"Is that any way to greet family? Don't you miss me… my beautiful niece, Maleficent?"
"I do not. And still… you have not answered my question," Maleficent said, her gaze piercing right through Agathe, sharp as the thorns that lined the Moors' borders.
Agathe gave a soft, knowing laugh, slow and light as wind through branches.
"Still so quick to take offense, I see," she murmured, smiling faintly. "Do not trouble yourself, I shall not linger long. I only came to gather certain herbs… ingredients for a potion I prepare. And I thought perhaps to call upon my niece as well."
She stepped back, glancing sideways with amusement.
"But finding you wrapped in such dark temper… I think it best I leave you to yourself."
Agathe turned and began walking away, then paused and looked back over one shoulder.
"By the way… where is your raven?"
"None of your concern," Maleficent replied sharply.
Agathe chuckled softly again, familiar and unbothered, and continued forward: "Very well… if you prefer it that way."
And with light, easy steps, she vanished into mist.
_____
Beneath the gnarled boughs of the Dark Forest of Aurellion, twilight bled into pitch black. An open carriage rumbled over root and stone, led by a man whose black hair was slicked back from a face of sharp, fair features and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the dim light. He wore unbuttoned black linen beneath a fitted coat of the same hue, a worn leather belt strung with small vials and spell-scrolls slung at his hips.
Behind him, two men huddled together on the carriage bench, their voices low and wary.
"Boss, are you sure about him?" Jeno, the thin, twitchy one, nudged Markus's arm. "Shouldn't we have hired a hedge witch instead? Or even a local wise woman?"
Markus, broad, round-faced, his coat straining at the seams snorted. "We don't get to be picky this deep in the wild, not when night's already fallen. Didn't you see how every witch in Monfort bowed and stepped aside when he walked past? This man's far stronger than any spell-flinger we could've afforded. Lucky for us he's bound for the same place we are free escort, and all." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a sharp hush. "Just keep your Monamera ready. Capture every shadow, every strange plant, every glint of magic. That's a lost kingdom out there, if we nail this, we won't need another story for a year."
They were Markus and Jeno, correspondents for Big News, chasing a tip that had reached their desk crumpled and sealed with a wax mark no one recognized: a lost realm, buried in Aurellion's oldest woods. Markus had made his name with exposes on the exiled Prince of the Southern Isles and the newly crowned Monarch of Dragons but lately, his ink had run dry. This was his shot at another headline that would shake every tavern and court across the realms.
Truth be told, he'd arrived with a full retourage and his Aetherwing a sleek, brass-and-crystal mechanical flyer, its wings etched with runes that hummed against the wind but the Duke of Montague's laws were ironclad: no aerial travel around Monfort without a royal writ. Bribes had cut the wait from five days to three, but three days was too long, and secrets like this didn't wait. So he'd traded sky for mud, hired extra guards… and found the mage who now led them.
The man in black slowed, then turned back to them, his expression calm but firm. "I think we should rest here for now. Going deeper at night will only bring trouble to us."
"Good call, Sir Diaval," Markus nodded, barking orders to the guards: pitch tents, light a concealed fire, keep watch in shifts.
Diaval stepped away from the camp, his eyes fixed on the colossal oak standing before them, twice as tall as any tree in the Moors, its bark etched with faint silver lines that throbbed like a sleeping pulse. This was exactly where the X on his queen's map had rested. He'd come on Maleficent's command: to retrieve an artifact sealed here, bound to a curse her own aunt had woven long ago. He was planning to touch the tree to see what would happen when suddenly the ground rumbled.
VWOOOMM!
The ground they were standing on suddenly glowed as vast and powerful mana erupted. Diaval's eyes widened, and before he could move, a blinding white light appeared. When their vision returned, they were shocked.
Mud and tangled roots had given way to smooth cobblestones. Lanterns of warm glass hung from carved posts, brick cottages and flower-lined avenues. People laughed, wept, clung to one another as if waking from a long dream, children chased fireflies, elders knelt to kiss the stone roads, soldiers stood with weapons lowered, staring in wonder.
Behind them rose gates of iron and pearl, opening onto a palace whose spires caught the last light like shards of star.
"Where the hell are we?" Markus breathed, spinning in a slow circle. He grabbed Jeno's shoulder. "Did you get all that?"
"Every second," Jeno said, his hands steady only by force of habit. He held up the Monamera: a rectangular device no larger than a spellbook, its casing polished dark silver, etched with clockwork gears and tiny enchantment runes that glowed pale blue. At its center, a smooth crystal lens hummed softly, and along its edge, a line of tiny glass vials held captured light, each one a frame of what they'd just seen.
_______
Half an hour later, they knew this much: this was the Kingdom of Lumièrea, lost to legend and locked away by a fairy's curse and its people believed that curse had just been broken.
As strangers with no mark or memory of the kingdom, they were guided gently but firmly to the city hall, ringed by more than fifty knights whose captain watched every step they took with narrowed eyes. Markus was halfway through stating their names and purpose before a registrar's glowing ledger, when the crystal orb set into the hall's central statue flared to life.
Outside, atop every street lamp, every archway, and every tower gate, identical orbs blazed bright. A hologram unfolded above the city square, tall, sharp-featured man in velvet and gold, holding a scroll sealed with silver wax. His voice carried soft but clear, echoing across every corner of the realm:
"Good evening everyone, I am Pensworth, the royal chancellor. I want to announce to all of you that Prince Adam has died."