Long ago, before the seven kingdoms rose to power, there was a time when magic ran rampant throughout the land of Corona. The very earth teemed with it, every tree and animal thriving from its power. There was magic in everything, an old magic that only seemed to grow with each passing day. It was in this ancient land that a certain plant grew. No one truly knew how it came to be, but those with an affinity for magic could sense it, smell it in the air, hear it calling like the haunting tones of a child's song. This plant was a flower, wreathed in gold and bathed in a glow that rivaled the sun itself. Mages and witches of every practice traveled to study the flower, but none dared to touch it; it became taboo to even consider uprooting such a precious treasure, and as the centuries passed and the land was claimed by a juvenile monarchy, the flower fell into obscure legend.

The kingdom of Corona was peaceful, prosperous, and in good standing with its neighbors. The economy was stable, its seaways and city walls protected. Trade was encouraged, and Corona soon became the seat of a culture unlike any before seen in the world. In time, the magic of the land fell asleep, and those who once partook of its power fell into the nebulous realm of myth and fairy tales.

In the golden age of Corona, there ruled one King Frederick and his wife, Arianna. A beacon of discipline and reason, King Frederick established an education system in his youth that would soon enable all of his citizens to learn and grow in ways they had never before been privileged to. Harvests were more bountiful, and children dotted the streets like sweet poppies. It seemed that the king and queen of Corona had been blessed in their reign. But the Coronan chantry reminded any and all who entered a chapel; it must needs be that there is opposition in all things.

The queen was expecting a child, and it wasn't long before she started to show signs of illness. As her condition deteriorated, the king consulted every physician and apothecary he could summon, trying to find the one who could save his wife. Many strived to find the answer. They all failed. Desperate, the king fell upon a last resort; to ask for the help of a mage. It was a quest he refused to entrust to any other but himself. He traveled among his people in secret, visiting everywhere from bustling marketplaces to dank and shady pubs, inquiring each and every individual where the mages had gone.

"There are no mages," his people answered. "Not anymore."

Defeated and frightened, King Frederick prepared to retreat home. With sorrow weighing heavy on his heart, he stayed at a small inn not far from his beloved castle. Tempted to drown his sadness in the latest blend of Coronan brandy, he shook his head at the bartender and sighed. Raising a trembling hand to his troubled head, he did not notice someone sit down next to him.

"I thought I might find you here, your Majesty." It was a quiet voice, somber and husky.

Startled, the king's eyes darted to the man. His hand fell with relief when he recognized him. "Quirin," he greeted with the enthusiasm of a dead fish. "It's been a while, old friend."

"So it has," Quirin waved the bartender away. "None for me tonight." He ran a hand through his hair; Frederick noticed a silver hair peek through, and the village leader's eyes were ringed with sleeplessness. It seemed that time and position had been less than kind to both of them. "So," Quirin continued, sighing again. "The rumors were true. You've been searching all this time to find a way to save your wife."

Frederick felt bitterness dilute his pain. "Have you come to discourage me?"

Quirin shook his head. "I would do no such thing. You're the king. It's not my duty to stand in your way."

"Then why are you here?" Frederick frowned.

Quirin's hand shifted over the worn, beaten bar counter, his fingers tracing the booze-stained wood grain. "I know someone who might be able to help you," he murmured. "They call her the Crimson Caster, a woman with red hair and a crimson eye. She comes to the town about five leagues south to sell her wares, potions and remedies for common ailments."

"I've sought common treatment," Frederick snapped. "I need a miracle."

"In this day and age," Quirin leaned back in his seat, "mages are the miracle workers."

Frederick's eyes widened. "Quirin," he breathed, his voice beginning to shudder. "Are you sure?"

"Traders speak highly of her," Quirin elaborated softly. "No one knows where she lives, but one trader claimed he saw her disappear into the Haderon Forest."

The king's shoulders tensed, tight enough to cause a headache. "That forest is cursed," he said warily.

Quirin chuckled dryly. "Well, what better place to find a witch, then?"

"And what if she curses my unborn child," Frederick speculated, "or causes Arianna to be barren?"

The sound of barstools sliding back from a table screeched through the stagnant air. As patrons left, the smell of rain flooded through the open door. "Frederick," Quirin said gravely. "She'll die either way. You could always return home and face that." He stood from his seat, staring down at the king's somber face. "Or you could have a little faith in the one thing that could save her."

In the twilight of the queen's pregnancy, the king took Quirin's words to heart. He called forth the captain of the guard and instructed him to lead a small group of scouts to search the Haderon Forest for the Crimson Caster. The captain's soldiers were wary, but their loyalty to the king won out. They fulfilled their orders and traveled to the cursed woods. They searched for weeks, their supplies dwindling, their morale whittled down by fatigue and poor weather. But the captain's determination clung to his devotion; he knew he must find the key to saving the queen.

Then, one night, a shadow fell upon his rain-battered tent. A voice called out, clear and lilting with an Irish accent.

"You and your men are lost," a woman spoke. "You should have known better than to travel these woods."

The captain emerged and discussed his mission with her, explaining the king's distress. The night sky seemed to press down on them like a black sheet, no star in sight to light the way. "This is their firstborn child," the captain finished. "If the queen perishes, there will be no heir."

The Crimson Caster nodded slowly. Her hair was a dusky red, and her eyes glinted in the light of the dying campfire. "I see," she murmured. "That is a concern."

The captain's lips tightened. "Surely there is something you can do."
The Crimson Caster blinked, her crimson eye winking in and out of view. "It is your intention to escort me to the castle?"

"If you will permit it."

"Very well, then." The Crimson Caster bowed her head. "I will go with you to see the king."

The gates to the castle opened wide for the Crimson Caster's entrance. King Frederick himself greeted her in the judgment hall. With guards at his back and a watchful eye, he brought her to the queen's bedside. "Well, witch?" the king insisted after a moment's silence. "Is there anything you can do for her?"

The Crimson Caster seemed lost in thought, her red eye searching up and down over the queen's fevered form. She reached her hand out and hovered in the air over the woman's burdened stomach; Frederick just barely stopped himself from slapping her away. "It's alright, little one," the king heard her say. "You won't die. But the queen will."

"I cannot accept that!" The king hissed in outrage. "I do not believe you would agree to come here if there was not something you can do!"

The Crimson Caster sighed sharply. She looked conflicted, and her hand fell back to her side. The moment stretched out again, agonizingly silent and dim. "Tell me, my king," she finally spoke. "Have you heard of the Sundrop flower?"

Frederick coughed in disbelief. "A child's story. It doesn't exist!"

"It does," the Crimson Caster answered sharply, her red gaze boring into his. "And I know where it is. All who feel magic do. It is like the sun, burning over the horizon of our kingdom like a flaming star. I know where it is, and I know it will save the queen. She is at death's door. It is the only thing that can save her now."

The king breathed sharply through his nose. He didn't like being given ultimatums. But to save his wife… "Do it," he ordered. "Bring it to me."

But the Crimson Caster raised one slender finger. "On one condition, King Frederick. I wish to have full access to your library. Not the city library. Yours."

Frederick barely bothered to even consider her request. "Yes, done, of course! Just do whatever it takes to save my family!"

The Crimson Caster blinked slowly. "I am not heartless, my lord. I will warn you of the dangers of using the flower. To disturb a magic so deeply rooted…It could spell disaster in a number of ways."

The king looked to his wife. He reached for her pale, clammy hand and held it fast in his. "Whatever price," he whispered. "I'll pay it."

And so, the Crimson Caster led the king's scouts to where the Sundrop flower grew. Word spread of a hope in the darkness, a light that could bring the royal family back from the brink of despair. Many prayed the rumor was true, that the queen would be saved and a new heir would be born. But there was one who did not believe the Sundrop was the answer.

"Frederick," Quirin begged at the king's throne. "You can't take the Sundrop. Even if you do find it – "

But the king's decision was resolute, his voice of reason ignored. "I'll accept the consequences of this, if it saves her."

"It won't be your consequence," Quirin retorted. "The entire kingdom will be in danger!" He said many things to the king that day, words of terrible warnings and dark lands filled with decay. All these things, King Frederick ignored, and Quirin left with his heart in his shoes. That night, the king accepted the flower and watched as the Crimson Caster demonstrated how to prepare its magic.

"Have her drink it," she told him, her voice quiet and weary. "And pray that your people forgive you for whatever travesty may come to pass."

As Frederick raised the elixir to his wife's lips, he stared back at the Crimson Caster. His eyes were cold, determined. His words were caustic and biting, words that would not be forgotten. "And may your guilt be reflected with mine."

The queen was saved, her child secure. The kingdom erupted into celebration, praising the miracle that had preserved the royal line. No word was breathed about the Crimson Caster, and she disappeared from the southern lands. The king's newborn child was a daughter, and she was given the name, Rapunzel, after the flowers that sprouted in humility towards the sun. The king watched a new dawn break over his kingdom, and he heaved a sigh of relief…

…Until his daughter was stolen.

How the thief managed to infiltrate the castle was a mystery; many claimed it was magic. At the sight of his wife weeping for her lost child, the king felt rage take over his grief-stricken mind. There was only one person he suspected to have taken his daughter. After locking down the castle, he ordered his knights to scour the Haderon Forest.

After three months, they returned empty-handed.

While the kingdom's guard increased their efforts against criminal activity, the king set aside a very special group of soldiers. They were hand-selected, each a seasoned warrior with impressive skill. "I want every witch, wizard, warlock, and magic user brought to the castle for interrogation," he demanded. "Anyone and everyone who claims to have known this woman will comply or suffer the same as every other criminal you find. Hunt them all down!"

And so, the witch hunters began their crusade. As the few mages left in the kingdom were routed and dragged back to the castle, the Crimson Caster remained unfound. Neighbors were suspected, and distrust spread like a plague. Magic became a forsaken art, suffocated by the realm of science and alchemy. A shadow fell across Corona as the months turned into years, and the princess was still nowhere to be found. It seemed that the future of the kingdom would fall into an age of disarray.

But the queen encouraged her husband not to give up. Each year, on their daughter's birthday, they petitioned each and every citizen to craft a floating lantern, after a tradition from a faraway land the queen's sister had shared with her. In the evening, they'd send their makeshift lights to the heavens, singing a prayer for the princess to return.

And, one day, she did.

But the Crimson Caster did not.