Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game

The sword thrummed as Miles stepped closer, and the air around it shimmered, vibrating with restrained energy, as if the weapon had not only weight, but will. As if the sword had not been touched by time at all, it rested, still alive and breathing, on the floor before the throne.

It pulsed faintly with a deep red glow, in time with something deeper than heartbeats, like a song being sung through the heartbeat of something ancient and patient.

Miles stood before it, hesitant.

The figure on the throne had fallen still, as though pointing at the sword had drained what little life remained in its shriveled form. The chains around its limbs were slack, as if they only bound it out of ritual now, not strength.

"Touch... It..." The thing spoke again, shaking Miles off his reverie, and he did. His fingers trembled as he reached out, brushing the hilt of the sword. His hand curled around it, and the world snapped.

There was a lurch, like falling through his own spine. The throne room fractured into light and shadow, then darkness.

***

The forest was different.

Sunlight filtered through soft green leaves. Birds chirped, and the breeze carried the scent of grass and old wood.

A girl with bright red hair ran between the trees, laughter trailing behind her like petals in the wind. She looked no older than fourteen, barefoot, her white dress stained with grass and dirt. Her eyes were a warm, deep brown, wide with joy.

"Catch me if you can, hatter-boy!" She laughed, running through the trees, pretending to be running from the boy, who pretended to chase her with everything he had.