flickered!" the Hare crowed.

The Mad Hatter lunged sideways, dodging a swipe from the Bandersnatch. "Life and death, life and death," he sang, lobbing a vial that burst into silver dust over Anabelle. "Can't have both, darling—pick a lane!"

The dust settled on her skin—and hissed, burning tiny black marks where it touched. Anabelle shrieked, swatting at it. The puppets convulsed in unison.

The Gryphon roared in triumph as its claws finally connected with the dark Unicorn, shredding a chunk of shadow-flesh. "Cheating ends now!"

Wilkins gun-arm whirred—but the Assassin puppet blurred in front of the bolt, daggers raised to deflect.

Columbine's silks lashed around Anabelle's wrist, yanking her off-balance. "No more moves, little spider."

And then—

The Knave got up on his knees, fingers clawing at his temples. Memories—

—the Duchess's voice, distant but desperate, screaming his name—

—A fierce battle with the Jobberwocky—

—Alice facing him with the Heart of Wonderland—

"No—no, that's not—" He clutched his head, nails biting into his scalp. Which memories were his? Which were hers? Which were lies?

The Duchess lunged toward him, but the ground shook, throwing her off balance.

"ENOUGH!" Anabelle ripped her wrist free of Columbine's silks, her skin blistering where the silver dust had burned. With a snarl, she slammed both hands onto the ground.

The earth split.

From the fissure, new puppets erupted in a storm of splintered wood and snarling shadows:

A White Pawn, her porcelain face smooth and expressionless, her spear gleaming with venom.

The Jubjub Bird, its feathers stitched from parchment, its beak snapping with the sound of breaking bones.

A squad of Card Soldiers, their crossbows already drawn, bolts crackling with violet energy.

And worst of all—a Rhinoceros, its hide plated in rusted armor, its horn grinding like a saw blade.

The March Hare whooped, swinging his mallet at the nearest Card Soldier. "Now that's a proper party!"

The Mad Hatter ducked as the Jubjub Bird dive-bombed him, its wings scattering ink-black feathers. "Ah, the aviary of nightmares! Charming!"

The Knave staggered to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The battlefield spun—puppets, allies, enemies, all a blur of color and pain.

"STOP!" The word tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

For a single, suspended moment—everyone stopped.

Even Anabelle hesitated.

Then the Rhinoceros charged, its horn aimed straight for the Knave's chest.

The Duchess shouted his name—"Knave!"—and lunged to shove him aside.

But he moved first.

With a snarl, the Knave shoved the Duchess out of the way—then dug his heels in and caught the Rhino's horn bare-handed.

CRACK.

The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the ground, cobblestones splitting under his boots. The Rhino roared, its massive body straining—but the Knave held firm, muscles trembling with raw, unnatural strength.

Then—

He twisted.

The horn splintered in his grip, metal and bone shattering like glass. The Rhino screamed, its body convulsing as cracks spiderwebbed across its armored hide—before it exploded into splinters of wood and shadow.

Silence.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Anabelle's shock lasted only a second before her lips curled into a grin. "I knew I was right in choosing you." She tilted her head, almost fond. "But oh well. I suppose I'll come back for you... another time."

With a flick of her wrist, her remaining puppets dissolved into smoke. The Card Soldiers stiffened, then crumbled like discarded paper. The Jubjub Bird let out a final, rattling screech before bursting into ink.

And Anabelle herself?

She stepped backward—into nothing at all—and vanished, her laughter lingering like a bad dream.

The Duchess scrambled to her feet, her usual composure shattered. "Knave—are you alright?"

He didn't answer.

Just stared at his hands—still clenched into fists, still trembling—then at the wreckage around him. At the people staring at him.

The March Hare whistled. "Well. That was new."

The Mad Hatter adjusted his hat, eyeing the Knave with something between fascination and wariness. "Explosions, puppets, and a dramatic display of strength? I do believe we've outdone ourselves."

The Mad Hatter's face darkened as he stormed toward the Duchess, his multicolored eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you revive him!" he spat, gloved hands clenching around two smoking vials. "After everything he's done? After what happened to Alice?"

Before he could take another step, Absolem's silken threads wrapped around his wrist, the caterpillar's smoke forming a barrier between them. "This is not the time for that, Hatter," Absolem intoned, his voice layered with ancient wisdom. "Remember, we still have Alice to bring back... and a far greater enemy to face."

The March Hare placed a surprisingly gentle paw on the Hatter's shoulder, his usual manic energy subdued. "I think he's right, old chap," he said softly, ears drooping slightly. "For now, let's focus on reviving Alice. That's what matters most, isn't it?"

The Hatter's grip on the vials loosened slightly, the colored liquids inside slowing their furious bubbling. He took a deep breath through his nose before stuffing them back into his coat with unnecessary force. "Fine. But this isn't over," he muttered, shooting a dark look at the Duchess.

The White Rabbit, who had been nervously winding his pocket watch, suddenly piped up: "So where's the next fragment, Duchess?" His nose twitched anxiously.

A small voice suddenly chirped from the March Hare's waistcoat pocket: "But what about the fragment that's on the Chronosphere?" The Dormouse poked her head out, blinking sleepily as if she'd just woken from a nap despite the chaos around them.

The Duchess smoothed her skirts with practiced calm, though her fingers trembled slightly. "I had it before that Jester took the Chronosphere from us. Don't worry." Her gaze grew distant. "For the next one however... I still have no clue. I need to get back to Absolem's library."

"By all means," Absolem intoned, exhaling a lazy smoke ring that formed a perfect question mark before dissipating.

Wilkins' mechanical eyes whirred as they focused on the still-disoriented Knave. "So what happens to him?" he asked in his typical blunt manner.

All eyes turned to the Knave, who was rubbing his temples as if trying to physically push the pain away. After a long moment, he surprised them all by speaking up: "I'll join you." His voice was rough but determined. When they stared at him in shock, he added: "My memories are still fuzzy but... I do remember you lot. Enough to know I should help."

"Best we get moving then," the Hatter then remarked, adjusting his hat. "Before any more of our enemies come."