"Varian? Are you awake yet, son?"

A knocking sound issued from outside Varian's bedroom door. He stirred and opened his eyes, blinking blearily as he stretched. He peered at his surroundings, taking in the sight of the mid-morning sun illuminating the far wall. Mid-morning? It wasn't like him to sleep in that late. He stood and crossed sleepily over to the door, opening it with a lethargic yawn.

His father stood on the other side, glancing down at Varian with his bushy eyebrows raised. His arms were folded, but he slowly dropped them when he saw his son. "Well, I guess you're awake now," he mused with a half-smile.

"Dad?" Varian felt a sudden urgency grip him, locking every muscle in his body. He lurched forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his father. He pressed his ear to his chest, felt his heart beating there. The sound of it brought inexplicable tears to his eyes, and his throat became too closed to speak.

Quirin placed a hesitant hand on Varian's head. "Is everything alright?" he asked, stiff with concern.

Varian managed to pull away enough to look up into his father's face. "I…y-yeah. Yeah, everything's…fine."

"Bad dream?" Quirin's hand moved back and forth, ruffling Varian's hair.

Varian tried to remember. "Maybe. I don't know." He hugged him again; it felt like he hadn't hugged his dad in a long time. Probably because he was always so busy. His forehead creased, and he pulled back again. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Quirin assured him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Varian shook head head. "I…I don't know." Something pressed at the back of his mind, like he'd forgotten something. Something important. But if it had been important, then he wouldn't have forgotten, would he?

Quirin stepped back and clapped a hand to his son's shoulder. "Well, either way, you need to get ready. We're expected as soon as possible."

"Expected?" Varian blinked. "For what?"

His father made a small chuckle. "Did you hit your head again?"

Varian reached absently for the back of his head, searching almost habitually for a sore lump. He didn't remember hitting his head, and he didn't feel anything. In fact, he felt great. He took a second to look down at himself. He almost reached his dad's shoulder, now. Had he lost weight? He didn't have much to lose, but he felt…older. Stronger. But he was sixteen in a few months, so that shouldn't be a surprise. So, what was he forgetting?

The boiler. The answer came automatically to his mind, like a match strike in his brain. He sucked in a gasp, clapping a palm to his forehead. "Oh, my gosh, that's right! The princess is coming personally to approve my boiler system!"

Quirin nodded, smiling. "Yes, and we can't have the princess waiting for us. Get decent and meet me downstairs when you're ready."

Varian nodded, retreating into his room to change. If the princess was coming, then that meant…Excitement shot through him, and he tugged on his boots with a wide grin on his face. The princess wouldn't be coming alone. Someone would have to come with her. Someone strong and beautiful. Someone who once saved his life. He raced over to his window to see if they were here yet. Old Corona's modest square could be seen over the housetops, stretching out like a shiny silver plate under the sun. What would she be wearing? The blue dress, or that adventurer's ensemble? She looked great in both, so it didn't matter. But he couldn't see her from here, so he bolted down the stairs to meet his father.

"Hey, Dad," he asked as he rounded the corner. "Do you think…" He paused when he saw his father in the kitchen, cooking eggs in one of the skillets. The sight of it made him stare. "Are you…making breakfast?"

Quirin gave his son a strange look over his shoulder. "Yes? You need to eat, don't you? You can't present your greatest invention yet with an empty stomach."

"Well, no, it's just that I – " Varian felt guilt replace the excitement in his chest, and his gaze lowered to his feet. "I'm sorry, I should have been up earlier. You shouldn't have to –"

"Varian, this is your day," Quirin interrupted softly, dishing the eggs out on a plate. "The least I can do is make you breakfast, for Heaven's sake." He glanced worriedly at him. "Unless you're too nervous."

Varian blinked. No, he wasn't nervous. He was…something. But those eggs smelled good, and he was starving. "Thanks, Dad."

"Good." Quirin set the plate down on the table and excused himself. "Someone has to keep an eye on the presentation setup," he explained as he closed the front door behind him.

Varian pulled a chair out and sat down slowly, tapping his lip with the tip of his fork. He glanced down at his plate, then stabbed a bite and crammed it in his mouth. Could use some salt. And ham. But his dad wasn't perfect. He wolfed down the rest, then sat there for a moment and continued to tap his lip. What was he forgetting? He had definitely forgotten something, and the feeling wasn't going away. It had to be something to do with the boilers. Had he gotten all the measurements right this time? Goodness knew he couldn't risk endangering the princess again. He was lucky enough to get just a verbal reprimand… or had that all been just a dream? No, it couldn't have been, because that was the day he met Cassandra. He could never pass that off as a dream, even though she was pretty drea –

Slam!

His thoughts were interrupted by the front door blasting open, then closing shut with a bang. He stood from his seat to see who had entered, alarm raising the hairs on his neck. At first, he saw no one, but he heard a ragged panting sound, like someone who had run a long way. His eyes finally caught sight of a little boy with his back pressed to the door, black hair disheveled and tossed askew. A pair of goggles sat crooked across his small, freckled face, and he pushed them out of the way with a pair of tiny, gloved hands. A pair of large, blue eyes stared back at Varian, wide with undiluted terror. The boy's tiny chest heaved like a wounded animal, and his legs looked like they were about to collapse.

Varian went around the table so quickly that he bruised his hip on the corner as he passed. He knelt down in front of the child, staring at him in dread. "You…who are you?"

The boy didn't say anything. He just lurched forward and buried himself in Varian's chest, sobbing. His hair was soft, and he smelled like warm air and summer grass. Through his tears, Varian heard him cry, "He's dead!"

"What?" Varian jerked the boy away, holding him at arm's length. Those blue eyes, red-rimmed and puffy. "Who's dead?" he demanded. "Tell me who's dead!"

"Come on," the boy gulped, snatching Varian's hand. "Come on, I'll show you!" He reached for the door handle and pulled Varian outside with surprising strength.

As Varian crossed the threshold, the grip on his fingers suddenly vanished. The sun made him squint, and he raised a hand to see…but the boy was gone. As his vision adjusted, all he saw were the houses around him, the cobblestone street, the lamp post on the corner. He turned about, looking every which way. But the boy was nowhere to be seen. There was no one to ask, either; everyone would be gathering in the square for the princess' arrival. As Varian closed the front door behind him, he felt a strange fear pluck at his heart. Was any of that real? Had he just hallucinated it? It was possible, wasn't it? But something inside him said it wasn't just his imagination. Something was very wrong, here.

But what?

It didn't matter. He had to get to the village square. He couldn't be late for the reveal of his own work! As he made his way through the streets, he felt his pulse quicken when he remembered at least one thing: the woman of his dreams was going to be there. Probably. He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up, but he just couldn't help it. Any chance to see her was worth it, and on an important day like this, she was the person he wanted to impress the most.

The square spilled out before him in a sea of bustling villagers; people Varian had known his whole life were gathering about, talking excitedly with one another as they set up booths for selling and trading, bringing out large tables and draping violet banners from their windows. Corona's royal emblem glimmered, woven with delicate, golden strands through the fabric. Varian looked up at it and felt a strange sense of pride. Today, he was finally proving himself to his kingdom, his ruler, his fellow countrymen. As he passed through the crowds to reach the square's center, he braced himself for scrutinizing looks and uncertain jaws set into perturbed frowns. Instead, he was greeted by warm smiles and pats on the back, celebrating his arrival.

"Here he is!"

"There you are, dear boy!"

"We're so excited for you!"

"Finally, no more need to boil our own water!"

"You're a lifesaver!"

The words left Varian breathless, speechless. He'd never heard such praise before in his life. It was what he'd always wanted, to be recognized and approved. It felt…good? Yes, of course it felt good! Didn't it? He smiled back at them, the faces that beamed. But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. For an instant, he thought he saw the boy again, shifting in and out through the crowd. But when he blinked, he was gone again.

"Varian!" It was his father, calling him from the podium at the center of the square. He stood proudly next to a large covering, brown burlap concealing Varian's work from prying eyes. He looked almost excited; an emotion Varian couldn't recall his father ever showing. As he approached, his father planted a warm, loving hand on his shoulder. The touch sent a memory flickering across Varian's sight – for an instant, someone else stood in place of his father, a swarthy man with dark, penetrating eyes and a deep, warning voice. Then it was gone, and his father was there again. "Look," he pointed with his free hand over the crowd. "They're here."

Varian turned his head to see the crowd part, clapping and cheering as a white carriage rolled smoothly into the square. Holding the reins was Eugene Fitzherbert, his smile wide with pleasure as he swept himself down from the front seat. Varian heard the reformed thief say something to the horse – Maximus? – before tucking a lock of dark hair out of his twinkling eyes. He opened the carriage door with a flourish, and a clean, bare foot popped outside. The rest of the princess followed, her green eyes shining like emeralds from beneath her short, brown hair. She wore a simply-tailored dress, but the fabric was purple silk, the bodice trimmed with pearls. She extended a petite hand for Eugene to take, and he kissed her knuckles with a playful wink.

A second passenger emerged from the other carriage door, too impatient to wait. She was tall, slender, dark hair kept short, exposing her pale neck. Her full lips were pressed into a purse, black lashes draped elegantly over her hazel eyes. Varian felt his heart ram into his ribcage at the sight of her, and his face burned. She was here. Cassandra was here! Had he combed his hair well enough? He didn't smell, did he? There was no way to check in front of a crowd like this! She was so beautiful, dressed in her royal handmaiden's gown, sky blue material bright like…

Periwinkle. It's a good chemical constituent. Varian liked to synthesize a derivative to help his father's blood pressure go down.

Like the myrtle flowers that grow in the valley.

A quiet voice spoke the words in his mind, drifting on a memory he couldn't recall. It was a female voice. Cassandra's? Hadn't she said it was her favorite color? Yes, it must have been her. Varian didn't know any other girls. Of course, Cassandra wasn't really a girl, she was more like a woman…a woman who was now approaching the podium with a smile on her face.

"Varian!" It was the princess who spoke first. She leapt up the steps and flung herself at Varian, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He could smell the flowers in her hair, and something about the embrace made him want to cry. "I'm so excited to see your invention." She pulled back and gave him the brightest smile. "The reports say you've finally managed to make it work! I can't tell you how much I would love to have hot, running water, you have no idea!"

"Alright, Blondie," Eugene quipped from behind, tugging at her elbow. "Give the kid some space, he looks like he's going to pass out."

"It's not every day a kingdom delivers hot water to the public," Cassandra spoke, folding her arms with a smirk. "You're going to make a lot of people happy with this, Varian, myself included."

The words finally brought the corners of Varian's mouth to his ears. "Good," he stammered, "that's just…I-I'm so glad you guys are here." His smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "So glad," he whispered, tears blurring his vision.

Rapunzel blinked at him. "Are you alright?" she chuckled. "You're acting like you haven't seen us in weeks."

"I haven't," Varian said without thinking. It felt like it had been months. But that couldn't be right. He had delivered his announcement to the castle personally. Hadn't he? He swallowed, suddenly anxious. He snorted in response to it, shrugging. "I mean, of course I have! Time just flies when you're having fun, and clearly my time has flown way too fast."

Eugene raised an eyebrow. "You mean, too slow?"

Varian waved a dismissive hand. "Time's relative, anyway. You guys want to see what I have or what?"

Rapunzel clapped her hands together. "Yes, please!"

Varian turned around and saw his father standing there. "You ready, Dad?"

Quirin smiled back. "Ready as I'll ever be, son."

Varian's brain stalled, and the anxiety dialed up to almost panicking levels. His hands were shaking as he forced himself to step forward, reaching to tug the burlap away. He gripped it like a lifeline, trying to force himself to focus. But something was screaming at him on the inside, begging him to stop. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't stop himself from looking. In the distance, just on the edge of the crowd, he saw the boy once more, watery blue eyes staring accusedly at him. Suddenly, the entire world went silent, Varian's ears listening only to the child's words.

"That's enough, Varian."

Varian flung the burlap aside, tugging it away like he was tearing down a wall. What he revealed was no boiler. It was an automaton, hand-tailored for one purpose: destruction. Its red glass gleamed down at him, like an angry eye filled with magic. He closed his eyes tight, mashing his palms to his face. Branded into his eyelids were images of his father encased in amber crystal, the queen's body draped over Rudiger's back, the drill humming uselessly in his hands as he tried to break what couldn't be broken.

Then he heard cheering. He opened his eyes to see. The automaton was gone. In its place was a gleaming bronze boiler, each valve and pipe carefully placed and calibrated, each dial perfectly functional. It was Varian's dream made reality, right in front of him, his gift to the kingdom of Corona. It was everything he'd ever wanted, right here in this moment.

And it was all wrong.

He turned around on the spot, his jaw almost too tight to speak. "Princess," he spoke with surprising formality. "I can't give this to you."

Rapunzel's warm smile faltered. The sight of her was almost too much to bear. "What do you mean?"

Varian forced a swallow. Cassandra's paralyzing, inquisitive gaze was hotter than a brand. "I mean, it still needs a few…calibrations. I-I just need to make extra sure that it's not going to…that it'll work properly. That's all."

Eugene and Cassandra exchanged confused looks. Rapunzel kept her expression open, but Varian could sense disappointment from her. "Okay," she said kindly. "We can wait. Isn't that right, you two?"

Eugene shrugged nonchalantly. "Let's be honest, people. We're only here for the free food, am I right?"

"You're here for the free food," Cassandra sneered. Then she directed a smile at Varian. "I'm here to help my friend."

But you're not my friend. I almost killed you.

"Son," Quirin spoke next to him. "Why don't you go fetch what you need? I'll keep our esteemed guests company while you're gone."

Varian felt his chest swell with gratitude; even in this strange, hellish illusion, his father was helping him. "Yeah," he breathed, unable to meet his father's eyes. "Thanks, Dad." He escorted himself from the podium, ignoring the smiles plastered to everyone's faces. Without a word, he left the square – not towards his house, but towards the river. He didn't know how, but he knew the boy would be there, waiting for him. Once he had broken everyone's line of sight, he fell into a sprint, flying onto the dirt path that led to the riverbank. It was more of a creek than a river, a stream that wound its way lazily beneath the village bridge. Varian knew the boy wouldn't be at the bridge, though. He would be at the old tree that stood further down, rooted deeply at the bend, the tree where he used to catch frogs. He made it there, planting his hands into his knees as he fought to catch his breath.

The boy was there, standing under the wide branches, his arms shivering with anger at his sides.

Varian stared at him, wiping a drop of sweat from his chin. "You…you're me, aren't you?"

"Duh," his younger self answered. "I expected you to figure that out sooner. You are me, after all. We're smarter than that."

"Right." Varian wheezed, straightening his back. "So, what the heck is going on?"

"I told you to come," his younger self explained. "But we're too tired. The magic's too strong. Luna can't hear us anymore."

Varian squinted. "Luna?"

"Yes, Luna! The Celestial who gave you her power!" His younger self sighed. "We've forgotten too much. We can't help ourselves the way we need to. That's why I have to help you remember everything."

"I remember some things," Varian defended.

"Like what?"

"Like how Dad's…Dad's still trapped. And I committed treason. And…I think I broke out?"

His younger self had brightened, but his freckled face fell when Varian trailed off. "You don't remember anything else?"

Varian frowned. "We don't remember anything else."

His younger self donned a pout. "Well, I remember something you don't. Come on." He began to tumble his way down the path, tripping once or twice before throwing himself forward again.

Varian caught up easily, then reached to pick his younger self up. "This'll be easier if you let me do the work," he grunted, hoisting himself onto his shoulders.

"Wow," his younger self spoke over his head. "We're taller than I thought. Okay, go over the bridge and into the woods, where we used to look for mushrooms."

Varian jogged over the bridge and approached the woods, frowning as his feet crossed under the shade. "Mushrooms?"

"Yeah, we came here to look for mushrooms." His younger self tangled his fingers in Varian's hair. "We wanted to see the different colors they could make with this one oxide formula Mom had."

That's right. Varian remembered now: his mother had written that formula. "What else can you tell me about her?"

"About Mom? She likes experiments, like we do. Her dad used to make them all the time, so she was teaching us how to do it, too." Varian heard a pause. "She's gone, now. She got sick last year." Another pause. "I miss her. Dad's been really sad. But Auntie Lyra brings me butterscotch candy now, and Uncle Cain spends a lot of time helping Dad out in the fields."

Varian ducked under a low branch, careful not to whack his younger self with them. "We don't have an uncle, or an aunt."

"Well, no, they're not our real aunt and uncle," his younger self explained with a snort. "We just call them that because they're like our aunt and uncle. They're really nice. Auntie Lyra helped Mom when I was born."

Varian paused in his footsteps. "Auntie Lyra. Lyra. Of course! She has red hair, right?"

"Yeah!"

"And she has this red eye that glows sometimes because she has magic, but she hides it all the time so that people don't stare. One time, I saw her make magic, but she told me not to tell anyone!"

"Precisely!" His younger self leaned over to beam in his face. "I learned that word the other day. Precisely. It means…well, precisely. Keep going straight until you see a big rock."

Varian pressed forward, climbing over more tree roots. The sun barely shone through the dense foliage above them. "And Uncle Cain…he has black hair."

"Yep, and he's really tall, like Dad. He's always looking around a lot, like he's waiting for someone. He always has a sword, too. A big sword, and it looks really heavy, but he carries it around like it's nothing."

"Spellbane." Varian said it automatically, like he mentioned it every day. "It's called Spellbane."

His younger self frowned. "I didn't know that."

"No, but I do." But Varian still couldn't remember how. "What is it that we're looking for?"

"You'll see," his younger self answered. "There's the rock! Okay, turn right, and keep going until you reach an open space."

"You mean a clearing?"

"Yeah." Varian felt his younger self shift around. "So, you like that tall lady. The one with the serious face?"

Varian felt his skin grow hot. "I don't know if I…maybe. I used to. But I made a mistake, and I don't know if she'd ever forgive me for it."

"Have you asked?"

"No," Varian sighed. "I haven't gotten the chance."

"Why?"

Varian stopped in his tracks. "Shouldn't you know this stuff?"

"Nope," his younger self answered. "I've been stuck here for a long time. I've been trying to talk to you, but you could never hear me until now." He picked at the blue streak in Varian's hair, flicking the tip over his palm. "I guess that means you don't remember Shay, then."

Varian blinked. "Who's Shay?"

His younger self sighed exasperatedly. "She's only my future wife! How could you not know this? We're destined to be together, like Beatrice and Benedick. Do they get a happy ending? They'd better get a happy ending. I don't remember, I'm too busy trying to help you remember things."

Varian coughed in disbelief. "Your future wife, huh?"

"Well, she doesn't know it yet, but she's definitely into me. The other kids tried to tease me about it once, and I just owned it. They're just jealous because I have a girlfriend and they don't."

"You're too young to have a girlfriend," Varian argued. "But pray tell, help me remember who your 'girlfriend' is."

"She's…oh, no." His younger self tightened his legs around Varian's neck, hugging his head. "This is it. This is where I saw it."

"Saw what?" Varian looked: up ahead was the clearing, the woodland shadows spilling out onto the sunlit meadow grass. Varian didn't need to be told to hide. He crouched down low behind a mulberry bush, and his younger self clambered off, kneeling next to him.

"It's him," he whispered in Varian's ear. "It's Uncle Cain."

Through the leaves, Varian could see two men standing in the center of the clearing. One stood tall with a head of black hair, clothed in simple garb, with a large broadsword strapped over his shoulder. His eyes were brown, dark and piercing, his expression hard as stone. Standing across from him was a man Varian immediately recognized: salt-and-pepper hair trimmed short to his head, steely grey eyes wide and unblinking, wearing a pauldron and breastplate, his hand resting heavily on the pommel of his blade.

"I don't know who the other man is," his younger self breathed.

Varian felt his face curl into a snarl. "I do."

The two brothers continued to stare at one another, each waiting for the other to make a move.

Varian made as if to stand, but when he tried, his body refused to respond. "What the – why can't I…" Then he understood. This was a memory, his memory, something he couldn't change. He could only watch and remember.

Caius moved first. He was faster than he looked, lunging forward with his sword suddenly unsheathed. Cain was quick, too; Spellbane was already in his hands. The clearing filled with the sound of metal striking melodic metal, feet stretching swiftly over rubbery grass, hard breathing as the two former witch hunters ducked and swerved, dodging each other's attacks in a deadly, hypnotic dance. It was unlike anything Varian had ever seen. It was terrible and beautiful at the same time, like lightning setting a field ablaze. So quick, so dangerous. And all he could do was watch. Cain slashed upward, Caius gasped in pain, a bloody strike that forced his eye shut.

Then he saw it, the glint in Caius' good eye. He saw a window where Varian hadn't, where Cain wasn't quick enough to block. There was a kick, a strike, a swift swing of flashing iron…and then Cain was on the ground. He didn't move. Caius stood still as a tree, covering the wound on his face.

Varian's younger self was too shocked to speak. Every inch of his body was tight. Varian felt tiny fingers curl around his, and he was forced away from the scene, fleeing back into the woods. As he ran, he remembered the terror he'd felt, the certainty that the strange man was following him, that he would be hunted down and killed, just like Uncle Cain. He had to get to Auntie Lyra. She could help with her magic, he knew she could!

Out of the woods and down the river path they went. Everything was a blur. They raced further, towards the edge of the village border, almost into the southern field. There was a house there, a small cottage with a slanted roof and a delicate glass windchime tinkling in the breeze. A black hawk's feather dangled from the longest chime, flittering like a leaf.

Varian's younger self didn't bother knocking on the door. He threw it open and dashed inside, dragging his older self with him. Once inside, Varian was met with the familiar smell of dusky smoke and the sound of bubbling liquid. Sunlight spilled onto the cottage table, where a striking woman with red hair stood alert, her hand frozen over the cauldron she was stirring. Standing by the woman's side was a little girl, her black hair tied back from her face. Her eyes matched the woman's, one orange and one red. They seemed to fill almost her entire expression as she stared at them, her jaw loosely agape in surprise.

The moment he saw her, Varian remembered. It struck him, hard and fast, and it left him wondering how he could ever have forgotten. This was the girl he used to spend afternoons with, chasing frogs by the tree. This was the girl he used to bring to shop windows, staring through the glass at pastries and shiny baubles. This was the girl who used to argue with him about the difference between a potion and a serum. This was the girl who had left him terrified that he would never see her again when she disappeared one afternoon, when everyone had spent hours searching for her. This was the girl who was too afraid to learn how to swim, the girl who boasted about knowing how to make bread before any of the other children learned. This was the girl who used to giggle about the flames she could make with her hands, dancing around with her fingers in the air. This was the girl he had found years later in a cursed forest, who had led him to a necromancer's crypt. This was the girl who believed in him, who stuck by him even after learning what he had done. This was the girl who called him friend.

"Vari?" she blinked at them, chewing her lip with her baby teeth. "What's wrong?"

Varian couldn't bear to look at her. The shame he felt for forgetting was too much. Without a word, he stepped back outside, standing on the porch step as he closed the door. He remembered everything, now. He'd told them what he'd seen, and Lyra had run. Varian felt the door burst open behind him, and Lyra rushed through him, phasing like vapor around his body. He watched her sprint at almost inhuman speed, disappearing down the river path. He heard the girl's wail, a mournful cry that made him cringe and ache.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, clenching his jaw. "I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry."

Something light rested on his head – a hand on his hair – and a familiar, gentle voice spoke. "There's nothing to be sorry for, love. There was nothing you could have done."

Varian turned to see Lyra standing there – the older Lyra, the one he'd seen that night in Newbarth. The streaks of grey in her hair made it look almost pink, and her gaze was weary, but she smiled at him. The sight of her didn't bring surprise or confusion this time. Instead, Varian felt a wave of nostalgia. He didn't know how she was here, but he didn't especially care. He knew her now, really knew her. It was the most wonderful thing. "Auntie." He embraced her, hugging her tight.

"It's alright, dear," she cooed, stroking his head. Her accent was thick with emotion. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should have known that you were strong enough to keep this memory." He felt her sigh. "But I was afraid that you would never be the same. So young. You'd already lost your mother. I didn't want you to bear more."

Varian pulled away, his face wet. "Shay. She thought you made me forget because of her."

Lyra's face twitched with pain. "In a way, she isn't wrong. It was too dangerous to stay. She didn't want to leave. Knowing that you wouldn't remember made it easier for her. We would start anew, far from where anyone could harm us."

"But then you left her." Varian shook his head. "She's been alone all this time."

"And that is a mistake I will atone for, to the end of my days." Lyra squared her shoulders, clenching her fists at her sides. "You disobey me, Varian. I know you still seek to set me free."

"I have to," Varian insisted, wiping his face clean with his sleeve. As he did, he felt the pain in his shoulder, a reminder of the wound that still needed to heal. "Caius knows where you are. If we don't set you free, eventually he will."

Lyra's red eye flashed white-hot with anger. Varian felt the air grow warm between them as flames danced briefly across her fingertips. Then she sighed sharply, tossing her head stubbornly to the side. "It seems I cannot stop you, either way. But you know what will happen. The key was a lie. To invoke it would only repeat my mistake. Your alternative is to unleash Haderon's power upon Corona."

"I've fought the undead before. So has…Martin!" Varian clapped his hands to his head. "I have to save Martin!"

Lyra turned her steely gaze towards the cottage door. "Yes," she declared. "I feel the phantom. He knows you've broken his spell." She raised her hand and made a swift gesture; a flash of light bloomed through the door cracks, simmering with energy. "The way is open, now."

Varian swallowed. "What's on the other side?"

"A realm that you should not linger in," Lyra answered. "My daughter has kept his will at bay, waiting for you. She has grown very weak."

The door beckoned, tugging at Varian like a string. He felt the weight of Creighton's axe settle on his back, his father's bow set firmly in his hand. "Come with me," he begged. "You're a Scion of the Seven Sisters. You can help me fight him!"

Lyra sadly shook her head. "I can reach you here only because of my spell…a spell that has now been broken." She suddenly smiled. "And I am glad for it. You have become everything your mother hoped you would be. I wish she could see you now."

"Auntie…" Varian gulped. "I promise, I'll get you out of there. I will set you free."

"If you do, I will relish the free air again. So long as you are willing to accept the consequence." Lyra took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. "Be strong, Varian. You are loved, and you have the will to succeed. There is more in you."

Varian nodded. "I'll remember it, this time."

"Good." She gestured to the door once more.

As Varian reached for the handle, he turned around to speak. "Auntie - "

But she was gone, and Varian was alone. He turned to face the door once more, his breath quickening as he flung it aside.

What greeted him was unlike anything he had ever seen.

It was a wide expanse, swirling with dense, violet fog. He saw no landing before him, just open space. Pieces of broken building fragments drifted in and out of sight, smashed and crumbling slabs of pavement and concrete. Varian tried to peer through the vapor – in the distance, he could make out a large, gnarled tree. It looked very much like the tree in the Crimson Caster's garden, only much bigger, black and corrupted, bark peeling from its trunk like ash.

"What is this place?" he breathed.

He didn't receive an answer. Instead, a great wind blew from behind, forcing his feet to slip. He fell forward, shouting in fear as he tumbled downwards. He fell hard onto a fragmented stone block, knocking the air from his lungs. Bruised, he groaned as he stumbled to his feet, his knees shaking as the block wobbled under his weight.

"Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you would arrive."

Varian looked wildly about, trying to find the source of the voice. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, and he saw no one through the fog. "Who are you?!" he demanded.

"A friend," the voice answered simply. "Or at least, I'd like to be."

Varian narrowed his eyes. "I have only two friends, here. I won't fall for any more of your tricks, Matthews! Show yourself!"

The voice laughed, deep and throaty, heartless and cold. "Oh, dear. You still think that Tromus is in the game. I'm afraid Tromus is about to be…shall we say, disposed of. Failing once was unacceptable enough, but twice?" A pair of horns flashed through Varian's mind. "I have standards, you know. He'll receive no aid from me. Not this time."

Varian felt his blood freeze. "Zhan Tiri."

"Quite so, little alchemist. I applaud you for your gumption, but I'm afraid it's far too early for us to meet. There are certain things that have yet to occur, and you are much too weak for it to be fun."

"Where's Martin?" Varian stabbed his finger into his palm. "You said the phantom's gone, so where's my friend?"

"Your friend is fine, for now," said the disembodied voice. "As a matter of fact, he's been having a remarkably pleasant time here. Would you like to see?"

Varian nearly fell off the slab as it lurched forward, bringing him swiftly through the purple haze. He stopped abruptly before a large platform, inertia tumbling him onto it. On his feet once more, he looked around for any sign of his friends.

There, in the center of the platform, was a pedestal infested with green vines. Woven in tangles was Martin, face-up on the stone, prone and unresponsive. Varian rushed to him, reaching to yank and tug the vines away. "Martin!" he cried. "Martin, wake up! Come on!"

The vines cracked and wriggled away; Varian swore he heard them hiss as they detached themselves from the soldier's unconscious form. As the last root shuddered away, Martin's brown eyes snapped open wide. He lurched up with a jolt, his blonde hair frazzled and unkempt. "Where are we?" He gasped. "Is this…oh no. No, I told you, I paid my tithing!"

"Martin, it's me! Focus!" Varian snapped his fingers under Martin's nose. "We're in some kind of alternate dimension. Do you remember anything?"

Martin swallowed, wiping a hand across his face. "I…the phantom. He put me in some kind of…incredible dream. There were fireworks and a lagoon and Bethany was there –"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," Varian snapped. "Come on, we need to find –"

Boom! A shockwave reverberated through the air, thrumming in their chest cavities like a drumbeat. There was a flash of light in the distance, and something shot out of it like an arrow. It struck the platform and rolled to a stop near the pedestal, smoking and crackling. It was Shay. Her dress was in tatters, her hair a blazing sheet of red, her arms shuddering as she slapped her palms to the ground, struggling to get up. She seemed translucent, almost completely see-through, like she was a ghost.

Another flash of light, and Tromus appeared. He was haggard, barely holding together, like a candle that had been burning for too long. He snarled viciously down at where Shay had landed, his eyes billowing black with rage.

"You…cannot kill me…little girl…" he slurred, raising his clawed hand. "Not when I rule this place…" His gaze turned to Martin, a wicked snarl curling across his melted face. "If you will not accept a dream…then you will perish in your nightmares!"

The platform rumbled beneath them, the stone shattering as skeletal hands emerged from the rubble. Martin's face paled, his gaze tightening with fear. "No, no, no," He reached for his sword, drawing it out into the purple air. "Not again! We need to get out of here!"

Varian lunged forward, skidding on his knees to Shay's side. He reached for her shoulders, but his hands just phased through her. "Shay," he exclaimed. "We have to go!"

Shay's breaths were hitched and pained. The tears on her face evaporated as she managed to drag herself to her feet. She looked at him, the magic in her eyes fading as she cleared her head. "Varian…"

"I'm here, Shay," he smiled weakly. "But we have to leave this place, now! Do you know the way?"

She mirrored his smile. "Do I know the way…" Her red hair swayed as she gestured shakily towards the black tree in the distance. "Yes. There."

Varian looked for a way across – a series of broken fragments dotted the way forward, drifting slowly into place. It wasn't going to be easy. "Martin!" he called. "Come on, we're getting out of here!"

Martin, who was a little preoccupied with a rotting soldier, managed to kick himself free. "Finally!"

"No…" Tromus' voice rammed into their ears like a thunderclap. "No, you will die here. HERE, I SAY!" He spun downwards, screeching like a banshee, green flames erupting along the platform's surface.

Shay turned to face the phantom, snarling between her teeth. She hurled her hand forward, and the flames stopped in their tracks, turned red, and flashed back in the opposite direction. "Go!" she called to the others. "I'll hold him off!"

But Varian was having none of it. He had just gotten his friends back – they were all leaving, together. He stepped in front of her, searching through his bag. He knew it was here, somewhere, the one thing he needed. He found it, deep at the bottom, a tiny flask filled with bright, yellow liquid. "This place," he said out loud. "It's connected to all our minds, somehow, right? That's how you trapped us in dreams?"

Tromus didn't answer. He was too busy trying to redirect Shay's flames.

Varian sneered. "All I need is one." He held out his hand and felt the blue light flicker across his fingertips, felt the call of a sleeping Celestial. She was still there, even if he couldn't see her. She said she would be with him. As the flames disappeared, as the undead grew close, as Zhan Tiri's laughter echoed all around them, a single black rock erupted from the platform, streaking up towards the screaming phantom. Varian took the flask in his hand and exercised his will, readying his father's bow in his hands. His mind was part of this place, and it was part of him. An arrow flashed to his fingers, the flask ready at the head. He drew back, aimed at the rock's tip…and fired.

The arrow whistled through the air, singing like a bird.

The flask cracked, the liquid spilled. The amber erupted, spreading in golden twists. Tromus was too weak to flee, his energy spent. The gold wrapped around him, seizing and warping, his face contorted in petrified fear.

Then it was done. The undead collapsed around them, undone as the illusion faded.

Martin gaped. "How did you…never mind, you can explain it later! Let's go!"

Varian led the way, hesitating before leaping onto the first floating debris. He wobbled, regained his footing, and jumped again. He had done this before, he reminded himself, in the middle of a snowstorm across a freezing river. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now it bolstered his resolve.

"Oh, yes, that snowstorm," Zhan Tiri's voice boomed in a contemplative tone. "That was fun, wasn't it? I didn't expect to be so thoroughly entertained."

"Varian, who's the creepy talking voice?!" Martin shouted. He followed behind Shay's ghostly projection, her toes barely gripping the stepping stones beneath their feet.

The voice hummed a note of disapproval. "Tromus was right. You are the dimwitted one."

"Hey! Rude!"

"Sorry, Zhan Tiri," Varian panted as he reached the final step before the black tree. A white portal gleamed between its roots, warm light flowing from the world on the other side. "But I think we've stuck around long enough!"

"He wasn't lying, you know," Zhan Tiri continued. "I can help you save your father, and it would be much easier in the long run for you."

Varian leapt onto the tree's platform, staring up into its ashen branches. He paused, processing what the demon had said. "I'm not like you," he answered in a quiet voice. He felt his friends behind him, waiting on bated breath for him to finish. "I'd rather live hard and happy than easy and miserable. I'll accept the consequences, gladly, if it means I can save the ones I love."

There was silence for a moment. "Love?" the voice sneered. "Love? You know nothing of love!"

"Yes, I do." Varian balled his fists. "You're just jealous that you don't."

A growl emanated through the expanse, rumbling like an avalanche.

Varian smirked. He could feel the wind from the outside world, blowing the blue streak of hair out of his hot face. "You said it was too early for us to meet. Let me know when you're brave enough to face me."

Then he ran into the portal, his smile widening at the sound of the demon's fading scream.