Back in Absolem's lair, serenity was disturbed once again upon the arrival of the Duchess and her companions.
After fixing herself, the Duchess immediately approached Time, holding out the clockwork gear, its teeth still clicking faintly in her palm. Before she could speak, however, Time went rigid-his ever-present smirk vanishing.

"Arthur," he breathed, the name heavy in his lips with something between reverence and disgust.

The Duchess frowned. "Arthur? The son of Uther?"

Time's fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to snatch the gear away. "The very one." His gaze lifted to hers, sharp as broken glass. "And the leader of the Timeless Watch."

"But why do you have this?," he continued, his voice like blade's edge, his pupils contracting to pinpricks. "Where is the Looking Glass?"

The Duchess didn't flinch. "Humpty Dumpty took it. He said the guild wants to make a trade."

Time's fingers drummed against his thigh, each tap sending tiny ripples through the fabric of his coat like stones disturbing a still pond. His eyes lost focus, gazing through the Duchess as if reading some hidden script in the air behind her.

"What do they want?," he murmured, more to himself than the others. "After all these centuries of silence, why intervene now?"

The March Hare bounced on his heels, his ears twitching with restless energy. "Well, if we're all just going to stand around pondering like a bunch of gloomy toadstools—why don't we just go through with the trade and see what they want?" He grinned, twirling his mallet.

The Hatter shot him a withering look. "Yes, brilliant plan. Let's waltz into their lair and ask nicely what their evil scheme is. What could possibly go wrong?""

The Duchess held up a hand before the bickering could escalate. "The Hare isn't entirely wrong." Her gaze flicked to Time, calculating. "If we play along—carefully—we might learn enough to retrieve the frame and still get away safely."

Time let out a long, weary sigh. "They're not an evil group... at least." His fingers drummed restlessly against his arm. "But I still have a bad feeling about this. And—"

A pause. Heavy. Deliberate.

The Duchess arched a brow. "And?"

Before Time could respond, Absolem exhaled a slow, contemplative stream of smoke from his hookah. The swirling tendrils formed the shape of a fractured hourglass before dissolving into the air.

"And," he intoned, his voice layered with ancient knowing, "they have been attempting to erase Alice from this world ever since she stepped into Wonderland.." His luminous wings gave a slow, deliberate pulse. "And yet, they have failed... spectacularly."

The Hatter nearly choked on his own breath. "What?! Why?!"

Absolem's antennae twitched as he regarded them with detached amusement. "Because the Timeless Watch views all Outlanders as existential threats—ever since the Great War. They swore an oath to purge any foreign presence from Wonderland." He floated downward, settling on the edge of a broken teacup. "Alice, however... has proven... resistant."

The March Hare scratched his head. "But Gorlois is actively tearing Wonderland apart! Shouldn't they be more worried about him?"

Absolem's wings shimmered, casting prismatic light across the room. "To the Timeless Watch, Gorlois is merely a mad king playing with fire. But Outlanders? They are the fire itself."

Before anyone else could add to the conversation, the clockwork gear on the Duchess' hand suddenly screamed and spun wildly.

"Oh dear," the White Rabbit suddenly squeaked. "I do believe that's our invitation."

The White Knight stepped forward, his dented armor clanking as he raised a gauntleted hand. "But that egg said midnight," he insisted, his brow furrowing beneath his helm.

The White Rabbit's ears shot up in alarm as he stared at the spinning gear in the Duchess's hand. "So what does that mean?" he squeaked, nose twitching frantically.

Before anyone could answer, the Knave of Hearts moved like lightning—snatching the gear from the Duchess's grip. He drew back his arm to hurl it outside—but the moment his fingers tightened, the gear exploded in his palm.

A flash of silver light. A sound like shattering glass.

Yet when the glow faded, the Knave stood unharmed—no burns, no blood. Only a luminous magic circle now etched into his skin, pulsing with eerie light.

The Duchess lunged forward. "Knave—!"

"DON'T COME NEAR ME!" he roared, stumbling back. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wild. "All of you—move away!"

The Duchess froze. "Why? What's happening?"

Absolem's wings flared, his voice grave. "A curse. Touch him… and he'll explode."

The Duchess's gloves creaked as her hands clenched into fists, her voice a venomous snarl. "That does it! I don't care about the trade anymore—I'll shred those bastards into pieces!"

Time waved a hand at her. "Easy, Duchess. We still need that frame." His gaze flicked to the Knave's cursed palm. "And the Timeless Watch? They're not enemies you all can easily deal with. They've been trained to fight for centuries."

The Hatter barked a humorless laugh. "So what's the plan now?"

"I'll go with you," Time responded quickly. "Arthur and I have…some bit of a history. He might listen to reason."

The Duchess exhaled sharply, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she met Time's gaze. "Thank you," she said, then turned her attention back to the Knave, her eyes tracing the glowing curse mark on his palm. "For now, I'll search for a way to break this curse—or at least stall its effects. Absolem, you—"

"Unfortunately," Absolem interrupted, his wings fluttering as he exhaled a slow, shimmering smoke ring, "I have no answer for that. This curse is bound by something only its caster can undo. A failsafe, no doubt."

The Duchess's jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. "Then I'll find another solution. There's always another solution."

The March Hare, uncharacteristically serious, tapped his chin. "Maybe the Cheshire Cat knows a loophole? He's always grinning like he's got one."

The Duchess's lips curled into a sneer at the mention of the Cheshire Cat. "I wouldn't trust that grinning menace.." Her gloved fingers flexed, as if imagining wringing his nonexistent neck. "Besides, we have…a bad history."

The March Hare gasped, clutching his chest. "Scandalous! Did he steal your tarts? Your dignity? Your—"

"Enough," the Duchess simply snapped, cutting him off with a glare. "The point is, we're not wasting time chasing riddles. We need a real plan."

"Well, first things first - our explosive friend here should probably distance himself before he turns us all into party confetti, eh?" The Hatter suddenly remarked, his eyes darting meaningfully to the Knave's cursed palm.

The Knave didn't flinch. "Already planned to. There's somewhere I need to be anyway."

"But—" the Duchess started, hand half-raised as if to stop him.

The White Knight's armor clanked as he stepped forward. "I agree with the Hatter here. Hardly ideal, but safer for all of us.." His gaze softened slightly. "I'll come with the Knave for now. You all focus on dealing with the Timeless Watch."

The Duchess's grip tightened on her scepter, her eyes narrowing at the White Knight. "You want to go with him?" Her voice dripped with skepticism. "Forgive me if I find that sudden."

The White Knight didn't flinch. He placed a gauntleted hand over his heart, the faint glow of his family's sigil pulsing beneath the steel. "You have my oath, Duchess. I do not mean to harm him in any way." His gaze flicked to the Knave's marked palm. "And to ensure that he's safe… someone must go with him."

The Knave, however, took a deliberate step back, his cursed hand held stiffly at his side. "Let him come if he wants," he said flatly. "I know how to defend myself anyway."

The Duchess studied the White Knight for a long moment, her violet eyes sharp as shattered glass. The air between them hummed with tension.

Finally, she gave a single, curt nod. "Fine." Her scepter's glow dimmed, but her voice remained edged with warning. "But if something happens to the Knave, know that I will hunt you to the ends of Wonderland.." Her gaze locked onto the Knight's.

The White Knight inclined his head. "Understood."

The Hatter, who had been watching the exchange with uncharacteristic quiet, suddenly lobbed a small, ticking device at the Knight. "Take this. It'll screech like a scalded teapot if the curse starts doing anything interesting."

The Knave rolled his eyes and turned toward the door. "Enough theatrics. Let's go."

As the two figures disappeared from their sight, the Duchess exhaled through her nose.

Absolem exhaled a smoke ring that twisted into the form of a broken crown. "Interesting that the Knave didn't refuse him."
"So what are you suggesting?," the Duchess suddenly snapped.

The caterpillar's wings pulsed with slow, deliberate light. "Merely that choices reveal more than words."

The Duchess' scepter sparked violet. "You think he's planning something."

"So, shall we continue spending our moments worrying about the Knave, or do we start discussing matters about the Timeless Watch?," Time interfered, plucking an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve.

"Well, Master. We have exactly 9 hours, 2 minutes, and... eight seconds until midnight." Wilkins suddenly chimed in, head tilted. "Accounting for temporal drift, of course."

"Irrelevant," Time sighed, flicking Wilkins' voicebox silent. "The point is, we're wasting precious seconds moping about that Knave when we should be strategizing." His gaze slid to the Duchess. "Unless you'd prefer to walk into Arthur's domain completely unprepared?"

The Duchess exhaled sharply through her nose, her grip on her scepter tightening. "Fine. So then, what's your plan?"

"Good, now that you're all ready to listen, here's what we need to do," Time started, while the others turned their eyes on him without flinching, except for the Duchess who couldn't help but stare at the door from time to time.

Then midnight came, and Time led them through the path towards the site of the meeting. Behind him, Wilkins clicked and whirred, his mechanical limbs adjusting to the unnatural timestream around them. The Duchess strode just beside Time, her scepter pulsing violet. The March hare bounced behind, his mallet resting on his shoulder while humming a jaunty tune that kept almost looping back on itself. The White Rabbit clutched his pocket watch like a lifeline, muttering about his usual obsession with being on time. The Hatter on the other hand, lagged behind, stuffing vials into his sleeves with a manic grin.

The world around them was neither here nor there—a place of suspended moments. Half-frozen raindrops hung in the air like glass beads. The skeletal remains of clocks floated in the void, their hands spinning endlessly without meaning. The ground beneath their feet was not stone, but the faded pages of forgotten histories, rustling with every step.

And then—the Broken Clocktower.

It stood crooked in the nothingness, its face shattered, its gears exposed like ribs. Time itself seemed to warp around it, stretching and compressing in nauseating waves.

The March Hare whistled. "Lovely fixer-upper. Think they'd take an offer?"

"Quiet," the Duchess hissed, her eyes locked on the tower's gaping entrance—a doorway that led both forward and backward at once.

Time did not slow. He stepped inside, the others trailing behind.

The interior was a cathedral of stolen time.

Floating hourglasses drifted like chandeliers, some filled with black sand, others with liquid moonlight.

Mirrors lined the walls, each reflecting a different era of Wonderland—some showing ruins, others showing moments that had not yet come to pass.

He was both young and ancient, his face smooth but his eyes heavy with centuries. His crown was not gold or silver, but woven from the hands of broken clocks. At his side stood a knight clad in blackened clockwork armor.

Near the throne, perched on a floating fragment of masonry, was Humpty Dumpty. His eggshell was cracked in places, held together by gilded bands, and his grin was too wide, too knowing. He lounged like a jester, but his eyes—those glassy, unblinking orbs—tracked the newcomers with something far sharper than amusement.

The shadows at the edges of the chamber twitched. Figures lurked there, their forms smeared across moments—a flicker of a grin, the curve of a claw, the rustle of a tattered coat. They were almost familiar, like reflections in a warped mirror. The air tasted of old stories and older warnings.

The Duchess's grip tightened on her scepter. The Hatter's grin faltered, just for a second.

Upon seeing them, Arthur's lips curled into a smirk then immediately turned his gaze towards Time. "Time," he drawled, "since when do you concern yourself with the affairs of Underland? I thought you were above such…trivialities."
Time's gaze didn't waver, but the air around him grew heavier. "Don't play the fool, Arthur," he replied, voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. "Nothing ever happens here in Underland without you knowing. Now, let us discuss the trade before I lose what little patience I have left for your theatrics."

Arthur threw his head back and laughed—a sound like shattering glass and winding gears.

"Oh, you never change," he said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Still so dreadfully serious. Very well." He flicked a hand toward Humpty Dumpty, who gave a mocking bow before rolling off his perch. The egg landed with an unsettling crack, yet remained whole, his grin widening as he produced a small, ornate frame from within his shell.

Arthur's amusement faded, his voice dropping into something colder.

"What we want in exchange for the Frame," he said, "is the spell of banishment."

A hush fell over the room, but then, Time's voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"The Banishment Spell," he said, "It demands the bloodline of the Blackthorn Witches. A lineage long thought... extinguished."

Arthur's gaze slid toward the Duchess, slow and deliberate, a predator savoring the moment before the strike.

"Didn't we just so happen to have someone like that in our midst?" he mused, fingers drumming against the arm of his throne.

The Duchess went rigid, her knuckles whitening around her scepter. The violet light within it flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows across her face.

Wilkins, ever observant, let out a low mechanical whir. "Ah. That explains the sour disposition."

"Is that all?" the Duchess then snarled. "Then let's get this over with."

But Time raised a hand, cutting her off. His eyes never left Arthur's.

"What do you intend to do with the spell?"

Arthur leaned back in his throne, fingers steepled. His smile was razor-thin.

"Why, to banish all the Outlanders, of course."

The Mad Hatter went deathly still. Then, under his breath—

"Alice."

His head snapped up, eyes wild. "And that includes my precious Alice, does it?"

Arthur didn't blink. "Yes. Including Alice."

The Hatter moved before anyone could stop him.

With a snarl, he lunged forward, fingers clawing for Arthur's throat.

At the same time, the knight beside Arthur moved with unnatural speed, a blur of blackened greatsword already raised in a lethal arc.

Then Time flicked his wrist, and the Hatter froze mid-step, suspended in a bubble of stopped seconds, before he could plunge himself into the knight's blade.

"Let us all calm ourselves, children," Time sighed, though his voice carried the weight of eons. Then, back to Arthur: "The spell requires the bloodline. How do you plan to use it?"

Arthur signaled for the knight to back down, then waved a lazy hand..

From the shadows, a hooded figure glided forward, face obscured beneath a black veil. In their hands, they cradled a metal sphere, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly, like a slow-beating heart.

"We simply need her to cast the spell here," Arthur said. "And we'll do the rest."

The White Rabbit's ears shot upright in alarm. "But—but if she does that, they'll banish Alice from here!" he squeaked, clutching his pocket watch like a talisman.

The Duchess's jaw tightened. "We have no other choice, Rabbit," she said coldly. "While we stand here debating, Gorlois grows stronger by the second. We need that Frame to revive Alice—now.

The March Hare's ears twitched violently, his jaunty grin twisting into something sharper.

"Oh, how noble of you, Duchess!" he chirped, voice dripping with false cheer. "But let's not pretend this is about Alice, hm? We all know who you're really trying to save—your darling Knave of Hearts."

The air crackled.

The Duchess's scepter flared violet, her eyes burning with cold fury. "You insolent—"

Wilkins' gears stuttered in alarm. The White Rabbit shrank back, ears flattening. Even the Hatter, still frozen in Time's spell, seemed to radiate fresh outrage at the accusation.

Time's voice cut through like a blade.

"Enough."

A ripple passed through the chamber—the weight of centuries pressing down, silencing them all. The floating hourglasses trembled; the fractured mirrors dimmed.

"The Duchess is right," Time said, though his tone held no warmth. "We need the Frame. Without it, Alice cannot be revived at all. What comes after... we will deal with then."

He turned to the White Rabbit and the March Hare, his gaze softening—just slightly. "Alice will not be lost. Not while I still turn the gears of this world. But the fragment of the Looking Glass within that Frame is our priority now."

The Rabbit's whiskers quivered, but he gave a tiny, reluctant nod. The March Hare merely scowled, crossing his arms with a huff.

Arthur clapped his hands together, grinning. "Wonderful! Then we're in agreement. Duchess—if you'd be so kind?" He gestured to the hooded figure holding the metal sphere, its runes pulsing hungrily.
The Duchess's fingers tightened around her scepter until the bones stood white against her skin. Just before beginning the spell, she fixed Arthur with a glare sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.

"If I do this," she hissed, "you give us the Frame—and you remove that curse from the Knave."

Arthur tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "Ah, but that curse is my failsafe, darling. Can't have you turning on me the moment you get what you want. The Knave's condition stays until every last Outlander is purged from Underland."

The violet light in her scepter flickered violently, like a caged storm. "You think I'll cooperate while his life dangles by your thread?" she snarled.

Arthur leaned back, leisurely spinning one of the clock-hand spines of his crown between his fingers. "Or," he mused, "I could make him explode now. Your choice."

A terrible silence followed.

The White Rabbit let out a whimper. The March Hare's ears went stiff. Even the armored knight shifted slightly, as if bracing for bloodshed.

The Duchess stood rigid, her breath coming in controlled, furious increments. Then—

"Fine."

She raised her scepter. The runes on the metal sphere flared in response, drinking in the dark magic already coiling around her.

The White Rabbit's paws trembled around his pocket watch as he turned desperate eyes toward Time.

"Is there truly no other way?" he whispered, voice cracking.

Time looked down at him—ancient, weary, but resolute. Slowly, he shook his head.

The Rabbit's ears drooped.

The Duchess continued, her voice cutting through the chamber.

The metal sphere in the hooded figure's hands shuddered, its runes blazing crimson as it absorbed her magic. Around them, the floating hourglasses tilted violently, their sands flowing upward in defiance of gravity.

The Hatter remained frozen, his expression locked in silent fury. The March Hare's nose twitched, his usual manic energy replaced by something tense and uncertain. Wilkins' gears clicked in uneasy rhythm.

And the White Rabbit—

He clutched his watch tighter, as if it could somehow stop what was coming.

The spell built to its crescendo, the very fabric of Underland straining against the weight of it—

—until, with a final, thunderous word from the Duchess, the magic erupted.

A shockwave of violet energy tore outward, sending fragments of shattered clocks spinning through the air.

Then she panted, her knees collapsing to the floor like it was paper.

In response, Arthur raised a hand. "Let the test begin, " he commanded.

From the shadows, two more robed figures emerged, dragging between them a bound and gagged prisoner—a wiry man with wild eyes, thrashing against his restraints. His muffled protests filled the chamber as they forced him to his knees before the sphere-bearer.

The figure holding the metal sphere extended it toward the prisoner, their voice a hollow rasp as they uttered an ancient chant—words that slithered through the air like serpents made of smoke.

The sphere pulsed.

The prisoner's body jerked, his form distorting at the edges—flickering, as if reality itself couldn't decide whether he existed. His limbs stretched like taffy, his face warping between expressions of terror and nothingness.

Then—

He glitched.

A shuddering, staticky ripple tore through him, his body breaking apart into fragments of color and shadow before—

Snap.

He was gone.

No sound. No aftermath. Just empty space where a man had been.

The chamber was silent.

Arthur smiled. "Perfect."

The Duchess's knuckles were white around her scepter.

Only Time remained unreadable, his ancient eyes fixed on the spot where the prisoner had vanished.

Then—

A slow, wet chuckle came from Humpty Dumpty's direction.

"Ohhhh," he crooned, cracks spiderwebbing across his shell. "This is going to be fun."

Arthur flicked his fingers toward Humpty Dumpty without even glancing at him.

"The Frame, Humpty. Now."

The egg gave an exaggerated sigh but rolled forward, the ornate Frame clutched in his cracked hands. He held it out—just out of reach—grinning as if savoring the tension.

Time turned his gaze to the frozen Hatter.

"I will release you," he said, voice low. "But you will not make another scene. Do you understand?"

The Hatter's eyes—the only part of him that could move—burned with fury, but after a moment, they flickered in the barest nod.

Time snapped his fingers.

The Hatter gasped as the spell released him, staggering forward before catching himself. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like claws, but he didn't lunge. Not yet.

Instead, he spat at Arthur's feet.

"Rot in a thousand hells."

Arthur only laughed. "Charming as ever." He plucked the Frame from Humpty Dumpty's grasp and held it up, letting the fractured light of the chamber dance across its surface. "A deal is a deal."

The Duchess stepped forward, then received the frame.

Arthur's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, let me remind you that your darling's life is still in my hands."

The Duchess didn't utter a word but simply turned around and approached her companions.

"Come now, children," Time then beckoned, his voice weary but firm. "No reason to linger here."

A heavy silence settled over the group. The Hatter's fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw clenched so tight it might shatter. The White Rabbit's ears drooped, his usual nervous energy replaced by something hollow. The March Hare didn't even bounce—just stared at the spot where the prisoner had vanished, his grin long gone. Even the Duchess, usually so composed, held herself stiffly, her scepter's violet glow dimmed to an ember.

Wilkins broke the quiet with a mechanical sigh. "Well. That was thoroughly unpleasant."

Arthur leaned back on his throne, his clockwork crown ticking in smug rhythm. "A pleasure dealing with all of you," he purred, waving a dismissive hand. "Do come back when you've fully upheld your end of the bargain."

The Hatter opened his mouth—likely to snarl something venomous—but Time's hand came down on his shoulder, a silent warning.

With one last look at the Broken Clocktower—its fractured face, its exposed gears, the shadows that seemed to pulse with something hungry—the group turned and followed Time back through the path of suspended moments.