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izaswritings · 6 years ago

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Title: Labyrinths of the Heart

Synopsis: Plagued by cryptic dreams, Rapunzel leaves to find the origins of the black rocks and face her destiny— only this time, she takes Varian with her.

Notes: I just want to say thank you, to everyone. Each and every comment, kudos, reblog, response… it really means so much to me, to see what people think of my writing and of my fic. I’ve never had such a large and positive response to my work before, so I’m just so grateful to have met all of you!! I never would have finished this story without you.

I hope you enjoy this final chapter! ❤️

Warnings for: blood, impalement, graphic descriptions of wounds, near-death situations, death threats (again, via Moon, as always), mentions of past child abuse and past character death. If there’s anything you feel I might have missed, please let me know and I’ll add it on here!

AO3 version is here.

Previous chapters can be found here!

Chapter X: One More Chance

There is a time of night that lingers on between the midnight hours and the break of dawn, a time when the darkness is so thick and cloying that even the stars seem dim. When they were kids, Lance used to tell tall tales of this time, the magic and monsters that breathed in the shadows, that time that felt almost timeless. Eugene had never put much stock into those stories, but as he picks his way across the dismal landscape, he cannot help but think back on them.

The Dark Kingdom is well-suited for this dark before dawn. Timeless hours for a timeless place. It’s a land of dirt and black stone, and absolutely nothing else. It feels like a different realm entirely, disconnected and displaced from the real world. Like a nightmare come to life, or one of Lance’s horror stories made flesh, and while Eugene has never been one for fables, after the fight he just had, he’s a little more inclined to believe in the superstition.

On the other hand, Eugene reflects, he could just be tired. Because—and in hindsight, he should have seen this coming—he is very, very tired.

This past week, barely six full days, has felt more like an eternity. He has gone through so much emotional whiplash it’s starting to get ridiculous. Rapunzel’s absence gapes like an open wound, and even Varian’s loss is starting to grate on him. After over a month of constant travel and conversation, it is strangely hollowing to look around, expecting a sullen scowl and snapped retort, and find absolutely nothing. Rapunzel’s laughter; Varian’s dull bitterness—the absence pulls.

The confrontation with the Moon, meeting Adira—these things had helped, in their own way. It had given them a purpose, a goal to focus on besides the grief. But even that has now gone stale. Their return from the mountain is made in shameful silence. They have confronted the Moon and lived to tell of it, but the battle ended with a loss on both sides. No answers, no victory—no Rapunzel or Varian.

Eugene knew going in that this would be the result—the best possible solution. It’s still crippling.

They are running away, leaving the mountain behind once more, leaving Rapunzel to her fate. It burns even worse the second time around.

Eugene hitches his foot against crumbling stone, and hefts himself up the cliff-face, bare fingers digging into the crevasses of the soft rock. The wasteland is mostly flat but for a few craggy and jutting hills, looking as if they’d been torn right up from the ground and left to stand as a warning. The stone here is weaker than the black rocks, but still solid—the edges of the cliff poke hard into his palm, sharp and uncomfortable.

Eugene grits his teeth, reaching the top of the cliff. He pulls himself over the ledge and rolls over onto his back, breathing in deeply through his nose. He keeps his eyes closed, counting the seconds under his breath, then rolls back onto his feet and goes over to help Cassandra up. She hasn’t asked for help once this whole return, but he knows her arms are bothering her. There’s no other reason for why she’s lagging behind both Adira and Eugene otherwise.

Eugene leans over the ledge and offers his hand, and smiles when Cassandra scowls up at him. With her gloves on and sleeves rolled down, he can’t see her arms, but he knows they must be bruised black-and-blue. His neck is looking—or well, feeling— much the same. If nothing else, the Moon has one killer grip.

Eugene waves his hand pointedly in Cassandra’s face, eyes fixed on her, and does not look up. He does not look behind her, behind them.

He will not look back at the mountain. He will not look back.

Eugene won’t look. He can do this, he can keep his eyes forward and his breaths even, he can keep going, following silently in Adira’s footsteps as she guides them across the landscape, the dark mountain looming at their backs. Eugene won’t look back at that mountain. He won’t think about Rapunzel, or the Moon, or how he has left them all behind.

He won’t.

(He can’t.)

Cassandra’s gloves are ice-cold against his skin when she finally takes his hand and resigns herself to his help; her grip is strong enough to bruise. He squeezes her fingers and pulls her up over the ledge, careful to avoid tugging too hard on her arm.

“Ooh, chilly hands even through the gloves,” he tells her, and lilts his voice to something high and teasing. “I always knew you were cold-blooded, Cass-an-dra.”

Cassandra raises both eyebrows at him, something sly and fond in the slant of her mouth, reluctant amusement. “You’ve used that one before. Finally run low on creativity, Fitzherbert?”

“Huh? No, I haven’t.”

She doesn’t laugh at him outright—it’s not her way—but her expression is all smug. Her near ever-present exhaustion and strain from the past week fades under her wry smile. “Yes, you have.”

Even this little bit of talking makes his throat ache, but damn the Moon anyway. If even the threat of hanging couldn’t stop Eugene from joking, her forceful interrogation sure won’t. Eugene grins back. “What, really? Ah, yikes. Well then, I’ll find a new and original Fitzherbert-certified insult for you soon.”

“Woo,” Cassandra says, dry as a desert. “I can’t wait.” She brushes past him, checking his shoulder in clear challenge, the ghost of a grin curling at the corners of her lips. Eugene’s own smile grows brighter with the familiar exchange. He turns to follow her, a laughing retort rising to his tongue, and then the mountain catches in the corner of his eye.

Just like that: his good mood gone, his laughter spoiled. The words wither behind his teeth. The person that should have been there, Rapunzel’s soft and lilting voice, the roll of her eyes at their bickering—the loss digs into him, the empty space seizing at his heart.

Eugene rubs at his throat and closes his eyes, looking away from the mountain. His fingers press hard against still-forming bruises. It’s too late to ignore it, now.

“Damn,” he whispers, under his breath. Cassandra has walked on ahead—she hasn’t noticed his silence yet. She’s still smiling. He doesn’t want to ruin it, but his own chest feels tight, eyes hot. “Damn it.”

“Don’t stop, Fitzherbert.”

Adira stands at the forefront, far ahead, already starting over the next hill-rise. Her eyes rest unwavering on the skyline, her expression cool, her body language controlled and focused. She doesn’t look at Eugene, but he can hear the faint undertone of judgment in her voice, knowing and disapproving. “We have to keep going.”

In the distance, Eugene can see Maximus and Fidela and all the other animals standing on a high rise, waiting to see if anyone returns. Pinpricks in the horizon. Eugene closes his eyes again and swallows hard, feeling a painful tug at the bruises on his throat.

“I know that,” he says, and the words scrape through his teeth. “Sorry. Just got a little lost in thought, that’s all.”

Cassandra glances back at him, her small smile fading into a frown. Eugene ignores the sinking in his gut and tries for a smile. Her frown deepens.

“It’s all good,” Eugene says, more to Cassandra than Adira. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

He catches up quick, and Adira nods and continues on, long strides and a confident walk. Cassandra doesn’t move. She lets Eugene pass her, and he can feel her watching him, her eyes fixed on his face.

He stops, a momentary pause, a quick glance back. His smile is lopsided and forced, but softer now—more genuine.

“I’m fine, Cass.”

Cassandra stares at him, expressionless and unwavering. Eugene waits.

At last, she nods, short and fast. Eugene sighs under his breath and turns away, following in Adira’s wake, his heels kicking up dust. He can hear Cassandra walking just behind him, in his shadow, supportive and flanking his side as if they’re in a fight. It’s distinctly herding behavior. It makes him want to sigh and laugh all at once.

They reach the animals on the outskirts of the Dark Kingdom, where the black rocks aren’t as numerous and there’s more chalky cliffs than black rock spires. They are still too close to the mountain for comfort, but any farther would be another day’s ride, and they do not have the energy—or the will, for that matter—to go that far.

When he sees them coming up the last hill-rise, Maximus tosses his head and brays in triumph. The sound is loud and jolting in the silence, and cuts short soon after, right when Maximus notices they are alone. Battered and bruised and bloodied, and still no Rapunzel or Varian. His nickering turns low and whining, and Fidela paws anxiously at the ground beside him. Ruddiger ducks back into his now-customary saddlebag.

Pascal, worst of all, takes one look at them and curls up small on Maximus’s head, green scales tinged pale yellow with grief. He hadn’t taken being left behind well, when Eugene and Cassandra had gone with Adira to face the Moon; to have nothing to show for it, even after acquiescing to stay behind…

Eugene winces despite himself. He never thought he’d feel bad for a frog of all things—let alone guilty, what a trip this is turning out to be—but here he is. How can something so small and green inspire so much guilt?

Eugene blows out his cheeks and turns away, ignoring the dumb twisting knots in his gut. It’s wrong. It’s just—all wrong. This should be a triumph, or a step forward, or something, but instead…

Pascal should be sitting up Rapunzel’s shoulder, just like always; Maximus should be strutting about and being annoyingly smug; Cassandra should be grinning and Adira shouldn’t even be here at all. Even Ruddiger, for all that Eugene has little interaction with the tiny rodent, should at least be with Varian. The kid had been mouthy and mean, but there had been moments where even Eugene thought that maybe Varian wasn’t as changed as they thought. Moments that usually occurred because of Ruddiger.

But now Varian is gone, just like Rapunzel, and that raccoon has been hiding in the saddle bag for over a week.

It’s wrong , and Eugene can’t even blame the Moon for half of it. Something’s gone amiss. Something has simply… shifted out of place, the path gone awry, somewhere along the way when they weren’t paying attention. Maybe in the ruins, maybe during that fireside conversation; maybe in those three long days stuck in a cave as the storm rolled over them. Maybe even from the beginning—Rapunzel’s desperate gamble and that chat in the dungeons she thought Eugene didn’t know about, a month and three weeks ago, long before they ever entered this dead land.

Eugene clenches his fists and breathes deep through his nose. It’s not fair, he thinks, which is an entirely childish thought and useless besides. He hasn’t felt this broody in ages; it’s like he’s a teenager again, god. But still. It’s not fair. It shouldn’t have been like this.

Where did we go wrong?

Damn destiny, anyway. He wishes their story had ended after the tower. Happily ever after, just like in the fables. Didn’t Rapunzel at least deserve that much? Didn’t they all?

Hell, he’s sulking now. Eugene hasn’t felt this trapped in years; as a thief he did his best to always leave an escape route. He doesn’t like this feeling at all, not in the slightest. It’s more than irritation, more than anger: he’s restless. Standing here, waiting for a sign… it doesn’t sit well.

He is tightening the straps on Maximus’s saddle, these thoughts swirling in his head as he works. His own anxiety manifests as twitchy fingers and rocking feet, the urge to pace deep grooves into the dirt. Maximus is similar--his head bobs and weaves, ears flicking to and fro, ever alert. It makes Eugene feel tired just watching him, and he places his hand against Maximus’s neck, patting gently in the hopes of soothing him.

As Eugene checks on the next saddle strap, making sure their packs are still secure, Cassandra falls back to stand beside him. Her arms are held straight by her side, her fingers flexing like she’s missing her sword. The scabbard by her side is empty. The absence must be driving her crazy; he knows her well enough by now to recognize the habit as less a threat and more a comfort.

“Eugene.” Cassandra’s voice is low, urgent. Almost a greeting, but there’s a question there too, silent and unspoken. She doesn’t say anything else.

Eugene just sighs, and pulls hard at the strap in a fit of sudden temper. “I know ,” he snaps, irritated by her attention. First Adira, and now her—he’s a goddamn adult, damn it all, he doesn’t need a watcher. But even as he says it, his ire fades. This is Cassandra, a friend despite all the banter and rocky starts. She understands in a way that Adira cannot— she’s leaving Rapunzel behind too.

“I know,” Eugene repeats, a little quieter, still forceful. He fiddles with the pack, but the straps are tight and secure, his task already complete. He lets his head fall into his hands and groans through his fingers. “I know. I just…” He trails off, hands dropping limp to his side, frowning at the dirt.

Cassandra considers him. Her shoulders lift in a helpless shrug; her eyes turn away. “I get it,” she says, simply. “This whole thing… whole situation…” She sighs through her teeth, almost a hiss. “It sucks.”

Eugene laughs, despite the way it tugs at his throat, and lifts one hand to hide his eyes. “Oh, man. That’s one way to describe it.” He can think of a few choice words himself, honestly. “I just… hah. I’m just angry. I can’t understand it. You know?” The words scrape raw in his throat. “How the hell did it come to this?”

Cassandra mulls on this. Her breath rattles, her eyes going distant. She rubs absently at her forearm, under the glove, soft pressure on bruised and irritated flesh. He can see the faint imprint of the Moon’s hand on her skin.

“I don’t know,” she says, at last. Bizarrely sincere, and unusually sad, and it’s enough to make him flinch, regret and helpless anger swelling in his chest.

“I thought it’d be different,” Eugene admits. He shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks his foot through the dirt, watching the dust fly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I thought…” He trials off and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

It doesn’t feel like it’s over, is the thing. And yet, at the same time—he feels as if there is nothing more they can do. That fight with Moon has dragged them both away from grief, given them a task and a chance, and now that it’s done there is nothing left. The grief is still distant—but so is hope.

They are waiting, silent and forced to stand still. Lingering on the fringes of this part of Rapunzel’s story, shoved aside without second thought. Eugene has never had illusions of his own importance (acting as King doesn’t count, thanks), but at the very least—

He’d fancied himself a part of Rapunzel’s world, the same way she became the whole of his, and it aches to learn otherwise. To know that destiny, and magic, and the world… there is a plan in place, a path already set, and Eugene is not a part of it.

The silence settles around them, and Eugene closes his eyes again, breathing in deep through his nose. He aches to look behind him. He aches to look back at the mountain, to stop running, to turn back and try again. To do anything.

“Rapunzel will come back,” Cassandra says, finally. Her voice has gone very quiet, almost fragile—and Eugene winces even as he turns to look at her, afraid of what he’ll see. But for all that her voice is careful, Cassandra herself is steady, stance strong and eyes calm, certain and sure. “Varian, too. Whatever the Moon has planned, they’re both… stubborn.” A pause, and then, forceful and final: “They’ll be okay.”

Eugene manages a smile, brief and bright just at the thought. “Stubborn. Hah! Oh, man, that’s one word for it. They’ve probably already insulted the Moon to her face. Twice, even. What do you think? ‘Old lady,’ maybe, for Varian. Moral lecture from Rapunzel?”

Cassandra snorts, then looks surprised at her own laughter. She lifts one hand and presses her fingers at her temple like the very idea is giving her a headache. “God, no, that’s not what I meant.”

He grins at her, relieved at this return to routine. Laughter is always preferable to… well, anything else. “Hey, I mean, they would! They’re pretty alike, in that. Or—predictable?”

Cassandra pulls a real grimace at this, turning away from him. It’s not enough to hide her expression. Her smile has gone abruptly tight at the edges. “I’d disagree. They’re really not.”

But Eugene is on a roll. “Nah, they kind of are, actually? Maybe that’s why things turned out this way. Blondie rarely changes her mind once she’s decided. Varian’s like that too.” He shrugs, lifting his hands to the air as if to say, who knows?

Cassandra isn’t smiling at all now, though, and the sight makes Eugene sigh. His voice gentles. “Varian just… got stubborn about the wrong things, I guess. But you’re right. Maybe… maybe that will help.” He goes quiet again. “I don’t know.”

“…Eugene.”

He looks up at the sky, pitch-dark and clustered with clouds. Just before dawn, and so dark he can’t even see the horizon. After hours of distraction, Eugene finally gives in, and turns back to look at that looming mountain. The solid stone spires, the gruesome crystal rising up like a distorted crown. An ugly smear on a dead and distant horizon, a shadow to block out even the sun. In this early morning, the darkness is so complete he can’t even see the stars, the clouds heavy and thick like smog.

It is always darkest before dawn, Eugene knows. But he thinks—and he might be a bit biased, but then, who could blame him—this kingdom has a special sort of darkness to it. It lingers on long after the light should have returned.

“I thought it’d be different,” Eugene confesses, so quiet he can hardly hear himself speak. For once there is no laughter in his voice, not even a hint of it; no remnants of his usual swagger. Even his anger has cooled, gone dull and dusted. Even his grief. Now he just feels tired. “I thought, whatever happened here… I’d be there to face it with her. We’d be there. Together. I didn’t… I didn’t want her to do this alone.”

Cassandra’s eyes drop to the ground. “I know.”

“Yeah.”

“We did what we could.”

“Hah! Guess we did.” He rubs at his throat. “Still doesn’t feel like enough.”

“…No,” Cassandra admits. “But we bought time. We distracted the Moon, if only for a little while. So maybe—”

Without warning, Cassandra breaks off mid-word, choking on air. All the color drains from her face, and she stares out blankly at nothing, breathing stuttering on a sharp inhale. Eugene blinks and leans in closer, waving his hand in front of her wide eyes.

“Cass? Hey, Cass, why’d you—”

It hits him suddenly, unexpectedly: vertigo so strong he almost crumples. Eugene freezes in place, his blood running cold in his veins; every hair on the back of his neck stands straight up.

“What—”

The world shatters.

The ground trembles and shakes, the earth upheaving under his feet. Rock buckles and groans, their lanterns swinging hard, the flames going out, flying right off the hooks and shattering against the ground. Light flashes like a flare before his eyes—far off, from the distance, so sudden and sharp that it breaks through the darkness like a knife.

Eugene stumbles and falls, nearly braining himself on a rock, remaining on his feet only because of Cassandra’s bruising grip on his arm. She drags him up and forwards, back to Adira and the horses, but the earth tremors under their feet and sends them both lurching.

“What—what the hell— ”

“Get down!” Adira shouts. She grabs at Eugene’s collar and bodily drags both him and Cassandra away from the solid rock cliff-face. The horses nearly trample them in their race to join them away from the unstable shelter. “Cover your heads!”

Eugene grabs white-knuckled at Maximus’s reins, Cassandra right beside him. His voice reaches previously uncharted ranges of shrill panic. “Hey, hey, what’s happening!?”

“An earthquake!?” Cassandra asks, and another tremor forces them all onto their knees. The earth is splitting in two. The ground ruptures into fissures, groaning and creaking like the broken bow of a ship, straining under some unseen pressure. The air shrieks in agony, wind twisted in tortured contusions. The clouds above roil and churn like a storm, attacked by an unknown foe.

“Can’t be,” Adira snaps, staring up at the sky. She looks, for once, painfully stunned. The sight sends shivers down Eugene’s spine. Anything that could get Adira to lose her composure... “The Dark Kingdom doesn’t get earthquakes, it’s a tornado country!”

The ground quakes again, so hard that dust flies up in large puffs of dark smoke and pebbles bounce like bugs in a frying pan, the air hissing like a stove. Eugene grabs Cassandra’s arm and yanks her away from a growing fissure in the ground. “Sure feels like an earthquake to me!”

For once, Adira does not look at all confident. Her strange poise has cracked along the edges as thoroughly as the earthquake has broken up the ground. The skin around her mouth is tight, eyes white all-around, her expression pinched and pale. “But this—this is—”

She stops mid-word. Her mouth opens, a sharp breath sucked through her teeth. She stares, stunned, and says nothing more.

Eugene follows her gaze, and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“Oh, hell ,” Cassandra whispers.

The mountain is glowing.

Light ripples across the millions of black rocks, a dizzying echo effect. It burns gold and then white-blue and then gold again, an unending gradient that would be a battle if not for how effortlessly the colors bleed into one another. It sputters and starts like a beacon, flashing like a signal trying to start, fading and then brightening to some unheard rhythm. At first it starts near the summit—gold coiling around what little Eugene can see of the Moon’s tower—but even as Eugene watches, the light expands.

It consumes the mountain, sinks deep into the earth like the roots of a tree, the incandescent light carving bleeding rivers into the dusty ground. The black rocks glow intense as a star— all the black rocks, the mountain and all the others, the needle-like forest and the stray few near Eugene’s head, every stone that Eugene can see for miles around shining as white-hot and as bright as they did the day Rapunzel reached out and seized hold of their power back in Old Corona. The rocks twist and turn in their rocky beds, their heavy slants dragging up to a straight vertical, a whole valley of pitch-dark needles piercing the sky.

Eugene’s mind falters and restarts. He grabs Cassandra’s arm and pulls her to her feet. Damn the earthquake, damn proper procedure—if they don’t find cover soon, they’ll be screwed. “We have to run!”

Cassandra stumbles, her eyes wide. “ Where? ”

“I—”

“Here!” Adira cries, and her hand bunches in Eugene’s coat before bodily throwing both him and Cassandra back towards the cliff-face. “Under the ledge! Quickly!”

Eugene slams against the soft stone. The whole world is shaking. He can’t focus. He thinks he can see Maximus—even Fidela—and Cassandra’s grip is painful on his wrist. “The rocks— shit, the rocks, it’s not enough—”

“There’s no time,” Adira snarls back. “We’ve got to—”

She never gets the chance to finish. Far off in the distance, miles and hours away, the light in the tower brightens to a painful intensity. The gold is washed away by a sudden and unyielding wave of moon-bright white, a shine so severe it blinds his eyes. It ripples down the mountain and into the stone. It breaks apart the earth and the sky. It scatters the clouds into vapor.

The world burns white, and then burns away, and Eugene sees nothing else.

Rapunzel opens her eyes to a dream.

She stands tall and still, frozen in place by her own confusion, her breath fogging in the air. Her right hand is outstretched, fingers curled closed as if to grasp something out of reach, and her palm tingles with a strange warmth—not painful, not quite, but prickly; uncomfortable.

She turns her hand over slowly, as if in a trance, and stares down at her fingers. Her hands are not bandaged, here. Instead of open wounds, her veins are burning gold, a color so rich and warm it looks like molten metal is tracing across her skin and up her arm.

Her next breath shudders out halfway to a cry. Rapunzel recoils, flinging out her hand as if that will get the light to fade. Something cold ripples at her legs, resistance pulling against her every action. Rapunzel freezes at the sensation, heart catching in her chest, shock and fear mingling in the back of her throat. She looks down.

Water pools at her knees, still and dark, the edges of her torn skirt drifting in the black waters. She can’t see her legs, or her feet—the water is so still and perfect it is practically a mirror, and all she can see is herself: wide-eyed and pale in the face, blood streaking down her cheek.

All at once, memory rushes over her. The Moon. Varian. The bridge, and the Moondrop, and that final choice. Reaching out to take the Opal, taking Varian’s hand for the second time.

White light, burning and bright, scorching the world away.

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of her reflection, her head snapping up. She whirls around, taking in this new place. She isn’t in the labyrinth anymore. She isn’t in that dark tower; she isn’t even in that wasteland kingdom. She is somewhere else, someplace beyond reality.

Above her head, a spiraling galaxy etches across a royal blue sky. Light dances at the edges of a far horizon, soft and blue with the promise of a brighter day. Planets spiral so close they are like a second moon, hanging solid and heavy in the shining sky. Dark water stretches on into the distance, everywhere she looks, an eternal sea—still and silent and undisturbed, a shining mirror-like floor. If she looks too long in the mirror she can see clouds and the shine of distant seas, houses and roads and city lights—the whole world, her world, seen as if from far, far above.

There is no land, no earth—but neither is this dark ocean empty. In the still waters of this other place, rocks sprout up like spiny flowers from the deep. They rise in patches all around her, the black rocks and even half-submerged ruins, worldly palaces and castles broken down to their bare bones, sinking into the sea. She can see far-off staircases spiraling to nowhere, a distant palace hall leading down into the water, a ballroom with its ceiling torn open to expose the stars.

Rapunzel stares, stunned absolutely speechless. Her breathing rattles in her chest. The air is soft, cold but not painful, almost sweet in her lungs. The dark waters lap at the base of her knee, and the sensation is odd but also comforting, peaceful and consistent. In the distance she can hear a low rumbling, a distant collapse—one of the ruins sinking deeper into the water, crumbling away. It is quiet, calm, peaceful—and with every second, her panic rises, tears pressing against her eyes.

She doesn’t know this place. She knows nothing like this place. She is in a world that is utterly unfamiliar, alone and confused and lost, so far away from what she knows and loves that it makes her shake. This beautiful, peaceful place—it is almost worse than the labyrinth.

Her breaths wheeze, rapid and thin. Her hands rise to her face—unbandaged, uninjured, unnaturally so, and why, why is this happening? Where is she? She thought, after the Opal—she thought it was over. Why isn’t it over? She wants to go home. She wants to go home. Why can’t they just let her go home?

Rapunzel curls her fingers in her hair and yanks, biting back a furious scream. She’s alone. She’s alone. Her sight is blurring with tears and her hands don’t hurt, and this isn’t right, none of this is right—

“—Rapunzel?”

The voice is distant, soft, faint with terror. It is also familiar.

“Varian?” Rapunzel whispers to herself, disbelieving. The relief that hits her then is so sudden she almost collapses, tears pricking behind her eyes. “Varian! Varian, is that you?”

“Rapunzel!?” He sounds stunned, shocked; she wonders if she is imagining the desperate note of relief in his voice. “Rapunzel, where are you?”

“I’m here!” Rapunzel cries, slogging through the water. The dark sea ripples at her knees, resistance pulling hard at her legs. She moves through the waters slowly, fighting for every step. In the distance, she can see the shadow of someone else against that pale blue horizon. “I can see you! I’m over here!”

He’s standing in the shadow of a broken castle, hidden under the slope of a crumbling hallway, and he startles when he finally sees her. They meet each other halfway, wading through the deep waters; for Varian, the sea rises up to his hips, and he nearly trips into her. She catches his arm and pulls him to his feet, and then drags him into a hug.

He yelps and pulls away, looking startled, and Rapunzel releases him immediately, a little contrite, quietly afraid. He doesn’t snap at her, though—just flushes red and winces like he’s uncertain of how to react, leaning away. In the pale light of this midnight world, his face is cast in deep shadows, the blue of his eyes unnaturally bright. His face is pale and washed-out, near colorless; his expression makes him look drawn and haunted, his fear plain to see.

“You’re here,” Varian says, as if to confirm, and when Rapunzel nods, he winces. “Okay. Okay. You’re here. We’re both… here.” His voice is rising, stuttering and quick, and his eyes dart around restlessly. The whole world seems to unsettle him, his expression only growing more trapped. “What—do you know where we are? What is this place? What happened ?”

This is another realm.

Rapunzel snaps her mouth shut. That—that wasn’t her voice.

Next to her, Varian has gone very, very still. He is frozen, blank and cold, staring out past her shoulder with wide eyes, fury sparking in his face. His teeth are starting to grit.

Rapunzel’s knows this voice, too. She could never mistake it. It is too unique, too distorted, to belong to anyone else.

She looks behind her, and the Moon smiles back with all her teeth.

Unlike the last time Rapunzel saw her, here Moon sits perched on a stray few black rocks, lounging casually on the stone like it’s a throne. Her knees cross, her feet left to dangle over the dark water, the tip of her bare foot casting long ripples into the black sea. She sprawls back against the slanted rocks, elbows resting on her thighs, chin cradled in her palm. Her eyes are like beacons in the low light, expression composed, looking down on them. Her hair drifts serene and slow around her face as if underwater.

No longer does the Moon’s appearance distort—there are no more afterimages, no echoes following her every move. In this place she is thrown into sudden and stark relief: every freckle-like constellation, the sharp sheen of her black skin, each strand of her glowing white hair shining as soft as starlight. She is clothed in muted galaxies and whispering stars, the Milky Way shrugged over her shoulders like a cloak, silver bracers on her slim wrists and bright silver silk braided like a belt at her waist. She looks beautiful, vivid, pristine—real and larger than life in a way she has never been before. If reality makes her appear a ghost, then in this world she is truly a god.

This is a world beside your own, says the Moon, her eyes resting heavy on Rapunzel. The words are flat, lacking in true emotion; she speaks as if she cannot wait to finish. A world above and below. This is where magic was born, where it seeps; the realm of all things, the birthplace of eons. It is my world. A world of dreaming and awakening.

Her explanation makes sense, in a vague way; in actuality, it makes no sense at all. Just like the Moon herself, really. Rapunzel drags in a thin breath and deliberately steps to the side, her arm outstretched, blocking Varian from the god’s line of sight.

“Moon,” she says, soft volume but firm wording. She keeps her voice steady.

Moon tilts her head. Her expression is unreadable, blank and cool, almost distant. It makes Rapunzel shiver. You seem surprised.

“I thought you were gone.” Rapunzel doesn’t waver, but her voice shakes, quiet and a little uncertain. “I saw the light… it…” She falters, remembering Moon’s shrill scream. “You shattered .”

The Moon’s lip curls, but the expression seems forced. She looks away first and when she speaks her voice is oddly monotone, false haughtiness and false composure. I did not break, little Sundrop. I fled. There is a difference.

Movement in the corner of her eye catches Rapunzel’s attention. Varian is stepping up, mouth opening, looking moments away from demanding answers—and on instinct, Rapunzel’s hand snaps out, blocking his path. He halts mid-step and blinks up at her like she’s grown a second head.

“Don’t,” Rapunzel whispers, trembling head-to-toe. She can understand his anger. She can understand his need for answers, and it must grate on him, to be ignored so thoroughly by the god. But Rapunzel—she doesn’t want Moon to see Varian. She doesn’t want him to draw the god’s ire.

For all of Moon’s threats, she has kept Rapunzel alive.

Varian has not been so lucky.

“ Don’t ,” Rapunzel says, “please,” and some of her desperation must bleed through, because Varian stares up at her with a vaguely aghast expression, looking lost and confused and suddenly small, and he steps back when she pushes him behind her. “Please, please don’t.”

He falters and then nods, abruptly quiet, all the anger gone from his face. He allows her to hide him, stays in her shadow. When Rapunzel turns back to the Moon, she can feel cold fingers wrap quietly around her wrist. A loose, almost gentle hold, grounding and kind, like something she’d expect from a much younger child. He doesn’t try to step out again.

Rapunzel breathes, and lets him ground her. When she opens her eyes, the Moon is watching her, expression cold and carefully blank.

“The light,” Rapunzel whispers, and her voice breaks on the words. She clears her throat and tries again, pretending their conversation had never been interrupted. “The light. After you—left—it… grew. There was someone else. That—that figure—person?”

Do not ask these questions, the Moon says. I will not answer.

Rapunzel is undeterred, and all at once, she is also angry. After everything that has happened, everything this woman has put them through—Rapunzel is sick and tired of being kept in the dark. “No. I—I want to know. What was that?”

The Moon grits her teeth. It is none of your concern. I owe you nothing, little girl.

“They were talking,” Rapunzel continues, relentless, halfway to a plea. She is so close to answers. So close to knowing why. And while it may not change a thing, at least then she could know. She wants to know. “I could hear them. Their voice. They said—” She stops. “They said your name.”

Oh, Moon. You were wrong.

That wavering voice, those ice-cold impressions. Regret and fear and hatred. Defiance burning like bile in the back of Rapunzel’s throat, a storm of emotions that did not belong to her. A shining blade, as bright as sunshine… and the sharp, efficient way that figure had drawn back their hand to strike, that blade swinging down deadly and true.

Moon. How could you?

Moon shudders, just briefly, pain flashing across her face so fast that Rapunzel almost thinks she’s imagined it. That— it was nothing. It meant nothing.

“But—”

Stop asking, little Sundrop.

Rapunzel grits her teeth. “They knew you! The light—and that person, they were—”

I told you to stop! Moon shouts, shooting upright, her casual pose lost. Her hands clench into tight fists. Her voice breaks half-way through.

The Moon recoils, stunned by her own emotion, her clawed hands rising up to cover her face. Her breath rattles, choked and hitched, breaking on either tears or rage. Her form flickers, a connection lost. For a moment, her unbroken and smiling face is overlaid by a deeper, darker image; something solid and more real than any illusionary appearance the Moon has shown Rapunzel thus far.

The pale glow of this other world casts Moon’s new appearance in a terrible and gruesome glow. In many ways, she appears much the same—her beautiful black skin, her shining hair, her starlight freckles. But now there is something else, too, and the sight of it horrifies her, shakes Rapunzel to the bone.

The Moon is shattered.

In the Moon’s dark and rock-hard skin, deep cracks carve through her left side, shattered pieces and pitted edges. Deep scars trail like tree roots down her arm and up the left side of her face, scrawling across her collarbones. The worst of the scarring clusters close by her heart, heavy and brutal, jagged edges of broken black rock like cracked crystal. Beneath the Moon’s splayed fingers, one shining eye wavers and splits as if cracked in two.

It is one of the most horrifying and heartbreaking sights Rapunzel has ever seen—because all at once, she knows. She knows that this is what the Moon truly looks like. This is who the Moon truly is.

And Rapunzel can guess, with a terrible certainty, who gave the Moon those scars.

Her tongue feels glued to the roof of her mouth. Her heart drops to her feet. She feels gutted, silenced, slapped. Of all the ways she feared Moon would respond— anger, insults, manipulation, just like Gothel— this, this lapse in composure and break in the smile, was not one of them.

The silence stretches. In the distance, another ruin crumbles into the dark sea, faint rumbling and ripples in the water, pulling at Rapunzel’s dress. As Rapunzel watches, the Moon closes her mismatched eyes and breathes in deeply, shaking like a leaf. With her exhale, the scars fade, the deep fissures in her skin resealing—the illusion set in place once again.

The Moon drops her hands away from her face, smoothing back her hair, every motion casual as if her lapse never happened. But her smile has gone cold, more a grimace, edged with a quiet pain. There is a brightness to her eyes that, if this woman had been anyone else, Rapunzel would have said they were tears.

It happened long ago, the Moon says, at last. Her voice is soft, distant and weak with an unseen strain. Flat and resigned. She knows what they have seen, but she does not address it. She just closes her eyes again, her breath shuddering. A memory.

“A memory,” Rapunzel repeats, whispering and thin. She feels numb, remembering the tower with a sick twist to her insides. The figure in the light (the Sun , some part of her whispers, the Sun, the Sun, the Sun )—they had wielded a sword, in the end. Hand pulled back, blade shining… and for Rapunzel, that blow never hit.

And yet. If that was the memory, then perhaps, in reality—

She doesn’t want to think about it.

“A memory of what?” Rapunzel asks, and her voice is softer than she’s ever heard it.

Moon opens her eyes, slow and thoughtful. Her hands fist in the silken fabric of her dress, twisting galaxies into tangled knots. What else? Beginnings. Endings. The day you and your counterpart fell. Sun’s tear… my blood. A Sundrop and a Moondrop. A dual creation. She shudders, raising her hands, curling her arms close as if to comfort herself. I… I should not have forced your hand, back in the tower. Not so close to the Moondrop. I did not think… the resonance—

Abruptly, her expression goes cold. Her voice hardens. No. I didn’t think.

A smile crawls across Moon’s face. It’s terrible, sickly, a sickle. It cuts her mouth in a gruesome line and exposes needle-like teeth, but worst of all is the emptiness of it, a horrible lack of joy. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

I got exactly what I deserved.

Rapunzel stares up at her. She doesn’t move. She has no idea what to make of Moon, these strange and mercurial emotions. Each time she has met Moon, the woman has been something new. Smiling and cruel. Angry and vengeful. Sly and cold. Desperate and ruthless. And now, this— quiet and bitter, as if all her masks have been torn away, leaving her with nothing but the ashes of every other emotion.

Hah. Yes. I got exactly what I deserved. I should have killed your little friends from the moment they entered my land; instead I let them live and let them distract me. I should have never have played two games at once. I should not have answered your call. So little time, and I lost hold of it—so of course this what I am left with. Absolutely nothing at all. She laughs, short and sweet. What beautiful irony.

Rapunzel doesn’t understand, but something tells her that if she asks, nothing Moon says will count as an answer. The god seems lost in her own mind, wrapped up in her own bitterness. Her smile is not a threat, but somehow it is the most terrifying expression she has worn yet. Possibly because it is the most human thing Rapunzel has seen from her.

Rapunzel doesn’t like the Moon. She might even hate her, after everything that has happened—there is so much of Moon that reminds her of Gothel. She hates it. She hates her. And yet…

She can’t help but pity her, just a bit. She cannot help but empathize.

Rapunzel takes a careful step closer, keeping Varian close but still half-hidden behind her. She doesn’t want him to catch Moon’s attention—especially not now, with the god like this. She chews on her inner cheek, considering.

“Please tell me,” Rapunzel says, quiet and careful and so, so gentle. She isn’t fighting. She will not let any of her anger show. The Moon has been compromising thus far, but Rapunzel refuses to test her patience. Not with Varian here. Not now, after everything, so close to an ending. “What happened? The Opal—this place—me.” Her voice stutters, despite herself. “You said—you know—the Sundrop. Me. What’s… what’s happening to me?”

It’s a safe topic, all things considered—it has nothing to do with Moon at all. But it hurts, to ask these questions. To acknowledge that fear. Rapunzel’s blood shattered the golem’s arm into shards. Her tears had sparked a resonance of memory and light. Her eyes had glowed golden like the sun, and Rapunzel still can’t find enough energy to panic about that—but it still scares her. Her own rapid healing, that power burning through her blood…

The labyrinth has made one thing horribly clear to her. Rapunzel is human, yes. But that is not all she is, and the very thought makes her blood run cold.

At the very least, the question serves to pull the Moon free from her rambling. The god considers her, watching Rapunzel’s face, mulling over an answer. After a long pause, her hand lifts, and one clawed finger points to Varian. Rapunzel steps more firmly in front of him on sheer reflex and a vaguely bitter expression crosses Moon’s face. Her hand drops back to her side.

That boy, she says, short and halting. He is alive, is he not?

Rapunzel watches her, wary.

Alive and whole—well, mostly. Do you know why? Defiance. He was dead, but you defied his fate. I offered you an ending, and you deemed it ‘not enough.’ You wished for a happy ending, and the world bent to your will.

Rapunzel stares. “But—the song—”

Silly girl, Moon says. The song is only a surface. In a well of water, the shine you see is but a reflection; the true depth is unknown. You have been skimming the pond your whole life and never known it.

She tilts back her head, eyes turning to the horizon, that pale strip of blue. What you are is a power with untold potential. The song only worked for your hair. Your tears, your blood, you —all you are is power. Power shaped by defiance. A wish for a happy ending and a kinder world, and a willingness to fight for it. Another sickle-sick smile. Humans always saw Sun as kind, passive. I have always found that funny. Healing was not her nature; it was merely an option.

“What are you saying? That I wanted him alive, and so—I, I willed him back to life?”

Moon sighs, cupping her cheek in one clawed hand. She is still watching the horizon. Simple, yes?

Rapunzel stares at her. Moon’s help, her response, her whiplashing emotions—it terrifies her. She doesn’t know how to read her. She doesn’t know the right way to act. Her lips tremble. She feels cold. She doesn’t know what words will turn Moon back into the bad guy.

“Why are you telling me this?” Rapunzel asks, and her voice has gone very small.

Moon startles, blinking down at her—and then she tilts back her head and laughs. The sound is awful, high-pitched and cold and utterly defeated. It makes Rapunzel's skin crawl. Why not? You have won, have you not? She holds out her hands to an invisible audience, her smile slashing her face in two. Her eyes are as bright as diamonds. You called my bluff. You saved the dying boy. You reached the end of my labyrinth. And you have even managed to defy me. I have nothing left. No other plans. No other ideas. Revenge would be hollow and petty and unbefitting of my station. What else am I to do, little Sundrop?

She doesn’t know how to answer; her mind blanks and her panic spikes. What is the right thing to say? The safe thing? What will get them out alive? An apology, perhaps—but even the idea makes her stomach roil, because Rapunzel is not sorry. She will never be sorry. Not when Moon’s idea of victory would have left Varian dead and Rapunzel in tatters.

Cold fingers abruptly squeeze her wrist. Rapunzel jumps outright at the sensation, water sloshing violently at her legs. She barely has time to take in Varian’s expression before he moves past her, stepping out of her shadow and into Moon’s line of sight.

Horror climbs up Rapunzel’s throat. She snatches at his wrist and goes to pull him back, but Varian shakes her off before she can get a proper grip. He looks at her, only for a second—resolute and determined and with the beginnings of anger in his eyes, an anger that makes her flinch. He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t need to.

Rapunzel lets him go, her heart in her throat.

Varian doesn’t smile, and nor does he thank her. He just nods, short and sure, and then turns to face the Moon, arms crossed and weight leaning back on his heels. She can’t see his face anymore, but she can see his anger in the tense line of his shoulders and the way his fingers curl viciously into his sleeves.

“Sucks to be you then, old lady,” Varian says, and his voice is cold, sharp and snapped. “Stop pitying yourself, it’s not like we care. Can we cut to the chase? What do you want? Why are we here?”

Rapunzel sucks in a sharp inhale, stunned by his daring, too horrified to stop him. Above them, Moon clenches her jaw, her bright eyes flashing in the shadows. Her teeth are a bone-white pale gleam through her snarl.

You were more polite back when you were dying, little boy.

“Maybe I’m just getting sick of you yanking us around at the drop of a hat,” Varian snaps back. He doesn’t back down, glaring up at the Moon the same way he once looked at Rapunzel, only a week ago. Vicious and cold and disdainful, sneering and sure in his anger. “I thought it was over, before. But now… this is—what, counting the dreams—the twentieth time? And I can’t even remember half of them! Give us a break! ”

Moon scoffs. I knew you to be angry—I did not know you were foolish. Come now, boy. Show some respect. I brought you here, after all. A thin and sharp smile, stretching her eyes open wide. There is the promise of violence in the bare of her teeth, hatred in the way her lips curl. And I am the only thing that can let you out.

Rapunzel forces herself not to react to that, pulling back her shoulders and holding herself still. Varian is not as expressionless. He flinches at the threat, just barely, and then his face shudders and shuts down, expression cool and distant.

Rapunzel watches him from the corner of her eye, feeling odd. She is well-used to Varian’s moods and venom, but this is the first time he has been on her side instead of against her when he is like this. It’s… weird.

She is not sure what to feel. In a way, it is distancing; it is like she has lost him, as if they’ve returned to months ago when he was still undeniably an enemy. And yet, at the same time—it is stark proof of how much things have changed. That anger, that hatred—in this moment, it is not directed at her.

Varian clenches his jaw, his mouth working. “Fine,” he says at last, with a precise politeness that’s almost clipped. It’s the same tone he used on Rapunzel’s father back in his lab, polite and faintly mocking, veiled venom in otherwise civil wording. “May I ask, then, Great Lady? How are we here? What happened to us? We took the Moondrop, and then…?”

He trails off, expectant; Rapunzel reaches over and squeezes his arm. He’s trembling.

Moon contemplates him for a long time, saying nothing. The dark waters splash at her rocky perch, and yet, not a single droplet hits her. Against that starry sky, her face haloed by the icy blue of that distant horizon, she seems utterly immovable. Her eyes are half-lidded and cold.

And yet—even now, there is something different about her. Not so much anger as it is exhaustion. She looks at Varian with an expression that is almost defeat.

Yes, you did, she agrees, composure returned. I brought you here to speak further. To be certain of the Sundrop’s choice. One last conversation before my kingdom burns away for good, now that its purpose is lost. She scoffs, almost to herself. Another shift . Her eyes turn to Rapunzel, weighted and cold. I thought I would talk to you alone, Sundrop. And yet. You don’t do anything by halves, do you?

Varian stills and steps forward before Rapunzel can answer. “Wait. You only expected Rapunzel? So why am I—?”

You should not be here, the Moon mutters, sounding frustrated. No, no. But she took you with her. She did not leave you behind. The Opal—you took it together. You, Sundrop girl—you gave it to him. You do not even realize the significance. He was supposed to stay behind. Let his corpse vanish with the labyrinth. And yet. Here you are. Here you both are. How utterly vexing. Nothing is as it should be.

“As it should be,” Rapunzel whispers, watching her. “Or… as you wanted it to be?”

The Moon pauses. Her gaze drifts away again. I always get my way.

“…No one has ever told you no?”

No? No!? Hah! I am so sick of that word. No, Moon. Don’t, Moon. Stop, Moon. She reaches up and places one hand over her heart, fingertips brushing a hidden wound. She doesn’t even seem to realize she’s doing it. No, no, no. For once I simply wanted it to be about me. I wanted to be right. I wanted her to know I was right. How could I have been wrong, after all? I’ve seen humanity. I know your kind. How could she still…? And yet. Hah! I could not even convince you, Sundrop girl. So what does that say, then, about me?

Rapunzel licks at her lips, thinking. All of Moon’s little hints, her vague wording, the way she looks at Rapunzel… almost as if seeing something—or some one —else.

“You wanted me to be like her. Like… the Sun. Didn’t you.”

Like her? Who am I fooling? You have none of her virtues but all of her flaws, and in that way, you are exactly like her. No, I wanted… I wanted you to be better. I wanted you to prove me right. Her eyes go distant. But you didn’t.

A thoughtful pause, and then her shoulders slump. I chose him. One finger turns to Varian. Someone you hated. Someone you feared. Someone not worth saving. And yet. You saved him anyway. You took him with you. She turns to Rapunzel. Her eyes are bright. Why?

It’s a fair question, all things considered. And yet—it’s the one question Rapunzel cannot answer. She doesn’t know. There’s a reason, of course, but it’s not a reason she can put into words. It is too big, too much, too complicated for that. And Rapunzel—Rapunzel is not interested in teaching basic human decency to a woman who treats those words like a foreign tongue.

“It wouldn’t mean a thing, if I told you the answer. You wouldn’t understand.” Rapunzel meets Moon’s eyes, and shakes her head, biting back a sigh. Her expression is determined, her stare resolute. “Figure it out yourself.”

Moon stares at her. That… that is not how this works. I demand—

“I don’t care,” Rapunzel says, with cold finality. “Varian—” She squeezes his wrist, well-aware of how carefully still he is holding himself. She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn’t dare look away from the Moon. “He’s not what you say he is. He’s not. That’s not all he is. And if you think that, then—then you haven’t really been looking at all.”

Moon goes quiet for a long time. You would do this? she asks finally. Her voice is tired, defeated. Her fury, her fickle furor, has died down to a dull resentment. This is your choice? You take my gift, and give it away before it has even graced your palm?

For a split second, Rapunzel has no idea what she’s talking about. Then she remembers. The Opal. She isn’t sure what Moon means—why she says ‘giving it away’ when they took it together—but it doesn’t really matter, either way. Rapunzel has her answer.

“I won’t leave him behind,” she says, pulling back her shoulders and lifting her chin. Her stance is set. Her arms are loose by her sides; her hands are curled into fists. She thinks of her mother—of Queen Arianna and the way she holds herself tall, stately and still and unyielding—and draws on the memory, trying her best to mimic her mother’s fierce resolve. “No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I am not leaving anyone behind. If that’s the choice you mean… then yes.”

Rapunzel holds herself tall and her voice rings out clear and cold over the silent sea. “This is my choice.”

Such conviction, Moon says, at long last. Such certainty, even though it is clear to me you have no idea what you are talking about. And yet. There is still truth to your words. You claim to have seen something I have not? Very well. I accept this wager. Perhaps I have not been watching closely enough.

Rapunzel stills. “Wait,” she says. The air presses down her. Every breath is like ice in her lungs. “W-wait, what are you—”

But Moon is no longer talking to her. One more game, she muses, to herself. One more chance. Yes. Why not? I will watch. I will see. I will accept the Sundrop’s choice for now. I will discover for myself if I have missed something.

Abruptly, her eyes snap down to Varian. Her expression hardens. But know this, little one.

She draws back her hand, and suddenly she is gone from the rocks, standing before Varian, her hand high and light gathering in her palm, power searing through her fingertips. Her hands are long and thin—and her nails are curled, sharp as talons, gleaming in the starlight.

“Varian!”

If I judge you to have failed, boy…

There is no time. No time to run. No time to even pull him away. Rapunzel reaches out, her heart in her throat, and Varian stares up at Moon with wide eyes.

There will be no more second chances.

Moon straightens her fingers, knife-like nails gleaming in the light, and punches her clawed hand right through Varian’s chest.

Rapunzel opens her eyes to reality.

She’s lying on her back, pressed flat against the ground, and when she curls her fingers dirt catches under her nails. Sensation, muted in that dreaming world, rushes back full force: every ache and every bruise, the throbbing pain in her hands and fingers, her sore soles, the dried blood that tugs and irritates at her skin.

She takes a breath and chokes on dust.

Rapunzel shoots upright, sitting hunched over her knees, hacking up half a lung. She feels both as if she’s run a mile and also slept for a thousand years—every inch of her aches like an old bruise, her skin tingling with pins and needles. Her head spins, her vision dizzy, her stomach sick.

Rapunzel presses the back of her hand against her forehead, breathing quick and shallow, struggling to clear her vision. The blurriness stays. Where is she? What’s happened? The last thing she can remember—she’d been somewhere else, that strange place with its endless seas, the Moon with her vicious scars… the god has asked her if she was certain of her choice, and then—

Varian.

Her last memory of the dream. The Moon had vanished, and reappeared in front of Varian, and then she had—

There will be no more second chances.

Rapunzel’s breath locks in her throat. Even her heart seems to skip a beat. Oh, god. Varian. If the Moon has killed him again, then—then—

She can’t have killed him. Not again. Not after everything.

“Varian!” she cries, struggling to climb to her feet. The world is oddly hazy to her eyes, bright enough to hurt. After so long in the dark, even this pale illumination is enough to make her eyes itch, the world blurry and indistinct. She can’t focus—in truth, she can barely see at all . Where is she?

“ Varian! ”

She stumbles onto her feet and then yelps in surprise and pain when her legs give out, her exhausted body finally betraying her. Rapunzel falls into a one-legged kneel, catching herself on the ground with one foot. She barely notices her own reflex. She fights in vain to focus her blurry vision, to pick out shape and form in this mix of shiny light and shadow. Everything is a mix of pale colors and deep shades, melded so thoroughly she can’t even see her own hand in front of her face.

Rapunzel doesn’t give up. Varian has to be here. He simply must be. After everything that’s happened—

There!

A shadow in the corner of her eye—an odd shape that might be a body. Rapunzel forces herself onto her feet and staggers over, falling hard on her knees beside him. She thinks he might be on his side, half-curled in a fetal position. This close, she can see a little better: he’s still and small on the ground. She can’t tell if he’s breathing, and she can’t see his chest rise.

Rapunzel reaches for his shoulder, feeling cold, her lips numb. She is terrified to touch him. Her fingers shake in the air. She isn’t breathing—her own breath held, already fearing the worst.

Varian starts coughing.

He shakes, shivers, and then groans faintly, a pained hiss through his teeth. Rapunzel stares, shocked still, watching blankly as his eyes blink open and he rolls over onto his back, clear and unseeing eyes blinking up at nothing. He stares blankly above Rapunzel’s head, and then his eyes drift to her face. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to recognize her. He looks almost bemused.

Then something in his eyes clicks. Varian sucks in a sharp inhale, and his eyes go wide. His hand goes to his chest and he lurches upright so suddenly that Rapunzel has to scramble out of the way to avoid knocking his head.

“She impaled me!” Varian shouts. He sounds stunned. Shocked. Near insulted. “With her hand! What the hell!”

Rapunzel stares at him. She can’t think. A moment ago, she thought he might be dead, and now he’s cursing and spluttering, vividly alive. The emotional whiplash is almost too much. Her sight is still distressingly blurry, but from what she can see—Varian’s okay. They’re both okay. Despite everything, they’re still here.

Rapunzel makes a small noise, totally involuntary. She claps a hand over her mouth. She can feel her smile stretch wide and wild across her face. Her shoulders are shaking.

“Are—are you laughing at me!?” Varian says, sounding scandalized. “I—I can’t—no, no, stop laughing!”

But even as he says it, his voice is starting to shake too. Varian claps a hand over his mouth, but Rapunzel can still see a watery smile starting to stretch out beneath his fingers. His shoulders are shaking. He bows over his knees and a small, high-pitched giggle crawls from his throat. He presses both hands against his face and trembles.

Rapunzel falls back hard, sitting up on her elbows, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and giggling helplessly. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, no, I’m not—I swear I’m not—” But she can feel the laughter crawling up throat, and her smile is just getting wider. “Oh my god, Varian, are you okay?”

“Shut up, stop it, it hurts to laugh, ” Varian says, and scrunches up smaller. “Oh, my god. How am I okay? I mean. I—I’m not impaled? I don’t—” His head snaps up and he waves his hands wildly about his front, still laughing, soft and disbelieving and almost offended. “God! There’s! No blood! And I don’t hurt! But I swear she—and there was—what the heck was that place?”

He stops mid-rant, breathing heavily, and his head snaps back to her. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I’m not crazy, right? You saw it too? That place? The sea, and the sky and, and—”

“The Moon,” Rapunzel says, still hiding her face. “Those scars…”

“And then she stabbed me ,” Varian mutters, and his fingers tap restlessly against his knee. He giggles again, then smacks his hands against his cheeks to calm down. “No, damn it, focus… Okay. Okay. So I wasn’t—that wasn’t a near-death hallucination, nice to know. But I still don’t—that doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. The stone—Moondrop?”

“Opal, I think.”

“Opal, right, whichever—we got it, right? And then—but, I, I don’t—where’s the Opal now? I don’t have it. You’re not holding it. And—and—”

All at once, Varian stops cold. His eyes go impossibly wide, and his next breath is sharp and quick, held behind his teeth. “Rapunzel. Where… where are we?”

Rapunzel blinks. Her eyesight is still a bit fuzzy, but it has been steadily clearing since she found Varian, and abruptly she realizes that she— she doesn’t know. She hasn’t even thought to look. She has been too afraid to think, to hope, because she isn’t sure what she’ll do if she finds out she’s wrong.

Rapunzel cups her hands in her lap, staring down at the bloodied bandages. Her hair falls like a heavy curtain in front of her face. She doesn’t want to look. She’s so scared to look. She doesn’t want to be let down again.

Rapunzel closes her eyes and grits her teeth, and tilts back her head to the sky. She has faced down the Moon, the labyrinth, and the golem. She can do this.

Rapunzel opens her eyes, and sees the stars.

Her breath stills. She knows these stars. She knows these constellations. This is not the vivid clutter of that other realm. This is—these are her stars. This is Rapunzel’s sky.

The sky.

Rapunzel can see the sky.

At this time of morning, the firmament is still the deep black or maybe just very dark blue of nighttime, rich and royal, stars and constellations faint and scrawling across the canvas. The moon is low in the sky and dimming with the coming day. At the edges of the world, pale blue eats at the dark edge of the night. Blue, and beyond that—pinks, oranges, reds. The rose-gold flush of the dawn lighting up the clouds over an empty plain, silhouetting the dark horizon of a distant forest, the trees pinpricks, spiking up in the sunlight like an iron fence. The Moon’s tower—the rocks—the labyrinth is gone. All Rapunzel can see is the sky, and the sun, slowly rising.

Rapunzel can see the whole world, and it’s like escaping her tower all over again. That first morning, after Gothel fell and she left the tower for good—Eugene had stood with her in the blush of early morning, holding her hand as she watched the sunrise over the kingdom of Corona. It had been the first sunrise she’s ever seen from outside her tower. The sight—that golden glow, the shine of the water, the kingdom all aglow and the sky flushing pink from the sunlight—had been one of the most magical things Rapunzel had ever seen.

Now, a year and a half later, Rapunzel stares at the rising sun, and feels that same something bubble up in her chest. Something light and relieved and warm like the sun breaking out over those clouds. Her cheeks feel flushed. Her eyes are hot with tears.

“We’re free,” Rapunzel whispers. Something rises in her chest, her throat, her heart. A feeling that swells up like a balloon. She feels so light she could almost float, and first she starts to cry and then she starts to laugh. She falls out on her back with arms outstretched, and lets the tears roll down her face. “We—we’re free. We’re out. We’re free. ”

“Oh,” Varian says, blank and toneless beside her. “I thought—I thought I was seeing things.”

“That’s the sky.”

“I see that,” Varian replies, mild, and then his shoulders start to shake and he suddenly buries his head in his hands. “Oh. Oh.”

And then he starts to laugh, too.

The laughter comes from deep inside them, stuttering and broken and wild. It tears itself free and leaves them breathless, hunched over on the ground wheezing for breath, tears streaming down their faces.

It’s an ugly, deep-hearted sort of laugh: it’s a victory, it’s a realization, it’s a budding and bone-deep relief. Two children crying out and laughing themselves sick in the soft glow of sunrise, their voices rising out over this deserted plain. They must look frightful, some part of Rapunzel thinks. They must look absolutely crazy.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care in the slightest. They’re out. The labyrinth is gone. She’s free. Varian and her—they’re both free.

Why shouldn’t Rapunzel laugh? Why shouldn’t they smile?

They’ve won.

“We’re out,” Rapunzel says, breathless and shaking. “We got out. It’s over.” She smiles, disbelieving, staring up at the sky with blurry eyes. Her voice shakes. “It’s finally over.”

Varian is still laughing, high and thin. “We won!”

“We won,” Rapunzel agrees. Her smile is so wide is actually hurts her face. It’s so wonderful to have something to smile about. The joy swells up in her chest, fit to burst. “We won!”

Varian practically beams at her. “We got out. It’s gone! The labyrinth is gone! It’s…”

All at once, Varian falls quiet. His mouth hangs open. He draws in a slow breath, and then his eyes go wide and stunned, the joy sliding right off his face.

“It’s…”

Rapunzel’s own smile falls at the look on his face. “Varian? What is it?”

“Rapunzel, the labyrinth…” He turns to her, looking almost as if he’s been slapped. “It’s gone .”

Rapunzel opens her mouth. Of course, she almost says. Haven’t they already gathered that? But something in his words makes her pause, and all at once, realization strikes.

The labyrinth… the Moon’s Tower, the black rocks, even the crystal—

It’s all gone.

She cannot believe she missed it. She’d been so focused on the sky she’d missed the obvious. How could she see the horizon? How could they be outside at all? This dark land is all rocks, broken cliff-faces and dead rolling hills and that gruesome dark stone mountain in the center of it all. But Rapunzel can no longer see those things. No rocks, jutting out like a gruesome forest. No fog, hiding the world from view. No sharp crystal… no rocky labyrinth… no tower.

Rapunzel forces herself onto her feet, turning on her heel. She takes in the world with new eyes.

The whole land has been stripped bare.

It is one of the most bizarre things Rapunzel has ever seen. They are standing in the center of what looks like a giant shock wave, the earth is stripped bare in a perfect circle about twenty feet around them in total, clear of everything but the dust. And beyond that—

It looks like the aftermath of an explosion, Rapunzel thinks, because quite frankly she has nothing else to compare it too. It looks like a firework has burst out at their feet, shards of crystal and pieces of black stone cast out flat on the ground in tiny pieces, arrow-head slivers of rock. In the rising sun, the black stone-and-crystal shards glitter like a sea, shining and gleaming in the coming light. It stretches out almost endlessly, shrapnel as far as her eyes can see.

Beyond this debris, there is nothing else. Just the stone hills and cliffs, the far-off stripped wasteland they had traveled over in order to reach this place. And beyond them, the horizon, once hidden by the mountain’s view—trees, flatlands, endless possibility. The mountain had blocked the road, stopped them in their tracks, and now that it is gone she can see out to the sunrise. Distant trees, distant mountains, the whole horizon.

In this place, standing here, Rapunzel feels as if she can see the entire world.

“The labyrinth, it’s… it’s gone.” Rapunzel turns to meet Varian’s eyes, her own stunned surprise reflected on his face. “We… did we do that?”

Varian opens his mouth and then snaps it shut again. He sways lightly on his feet. “I,” he says. “I don’t know? This doesn’t make sense. We—did we blow up the mountain? But— but how? And this, this pattern, that can’t— and if we blew up the tower—we were in that tower!” His voice rises and he gestures, wild. “Like, top floor! We were really high up! How did we get down here? Why are we okay!? I—this doesn’t make any sense!”

Rapunzel considers this, trying desperately to drag her mind back into working order. “Well…”

“…Please don’t say magic, Princess.”

She offers him a wan smile. “Do you have a better idea?”

Varian takes another breath and holds up his hand, one finger to the air. Then he slumps and covers his face with his hands. His voice is muffled, almost a whine. “I hate magic.”

His childish dislike of all things magical almost makes her smile again, but the view has her too upset for that. Her wild laughter from minutes ago has faded entirely with this new shock. Rapunzel shakes her head and hesitantly turns back to the horizon, searching the empty plains.

It’s gone. It’s really gone. Everything she went through here, in this land, in that dark labyrinth, and now… there’s nothing left of it. Only broken pieces and shattered shards. Everything remaining of that old kingdom… gone, now, without a trace.

She inhales slowly, deep and steadying. The air is cold. It tastes cold. It ices over her throat and cools her heart.

“So,” Varian says, after a long pause. His voice has gone suddenly quiet, uncertain. “…What now?”

He is standing too, now. Standing away from her—no longer close to her side. He’s stepped back. He’s stepped away. He is watching her, and there is a look on his face that Rapunzel cannot put a name to.

Reality crashes down over her head. Suddenly the space between them gapes open. The trust they had been forced to put in one another, the reliance they’d needed to survive the labyrinth—it goes stale, weak under the return of everything else. Who they are and what they’ve done, and the uncertain future sprawling out before them. They are free, and with freedom, reality comes bearing down.

In the distance, the sun peeks out over that faint shadowy tree-line, and the piercing light breaks them apart.

Rapunzel exhales, watching her breath fog. “I… I don’t know.”

The silence stretches. Rapunzel closes her eyes and bows her head, uncertain and feeling abruptly alone. Her throat is tight.

A sudden onset of rattling forcibly draws her back to the moment. Rapunzel turns to look at Varian, her heart sinking in her chest. He won’t meet her eyes. His gaze is fixed stubbornly on the ground, face set as if he’s trying to be emotionless. His hands are held straight and outstretched in front of him. The chains rattle in the breeze.

Rapunzel had almost forgotten about the chains. In the darkness of the labyrinth, the dull iron had blended well with the walls, insubstantial compared to the worry over Varian’s leg and ear and growing weakness.

Now, in the light of the rising dawn, they are suddenly cast into sharp relief. Dark and dull iron encircling skinny wrists, his skin pinched and colored as white as a fish’s belly from lack of sun. The trailing links that connects the handcuffs are broken, and that small remaining length of chain waves with the wind. The manacles, heavy and cinched tight, are utterly intact. Stained by blood and dirt and tears—but whole, like a garish and ugly bracelet.

“Then,” says Varian. “I guess you’re taking me back.”

Rapunzel stares at those chains. She feels hollowed. “Back?”

“To… to Corona, right? We… we found the end of this path. The rocks, and the labyrinth—it’s all gone, right? So it’s done. It’s over. So— you’re going back to Corona. And, after what I did...”

He almost seems to falter, his voice shrinking in on itself. Varian takes a breath and forcibly straightens, but still can’t quite look her in the eyes; his gaze stares off blankly past her ear. “I… I won’t cause any trouble. If that’s what you’re worried about, I mean. I’ll go quietly. I won’t—I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t pick fights. So it’s okay.”

Rapunzel clenches her jaw, pressing her lips in a thin line and looking away, unable to bear the look on his face. She aches to clasp her hands into fists, but her wounds are already aching. Her heart hurts.

She doesn’t answer.

“I, I won’t—I won’t cause any more trouble,” Varian continues. His voice is starting to shake. He’s trying to keep the peace the only way he knows how, and it burns. Reality is like a slap to the face. His crimes have never been closer to the forefront of her mind, and instead of laughing, now Rapunzel is fighting not to cry. “You were right, I hurt people, and that’s… so I won’t fight. I, I won’t…”

He trails off, and his chains rattle. He’s shaking. His voice is small and thin and childlike, and hearing him is like a knife to the gut. “Rapunzel? Princess? I—what do you want me to say? I don’t—I don’t know what…”

Rapunzel tries to imagine it. She imagines taking Varian back to Corona in chains. She imagines putting him back into the cells as if nothing has changed. She imagines facing her father, his anger and his fear and his worry, trying to explain the difference. That the boy who held an arrow to her throat is not the same boy they returned with. She tries to imagine what sort of life he’ll lead—and what kind of life she’ll lead, knowing all the while she’s done what she swore never to do, and locked someone else in a tower.

Rapunzel imagines a future, and feels bile burn sour in her throat.

“Varian,” Rapunzel says, distant and dazed, and sees him still in the corner of her eyes. “I—I just—please give me a moment.”

“Wait, I—”

“I just need a moment,” Rapunzel repeats, and this time Varian is silent.

Rapunzel turns away. She feels distant, disconnected from herself. It is someone else walking away, taking slow steps to the firework burst of stone and debris. It is someone else who kneels by the black stone shards and shifts through the broken pieces. It is someone else, someone else’s bandaged hand and someone else’s heartbeat.

It is Rapunzel who picks up the shard.

It is a heavy fragment—long and thin like a spearhead, and her fingers can wrap around it entirely, even if it hurts to move her hand. The ends are sharp, thin and pointed like a blade. Pitch black and lined with thin crosshairs, and when she takes it in her palm it glows a soft and royal blue.

Black rock, unbreakable, unyielding. It will do.

She curls her fingers around the shard of black rock and feels a stabbing pain shoot up her hand. She ignores it. The pain draws her back, forces her awake; she is suddenly and sharply aware of herself. The touch of cold wind through her hair, the pull of dried blood at her cheeks, the soft dirt under her bare feet.

Rapunzel climbs back onto her feet, and her heart shakes and then settles. Her choice is instantaneous, and with this choice, her anxiety bleeds away. When she turns back to Varian, it with steady hands and a pale smile. He’s looking at her as if he’s seen a ghost.

Rapunzel’s mind is whirling, a million thoughts per hour. She’s breathing funny. Some part of her, the part that always sounds a bit like Gothel, is wailing in her head that this is a terrible idea. Don’t you ever learn, you stupid girl? But the rest of her is resolute.

“Varian,” Rapunzel says. To her own ears, her voice is different. She sounds soft, certain—final. “Give me your hand.”

He gapes at her. “I—I don’t—”

“Please,” Rapunzel says. She still sounds so, so calm. Her hands are starting to shake. “Please.”

And something must bleed through her voice, because Varian stops. He rocks back on his heels and goes white in the face, but he doesn’t argue. He just watches her. Uncertain and a little afraid, his eyes flickering from her face to the shard in her hand.

“Okay,” he says, at last. His voice is very quiet. He offers his wrist, and his hands are shaking hard enough to make the chains rattle and clink.

Rapunzel takes his arm, pulling it straight and turning his wrist to the side. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She judges the distance, the angle, where the iron might be weak, and then she raises the shard of black rock above her head.

Varian shakes in her grip. He looks confused and tired, mostly scared. And yet, even so—he doesn’t say a word.

Some small part of her is still against this. The part that remembers how he looked when he held the arrow above her head. His snarl when he threatened to crush both Cassandra and her mother to death. His words—poisonous, sneering, cold to the core—as he threatened and lied and spat venom in response to kindness. The part of her that whispers, fierce and firm, that no matter what has changed, he still must serve his sentence. No matter his apologies, she cannot trust him to keep his word.

But Rapunzel, for all that she thinks justice is necessary, is also selfish. She has been a girl in a tower far longer than she has been a princess, and it is that part of her that keeps her hands steady.

Even if Rapunzel cannot—should not—trust him, she cannot help but think of the tower. Moon’s tower. Rapunzel had offered Varian another chance. She had asked him to come with her. And Varian—he chose to trust her. He took her hand. He had apologized. It must have scared him half to death, but he’d still done it.

I trust you. Just the memory of that moment makes her heart soar. Isn’t it only fair, then, for Rapunzel to at least try to trust him in return?

If she takes him back to Corona, he will be locked away. He will be judged, and sentenced, and imprisoned. Maybe he even deserves it.

But it would be the same as locking him in a tower, and that is the one thing Rapunzel cannot do. The one thing she’ll never be able to do. Not to anyone—but maybe especially not to Varian. Not after everything they’ve been through.

Rapunzel adjusts her grip on the shard, and tears the black rock through Varian’s manacle.

It cuts like a hot knife through butter. Iron shatters in her hold. It breaks with a sharp snap, crumbling into pieces off Varian’s thin wrist. Solid, heavy iron, dark and dense—but even expert crafting has no chance against the unbreakable.

It feels like an answer. It feels right. It feels like starting over.

Rapunzel grabs Varian’s other hand before he can react, and scours the black stone against that manacle too. It shatters like glass, and falls heavy to the dirt.

Varian recoils the instant the last manacle drops.

He stumbles away from her, snatching back his wrists, his hands held against his chest. His fingers rub hard at the exposed skin of his wrists, now bare, skin pinched pink from irritation. No more marks. No more manacles. No more chains.

“Why did you do that?” Varian says, and his words are accusing but his voice breaks halfway through.

Rapunzel lets the black shard fall free from her fingers, it’s purpose complete. She takes a breath and lifts her head, pulling back her shoulders and standing tall. She doesn’t shake. She doesn’t waver. Her voice is clear and precise and utterly certain.

“I won’t take you back to Corona.”

Varian is frozen in place. She can’t even tell if he’s breathing. “I… you… what?”

“I won’t take you back to Corona,” Rapunzel repeats, calm and clear. Her hands are shaking. She feels strange a mix of giddy and terrified, but above all else she simply feels, deep in her bones, that this right. “My dad, he knows… he knows what happened. He won’t be so lenient a second time. I—I won’t bring you back just to lock you up in that cage. I won’t. Not when there’s another option.”

Varian stares at her, looking oddly small. His hands twist in the hem of his shirt. “But there is no other option,” he whispers. “I, I don’t—”

“No. There is.” Rapunzel forces herself to meet his eyes. “Don’t… don’t come back to Corona.”

His breathing stills. Varian doesn’t move. His eyes are wide and white and lost.

Rapunzel points out to the horizon, to the rising sun. To the east, away from Corona, away from where they’d come. “See those trees? I’ll bet there’s a town, there. More towns. More cities. This is—this is a whole new country. We’re months of travel away from Corona. If you vanished here, in this place…? Varian, you’d be free.”

He doesn’t answer. His expression is pale, distressed; painfully uncertain and painfully young. Just the sight of it strikes uncertainty into her heart. Rapunzel’s hand drops back to her side, fingers curling in the loose strands of her hair. “It’s—you don’t have to, though,” she says at last. “If—if you really want to return to Corona, then… then I’ll take you back.”

“You’re letting me choose?” Varian asks, and his voice is so very small. “You, you’re letting me…?”

“Of course,” Rapunzel says, surprised by the question. She fumbles. “I mean, it’s… I meant what I said. If… if you choose to go, Varian, or return to Corona… then that has to be your choice, doesn’t it?” She swallows hard and looks away, unable to bear the look on his face. Her gut twists. “I… I want it to be your choice.”

Varian is quiet for a long time. His breathing rasps. “You’re letting me go.”

It’s not a question, but she answers anyway. “Yes.”

“ Why? I— we’re not friends, Rapunzel! I tried to kill you barely even a fortnight ago! I was—I treated you horribly up until—I mean, I don’t know how long that was, but—recently! Just recently!” He throws up his hands, heat rising in his cheeks, face flushed and teeth grit in a snarl. “How do you know I’m not going to come back? With an army, this time? Or worse? And, and I could try to hurt you—kill you, anyone, it could all happen again and you’d never know in time, how can you—?”

Rapunzel takes a breath. “Will you?”

“—What?”

“Will you attack Corona? Will you try to hurt anyone?”

“ No !” Varian cries, immediately, and then looks stunned at his own certainty. His breath stutters, fury faltering, but it barely lasts a second before Varian quickly rallies himself. “That’s—that’s not the point. The point is, you can’t trust me! Haven’t—haven’t you learned better by now?”

“You trusted me, back in the Moon’s tower.”

Varian opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

“You didn’t really have any reason to,” Rapunzel continues, soft and careful. “You said you didn’t trust my promises… and I can understand that. I can understand if you never trust anything I say ever again. But you trusted me anyway. You took my hand.” She smiles at the memory, soft and sideways. Varian looks as if she’s slapped him.

“You’re right,” Rapunzel says. “I don’t know. But…”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rapunzel cannot help but wonder. Are they friends, now? Enemies still? She doesn’t think so. So what are they, then, if neither is correct?

The truth is that she doesn’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Perhaps this, whatever it is, whatever they are… for now, it is enough.

Rapunzel takes a breath and looks Varian dead in the eye, and this time her smile is for him. Small and wavering, weak with hope.

“I guess that means,” Rapunzel says, “that I’m just going to have to trust you.”

Varian stares at her. All the color has drained from his face. “You shouldn’t,” he says. His voice is very quiet. His voice is shaking. He looks as if he’s about to cry.

“Probably,” Rapunzel admits, just as soft, just as quiet. Her smile is watery but genuine. “But I—I want to. I want to trust you, Varian.”

Varian flinches, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hands rising to hover about his face. His breathing is uneven and rapid, his whole body trembling like a leaf. His hitching breaths are almost a sob.

It lasts for barely longer than a few seconds—Varian has always been quick to recover. His composure returns. His breathes ease. His shaking ebbs. He opens his eyes slowly and stares out at her, and then his face goes carefully blank.

Varian steps back. Then, he takes another step. When Rapunzel doesn’t react, he backs away entirely, careful and cautious, retreating to the edge of the debris. He watches her the whole time. The wind pulls at his hair. The horizon is bright and burning at his back.

“One last chance?” Varian asks, and his voice is tentative.

Rapunzel manages a smile. Her correction is gentle. “One more chance.” Not a damnation, not something final. It is another try. It is the promise of many more chances to come. The difference is that she has faith in him.

Varian’s eyes are bright, the blue of his eyes as pale and as burning as the sky stretching on behind him. “Is that a promise, Princess?”

She hesitates, catching the barest hint of apprehension on Varian’s own face. A grit to his teeth, a tension in his jaw. The sight makes her soften.

“No,” Rapunzel says. “I remember. Think of it more like…” She hesitates, weighing her options, her mind casting back. The memory of a day, a month and three weeks ago, when Rapunzel had sat down before him in a cell, and offered Varian a deal that would end up changing both their lives. “…a guarantee.”

The barest hint of a smile flickers across Varian’s face, utterly involuntary, and he brings up a hand as if surprised by his own expression. His hand drops, smiling fading, but something brighter has entered his eyes. “Okay,” Varian says. He looks to the horizon, the distance, those far-off trees. “Okay.”

The silence settles around them. Varian watches the horizon. Rapunzel watches him, and waits.

“I’m going.”

He says the words firmly, as if daring her to take it back. Rapunzel simply smiles.

“Okay.”

He glances at her, uncertain, and then his eyes skitter away again. His shoulders hunch. “I—it’s—I don’t. I don’t have anything to go back to. Especially since Dad is—” He stops, shuddering, a brief look of pain breaking across his face. “I. I don’t have a reason to stay. So.”

He stops again, stuttering on the words. He worries at his lower lip and then forces himself to stop, dragging in a long breath. “So,” Varian concludes, and this time his voice is soft. “I’m going.”

He glances back at her, and Rapunzel offers him another smile. “Okay.” She isn’t sure what reaction he expects; in truth she is relieved, and mostly just happy for him. Whatever he finds, it seems to satisfy him—Varian nods, almost to himself, and looks back to the horizon.

Rapunzel hesitates, watching him think. One bandaged hand falls to her side, her fingers brushing briefly against the worn leather of her satchel. She takes a halting step forward. “Varian, before you go—can I…?”

He watches her, wary, but doesn’t back away. Rapunzel steps close enough to reach out and touch him, and slips the satchel off her shoulder, looping it over her arm. She’d like to hand it to him, but her wounds are starting to ache. She makes due, offering her arm—and the bag—out to him.

“Take this with you?”

His expression shudders, going blank and unreadable. “I don’t need your—”

“It’s not pity,” Rapunzel interrupts, quickly. “It’s not… it’s just, um, I would— I would feel a lot better if you had it. Or just. If you had something .”

He hesitates again, but Rapunzel’s words have merit and they both know it. Cassandra and Eugene—if they are okay—will have more than enough supplies. Varian has nothing but a borrowed tunic with torn hems and a pair of drawstring pants. He doesn’t even have shoes. A satchel with empty paint bottles, random rocks, and dried leaves isn’t much, but it will at least give him something to work with.

Varian must be thinking something similar, or close to, because after a long pause he finally reaches out for the satchel, fingers closing cautiously around the strap. “Fine,” he says, halting and awkward. “If you insist.”

She tries for a smile. “I do.”

Varian makes a face at the ground and doesn’t reply. He doesn’t sneer at her, either. His shoulders are hunched. He looks uncomfortable. He looks as if he has no idea how to react, and some part of Rapunzel is relieved to see it. She has no idea how to act around him, either, and somehow—somehow, it makes this easier.

Rapunzel hesitates, then takes one more step forward. “Varian?”

He eyes her. “What?”

Rapunzel studies his face. Then she takes one last step, and throws her arms around Varian in a hug.

It’s awkward, of course. They’re both injured and bloody, and they certainly smell like it, and neither of them is really sure of where they stand with each other. Varian is still and stiff in her hold, and his breath is cold against her shoulder. He doesn’t hug her back.

But just like back then—he doesn’t push her away, and maybe that is enough.

Rapunzel lets him go, stepping back. The anxiety in her gut has eased, a strange peace falling over her. She’s done what she can. She’s done what she feels is right. And things may not be perfect, but even then—this, at least, is an ending Rapunzel can live with.

“Take care, Varian,” she says, and his head lifts, just barely.

“I will,” he says, awkward and quiet. “You… you too, I guess.” His breath shudders, and his hand curls and clenches around the strap of the satchel. “Um. If… when, when you find the others.” His voice cracks, faltering on the words. “Ruddiger. W-when, when you see him, could you...?”

He trails off, the words withering in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to finish. His eyes are glued to the ground, shoulders up by his ears. His hands are fisted in the hem of his shirt, but she can still see the way his fingers are trembling.

Rapunzel swallows down a useless apology and smiles, instead. It strikes her, sudden and sharp, that this is goodbye. She may never see Varian again. Perhaps none of them will. He will be walking off to that horizon on his own. “I’ll tell him where to find you.”

“If. If he doesn’t want—”

“He will.”

“But if he doesn’t want to.”

Rapunzel pauses, searching his face. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are tight. But the look on his face is resolute, and it makes some part of her soften. Varian is determined. She can only imagine what it takes, for him to ask this—can hardly imagine life without Pascal, if their positions were reversed. But he still asks, and that is…

There is a bizarre warmth rising up in her chest, and Rapunzel realizes that she is proud of him.

“Then I’ll take care of him,” Rapunzel says. She surveys Varian’s face, and her voice gentles. “But he will, Varian.”

Varian shakes his head, but some tension in his shoulders has eased. “Maybe.”

Rapunzel merely smiles. She remembers vividly the way Ruddiger has acted in the past few weeks, his hurt and despair and quiet mourning. She remembers how Ruddiger did not leave Varian’s side until Varian himself pushed the raccoon away, and she knows that Varian’s fears are baseless. Ruddiger will come back to him. Not because Varian deserves it, but because that’s just the way it is.

He won’t believe her, though, and so Rapunzel stays quiet.

With this, there is nothing more to stay—nothing else left to keep him here. Varian steps away, to the horizon. He braces himself, fingers clenched tight in the strap of the satchel, and then he starts to walk, towards those distant trees. The sun has risen fully now, resting like a heavy crown above the woods. It casts Varian in complete shadow.

He gets seven steps through the debris before he stops.

Rapunzel waits, but Varian doesn’t move. He stands in the glow of sunrise, dark and silhouetted, his breaths rasping and quiet. He straightens very suddenly and turns back to meet Rapunzel’s eyes.

“Rapunzel?”

“…Yes?”

He doesn’t speak right away, and the moment stretches, taut like a wire. Rapunzel searches his face and feels her smile falter, her heart drop. She can’t help but wonder. She can’t help but doubt. This fragile truce, this careful friendship—is this the end of it? Is this where it will break? He has done this before, after all. No matter how far they get, Varian always ends up pushing her away.

Rapunzel feels as if she has stood on this plain before, in a way. She has faced Varian so many times. Inside a castle, outside Old Corona, across a cell, by a fire, on a crossroads, within a labyrinth. And now, here—in this empty and barren land, sunrise and life lingering on the fringes of the horizon, a moment of endings and beginnings.

Rapunzel has made her choice. Now, she waits to see his.

“Thank you,” Varian says, “for—for everything.”

It is the only thing he says. His jaw snaps shut the moment the words are through, teeth clicking. His courage has left him and his eyes have dropped back to the earth. But the words linger on, and the silence is heavy with all the things he hasn’t said. Thank you for everything. For not giving up on me. For not leaving me behind. For staying, even though I didn’t deserve it.

Thank you.

She never thought she’d hear those words from him.

Rapunzel gapes at him, struck silent. She rocks back on her heels and hides her mouth behind her hands. The words register bit by bit. She’s cried so much, so often, and once again she can feel the hot press of tears rising up behind her eyes. But this time it isn’t because of grief.

She doesn’t answer. She can’t. She drops her hands and smiles instead, wide and bright and shaking, and maybe that is answer enough.

Varian smiles back. It is a gentle expression, almost regretful, shaky and thin. The sunlight and shadows hide his face, but the tremble in his hands gives him away. It is the most genuine smile she has ever seen him give her.

He doesn’t say anything else. Varian turns away, and this time he doesn’t stop. He walks off towards the sunrise and doesn’t look back, not even once.

Rapunzel watches him until she can’t tell his shadow from the trees, until he so far away she can’t see him at all. He’s gone. It seems so strange, to think that. She may never see him again, and she didn’t even say goodbye. And yet—it doesn’t feel incomplete. It feels right. It feels—it feels like an ending. Like a promise.

The labyrinth is gone. The sky is bright with the light of a new day. Her friends—her home—is waiting for her. She may never meet Varian again, but she hopes his future is bright. She hopes he can find a way to be happy.

Varian has left. He has found his own road, and now it is Rapunzel’s turn. Cassandra and Eugene, Pascal and all the others—she is sure they are still alive, somewhere. There are waiting for her, somewhere out in this distant wasteland. All she has to do is find them.

Rapunzel turns her back to the sun, and starts the long road back to home.

The ground shakes for hours.

Safe under a cliff-ledge, Cassandra watches the Dark Kingdom crumble away. After the first earthquake, each tremor had become weaker and fewer, the ruined earth slowly settling. In contrast, that strange light show from the mountain only intensified. Over the course of hours, Cassandra watches the abandoned kingdom glow, bright and beaming and then finally breaking apart.

The mountain is first to go, and the rest of the rocks are quick to follow, unbreakable black stone shattering into pieces. They burst apart in grand explosions, breaking up from the inside out, glowing white-hot and then exploding like fireworks, with great booms that make even Cassandra cover her ears. It makes the whole world look as if it is raining light instead of shrapnel, glowing stone scattering and burning like embers against the dull dirt.

It is terrifying. It is horrifying. It is also one of the most beautiful things Cassandra has ever seen.

Cassandra, Eugene, and Adira must stay under that ledge for ages. They stay huddled under that shaky shelter for cover from the explosions, holding their breath and praying the earthquakes don’t send the ledge crashing down on their heads, waiting for the chaos to ebb. Cassandra kneels there for so long that her legs start to cramp, and eventually even the animals, frightened though they are, start to get restless.

After that first blinding explosion—a shockwave of power that knocked Cassandra flat against the ground and left her seeing spots for nearly hours after—the world has been slowly settling. The ground shifts, creaking and groaning like some old giant settling back down to sleep. Earth crumbles, raining dust on their heads. It’s not a dangerous sort of tremor—less like something waking up and more like something falling asleep—but after seeing what happened to the rocks…

Well. Cassandra’s not going out until she’s certain it’s safe. She’s survived thus far—random attack of killer rock, Moon’s relentless chase, even these damn tremors—and if she wandered out now only to get pegged by a flying bit of shrapnel, it would be so very, very stupid. If the shrapnel didn’t kill her, the embarrassment would.

So Cassandra stays sitting beneath the ledge, and resigns herself to watching the debris settle. Of them, Adira is closest to the edge—sitting just barely under the safety of their hastily-made cover, staring out over the empty plains. She doesn’t say anything—hadn’t even reacted when Eugene had said, “It’s all gone!” wild and near-hysterical right by her ear—but Cassandra gives her space anyway. Something about the calm in her face… the way she holds herself…

Adira had lived in this place, this Dark Kingdom. Back before it was a wasteland, she had called it home. Cassandra is not the most empathetic person, but she has tact. She leaves Adira to her thoughts, and gives her space. It’s what Cassandra herself would have wanted, if their positions were reversed.

(She imagines Corona desolate and devastated, the soil burned and horizon empty, and swallows back bile. Not even the houses had remained, whatever happened here. Now, not even the rocks.

What must that feel like? To watch that happen? To see a whole kingdom fall apart at the seams? To have called such a place home?

Cassandra hopes she never has to find out.)

As the night stretches on, the light-show finally ebbs, those firework explosions spluttering into silence and then into stillness. A few hours after, the tremors fade as well, the earth settling for the last time as the sunrise comes upon them, a pale glow light at the edges of the world.

It is something to behold, with this new landscape. The sky is clear of clouds and any fog, the storm blown away by the events of the night. Clouds linger on only by the edges of the horizon, and with the rising sun it creates an array of color across the sky. Without the rocks, or the mountain, and after all those tremors…the Dark Kingdom has become an entirely different place altogether. Still dead and dusty, but also fathomless—an endless stretch of land all around, the shards of stone and crystal shining like a sea, color lingering on the fringes. Flat and eternal and distantly beautiful, a sight unlike any other.

With the sunrise and the end of the disaster, life slowly returns to their group. Maximus stands, shaking his head and huffing through his nose; Fidela tosses her mane. Pascal has crawled onto a rock as if to look for his missing friend; even Ruddiger has emerged from the pack he’s spent the past week hiding in, looking thin but cautiously curious. Eugene fusses with his frying pan, looping it through his fingers. Cassandra sits and watches the horizon, aching for a sword to sharpen.

Adira gets up.

At first, Cassandra doesn’t notice—Adira moves so quietly and so skillfully that it takes her a minute to even realize Adira has left her perch by the edge. She’s gone to the supply bags; as Cassandra watches, Adira takes down her bags and starts dividing food, placing rations in Cassandra’s and Eugene’s own packs, considering each item and sorting them accordingly. Food, medical supplies, a dagger. Practical things.

Cassandra finds her voice. “What are you doing?”

Adira doesn’t look up. “Moving,” she says. Her voice is mild, blankly amused, laughing at a joke they still don’t know the answer to. Whatever moment she had at seeing her kingdom literally crumble into dust is gone now—she’s as enigmatic as ever. “What does it look like?”

Eugene sits up at this. “You’re leaving?”

Adira hums, lacing up the bag straps. “There’s broth, here,” she says instead of answering. “Chicken stock, some herbs, bit of meat—thin, mealy stuff. Nutritious, salty. Cooked it last night when I met all of you. When you find the Sundrop, make sure she eats that. No solid foods for a bit. She’ll get sick if she doesn’t reintroduce food to her body slowly.” She pauses a moment to stretch out her shoulder, looking between Cassandra and Eugene with a raised eyebrow. “Think you two can remember that?”

Cassandra narrows her eyes and climbs onto her feet, waving Eugene down when he moves to join her. His humorous attitude is a blessing, most times; right now Cassandra isn’t really in the mood. This is serious. “Yes,” she says, short and certain. “Why are you leaving?”

“There’s enough broth for three days… that should be enough for a mostly full recovery, at least for her. Starvation—food deprivation—it’s a bit tricky to measure. On that note, I left you some extra food, too, so if you go back the way you came and ration reasonably, it should last you to the end of the kingdom. There’ll be trees again, animals—food will come easily one you’re out of the wasteland.” She stands and brushes off her hands deftly, reaching for her own pack, now visibly depleted. “Left you some of my medical supplies, too.”

Cassandra keeps her voice calm by sheer force of will. “Where are you going.”

Adira tilts her head, looking down at her. There’s a thin smile on her face, almost wry. “Now, now,” she says. “There’s no need to thank me.”

Cassandra frowns, but before she can reply, Eugene jumps to his feet, hands up and placating. “Thank you, Adira,” he says, fast but genuine. He meets Adira’s eyes, no challenge on his face. His smile is rueful. “Really, thank you. For everything.” He hesitates, licking at his lips nervously, and then continues. “Will you be okay?”

Adira snorts, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Please. I’ll be fine.”

Cassandra steps close again, ignoring Eugene’s exasperated look. He can be annoyed all he wants; this is important. “Adira,” she repeats. “Where are you going?”

Adira raises an eyebrow at her. Cassandra doesn’t budge. “Thank you,” Cassandra adds belatedly. “For saving us, and helping us fight. But that doesn’t change the fact that you appeared out of literally nowhere, and now you’re leaving? Right of the blue?” She doesn’t glare at her, but it’s a close thing. “You have to admit that’s sketchy.”

Adira shrugs. “I don’t really care what it looks like.” Her voice is mild, unconcerned. Her expression is unreadable. “It’s over, either way. Whatever happened, happened. We’ll find the results soon enough.”

She hefts the bag up higher on her back and gives a considering little hum, heading out from under the ledge into open air. Her eyes close, her breathing deep and slow. She looks a bit like she’s soaking in the sunlight—or maybe like she’s bracing herself. “And while you two wait for a Princess… I have other business, I’m afraid.”

��That’s fair,” Eugene allows, and elbows Cassandra none-too-gently when she goes to speak again. She glares at him, but finally backs off—vague though the answer is, it’s something she can understand. She still doesn’t like this.

“It’s so wonderful to have your approval,” Adira says, dry. “Or wait. No. I wasn’t really looking for it.” She lifts up her hand and gives a short wave over her shoulder. “Goodbye, then. May we meet again, someday.”

She’s walking away before either Cassandra or Eugene can react to that, and Eugene’s final call of “Take care!” is rushed and uncertain, a little irritated. Adira doesn’t acknowledge them again. As quickly as she had appeared in their lives, she is gone again. It’s all happened so fast that Cassandra feels a bit dizzy, and she watches Adira’s distant silhouette shrink and disappear into the distance with a frown on her face.

When Adira is so far that they can no longer tell her silhouette from the shadowy horizon, Eugene huffs a quiet laugh and rocks back on his heels, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Damn,” he says.

Cassandra looks up at him. He blinks down at her and offers a thin smile. “It’s nothing,” he says, without her needing to ask. “Just… whoosh! There she went. She really left.” He stares back at the horizon, blinking in the sunrise. “It’s really over, I guess. I can’t see her leaving if it wasn’t.”

Cassandra chews over that thought, rubbing absently at her bruised arm. The sunlight is bright and blinding in her eyes. The Dark Kingdom looks differently in daylight—less scary, and more sorrowful. Empty and abandoned, and quiet in the aftermath.

There is nothing left, out there. Nothing left to face, nothing left to fight. Her adrenaline finally fades away, and it leaves Cassandra aching and tired.

The fighting is over. If Adira is to be believed, everything is over. It’s finally starting to catch up to her.

“Let’s go.”

He blinks at her, vague and uncomprehending. Cassandra climbs to her feet, and beats the dust off her pant legs, ignoring the way her arms ache. She fixes her gloves and raises her chin, meeting Eugene’s eyes head-on. “Let’s go,” she repeats. “Let’s go find her.”

His expression shutters. “Do you think—”

“Eugene,” Cassandra says, and for once, he actually listens to her, his mouth snapping shut. She takes a breath. “We’ll find her. Got it?”

He stares at Cassandra for a long moment, dark eyes flickering over her face, searching her expression for a sign. Cassandra holds herself still under his scrutiny, her own stare never wavering. At long last, a smile breaks out over Eugene’s face. Small, oddly genuine—for once not teasing at all.

“Yeah,” Eugene says. “Yeah. You’re right. Let’s… let’s go.”

It doesn’t take them long to get going: all they have to do is saddle up Maximus and Fidela, and they too emerge from under the shelter, starting out to the horizon, where the mountain once stood. The sun has risen fully now, a golden shine far above them, the whole sky turned the pale blue of early morning. It makes the world seem chillier than it really is—the sunlight is cold and sheer, and without the black rocks, the land looks… almost lonely.

It’s all gone, Eugene had said, when the light finally faded. He had not been exaggerating. There is nothing here. The whole land is stripped bare and flat but for the scattered remnants of the broken rocks and crystals. For all that Adira had spoken of a kingdom… Cassandra cannot imagine anyone living here. There is nothing to mark that kingdom’s existence. No houses, no wells—nothing. Even the mountain and the Moon’s tower are gone, and all that is left is an empty place. The whole country has been wiped away without a single trace, nothing left to suggest people once called this wasteland their home.

Of course, there is one good thing about this empty landscape. It makes it easier to find Rapunzel.

It’s her silhouette that Cassandra spies first—a moving shadow cast against the late morning sun, only recognizable because of the long winding rope of hair that blows around her, waving in the wind. There is a certain amount of irony in that—because of course, of course they find Rapunzel because of her hair—but it doesn’t matter how. Not really. Because above all else—it’s her.

It’s Rapunzel.

She is walking with her back to the sun, a dark silhouette, her hair fluttering in the air behind her like a pale banner of victory. Battered and bruised, her shoulders hunched, her clothes torn and muddied. She limps, her walk slow, her shoulders shaking—but it is her. It’s her.

“ Rapunzel !” Cassandra cries, and urges Fidela into a gallop. She knows when Rapunzel has seen them, because that is when Rapunzel starts running, stumbling and tripping and flat-out sprinting towards them, and Cassandra doesn’t even have to see her face to know her best friend is crying.

They reach her within minutes, and Cassandra slides off Fidela’s saddle before the horse has stopped, nearly tripping face-first in her haste. Eugene is right behind her, and Rapunzel is laughing, she can hear her, she’s right there—

They practically crash into each other, a three-person collision that almost knocks them all over.

“Rapunzel!”

Cassandra throws her arms around Rapunzel’s shoulders and laughs, and Eugene throws his arms around them both, picking them flat off the ground for a twirl. His whoop of glee echoes loud in her ears. Rapunzel is shaking in her hold, her laughter wavering, halfway to tears, and when Cassandra pulls back—

“Eugene,” Rapunzel says, and oh, god, it’s her. It’s really her. Pale-faced and drawn, circles under her eyes, blood and dirt on her face and looking like she’s been torn to pieces—but smiling, truly smiling , that watery grin that pulls at her eyes, and that’s her voice, that’s her smile, that’s her. Rapunzel, back at last. “C-Cass… and Pascal, it’s you, you’re all—you’re all h-here—”

“Rapunzel,” Eugene says, almost relevantly, and raises a tentative hand to her face. His palm cups her cheek. His breath hitches. Rapunzel leans into his touch and starts to cry.

“I’m back ,” Rapunzel sobs out, and then they’re all crying, gripping at each other’s arms to stay upright, clustered around Rapunzel like she’s a star and they’re in orbit, crying and laughing and drawing in close to make sure she’s real. Rapunzel sinks into their arms, crying so hard it looks like it hurts, but she’s smiling fit for a king and she leans against them gratefully.

“I’m back,” Rapunzel says, over and over like a mantra. “I’m back. I made it back.” She takes a deep rattling breath and tears visibly fill her eyes. “You—Eugene, Cass, you’re okay.”

“ That’s our line,” Eugene says, voice shaking so much the joke barely takes, but Rapunzel sputters and laughs, shaking so hard it’s a wonder she’s upright at all.

“Oh,” she says. Another tear trails down her cheek, and her smile could outshine the sun. “Oh, I missed you guys so much. ”

Cassandra hugs her so tight it hurts. Eugene kisses Rapunzel’s forehead. Pascal leaps up to her shoulder and coils his tail around a lock of string hair as if lock himself in place, never leaving again. Rapunzel trembles, fine and minute, and Cassandra can feel her breaths hitch on muffled sobs. For a moment they say nothing at all, just rock back and forth and keep holding on, as if letting go will shatter Rapunzel completely. Her tears are cold against Cassandra’s shoulder, but when she wraps her arms around Cassandra, her grip is so tight it makes her bones creak.

Cassandra says nothing. She stays there, holding Rapunzel, blinking fast against her own tears. She listens to Rapunzel’s heartbeat and watches the way Eugene strokes her hair, soft and shaking like he’s about to break, too. Rapunzel tucks herself between them and lets herself fall into their arms, letting them fuss, letting them talk. She looks distressingly happy just to have them there.

After a long moment, Cassandra drags in a ragged breath and steps back, holding Rapunzel arm’s length, looking her up and down. Rapunzel wipes at her eyes with the back of one bandaged hand, and gives a watery smile. Her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks flushed; her smile stretches ear to ear.

“I’m all right,” Rapunzel says. Her eyes are so bright. “I’m all right. I came back.”

Cassandra shakes her head, too overwhelmed to speak. Eugene wraps Rapunzel in another hug and says, “You sure did, Blondie,” and when he pulls back Rapunzel is sniffling, her lip trembling.

“Oh, not again ,” Rapunzel says, and laughs wetly, visibly sniffing and hiding her flushed face behind her hands. “Oh, I’m going to get dehydrated at this rate, I’ve been crying so much… ”

“Touché,” Eugene replies, grinning through his tears. “Come on, Blondie, we’ve been doing pretty much the same, all things considered—”

But Cassandra startles at this comment, standing upright, the words striking her memory. “Oh, my god, Raps—when did you last have water? Have—have you eaten?”

Rapunzel pauses, blinking fast. Her eyes go wide. “Um.”

“Holy shit,” Eugene says, at this. “Rapunzel, it’s—it’s been almost six days , are you—?”

“I’ll get the broth,” Cassandra says, immediately, and Rapunzel gives her a puzzled but grateful smile and Eugene guides her to sit down on the ground so her legs can rest— “How long were you walking!?”—and suddenly, just like that, it’s almost like she hasn’t been gone at all.

Cassandra grabs the broth from the bag Adira packed for them, snatching up the medical kit as well—next to a chunk of Gouda cheese, for some reason, what even is Adira—and heads back with both items in hand. There’s another absence, an unspoken lack, that she notes at last but does not mention.

Varian… isn’t here.

Is that a good thing? A bad thing? Cassandra doesn’t like the kid, but—she can’t imagine Rapunzel smiling over his death. But then, where…?

Cassandra forcibly puts it out of her mind before it can spoil her good mood. Rapunzel is alive, she’s back, she’s safe and here with them, and this whole nightmare scenario is finally over. She refuses to dwell on it. Reality and responsibilities and worries—they can wait.

Just once—just once , Cassandra wants to bask in the victory.

She looks back at Eugene and Rapunzel, lingering on the sidelines. They’re sitting on ground, legs folded under them, Eugene with one arm over Rapunzel’s shoulders, Rapunzel leaning into his chest. He’s stroking her hair, rhythmic and soft, and Rapunzel’s eyes are closed. She looks exhausted, as if she could fall asleep right then and there—but then her eyes flutter open, and she reaches for Eugene’s other hand, resting her bandaged fingers in his palm. He kisses her forehead again, soft and quiet, and she leans into the crook of his neck, her shoulders shaking, a small smile playing on her lips.

Cassandra watches them with a shaky smile. She has walked in on Eugene and Rapunzel having a romantic moment many times before, but there is something different about this one. She has seen them gushy, she has seen them flushed, and this is the first time that she can really, truly see they’re in love. It’s something in the way they fit together, the way Eugene’s smile finally looks real, the way Rapunzel reacts to him. They are at last in each other’s arms, and they finally look at peace.

For once, Cassandra is loath to interrupt them, but at second glance, Rapunzel’s wounds are too worrisome to ignore. She walks back to them with soft steps, offering an apologetic grimace when Eugene looks back at her. When she reaches out for Rapunzel’s hands, intent on getting the worst injury out of the way, Rapunzel simply laughs.

“I’m all right, Cass,” she says, quiet and content, with a smile Cassandra has never seen on her before. It’s a strange look on Rapunzel’s face, an alien sort of calm. It’s as if something in her has shifted. The last time Cassandra saw her, Rapunzel had been uncertain and painfully anxious, dreading what was to come. Now she is just… there. Peaceful and resolute. There’s a fire in her eyes, a strength that wasn’t there before, a conviction assured. She smiles less broken and more relieved. The smile of a victor, not a survivor—but still Rapunzel, even so, who smiles that strange smile but still agreeably holds out her hands when Cassandra frowns at her.

Cassandra sighs, shaking those strange thoughts from her head, and gets to work on Rapunzel’s wounds while Eugene helps her with the broth. There are numerous scrapes and cuts on Rapunzel’s arms—her hem torn to above her knees, bare soles looking red and inflamed. Scrapes run down her knees, along with pale and mottled bruising; knowing how easily Rapunzel heals, Cassandra suspects with a sinking heart that only hours ago these bruises were dark and the cuts raw. She bandages the cuts best she can, pads the soles of Rapunzel’s feet to keep her legs from getting even more overworked, cleans the blood from her face despite Rapunzel’s good-natured complaints. The worst, she ends up leaving for last—Rapunzel’s hands.

She hadn’t noticed, at first, but now she cannot look away. Rapunzel’s hands are a mess of blood-stained cloth, makeshift bandages of pale gray linen dyed dark and crumbling from stiff blood. She has to practically peel the strips away from Rapunzel’s skin, and it’s horrible—the way Rapunzel flinches, the way Eugene’s mouth tightens, the ruined hands themselves.

The wounds beneath aren’t much better than the bandages. They bleed sluggishly, the scabs torn away with the bandaging, Rapunzel’s skin raw and red from constant irritation. Cassandra loses a whole canteen of water and antiseptic on trying to clean the cuts, wiping down Rapunzel’s palms gingerly with a soaked rag. The skin is puffy and inflamed; the cuts themselves are deep and brutal, slicing across her palms and cutting deep into her fingers.

Cassandra holds Rapunzel’s ruined hands gently in hers, and stares, a knot in her throat. She wants to ask. She wants to know. She never wants to find out what did this to her. The mess of emotion leaves her gutted and hollow.

Those bloody fingers curl, just slightly, as if aching to turn over and give a comforting squeeze. Rapunzel leans in, her expression soft and sad. Her hair falls forward with the movement, long strands framing her face. The sunlight filters through her hair and halos her head.

“I caught a sword,” Rapunzel tells Cassandra, her voice oddly hushed. She stares at her wounds with distant eyes, seeing a different time and place. “It only hurts if I move. So it’s okay, Cass.” She goes quiet, almost contemplative, looking down at those deep ruts with a furrowed brow. “I don’t regret it.”

It’s a very cryptic thing to say, but all at once, Cassandra doesn’t want to know. Eugene must pick up on it, because he is quick to react, reaching out and touching Rapunzel’s face, calling her name in a quiet voice, drawing her back into conversation.

Cassandra breathes a quiet sigh of relief and slowly starts to bandage Rapunzel’s hands. A cloth pad, to keep her palms relatively straight; anti-inflammatory cream and secure bandaging, looping over and over to keep her from moving her fingers. The bandaging from earlier, the strips of cloth she’d peeled from Rapunzel’s skin—it had been wrapped similarly, almost eerily so. It’s not something Rapunzel could have done herself, and the cloth for those bandages…

It doesn’t make sense, so Cassandra shakes the budding suspicions from her head and puts it out of her mind. She finishes up Rapunzel’s hands and pulls away, the last task done. Her exhale is soft and shaking.

“That’s it.”

“All done?” Rapunzel asks, and lifts her hands to look, turning them back and forth. The expression on her face is odd, lost in memory. There’s a smile on her face, small and sad. “Thank you, Cass.”

Cassandra folds the medical supplies back into the pack and manages a laugh. “Of course,” she says. “But also, Raps—please stop getting hurt. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not like I asked to have a sword swung at me!” Rapunzel cries, but she’s grinning again, giggling despite herself. “Oh, no, that’s not funny, that was horrible, Cass! ”

“ You laughed,” Cassandra points out, a little smug, and Rapunzel laughs outright at this, waving her off, falling back against Eugene’s chest with another bright smile.

“I’m tired,” she says, shaking her head. “ Everything’s funny right now, I can’t help it.”

Cassandra tightens the medical pack straps and slips it back into Maximus’s saddle packs. “You must be exhausted,” she says, humor fading. “Raps, what— what happened to you?”

Rapunzel’s smile flickers and fades into something a little contemplative, a little sad. There’s something haunted in her eyes, and Eugene hugs her quietly, looking as troubled as Cassandra feels at the change.

“That’s…”

Rapunzel trails off, staring off past their heads, biting at her lip. She looks exhausted, drawn and tired in a way that seems utterly unlike her. Pascal, on her shoulder, nuzzles her face in quiet comfort. She reaches one hand up to stroke his spine, her gaze distant.

“…You must have so many questions.”

Eugene and Cassandra exchange a look. Eugene’s expression is pinched with worry, and Cassandra sighs, rubbing self-consciously at her arm.

“Some,” Cassandra admits finally, with a pained smile. She presses her lips into a thin line and gives Rapunzel a firm look. “But they can wait, okay? Don’t… you don’t have to push yourself.”

Rapunzel looks so relieved at this it makes Cassandra’s heart hurt. Her smile returns, thin and weak but genuine. “Oh,” she says. “Yes. Thank you. I—I think—there’s no more danger, you don’t have to worry, okay? I’ll tell you—everything I can. I promise. But…”

A complicated set of expressions crosses her face, a mixed meeting of emotions, none of which are happy to see each other. “…You’re right, too. I should—there is one thing. This… it can’t wait, I think.” She takes a deep breath, and looks Cassandra dead in the eye. “It’s about Varian.”

Cassandra’s heart drops. Eugene stills.

“Varian,” Cassandra repeats, careful and quiet. They’ve all been ignoring his absence thus far, and saying his name aloud brings all those anxieties rushing back. Her throat feels tight. She can’t tell if she’s angry or worried or just plain scared. Eugene is boring holes into the ground with his stare.

“Yes,” Rapunzel says. She won’t meet Cassandra’s eyes. “That is… Varian has…” She grits her teeth, then exhales slowly, shaking her head. She meets Cassandra’s eyes at last, and her expression is strange, unreadable to her. “He’s left.”

“Left,” Cassandra repeats, feeling something twist in her gut. “Do you mean…?”

“Not dead,” Rapunzel says, immediately, with a vehemence that makes both Cassandra and Eugene blink at her. She flushes lightly and slowly settles back into Eugene’s arms. “Sorry! Sorry. He’s not dead. He’s okay.” She takes a deep breath. “He’s… well, sort of okay, I guess.”

Cassandra settles next to Rapunzel on the ground, feeling her heart drop for an entirely different reason. Fear of a different kind. The last time Varian was loose… “He escaped, then.”

Rapunzel pauses. She turns to face Cassandra fully, taking in every inch of her. There’s something odd about the look in her eyes—not judging, but wondering. As if she is deciding how much to say.

Cassandra just waits. She knows, despite her misgivings, that Rapunzel will tell her the truth. She’d promised, after all. No more secrets. No more lies. Cassandra can give Rapunzel all the time she needs, so long as she gets the truth in return.

Sure enough— “No,” Rapunzel says, finally, after a long pause. “No. He didn’t escape.” She hesitates, then visibly steels herself. “I… I let him go.”

Cassandra recoils despite herself, sitting up straight and sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. She must have heard wrong. She must have, because there’s no way—

“You… You let him—”

“It’s okay,” Rapunzel says, so gentle it mutes Cassandra mid-word. “It’s okay, Cass.” She tilts up her head, looking to Eugene, then reaches up and lays her hand on his cheek. He’s frowning, uncertain anger in his eyes, but at Rapunzel’s touch he startles. “Eugene—it’s okay. I… I don’t think Varian is our enemy anymore. In that place…” She trails off. “It’s—it’s hard to explain. So much happened, I…”

She trails off again, expression shuddering. Her hands draw in close like she’s trying to hide, and for a moment her gaze goes distant, looking elsewhere. She doesn’t finish her sentence. It is as if she’s forgotten she was talking at all.

A moment’s pause, and then Eugene pulls Rapunzel into a one-armed hug against his side, rubbing at her shoulder. “It’s fine, Blondie,” he says. “You can tell us when you’re ready. Or—or you don’t have to tell us at all, if you don’t want to. It’s… it’s fine.”

Rapunzel’s voice is very small, tired and thin. “Don’t you want to know?”

“I—I mean—yes. Sure. Of course, y’know? But Blondie—not if it’s going to hurt you. You’re here. You’re okay. Answers—explanations… I don’t really need those.”

Cassandra shakes her head, fingers pressing her temple. “Wait. Wait, Eugene, just—no. No, I want to know why—”

“Cass,” Eugene starts, shooting her a sharp look, and Cassandra flies up to her feet, waving her hand wildly through the air.

“No!” she snaps. “This is—this is Varian we’re talking about here, if we wait—it’ll be too late then. Raps, you can’t have—don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what he’s done! He tried to kill you!” She can’t even fathom it. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

Eugene is still scowling at her, but Cassandra stays strong. She can’t—she can’t back down on this, not really. Escape is one thing. She knows how to deal with that. But Rapunzel letting Varian go— this, Cassandra cannot accept. After everything Varian has done—after all the things he’s done to Rapunzel, especially—she can’t understand how such a thing happened.

Rapunzel had flinched at her reaction, but by the end of the tirade she just looks tired, small. “I know,” she says, almost as soon as Cassandra finishes. “I know. I—it was just…”

She stops again, sighing heavily, her whole body sinking with the sound. Rapunzel reaches out, and takes Cassandra’s hands, guiding her back down to sit in front of her. Her hold is loose and light; the press of her bandaged fingers is gentle and comforting.

“I’m sorry,” Rapunzel says, at last. “I get it. I really do. This is probably… I’m not making much sense right now, I think.” Her smile is wavering and fearful. “But please, Cass. Trust me? I—I’ll explain soon. When I can. But I swear to you. I don’t think… I don’t think we have to worry about Varian. Not anymore.”

Cassandra wants to argue. She wants to demand why. But she looks at Rapunzel’s face, and despite herself can feel her anger drain away, leaving her limp and exhausted. “Okay,” she bites out, and then slumps, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’ll trust you. But Raps—”

“I’ll explain. I promise . Soon.”

Her voice is resolute, and though her touch is gentle, Rapunzel’s eyes are determined. Cassandra softens, and carefully squeezes her hands back, just above the wrist. “…Okay.”

Rapunzel favors her with a gentle smile. “Thank you, Cass.”

Cassandra nods, and doesn’t reply. Rapunzel doesn’t seem to expect one. Instead she turns back to Eugene and nudges him with her elbow. Her smile turns sheepish. “Eugene, can you help me up?”

“Huh?”

“There’s just… one more thing. One more. And then… then, we go.”

“Go?” Eugene parrots, eyebrows raised high and teasing, but all Rapunzel does is smile.

“Home,” Rapunzel says, in reply. The word washes over them, powerful in its own right, sick with longing.

Eugene helps her up without further comment, and Rapunzel limps her way to the saddle bags. Under Cassandra and Eugene’s watchful eyes, Rapunzel pulls free an apple from the rations. Then she turns to the one bag none of them have touched in over a week, ever since that night by the fire.

“Ruddiger,” Rapunzel says, soft and calling, and after a long moment, Ruddiger’s head peeks out from under the flap. He crawls free from the bag slowly, dark eyes intense on Rapunzel. He steps up on Fidela’s back and then jumps to the ground at her feet, sitting back on his heels, eerily silent.

Rapunzel kneels down with Cassandra and Eugene’s help. Cassandra watches her face, bemused at what she finds: sadness, regret, pale hope. Rapunzel holds the apple cupped in her hands like an offering, and Ruddiger sniffs at the fruit before looking back at her, almost questioning.

“The horizon,” Rapunzel says, softly. “The tree line, beneath the sunrise. He’s heading there. If you follow the rock shards… I’m sure you’ll be able to find him, if you hurry.”

She hesitates, then, and her confidence wavers. “If you want,” she adds, stuttering on the words. “You can stay with me, if you don’t. Or anyone you choose, wherever you want. But he’s so sorry. And I know he misses you so much. He was lost for a bit. He didn’t understand. But I think he does, now.” She holds out her hands, the apple in her palms. Pascal, on her shoulder, is watchful and knowing. “But he misses you. You’re his friend.”

Varian, Cassandra realizes, watching the exchange. She is talking about Varian.

Ruddiger watches Rapunzel for a long moment. Then he scampers forward and chitters in her face, high and bright, fond and almost scolding. He takes the apple in his mouth and turns, tail brushing friendly at her hands, and then before Cassandra or anyone else can react, the small raccoon sprints off into the horizon, running toward the distant tree line cast in dark shadows by the rising sun.

Cassandra stares after Ruddiger until he’s barely a speck, then looks back at Rapunzel. She’s sitting back on her heels, eyes bright with unshed tears. Some hidden tension has eased from her smile. Despite everything—she looks happy.

Cassandra still doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand how Rapunzel got here, what happened after they got separated. She doesn’t know why Varian bandaged Rapunzel’s hands, because he must have, or why Rapunzel let him go and sent Ruddiger off in his wake. Cassandra doesn’t understand any of it.

But she looks at Rapunzel’s face, and that bone-deep joy she finds there, the sense of peace, of an ending, of everything falling into place…

…and Cassandra lets it go.

Rapunzel is happy, safe, and alive. For now… that is more than enough for Cassandra. She can wait forever for answers, if she has to. Just so long as Rapunzel keeps that smile on her face.

Rapunzel stands again, this time without help. Her shoulders back, her face turned to the sun. Feet set and back straight, holding herself tall like a queen. The sun creates a crown of light around her head. She smiles off into the horizon, and when she turns back to them, her eyes shine like diamonds in the light. “I have so much to tell you guys! So much that’s happened. So much to say.”

They smile helplessly back, and she laughs, relieved and delighted by her own freedom. It is a sound that Cassandra has sorely missed.

“But first…” Rapunzel says. “Let’s go back to Corona.” She holds out her hand and smiles. “Back home.”

There is still so much left unanswered. So much that Cassandra just doesn’t know. So much they still have to face—the King, the question of Adira, Varian’s absence. But Cassandra doesn’t need to know, not right now, and by the look on Eugene’s face, he’s willing to wait too. It is enough, in this moment, to just have Rapunzel.

Cassandra steps up and loops her arms through Rapunzel’s. “Yes,” she says, and finally smiles, warm and real and bright. “Let’s go home.”

The first thing Varian does upon escaping the labyrinth is walk for miles through a dead and dusty wasteland.

It’s not that he isn’t tired, and it’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep. He is tired, and he does want to sleep—he wants these things very, very badly. But the sunrise rose above a distant tree-line, the promise of shelter and food and people, and once Varian left Rapunzel behind, he found he couldn’t stop. Whatever power brought him back to life had healed over his feet and eased his hunger, and so Varian walked on non-stop until those woods finally came within reach.

It takes Varian almost the entire day to reach those distant trees. By the time he arrives, the sky has turned the dark red-orange of coming dusk, twilight licking at the edges of the distant horizon. The clouds are resting low and heavy in the air, a chill autumn wind blowing harsh through the stiff pines. It’s like a different world altogether.

Varian tilts back his head and breathes in cold air. At the start of this journey, it had been early summer; now the weeks have turned to months and the season is changing. It startles him, to realize this. After his Dad had… left, to Varian’s eyes the world had slowed to a stop. The days had stood still and timeless, frozen in place. Now, to have the evidence of time passed and seasons changed right before him—it hits him hard. It’s as if he skipped forward in time, or like the whole world has moved on and left him behind, and he is only just now realizing this.

Displaced. That’s the word for this emotion. Not quite sadness. Not quite apathy. Just… displaced. All this time, and he never even realized.

Varian… he must have missed his birthday. Late spring has been dead and gone for over four months now, his birthday set only a few weeks after Dad died. He’d forgotten—or maybe he just didn’t want to remember. His first birthday without Dad, and Varian hadn’t even been aware of it. Is he really fifteen instead of fourteen?

He doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t feel older at all. Just younger—or maybe just smaller.

Varian pushes on into the sparse woods, refusing to dwell on those thoughts. The silence makes his skin crawl, and he shivers, rubbing absently at his arm. He can’t stop thinking, and it bothers him, because there is nothing else to do. He has no one to talk to. No one to interact with.

For the first time in his life, Varian is utterly on his own.

He tries not to dwell on this, either, because of all the things Varian has to be upset about, he isn’t sure why this is one of them. He chose this, after all. He had left Rapunzel behind hours ago, and he doesn’t regret it. The idea of returning to that prison cell, to Corona, with the shadows of the labyrinth still so vivid in his head…

And he meant it, what he’d said to her. He hasn’t had time to come to terms with it, but—Dad is gone. Truly, really, honestly gone. He’s known it all along, but now he has to accept it. Varian—Varian can’t help him. He can’t save his dad, or make him proud, or do anything worth doing… not if he stays locked in that cell.

Varian has nothing to return to, in Corona. Nothing and no-one at all.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. Varian isn’t used to being alone. Not really. His whole life has been shaped around other people, what they thought of him, if they liked him, what he could do for them, if he could impress them. His dad, the other villagers of Old Corona, Cassandra, Eugene, Rapunzel… even Ruddiger. They aren’t here, anymore—or worse, they don’t care. Except maybe Rapunzel, but that is a whole other can of worms that Varian isn’t interested in opening right now.

He hadn’t had much time in the labyrinth, to think on these things. To sit down and realize what he’s become and where it’s left him. But he’s thinking of it now.

“You’re pathetic,” Varian announces to the air, his voice breaking. The edge of the woods, quiet and still, devoid of civilization. “You’re absolutely pathetic.”

This is a happy ending, Varian knows. It’s the best possible solution in these circumstances. He’s alive, be it due to magical nonsense or not. Rapunzel is alive. He escaped the labyrinth. There is open sky above him and a world of possibility at his feet. Rapunzel broke the manacles and let him go. He’s been cut loose. He’s been cut free.

…Shouldn’t he be happy?

And yet. He feels as if he’s lost everything. Only a week ago, at most, he stood in chains and hated the world with perfect certainty. And now… he can’t find that boy, whoever he used to be. He can’t find him. It’s all gone, left behind in the ruins of the Moon’s labyrinth.

Varian closes his eyes, hissing through his teeth. It’s stupid, is what it is. It’s stupid to miss that. To miss hating Rapunzel—seriously, what is wrong with him?

And yet—he hates this, he hates feeling like this, displaced and alone and uncertain. He feels like he’s been hollowed out, everything he is and everything he believed in ground down into dust. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go, or even where to start. He has choices to make but he’s lost the confidence to make them. And he doesn’t know—he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know.

At least when he’d hated Rapunzel, Varian had known what to do.

Gritting his teeth, Varian forces his eyes open and stares out into the woods. There is no path, here. There is no easy road, because there isn’t a road at all. Just overgrown trees and an overcast sky, a land devoid of human influence. A blind path and a blind future for a boy who has no idea who he is.

This is all very fittingly ironic, Varian thinks. It’s kind of a funny thought. He says it aloud, just to hear it, grinning half-heartedly at the sky—and then falters when he remembers that there’s no-one to respond.

His hand rises and rubs at the torn part of his left ear, and he doesn’t quite realize what he’s doing until his fingertips catch on the uneven break. He can still feel a phantom pain lingering from that day by the fire. His ear burns, even though he knows logically that it’s healed over, the open wound now sealed shut. It burns.

He forces his hand back to his side, and takes another breath.

“…I’m pathetic,” Varian says, at last, to himself. His hand tightens on the satchel strap, and there is no answer.

He sighs and goes to find himself something to eat.

It doesn’t take him long. The trees here are sparse, mostly pine, but deeper in he finds small clusters of different trees, one or two of which are practically laden with fruit. They grow in odd bunches, surrounded by the taller pines, like the overgrown remnants of some ancient orchard. From them, Varian picks a few crabby apples and what looks like an orange, and settles down on a felled log to eat his bounty.

He’s not far from the boundary line—through the trees he can see the divide, that sharp line where the trees end and the wasteland begins. It’s as if the Moon has drawn a line in the sand around her kingdom, a line that even nature doesn’t dare cross. It sounds like her, Varian thinks, biting into the apples (sour, small, mealy: edible). It seems very like the god, to have marked out a place just for her, and then to jealously refuse to let anything else in. Even trees, for some reason.

Thinking of Moon makes him grimace, and as Varian starts on the orange (tart, really tart, like a lemon except sweeter and with a better aftertaste—), his hand rises up to rub hard at the center of his chest.

He hadn’t lied to Rapunzel. Not really. He’s not in pain, he’s not hurt, and there are no marks on his skin—Varian had checked. But whatever Moon did to him in that… other place, he doesn’t think it was nothing. He can still remember, with awful vividness, the way it felt when she’d stabbed him through the chest, a flash of icy pain that burned so cold it felt like fire in his veins.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just irritating enough for him to notice it. That pit of warmth in his chest, ever since Rapunzel healed him—still there, still warm, a pool of light that even the autumn winds can’t break. But his heart feels cold, and his veins itch, and sometimes his eyes feel funny, the whole world gone shiny and shimmery like a heat haze. A chill has sunk deep into his bones and through his blood, a cold that goes deeper and darker than even winter winds. And his hand …

Varian rubs at his right palm irritably, pressing his fingers hard against his skin, wincing at the sting. The other oddities, while unnerving—he can ignore them. But he’s finding it a lot harder to ignore this.

It doesn’t hurt—not badly. Less pain and more like pins and needles, continuous and unending. His veins are stark through his skin in a way that they’ve never been before, rich and blue. His hand spasms and stings like he’s overworked it. Each and every muscle aches—tight and stiff like his own blood has become swollen. It’s irritating. It’s uncomfortable. It’s frightening.

…This is the hand Varian took the Opal with.

He’s trying not to think about that.

By the time he’s finished his fruit, the sky has officially moved past late afternoon into the twilight hours. As the shadows stretch and distort along the dirt, Varian sits up on his bench, stretches out his legs, and sighs.

The day is done. The ordeal is over. He should probably find someplace to sleep. He probably should have slept hours ago, in hindsight—he’s certainly exhausted enough. He just hadn’t felt safe sleeping in the wasteland, with nothing to eat and nowhere to hide.

He stands from the log, brushing the dust off his pants, fixing his torn shirt and trying to ignore the way his right hand spasms. He’s fine. He’s fine. Maybe if he says it enough, he’ll even believe it.

“I’m fine,” Varian tells the air. “I don’t mind being alone.”

The world doesn’t answer.

“I don’t.”

The silence stretches on. Varian scowls at his feet, kicks the log, and turns away to find someplace else to sleep.

His blood runs cold, and all the color drains from his face.

Varian stops mid-motion, so suddenly his body still sways with the momentum. His feet glue to the dirt. His mouth opens and then closes, soundless. He stares down at the ground with eyes wide and blank.

Ruddiger looks back at him.

It is a very familiar sight, so much so that for a moment Varian’s memory catches and falls behind, reminding him of other times, brighter times: Ruddiger waiting on the lab floor, sitting sulky and trapped under his mother’s apple tree, running off to find stray tools and ingredients and always coming back, just like this—settled on his back paws, head up and tilted, as if waiting for Varian to notice him.

It is a very familiar sight, but there are differences, too. The set of the scene—this sparse wood and empty sky, so unlike the cluttered hills of Corona. The way Ruddiger’s ears lie back flat, nose twitching, back curled and braced as if waiting for a shout. Worst of all is the look of him—no blank curiosity, no animal fondness. Those beady dark eyes fix on Varian’s face, wary and sad, and unlike so many times before, even after Ruddiger knows that Varian has seen him, Ruddiger does not approach.

Varian doesn’t move either. He is stuck in time, struck silent. He isn’t breathing, and it's only because he can feel his pulse jump that he knows his heart is still going. It’s a shock he wasn’t expecting and does not know how to deal with. He hasn’t seen Ruddiger in weeks. Not since that night by the fire, when Varian tried to kill Rapunzel, and Ruddiger bit off half his ear instead.

“…Ruddiger,” Varian manages, and then his jaw locks up. He doesn’t say anything else.

Ruddiger croons, low and inquisitive. He doesn’t move forward. He stays hunched on the ground, watching Varian’s face.

“Ruddiger,” Varian says again, as if to confirm, and when Ruddiger’s head tilts in recognition of the name, his chest seizes up tight. “Oh. Oh. It’s you.”

Ruddiger chitters, soft and quiet.

“…Rapunzel sent you. She must have. She told you… and. You came. You… You’re here.”

Left unspoken, trapped behind his tongue: I didn’t think you would.

Ruddiger’s head bows forward, little eyes peering up. He takes a quick step closer and coos at Varian, almost questioning. Okay?

“Oh,” Varian says, and this time his voice cracks in two. His ear is burning. He bites his lip to stop from shivering and shakes his head before he can start crying again. “Ah, I didn’t actually expect you to—to come—”

He doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t thought of what to say; he has been too afraid to even consider it. Because why would Ruddiger come back?

It’s recently become very clear to Varian, what exactly he’s done. The crimes Ruddiger has either not understood or ignored. That it was only when Varian tried to kill Rapunzel, only then that he finally pushed his raccoon’s loyalty too far, is a miracle.

It seems too easy, too simple, too damnably kind, for Varian to gain that loyalty back even before he’s done anything to earn it. It makes him want to cry.

He feels off-kilter and struck dumb, stunned by this turn of events. It’s the same feeling he got when Rapunzel hugged him in the labyrinth, when she saved his life from the golem. A kindness he doesn’t expect and knows, suddenly and painfully, that he doesn’t really deserve.

“I’m sorry, ” Varian says, and while his voice wavers on the words, the apology itself is quiet, meek, soft. There’s no desperation in it. The labyrinth has wrung him ragged, and even for this, he can’t find it in himself to be hysterical. He’s just—tired. Drained. Sad. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t feel right, standing above Ruddiger like this; it makes him feel tall and a bit like a bully. He folds his legs and drops to his knees, and tries not to notice how Ruddiger shies away, keeping his distance. The words come easily to him—the only apology, Varian expects, that ever will.

Ruddiger is his friend. He’d picked this raccoon off his lab floor so many times he’d given it a name, and that same raccoon that once messed with his experiments and stole all the apples from his mother’s old tree has stuck with him throughout it all, through his dad’s death and the snowstorm and everything that followed. Ruddiger had stayed with Varian the whole time. He’d tried to help him.

He’d bitten off half of Varian’s ear in an accident, but in doing so he’d stopped Varian from crossing a line he could never return from, and even then—after everything Varian’s done—after all the things he’s starting to realize that he’s had a hand in—it would be so, so hypocritical of him to hate Ruddiger for that, if he ever could.

“I’m so sorry .”

His hands wring, fingers interlocking and then twisting, twitchy and restless. He can hardly hear himself speak. His own voice has deserted him, and he has to struggle for every word, fighting to speak above a whisper. It scrapes at the inside of his throat, sour like bile.

“I’m sorry, Ruddiger. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I made you—that I—that you had to stop me from—”

None of the words are right, and his voice is withering.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t mean to, I know that, and I—I’m not mad. I don’t blame you for that. I’m just—I’m sorry. You stopped me—you stopped me. I—I should have done better. I shouldn’t have done that to her. Or to you.”

His eyes are burning and god, Varian really is a child, he can’t go five minutes without bursting into tears. He feels cold and disconnected, terrified to his bones. His throat is so tight.

“I’m sorry, Ruddiger.”

Ruddiger tilts his small head at him. His little eyes are bright in the fading light of the twilight. He crawls towards Varian by inches, very slowly, pausing after each step as if to see how Varian will react.

Varian doesn’t move. He can’t. The words have dried up in his throat, and he finds himself frozen yet again—stuck in place, rooted to the ground, barely breathing. His eyes are bright, itching with a painful pressure. He’s not a pretty crier. The tears make his face twist and his breath hitch, and it takes everything he is to stay still. His eyes sting, and his hands are shaking, his fingers clenching at his knees.

Ruddiger slowly hops into his lap, and sits up on Varian’s folded legs. Varian flinches, leaning away, and in response, Ruddiger leans up. He sticks his small face very close to Varian’s eyes, beady eyes wide and staring.

And then, with utter seriousness—Ruddiger lifts his little paws, and bops Varian right on the nose.

Varian freezes. He blinks.

Ruddiger coos at him, soft and friendly, and bats cheerfully at Varian’s long fringe. His claws dig and pull at the fabric of his shirt, and within moments Ruddiger has clamored up his side and found his favorite perch on Varian’s shoulders. He turns around a few times, sniffling quietly, ringed tail brushing at Varian’s cheek, then curls up and tucks his head down as if to go to sleep.

Varian stares out at nothing, eyes fixed forward and face blank. Slowly yet surely, an emotion breaks free, an expression cracking across his face. His smile is small, trembling. Then, as realization sinks in, the smile grows. His vision goes blurry. His cheeks hurt. Varian buries his face into his hands and shakes.

He’s laughing before he even realizes it, something quiet and wavering and halfway to a sob, so happy he feels like he could burst. He’s shaking like a leaf, barely staying upright, and he digs the heel of his palms against his eyes so he won’t cry, feeling that strange and wild smile stretch across his face, bright enough to burn.

Ruddiger croons at him and nudges his cheek, and Varian laughs harder, falling straight into tears. He can’t even speak, can’t say any of things he wants to say. Thank you, I’m so sorry, I’m glad you’re here. Useless and embarrassing things, probably, wasted on a raccoon who half-the-time seems to understand Varian’s words and the other half is just a raccoon, but he thinks it all the same.

By the time Varian finally calms down, the sun has set completely and the sky is becoming increasingly dark. He rubs his hands down his face and scrubs the tears from his cheeks, breaths wavering and hot. He feels feverish and warm, overworked from the tears and laughter.

He’s still smiling.

“Ready to go, buddy?” Varian asks, and receives a quiet croon for an answer. His smile grows, and Varian picks himself off the ground inch by inch. He’s shaking, still—not from emotion but from sheer exhaustion, and he almost trips headfirst into a tree. Ruddiger chitters in worry, small claws pricking at his collar in alarm; Varian giggles like a child and rests his forehead against the bark. It’s cold against his skin, rough and scratching. His face hurts. He smiles anyway.

“Are you hungry?”

Ruddiger coos at him, something like an agreement, and Varian pushes his hair out from his eyes. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let’s find you some food.”

Every motion is like sleepwalking—he’s too tired to focus, to really keep track of what he’s doing. Varian picks up another crabby apple for Ruddiger and wanders the darkened woods before finally resigning himself to sleeping up in a tree, settling among the branches. It’ll be uncomfortable, he knows, but after the experience he just had, Varian could sleep anywhere and still be dead to the world.

He hugs Ruddiger to his chest in a fit of whimsy. Ruddiger coos at him and bops his nose again, then wriggles free to coil up in his arms instead. Varian laughs so hard he almost cries.

He curls up in the branches as the last light fades, safely hidden in the leaves. Ruddiger is warm in his arms, dearly missed and finally returned. The night air is cold and the branches press hard against his spine. He doesn’t know where he is or what to do. He doesn’t know where to go from here. But the sky is clear and bright above him, and Ruddiger is by his side.

It’s enough.

Varian closes his eyes, and slips off to sleep with a smile.

His sleep is restful, dreamless—deep and undisturbed now that he knows he’s finally safe. Varian wakes up late the next morning, opening his eyes to distant birdsong. The sky is bright and blue, and the sun burns down high above him. It’s almost midday.

Ruddiger is already awake—and aware, perched on Varian’s side like a king, looking around with his ears perked. Varian blinks up at him, laughs at the sight, then abruptly remembers everything that has happened and grabs Ruddiger in an abrupt hug.

Ruddiger chitters and complains at this. He scolds Varian like a worried mother and bats Varian’s nose again, but afterwards he settles on Varian’s shoulders without much fuss, already forgiven. Varian scratches at the raccoon’s ears and smiles, and stretches the knots out from his shoulder. The tree has left a faint green bruise all across his back, and he rubs at the mark ruefully. His right hand seizes up and tremors, stark blue veins trailing up his arm.

He feels tired, bone-deep and aching, and it takes him awhile to finally get down from the tree. After a few awkward minutes of tripping over branches, he finds a new apple tree and a few of those tart oranges, and splits them with Ruddiger for his breakfast. He eats as he walks, dropping the cores and peels behind him. The trees loom above him, needle-like leaves rustling in a soft wind. To his eyes, the woods stretch on for miles.

“Ready to go?”

Ruddiger croons, curling up on his shoulder. Varian rubs his hand over Ruddiger’s head, and smiles bright and true.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The only way left to go is forward.

Varian starts off into the woods with his head high and Ruddiger humming by his ear. Rapunzel’s satchel thumps against his leg with every step, worn and soft. His feet are bare except for the bandages Rapunzel made from her dress, and while his feet are no longer injured, the cloth provides some protection from the rocky earth.

The memory makes his chest twist with something like guilt, but Varian looks back on that moment with kinder thoughts. If there was one good thing to come from the labyrinth, one thing Varian had gained instead of lost…

Please trust me, Rapunzel had said, back in that tower. He hadn’t really had a reason to trust her then. Varian chose to take her hand anyway. What followed that choice was confusing, frightening, strange—but he had returned alive. He had trusted her, and she had kept her word, and then she had let him go. Varian is alive, he’s whole, and he has Ruddiger by his side—all because he trusted Rapunzel.

One more chance.

He can’t bring himself to forgive her, not yet. But he is glad he chose to trust her. She’s given him a second chance… and maybe, when his head is clear and he can finally think about the labyrinth without his mind twisting into knots—maybe then, Varian can find it in himself to give her a second chance too.

Perhaps it’s the new day, the aftermath of a full night’s rest. Perhaps it’s how clear and blue the sky is, sunlight shining cold and bright through the trees. Perhaps it’s simply Ruddiger, here again, back at last, a comforting weight on Varian’s shoulders. But the journey now feels different—almost brand new. The worries and fears and loneliness that haunted Varian’s heels has ebbed away. It isn’t gone, not entirely: these worries will not fade with the passing of time. But they have eased, and become more bearable, and suddenly Varian has hope.

He walks through the woods with his head high, a small smile playing across his lips. He has hope. He has a second chance. He may not know where his next meal will be or if there’s a place to sleep, but that is a problem for another day. For now—

Varian walks forward, and hopes that maybe if he keeps going, one day he’ll find someplace to stop. Someplace to stay. Somewhere worth staying.

Take care, Rapunzel had said. He wonders if she meant that. He’s starting to think she does.

By late afternoon, good fortune strikes. Varian steps out from the shadow of a great pine, and finds a worn and overgrown road. It is old, small, weedy and thin. Unused is putting it lightly. But it is a road, small though it is, and roads always lead to someplace.

Varian smiles at the worn gravel path, and looks down that winding trail. The small stones press against his feet, and the light is bright and hazy, warm afternoon sun. It looks like a beginning, the start of something new.

“I wondered when you’d stumble upon this place.”

Varian stills. Pain spikes up his right hand, his blood so cold it burns. Soft laughter echoes in the back of his head, distant and soft, carried by the wind. Behind you, something whispers, a breathy voice in his ears, cold and whispering amusement. Look behind you, boy.

He turns, slowly, his hand strangling the strap of the satchel. Ruddiger is sitting frozen on his shoulders, head tilted and ears pricked in vague recognition. The faint laughter rings in his ears and then fades away, and leaves him feeling breathless.

There is a stranger here, on the road, standing just beneath the shadow of the trees. Hands clasped behind their back, head bowed and eyes closed. A small smile curls at painted lips, a sad crook to the corner of their mouth.

“Varian of Old Corona,” says the stranger, “son of Quirin. The alchemist, the boy criminal. Your reputation precedes you, you know.”

The stranger steps into the light. An older woman with bone-white hair and a painted face, sharp eyes and a sharper smile. Her clothes are heavy-set and warm, and the hilt of a sword rises over one shoulder. Her expression is set and serious, and she looks at Varian like she knows him.

“My name is Adira,” says the woman. “It is good to see you again. And now, with those pleasantries out of the way…”

She puts a hand over her heart and bows, and Varian’s breath catches. There is a symbol on the back of her hand, stark against her tanned skin. A perfect circle bisected by three lines, like the trailing tails of a comet. A symbol he’s seen only twice before—once on his father’s hidden chest, and the other in the Moon’s tower, hidden away from the outside world.

Adira lifts her head, and meets Varian’s stunned gaze.

“We have much to discuss, you and I,” she says. “Don’t you agree, little Moondrop?”

The Dark Kingdom crumbles, the Opal falls, the Moon slides back into her night sky. Light and memory ripple across a cosmos, the echo of a great clash. A fate defied; a destiny challenged and changed.

In a place beyond reality, in a world beyond, above or below or besides the earth, something in the darkness shifts. The ringing clash of contrasting powers, a radiant sun and lovely moon, breaks through eons of enforced sleep. Blinding light flashes through and scorches the dark waters of an endless sea.

Chains pull. Bones creak. The blackness groans like old wood, its bonds stretching thin, the monster caged inside the shadows finally stirring awake.

Zhan Tiri opens his eyes.

:: TO BE CONTINUED ::

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