In the Castle of Hearts' inner chamber, an air of grief suffocated Wonderland's warriors like a sickening curse. The loss of the Mock Turtle weighed heavily on them, dulling their usual fervor into silence.

In spite of the threat of the Undead that still lurked outside, no one dared to move an inch. As if Time himself froze each one of them.

Then, with a sharp clap of her gloved hands, the Queen of Hearts shattered the silence.

"STOP MOPING, PATHETIC CREATURES!" she bellowed, her voice slicing through the heavy atmosphere like a blade. Her eyes, blazing with fury, scanned the chamber, daring anyone to defy her. "ARE WE CHILDREN WEEPING OVER SPILT TEA? OR ARE WE WARRIORS?!"

No one spoke. No one dared to speak.

The Queen's fingers twitched toward the hilt of her blade, her patience wearing thin. "The Mock Turtle is gone. Yes. A tragedy. But we do not have the luxury of mourning!" She stomped down the steps of her throne, her armored heels echoing. "We are still not out of danger!"

And once again, they heard it, the guttural snarls from beyond the chamber's walls.

Through the broken stained-glass windows, figures crawled and shambled, their hollow eyes locked on the castle's weakened structure.

The collapse of the outer pathways had delayed them—but only for now.

The Queen of Hearts stepped to the ruined edge of the chamber, looking down at the monstrous horde below. The Undead snapped their jaws, clawing at the air, seeking another way in.

She curled her fingers around the jeweled hilt of her sword.

Her General hesitated before stepping forward. His armor was dented, his cloak torn, but his resolve had not yet crumbled. Still, there was something heavy in his voice when he finally spoke.

"Your Majesty," he began, reluctant yet firm, "it pains me to say this, but I believe the time has come for us to abandon the castle and escape for good."

At those words, murmurs rippled through the chamber. The White Soldiers and Card Guards exchanged uneasy glances.

The Queen's grip on her sword tightened.

Slowly, she turned.

"Escape?" she repeated, her voice dangerously smooth.

The General stood his ground, but barely.

"Yes, Your Majesty." He gestured toward the crumbling walls. "The castle is failing, and the Undead only grow stronger. If we remain, we risk losing everything. We must regroup elsewhere—live to fight another day."

The Queen stepped forward, closing the distance between them with measured, deliberate steps.

"And where, dear General, do you propose we flee?" she asked, tilting her head. "Shall we scurry through the gardens like frightened rabbits? Cower in the hills until our enemies sniff us out? Wonderland is in chaos, Spades. There is no safe haven."

The General clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists, but before he could answer—

A voice hesitantly intruded.

"P-Perhaps…"

All eyes turned.

The voice belonged to a Talking Rose from the rebel group. Its petals trembled slightly, its leaves curling inward as if bracing for a storm.

"Perhaps… we could escape the same way we came here," it suggested.

A heavy silence fell over the room.

The Queen arched a brow, folding her arms.

The Queen of Hearts narrowed her eyes at the Talking Rose, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"Oh? So you can betray me once again?" she mused, tilting her head.

The Talking Rose flinched, its petals trembling slightly, but before it could respond, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"Oh, come on, you ungrateful queen!"

All heads turned toward the Duchess' Cook, who stepped forward with an exasperated huff, arms crossed over her chest.

"Do you really think we'd have bothered coming here to help if we planned on betraying you from the start?" she snapped. "Honestly, if I wanted to see a Queen fall, I'd be watching a deck of cards collapse, not wasting my time saving your royal hide!"

The Queen's eyes flashed with irritation. "Mind your tongue, Cook. You speak as if I should grovel in gratitude."

The Cook scoffed. "Oh, perish the thought! You groveling? Ha! I'd sooner expect the moon to turn into cheese!"

A ripple of unease spread through the room as the tension between the two women crackled like a fire ready to burst into flames. The soldiers, the rebels, even the battered knights shifted uncomfortably, unsure if they were about to witness a battle of words or a full-blown brawl.

The Talking Rose wilted slightly. "This isn't the time to fight…" it murmured, but no one was listening.

"You have a lot of nerve calling me ungrateful," the Queen snapped, taking a step forward. "Need I remind you who holds the crown?"

The Cook threw up her hands. "Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty! Please, continue looking down on us while we all stand here waiting to be devoured by the Undead!"

Just as it seemed like the argument would boil over into chaos, a soft, lilting chuckle echoed through the chamber.

"Oh, I do love a little drama."

A shimmer in the air—a flicker of movement—and suddenly, the Cheshire Cat lounged lazily atop the remains of a fallen pillar, his grin practically glowing in the dim light.

"But I think you all should remember… them."

He flicked his tail toward the horde of Undead still clawing at the castle's remains, their growls reverberating through the walls.

The room fell silent once more.

The General exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "The Cheshire Cat is right. This is no time to argue." He turned his gaze back to the Talking Rose. "Now, tell us. How did you get in here? And where exactly is this base of yours?"

The Talking Rose hesitated before responding, its leaves twitching uneasily.

"Well… we came through the Aqueducts."

A sharp gasp rippled through the chamber, followed by a loud scoff from the Queen of Hearts.

She turned to the others, her expression twisted with exasperation.

"See! That's literally on the other side of the castle!" she snapped, throwing her arms in the air. "You may as well have told us to waltz through the Undead like it's a garden party!"

A tense silence followed, the weight of the Queen's words pressing on the room like a vice.

Finally, the General stepped forward, raising a steadying hand.

"Let's just calm down first, please," he urged, his voice measured despite the chaos surrounding them. "The Aqueducts connect to all our escape routes. If we can find a way in, we may not have to cross the entire castle."

He glanced around the chamber, his sharp gaze scanning the walls. "And if I remember correctly… this room should have a hidden passage somewhere."

The Queen of Hearts narrowed her eyes at the General, impatience flaring in her gaze. "If you 'remember correctly,' then why aren't we already walking through it?"

The General exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on his sword. "Because, Your Majesty, it has remained sealed for decades. It was only ever meant for dire circumstances." He swept a glance across the chamber. "I'd say this qualifies."

The Talking Rose shook its petals. "I hope we do find it before those monsters find a way to us."

The Cheshire Cat's grin widened. "Oh, I do love a good treasure hunt. Secrets, hidden doors, desperate creatures scrambling for a way out… it's all so very thrilling."

The Queen shot him a glare. "If you're not going to help, cat, I suggest you stay out of the way."

The Cheshire Cat only chuckled. "Oh, but I am helping. See?"

Without another word, the Cat vanished, reappearing a moment later atop a section of the wall where the stone was slightly darker, almost imperceptibly so. He tapped his tail against it. "Right here. A door."

The General's eyes widened. "Of course…" He stepped forward, brushing his hand across the stone. "It was built to blend in perfectly. No handle, no keyhole, but… there should be a mechanism…"

The Queen of Hearts folded her arms. "Well, get to it, then! We don't have all day."

She then turned toward the warriors still standing frozen in grief. Her voice rang sharp and commanding. "Enough with your mourning. Find this mechanism. Now."

Her order snapped them into action. The warriors scattered, running their hands along the walls, pushing at every suspicious stone, knocking on surfaces in hopes of triggering something.

Meanwhile, the Undead outside continued their restless growls, their hunger echoing through the ruined castle.

Inside the throne hall of the Castle of Hearts, Gorlois slowly stepped forward. In his wake, the scent of death followed, clinging to the tyrant like a heavy fog. He looked around the chamber that now lay in utter ruin—banners torn, marble floors cracked, the throne itself split in half.

A moment later, the Headless Swordsman came.

"The Castle is ours."

A pause.

"But the last of them have barricaded themselves within a chamber. The paths to them have either collapsed or are otherwise unreachable."

Gorlois exhaled, his skeletal fingers drumming against the armrest of a broken, bloodstained chair.

"Then let them rot."

The Headless Swordsman remained silent, waiting for further command.

Gorlois continued his march towards the throne, his eerie blue flames flickering where his eyes should have been. "I have no need to chase after rats in a hole. The Castle is mine. That is enough... for now."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Have the Undead patrol the halls. If they dare to crawl out, they'll eventually fall in my hands."

Then, from the shadows of the ruined hall, a slow, rhythmic clapping echoed through the broken chamber.

The Jester emerged first—grinning, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. His patchwork attire, once vibrant, now looked twisted in the dim light, the colors clashing like a nightmarish painting. His hollow, painted eyes glowed faintly, unsettling in their stillness.

"Ohoho, what a thrilling performance, my liege!" He spun in place, tilting his head at an unnatural angle. "And what of the rest of us? Surely you wouldn't let us wither away while your little corpses have all the fun?"

From behind him, the Puppeteer entered next—a figure draped in long, tattered robes, their face hidden beneath a porcelain mask that seemed neither alive nor dead. Strands of enchanted string dangled from their fingertips, twitching as if eager to control something... or someone.

Behind him, the Puppeteer emerged, her movements fluid yet unnatural, like a marionette that had cut its own strings but still remembered the pull. The Knave of Hearts walked stiffly beside her, his steps precise but lifeless, his once-proud armor dulled and dirtied, his vacant gaze locked straight ahead.

Thin, silvery strings stretched from the Puppeteer's fingers, glistening faintly in the dim torchlight. She did not speak, but the way her masked face tilted ever so slightly suggested amusement—or perhaps expectation.

Then came the Hunter, his gaze sharp and restless, as though he could feel the beast within him stirring.

Last was the Giant, his massive form looming over the others. A grotesque mix of stitched flesh and metal plating, he moved with an eerie silence that did not suit his size. His breath, deep and uneven, rasped through his thick throat like a smoldering fire waiting to ignite.

The four of them stood before Gorlois, awaiting his decree.

He did not bother looking at them.

With a single dismissive wave of his hand, he spoke:

"You are all dismissed for now."

The Jester's grin twitched—for a brief second, something sharp and displeased flickered in his gaze. But then he laughed, bending into an exaggerated bow.

"As you command, my liege." His voice dripped with honeyed sarcasm, but he twirled away nonetheless, vanishing into the darkness with a lingering chuckle.

The Puppeteer tilted her head, glancing at the Knave before giving the strings a gentle tug. Wordlessly, her puppet turned on his heel, following her without resistance as she strode back into the corridors.

The Hunter, still unreadable, rolled his shoulders and gave a curt nod before slipping away, his footfalls eerily quiet for a man his size.

And the Giant—*a beast of sinew and steel—*gave a slow, rattling exhale before turning and stomping off, his heavy frame making the cracked marble shudder with each step.

Gorlois finally sat into the throne of his stolen kingdom, his spectral flames flickering like dying embers.

He had won the castle.

But is Wonderland truly his?

Back in the inner chamber, the Queen of Hearts tapped her foot impatiently, her glare fixed on the General. "Don't you have a manual for this somewhere?"

The General, still running his gloved fingers along the cold stone walls, barely held back a sigh. "I'm afraid the instructions for it are currently in the library, Your Majesty."

A sharp snap of her fan against her palm made several of the Card Guards flinch. "Fool! You should have access to that at all times!"

The General's jaw tightened, but he swallowed his retort.

'We didn't need this passage for ages. Wonderland never had an outside threat pressing this close before. You were the only terror we had to deal with—until today,' he thought.

But aloud, he simply said, "My apologies, Your Majesty. For now, I'll do my best to figure this out."

Muttering under his breath, he turned back to the wall, pressing along the crevices, trying to recall any old maps or stories about secret exits within the Castle of Hearts.
The Eaglet suddenly piped up, his small voice cutting through the tense air.

"I think there's a clue here."

He held up a lamp, its dim glow casting flickering shadows across a dusty section of the wall. The faint outline of something—letters, symbols, or perhaps an engraving—became visible beneath the thick layer of grime.

The General immediately stepped closer, brushing off the dust with his gauntlet. The markings slowly came into view—an inscription carved deep into the stone.

The Queen of Hearts leaned in, her sharp gaze scanning the old text. "Well? What does it say?"

The General narrowed his eyes, reading aloud, "Through the King's Decree, the path is revealed."

There was a brief silence. Then, the Duchess' Cook scoffed. "And what's that supposed to mean? Do we need a dead king to waltz in and open it for us?"

The Talking Rose, however, seemed thoughtful. "No… I think it means something once belonging to the King. A seal, a crown—his authority."

The Queen of Hearts straightened, her eyes gleaming with sudden realization. "The Royal Sigil."

The General tensed. "Which is locked away… in the treasury."

A heavy silence filled the chamber as they all arrived at the same conclusion—to open the passage, they would need to go deeper into the castle… closer to where the Undead roamed.

The Eaglet puffed out his chest, determination gleaming in his small eyes. "I guess this is a job for me."

The Lory gasped, wings fluttering in distress. "That's too dangerous! The castle is crawling with Undead!"

The Eaglet turned to him, unwavering. "And they'd get to us eventually if we don't do something."

A tense silence followed, the weight of his words sinking in.

The General frowned. "You're brave, little one, but this isn't just a game. The treasury is deep within the castle—there's no telling how many of them are lurking there."

The Eaglet smirked. "That's exactly why I'm the best for the job. I'm small. I'm fast. And I can fly if things get really bad."

The Queen of Hearts crossed her arms, watching the exchange with mild interest. "Hmph. I'll admit, you have more spine than some of the cowards here."

The Lory flapped anxiously. "But—"

"No buts," the Eaglet cut in. "If we sit here waiting, we're as good as trapped. Someone has to take the risk."

The chamber fell into an uneasy hush.

Without waiting for approval—or even a proper plan—the Eaglet spread his wings and took off.

"Eaglet, wait—!" the Lory squawked, reaching out, but it was too late.

The small bird darted through the chamber, slipping through a broken section of the wall before anyone could stop him. His form vanished into the dimly lit corridors beyond, swallowed by the ruins of the castle.

The General cursed under his breath. "Reckless little fool."

The Queen of Hearts only smirked. "Hah. I like him."

The Lory, on the other hand, was trembling, his feathers ruffled with worry. "What if he gets caught?!"

The Cheshire Cat materialized in midair, tail curling lazily. "Oh, I do love a bold move. But let's hope he doesn't become a bold snack."

The General clenched his fists but forced himself to exhale. "No use panicking now. We need to be ready in case he actually finds something."