An Optimistic Girl in a Something World

Unable to bear witness to the deaths of Camelot's citizens anymore, Nimue placed her scrying mirror face down in her lap and took a deep, shuddering breath. There was a glimmer of light in the aftermath of so much unimaginable death at least. It was a selfish thought, but she had to cling to it or she'd be buried beneath the guilt that lay across her shoulders. Maleficent taking Excalibur along with Merlin's regeneration meant they were one step closer to the end. There was still much to be done—so many intricate moments that were at the mercy of chance and free will—but they were closer than they'd ever been to fulfilling the duty she'd been charged with. And, the graces of the divine willing, that meant she would see Merlin and her children soon.

The sensation of another's presence entering Avalon had Nimue turning her head on instinct and blinking in surprise. The Moirai stood a few feet away, their black robed figures a stark contrast to the vivid green of the willow tree that lay around them.

"M'Lady."

Lachesis' breathless greeting—as if the Measurer of The Fates had been physically running full stop—coupled with their sudden appearance had dread seeping down the Mother Fairy's spine.

"What's happened?" she demanded as she stood. Her scrying mirror, forgotten in her haste, fell to the grass with a soft, muffled thud. "Is it Princess Erin? Did Hades send her back?"

"We have not felt the presence of the Twice-Blessed Child since she and her Companion were wrenched from the Upper World by Hades' hand," Atropos replied, her own tone only marginally calmer than Lachesis' had been.

Nimue breathed a sigh of relief. If the Moirai had no news of Princess Erin suddenly appearing back in the Upper World, then that meant she and Eric were still in the Underworld and had a chance for both of them to come home.

"There has been a development, however, that may impact the prophecy and final battle," Atropos continued. "Moments ago, I had to cut Reul Ghorm's thread."

That caused the ever stoic Nimue's jaw to drop in shock. "What?" she breathed. "How is that possible? Did she… Why in Gaia's grace would she extinguish her own flame?"

"She didn't," Lachesis said, both of her nearly skeletal hands gripping her staff tightly. "Maleficent killed her with Excalibur."

Confusion mingled sharply with shock as Nimue stared at the unmoving figures of the Moirai. What they were saying didn't make sense. Yes, Excalibur was the only instrument that could kill a fairy because she'd forged it from the very magic of Avalon that had given all of them life. That part she understood and didn't question. What didn't make sense was why Maleficent would do it. Nimue knew the Dark Fairy detested the fairies like Blue, but why act on that hatred now? How did Reul Ghorm's death help Maleficent in her misguided journey of revenge?

Unless…

A sense of deep foreboding settled at the base of the Mother Fairy's spine, and her violet eyes flickered to Clotho.

"What color was her thread when it was cut?"

The Weaver of The Fates didn't verbally respond. Instead, Clotho reached into her robe and, bringing forth a piece of thread, held it gingerly in her hands for Nimue to see. The fibers that made up Reul Ghorm's impressive lifespan were no longer white. They were pitch black—even darker than the robes that the Moirai wore—and seemed to leetch the vibrant colors from its surroundings like a black hole.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

The only thing that could turn a person's lifeline black was giving in to the Darkness. Fully succumbing to the primordial entity in all its raw power and becoming nothing more than its puppet caused the entire thread to blacken, the loss of free will and humanity poisoning its entire length no matter how long it was. Reul Ghorm would have never willingly fallen into it, which meant Maleficent forced her to do so. And the only reason the Dark Fairy would have done that before killing her was to ensure Blue would do as she commanded.

Because Maleficent would know that, as a non Sister of Avalon and part of the group of fairies who hadn't been born on the island, Blue's soul wouldn't go where Morgana's had.

It would go to the Underworld like everyone else's. Where one of the Twice-Blessed Children was currently trapped and extremely vulnerable.

Forcing herself to breathe through the overwhelming dread that was trying to choke her, Nimue turned and ran towards the ancient temple that lay on the other side of her vast lake.

She had to warn Hades.

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Sliding to the ground with his back against the side of the cave wall, Eric groaned in pain.

Everything hurt. His right shoulder was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, the scratches across his chest were aching just as badly as they had when he received them three days ago, and his head felt like someone had taken a sexton to the back of it. Repeatedly. There was also a sharp twinge in his left ankle—the joint more than likely twisted in the latest skirmish—and the muscles in both thighs, along with his right arm, burned from exertion. Not to mention the various cuts and bruises that littered the rest of his body.

He would have given anything for a warm bath and a healing tonic, but alas, both were in short supply in the wilds of the Underworld.

Trying to breathe through the pain, Eric turned his head to look out of the cave. The terrain around them had vastly changed once they'd cleared the forest three days ago. The beauty of the silver-barked trees with purple leaves had given way to a barren landscape, mile upon mile of nothing but dead grass stretching out before them. Even the pleasant scent of gooseberries and lavender, constantly filling the air of the forest, evaporated as soon as they stepped from its boundaries. It was an abrupt shift of the senses, one that caught him completely off guard and left him feeling a little off-kilter as they traveled. Eventually trees—each one blackened and without a single sign of life—began to appear, but they only added to the bleakness that shrouded this part of the Underworld like a heavy blanket.

They'd been traversing through this particular mountain range for almost an entire day now, and all he could see as he gazed out of the cave was the towering, foliage-barren mountains surrounding them. The eternally gray sky was also beginning to darken, signaling an end to yet another day in the Underworld.

Gods, how he missed seeing the sun.

Neal, having finally gotten a small fire started at the mouth of the cave, stood and made his way towards him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like death," he muttered honestly, attempting to stretch out his right leg. He winced as his thigh muscle heavily protested that movement. "Which I suppose is an appropriate feeling to have, considering where we are."

Neal chuckled and took a seat next to him, putting himself between Eric and the dangers of the Underworld.

"Is sure is. How bad is the pain?"

"Pretty bad, but nothing I can't handle with a full night's rest."

He didn't miss the guilt that flashed across Neal's face. It wasn't Neal's fault, though, that Eric was so beat up while he didn't have a scratch on him. Neal was technically dead, the form he was in now nothing more than a corporal manifestation of his soul. He couldn't be hurt by the more sinister denizens of the Underworld they encountered. Eric was still very much alive—thank the gods—and was therefore subject to all that came with battling a variety of monsters every other day.

"Anything I can do to help?" Neal murmured, the look he gave him so much like one Henry would give in this type of situation that Eric had to remind himself that it wasn't Erin's brother sitting next to him.

How he'd ever questioned Neal's identity when they first met was beyond him now. Henry was the perfect amalgam of his mother and grandparents, though Eric had always seen more of David and Rumple in him physically than Emma or Snow. Having met Neal, however, he could absolutely see the pieces of him that his son had inherited. They would never be an almost-exact-twin-to-each-other like Liam was to Killian, but there was more than a passing resemblance between the two men.

Wanting to bring levity to the situation and ease his companion's guilt, Eric raised a bloody eyebrow. The cut right above it was courtesy of a flying rock he hadn't been able to dodge in time during their last fight.

"Not unless a bottle of rum has mysteriously appeared in that sack since this morning and you've been hiding it from me."

Neal laughed. "Sadly, no. You should clean those wounds, though," he said, nodding towards the scratch marks from the hellhound. "Looks like you might have gotten dirt in them."

Eric grunted but held out his hand for the water skin. "Well, that tends to happen when you're diving out of the way of a fire-breathing basilisk."

The damn thing appeared as they'd been making their way through the mountains earlier that day. Twenty feet long and at least six feet tall, the stone-gray snake had slithered out of a cave opening with a speed that belied its gigantic size. The fight that ensued was long and brutal, with Eric desperately avoiding snapping jaws and fire all while keeping his gaze firmly off the basilisk's own. The rubble-strewn mountain helped, giving him boulders for cover as he and Neal tried to come at it from opposite directions. More than once, however, the beast's tail caught him while its attention was on Neal, tossing Eric into those very same boulders with enough force to rattle his teeth.

A sharp hiss followed by an even sharper curse escaped him as he poured water over the claw marks on his left bicep. It stung and added to the pain, but Neal was right. It had to be done. An infected wound, after all, was one of the quickest ways to either die or lose the appendage. When he'd cleaned it to his satisfaction, he took a couple of long pulls from the water skin. He'd worry about putting a bandage on the wound later.

Those had certainly been a welcome addition to their inventory. The morning after Eric met Neal, they found a new sack waiting for them within the protective grove. It was filled with fresh food, another water skin, and about a dozen strips of clean linen. According to Neal, Hermes would periodically bring them a new one every few days. He had no explanation, however, for the god's actions, just as he had no idea why Hermes had told him Eric was in the Underworld in the first place.

Eric didn't question it, not when it meant he wouldn't starve and had the basic means to tend to his wounds. He could only hope that Hermes—for whatever reason he might be doing this—was also helping Erin.

Eric's heart constricted painfully at the thought of her. He'd been in the Underworld for six days now, and despite the distance they'd covered, there was still no sign of her. Neal said the chances of them running into her were slim given the size of the realm, but Eric still clung to hope that they would. He just wanted to find her, and not because she needed him to protect her. He knew better than most that Erin Jones was quite capable of protecting herself in any given situation. In fact, she was probably faring a lot better in their current circumstances than he was.

He only wanted—needed—to know that she was okay.

"You're thinking about her again."

He wasn't surprised that Neal formed it as a statement rather than a question. After all, it wasn't the first time he'd caught Eric in a contemplative state over Erin. He'd waved away the question the first few times it had happened, but somewhere between another hellhound attack and the flock of harpies that descended on them from nowhere, he'd started answering Neal's question truthfully. Since then, Neal had been able to accurately deduce when his thoughts wandered to Erin.

"I am, yeah."

"Still worried about her?" Neal asked, picking up a long stick and stoking their fire.

Eric nodded. "Always. Don't get me wrong, she can take care of herself better than most trained soldiers. The woman is lethal with a sword. It's just… Well, I—"

"I get it. You're in love with her, and you can't help but worry about her even though you know she is capable of defending herself."

Eyes widening, Eric's head snapped towards Neal so quickly there was an audible cracking noise.

"I never said I was in love with her."

Neal chuckled without looking away from the fire. "Buddy, you didn't have to say the words. I wasn't the most observant person in life, but even a blind man could figure out you're in love with her by the way you talk about her."

Eric opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated the process a few more times before huffing.

"Perhaps I simply care about her very deeply as a friend," he said, though that argument was weak even to his own ears.

Looking away from the fire, Neal raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Are you seriously telling me you only care about her as a friend?"

They had, of course, spoken about Erin as they traveled the bleak hellscape. Neal wanted to know how they'd met and what she—and Liam—were like, his curiosity genuine and coming from his extensive history with both of their parents. Not to mention they were also Henry's siblings. Eric answered every question patiently and without reservation, though he didn't go into too much detail when it came to his relationship with Erin. He simply didn't know Neal well enough to reveal that, and Merlin taught him from a very young age never to give more information than necessary to a stranger. It was a behavior he also couldn't deny had served him well in his chosen profession.

Now, however, with five days spent beside Henry's father and in the aftermath of yet another life-or-death battle, Eric found that hard, ingrained behavior slipping away as he opened up to the other man.

"No, you're right," he conceded with a heavy exhale. "I'm in love with her."

"And she feels the same way as you, I take it?"

"I don't know."

That answer seemed to take Neal by surprise. "You don't know?"

"Not with any degree of conviction I'd stake my life on," he replied with a shrug.

Killian had heavily hinted that Erin felt the same way he did while they'd been in Agrabah four months ago. Eric, however, wasn't sure. He knew she was attracted to him. He'd seen the way her gaze lingered on him from time to time, particularly when he was shirtless. She was also clearly fond of him. Why else would she have insisted he move into the family wing?

Love, though?

That was an assumption he wasn't prepared to make.

"I know she feels something towards me that is more than friendship," Eric continued carefully, "But we've never talked about it."

"Ah, now it makes sense," Neal murmured, almost to himself. "Two people in love with each other yet they haven't admitted to it for various reasons. Classic trope."

Eric resolutely ignored the conviction in the other man's voice and frowned. "Trope?"

Neal made a dismissive gesture with his hand before turning his attention back to the fire.

"Never mind. So you're just friends?"

"Yes. Or… were. Still are."

"You don't sound particularly sure about that answer, bud."

"Because we were fighting in the days leading up to our journey to Camelot." Eric's face scrunched up. "No, fighting isn't the right word. We… we were ignoring each other. Or attempting to."

"How come?"

Shifting against the cave wall—and biting back another pained groan—Eric sighed.

"It's… complicated. We shared a moment the night of Liam's engagement ball, and the next morning she pulled away from me. It wasn't the first time she's done that, but this time… this time it hurt."

Still stoking the fire, Neal hummed quietly. "Is there a reason she pulls away?"

"There is."

While he felt like he could open up to Henry's father, Eric knew how closely Erin guarded her own past. It had taken her over a year to trust him enough to tell him about Matthew's death, and that wasn't something he was going to divulge to anyone—including her brother's biological, technically-dead father—without her consent.

"It's made her a very guarded woman when it comes to love," he continued, thankful that Neal hadn't asked for more details. "But that night, she lowered every single wall around her heart for the first time since we met, and I even bared a piece of myself that I hadn't shown anyone in literal decades. I had hoped—no, I was certain—it was a turning point for us when I said good night to her."

"But it wasn't," Neal guessed.

"No," Eric murmured. "It was about fifty steps backwards. She expanded those walls higher than they'd ever been—ignoring me if we were in the same room, going out of her way to not be in the same area as me—and I was hurt by that. So I did the same thing, and it just created this… cavernous rift between us."

"A rift you weren't able to mend before coming to the Underworld, I take it?"

Eric shook his head. "Not entirely, no. That first day on the road was extremely awkward because we still wouldn't communicate or even look at each other, only her brothers. It wasn't until the next morning that things… began to shift."

Reaching out to catch Erin as she started to fall down the inn's steep steps had been a natural instinct despite the tension that lay between them. Eric didn't even realize he'd reacted until his hand was already wrapped around her arm. But that moment with Erin breathing a genuine thank you had had the unexpected by-product of causing his emotional walls to shudder. They hadn't fully lowered, though. Nothing short of them having an open, honest conversation would do that. It had at least gotten them to the point where they'd stopped ignoring each other's presence.

Setting the stick he'd been using to stoke the fire aside, Neal leaned back against the cave wall and crossed his arms. "The ice wall between you started to thaw?"

"A little. Things still weren't normal. There wasn't any playful banter or mundane conversation as we traveled, but I… I couldn't be the one to make the first move to change that."

Neal gave him an assessing look. "Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"Couldn't," Eric instantly replied, his gaze turning from Neal to the crackling fire.

He missed her. He missed their normal interactions—twirling her hair around his finger, the way she smacked his shoulder with exasperation and fondness—but he couldn't be the one to step over that divide. Erin wasn't the only one with her heart on the line. He'd opened up an old wound and shown her a raw piece of himself to give her insight into a problem. The story may have been shrouded in half truths, but the emotions were real, and she'd essentially slammed the door in his face. His feelings in this complicated, tangled thing they shared mattered just as much as Erin's did, and because of that, he hadn't been able to make the move to fix their rift like he normally would.

None of that was important anymore, though. Or at least for the moment it wasn't. Everything, including his own feelings, was trivial until he knew she was okay.

After that… Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got there.

"Well, I hope the two of you can patch things up," Neal said, pulling Eric from his thoughts.

"Me too," he murmured quietly. Needing to change the subject, Eric cleared his throat and added, "Thanks, by the way."

Neal frowned. "For what?"

"For keeping me from turning into stone earlier."

When the basilisk appeared from out of nowhere, Neal had shouted for him not to look it in the eye. After they killed it—a task that had required Neal to stab it so his sword was coated in its venom-infused blood and then to drive the sword through the basilisk's brain—he'd explained that a single gaze from the gigantic snake could petrify a person.

"Oh." Neal chuckled. "Any time, man."

"How did you know so much about the basilisk, anyway?" Eric didn't miss the way Neal instantly stilled at the question. "Like how to not look it in the eye and that its own venom would kill it?"

"My dad."

Those two words, coupled with his melancholic tone, said everything. They'd been traveling together for five full days now, but only had one very brief conversation about Rumple. Eric—after realizing Neal didn't ask about his father during that entire first day—had brought up the former Dark One once they'd found shelter in yet another protected grove within the forest of silver-barked trees.

Neal explained how, when a soul reached Elysium, they were granted access to a mirror that displayed every unknown thing that had affected their lives. Within it, he'd finally witnessed the truth behind Rumple and Killian's centuries-old feud. He'd seen how his mother willingly left his father—had even had to beg Killian to take her away—as well as the fateful day Rumple crushed her heart aboard the Jolly Roger. It had been a lot for him to take in, as regret and betrayal had stirred together. Neal told him that, while he was glad his father had finally been able to relinquish power and embrace happiness with Belle, a part of him could never forgive the former Dark One.

Neal hadn't divulged whether that was because Rumple had lied to him or the simple fact his father had murdered his mother in cold blood, but it crystallized for Eric why Neal felt the need to make something up to Erin's father.

"He needed their venom for a potion or something," Neal continued after a long, heavy pause. "And I read over the research he'd gathered when he wasn't looking." Shrugging, he added, "Harry Potter kind of helped, too."

Sensing that Neal was now the one who needed a change of subject, Eric asked, "Is that a wizard of some kind?"

A bark of unrestrained, amused laughter escaped Neal, and Eric smiled as the tension dissipated from his shoulders.

"Yeah, actually. He is. He's fairly renowned in his realm."

"Ah, well, my thanks to the wizard then."

Neal chuckled—Eric got the distinct impression he was missing something—and stood up. "I'm going to patrol for a bit, so you should get some rest. I'll wake you at dawn."

Nodding, Eric watched as Neal disappeared into the darkness now shrouding the Underworld. Having Neal with him over the last five days had been invaluable. He'd been someone to converse with over the miles of desolate landscape, a knowledgeable navigator, and one hell of an ally in a fight. Hellhounds, a chimera, harpies, the basilisk—there was no shortage of creatures who'd tried to come for them, and Neal had been right beside him through every encounter.

Eric hadn't known much about him before they'd met in the Underworld, but he could now say with certainty that, despite the complicated and disastrous decisions Neal had made, his choices in death were far more becoming of the person that Erin's parents still mourned.

Digging through their rucksack, he took out a clean bandage and wrapped the scratches from his first encounter with a hellhound. Once he was sure the cloth wouldn't move while he slept, he gingerly—and with more than a few grunts and curses—stretched out by the fire with his head pillowed on the nearly empty bag. His injuries meant sleep wasn't instantaneous, but when he did finally manage to nod off through the aches and pain, Eric dreamed of sailing his ship on a sun-filled day with Erin standing by his side.

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Seven hours after Merlin dismissed the group, they found themselves once again gathered together.

This time, it was around the long table that sat in the ship's galley, with plates of dried meat, cheese, and bread before them. Everyone—including Emma—had, surprisingly, managed to get six and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep, the most any of them had had at one time in almost a week. And it showed. The dark circles that were prevalent beneath many of their eyes had lessened, and they were all just a little more alert and energized as they consumed a late dinner while formulating their plan.

"Why not just go after each one as a large group?" Snow asked in rebuttal to Merlin's suggestion that they split into groups. She sat at one end of the table, looking for all the world like she was holding court in a marbled throne room rather than the Jolly Roger's galley. "Surely thirteen against whatever lays in wait for us is better odds than seven or six people."

"It is," he agreed, "But the geography around some of the artifacts will undoubtedly have changed over the course of several centuries, and landmarks or names could be drastically different from when I made my notes. It may take days to locate just a single one. We could go as a large group, but the longer it takes us to retrieve the items—"

"The longer we go without entering Avalon and getting Nimue to contact Hades," Regina finished for the wizard. Setting the goblet of wine she'd conjured down, she added, "And none of us—particularly Emma or Killian—want to prolong that from happening."

Emma and Killian both nodded in agreement. She'd spent enough time around her father and husband to know that having more numbers when confronting an unknown threat was best, but this wasn't something they could do at a leisurely pace. Not with Erin and Eric missing and only one means of locating them out there. Time was absolutely of the essence in this situation.

Elsa pushed her empty plate forward and clasped her hands together in its empty place. "So what are we thinking? Four groups in total, with three of them comprising three people and one having four people?"

Circe quickly shook her head. "That's too few people walking into dangerous situations, in my opinion."

"Recovering the artifacts would go quicker with that scenario," Merlin conceded, "But some of the obstacles will require more than three people."

Henry threw him a confused look down the length of the table. "How so?"

"For instance, the Weight of Judgement—Morgana's item—can only be accessed when five people stand at specific locations within its resting place. Don't ask me how long it took me to figure that out."

Will scowled. "Yer tellin' us we have to do bloody puzzles?"

"For a few of them, yes. Nimue didn't want the items easily found, and the ones she couldn't place a creature to guard over, she created elaborate puzzles to keep them from falling into the wrong hands."

David, who was sitting on the opposite end of the long table, leaned back in his chair.

"Two groups, then," he stated while crossing his arms. "There are eight Avalonian artifacts, and each group will go after four of them. One group will consist of Emma, Killian, Circe, Henry, Will, Elsa, and Belle while the other will be me, Snow, Liam, Agamede, Merlin, and Regina."

"No," Emma immediately argued with a hard shake of her head. "I'm not letting Liam out of my sight, Dad."

"Emma—"

"Not after he was tethered to a damn portal by a god not even a week ago. If Henry hadn't been there, both he and Erin would be missing right now, and I'm not taking that chance again."

Her father sighed. "I understand you want to keep an eye on him after what happened with Erin, but that split makes the most sense from a strategic viewpoint. It gives each group three magic users and three people versed in the use of weapons, plus someone to navigate us to the items. Belle, who is neither a magic user or skilled with a sword, can be your group's navigator by deciphering Merlin's research, while we have Merlin himself."

It was sound reasoning. Intellectually, Emma knew that, yet emotionally, she wanted to rail against it. She couldn't quite shake the cold grip that fear had on her heart when she thought of not being able to lay eyes on Liam whenever she wanted. She'd barely slept when he went to Narnia with Killian and her father the night after Erin had been pulled into the portal, and hadn't allowed herself to fully relax until he'd returned.

How could she let him out of her sight when Hades was still a threat? For all they knew, the God of the Dead could attempt to tether Liam to another portal at any given moment.

"Mom."

Emma's gaze swung from her father down to where Liam sat at the other end of the table. A mixture of understanding and fond exasperation was on her youngest son's face, and he did nothing to hide the quick movement of his fingers from the rest of the group.

"You can't control if Hades comes after me again, Mom. Don't let the fear of 'what if' keep us from doing what we have to. If you do, you're letting Hades win."

Despite the fear still lodged within her chest, Emma huffed in amusement. Leave it to her son to throw her own words back at her. She'd said that very thing to him the night of his engagement ball when he'd been worried about Maleficent using his wedding day to come after Elizabeth, and even with her maternal instinct screaming at her, she couldn't ignore the fact that he was right.

It took a control freak to call out another control freak, after all.

"Am I missing something?" Agamede asked, glancing between mother and son.

Killian chuckled beside her. "Just Liam imparting some sound advice he was once told."

"Indeed," Emma murmured before looking back to her father. "I still don't like the plan, but I acknowledge that it makes the most sense strategy wise."

Nodding, David turned his attention to Merlin. "How do you want to divide the artifacts between the two groups?"

"It's probably best if we give Killian's group most of the ones that are located in realms not connected to each other, like Middle Earth, the Isle of Lost Souls, Neverland, and Narnia. The Jolly Roger will make travel to them easier."

Emma didn't particularly like the idea of either of her sons returning to Neverland, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Ever the organizer, Snow inquired, "Which items are those?"

"That would be the Ring of Adulation, Blood of the Dead, the Life Stone, and Key of Shadows," Merlin replied. "Which means we'll take the Weight of Judgement, Heaven's Light, the Fruit of Avalon, and the Eye of the Sea. The first three of those are in realms that are interconnected—Wonderland, Stormhold, and Oz."

"And the last is in Camelot?" Belle asked, recalling Merlin's words from earlier that day when Regina had asked why they were sailing away from the kingdom if one of the artifacts was there.

The wizard nodded. "Before we go after any of them, however, I'll need to retrieve the ignition agent."

Killian frowned. "The what?"

"It's the ingredient that activates a spell or curse," Regina explained. "With the Dark Curse, it was the heart of the thing you loved most." Looking to Merlin, she added, "A spell of this magnitude would require a unique and very powerful ignition. What is it?"

"The waters of Ahm Shere."

Agamede groaned and looked towards the galley's ceiling. "Of course it would be something in Agrabah."

Henry leaned forward so he could see Agamede around the people sitting between them. "Not a fan of the realm?"

"She hates deserts," Circe replied while patting her sister's arm in sympathy. "They go against her very existence, like death does mine."

Agamede moved her gaze from the ceiling to Merlin. "Ahm Shere. Seriously?"

"Unfortunately I didn't make the rules for the spell," the wizard said. Emma was certain if looks could kill, the one Agamede leveled him with would have caused Merlin to instantly drop dead.

"What's Ahm Shere?" Elsa asked curiously.

Ignoring Agamede's heated gaze, Merlin replied, "It's an oasis. Legend says it was created and enchanted by Hapi, the Agrahabian God of Water, in order to keep the first people of Agrabah from perishing of thirst."

Belle, who had been in the process of taking a drink, coughed on her wine. "I thought it disappeared into the sands of the Great Desert some 5,000 years ago? Or so the legend goes."

"Yes and no," Agamede said with a heavy sigh. "Hapi placed a glamour over the oasis when another god tried to use its waters for evil. It's impossible to find unless you've been there before, which Merlin has."

"Lucky us," Will muttered as Snow stood.

"It's settled then," she said. "We'll begin preparations to depart at once."

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She was almost floating as she quickly made her way down the castle corridors, a skip to her step and happiness pooling warmly in her chest. Erin had been in the process of finalizing the preparations for something—what exactly it was she couldn't recall, the details blurred and memories escaping her before they could fully form—when she realized it had been snowing for some time. It was the first snowfall of the year and, despite it being colder than any other February she'd known, she wanted to walk in it as the flurries came down.

For some reason Erin had the thought that it might be her only chance to do so before someone important arrived. Again, she couldn't quite remember who the person was or why they were so important, only that they existed somewhere far beyond her current reach. She shook her head against that thought—it didn't even make sense—and put everything but her goal out of her mind as she arrived at her bedchamber. Opening the door, she made her way inside and through another door directly to her left.

Eric was, as she expected, sitting behind the desk in his study, his dark head bent over a piece of parchment. He looked up as she entered, and the smile he gave her caused that pool of happiness in her chest to warm even more.

"How are the final preparations going?"

"Good," she replied, though once again she couldn't recall exactly what preparations she had been making. "I'm taking a break because it's snowing."

His chuckle was warm and knowing as he sat the quill he'd been writing with to the side. "Let me guess—you want to go out."

Erin nodded, and she didn't have to look in a mirror to know the smile that pulled at her lips was filled with unrestrained giddiness at the thought. She'd been cooped up in the castle for a few weeks now, unable to travel long distances and not wanting to expose herself to the bitter cold for another reason she couldn't recall, and she was dying to taste fresh air.

"Only for a little while," she found herself saying, her tone light and playfully pleading. "Everyone else is already out there."

Eric contemplated her for a long moment, his green gaze filled with fondness and its own kind of warmth, before he stood.

"I never could deny you anything. Only for a short walk though," he countered with a stern look that was undermined by the smile on his lips and the twinkle in his eyes. "And you need to wear a cloak. We can't have you catching a cold in your final weeks."

That was a rather odd statement for him to make—the final weeks of what?—but she found herself nodding in agreement instead of vocalizing the oddity as they left his study.

In the sitting room that was connected to their bedchamber, Eric grabbed the winter cloak she'd tossed over a chair the night before and carefully draped it around her shoulders. As the thick material settled and he secured its golden clasp with nimble fingers, an overwhelming sense of wrong came over her. The force of it nearly took her breath away, and unease settled heavily at the base of Erin's spine with the weight of a cannonball. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but the feeling persistently lingered with her as she and Eric made their way from the sitting room, through the castle, and to one of the more secluded courtyards.

She smiled even as the wind hit her face with a coldness she hadn't been prepared for, and her free hand—the one not wrapped around Eric's arm—tightened its hold on her cloak. The courtyard before them was a wonderland of whiteness. Snow covered everything and crunched loudly beneath her leather boots. Through the delicate flurries still falling, she could just make out the forms of her mother, grandmother, and younger brother on the other side of the courtyard, Liam's deep, familiar laugh reaching them even above the sound of the wind.

"How do you feel about Thumbelina?"

The sudden and unexpected question from Eric caught her by surprise, and Erin's face screwed up in confusion.

"For what?"

"For a name."

That sense of wrongness flared within her again but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and although she had no idea what they were naming, she found herself giggling.

"You do know that means short in Narnian, right?"

"Ah, well, we can't saddle them with that. Cornelius?"

"Gods, no."

"Castiel?"

"Too… angelic."

"Belthazar?"

Erin laughed. "Where in the nine hells did you even—"

She cut herself off as the air around them began to tingle with the telltale sensation of magic. It was dark, almost oozing malevolence as it sizzled through the air, and fear instantly gripped her even as her other senses went on high alert.

She knew that magic.

Her gut screamed at her that this was wrong, and as she went to turn—to yell, to look for someone, she wasn't sure which—the world around her took a sudden and sickening turn. She felt suddenly drunk and managed to lose her balance, with colors and shapes blurring while a high pitched, ringing noise filled her ears. When the world finally righted itself and she could see clearly once again, Erin found herself on her knees beside Eric.

He was gasping in pain, his hands holding onto her arms tightly while his blue eyes were wide with a strange mixture of resolve and sorrow. Wait. No, that wasn't right, Erin thought with a frantic shake of her head. Green. Eric had green eyes. And then, in the time it took the second hand of a clock to tick forward, he went still. Too still. The steady beat that came from the enchanted dubloon now held tightly in her hand ceased as the ashes of his heart scattered in the bitter cold winter wind, and despair clawed its way from her throat.

"Eric!"

Erin jerked awake with his name still falling from her lips and, with her heart pounding wildly, it took a long moment to get her bearings.

A large tree… golden leaves… dead grass… a brightening, gray sky… Right. She was in some realm, separated from Eric, and had fallen asleep beneath the only living tree she'd stumbled upon last night after eating dinner.

As her brain acclimated to being awake and taking in her surroundings, Erin frantically pulled the enchanted dubloon from her vest pocket. Relief washed over her at the now-familiar thump-thump-thump that denoted Eric's heart beat, and her free hand ran shakingly down her face as she let out a harsh breath of air.

She could still see and feel key moments of the dream, reliving again the day Maleficent killed Matthew. Only—this time—Eric had been in his place.

Usually she dreamed she was pregnant, just as she had been the morning it happened, but this time she wasn't. Even though a part of her had still known that Hope would arrive soon. It was also strange that she hadn't been able to remember what, exactly, she was preparing for before going to Matthew's study. It was the nursery, just as she knew the absurd names he'd thrown out as they walked across the courtyard were for Hope.

It was… odd. As if someone or something was trying to keep her from remembering.

Which is even more insane than the dream, she thought while her hand tightened around the enchanted dubloon. There was no one around her and, even if they were, how could they have altered her dreams?

Dreams. Erin's brow furrowed in confusion. Now that she thought about it, that wasn't the only dream she'd had last night. There had been more. Other moments she'd shared with Matthew but with Eric in his place—dancing with him at balls, kissing him beneath the trees in Aurora's gardens—that had gone one right after the other until that final, dreaded one.

Which also didn't make sense. None of it did, really, but with a shake of her head Erin dismissed it. They were just dreams, after all. They never made sense. Besides, she thought, she had far more pressing issues like surviving this hellscape and finding Eric to contend with than spending her time worrying about something she couldn't—

"Princess Erin?"

Startling—and with a shouted curse—Erin whipped her head to the side at the unexpected voice. Her eyes widened in shock as she found a very familiar face standing a few feet away from her.

"Blue?!"

The Blue Fairy smiled widely and, rushing forward, dropped to her knees beside Erin before enveloping her in an over-enthusiastic hug.

"Oh, thank the gods! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Taken aback by the unusual display of affection from the fairy—and yet also overcome with emotion herself at seeing someone she knew—Erin blinked back tears while reluctantly returning the embrace. As a thought came to her, however, she pulled away and tightly gripped the fairy's arms.

"Are my parents or Eric with you?"

"I'm afraid they aren't, Your Highness," Blue answered with a solemn shake of her head. The fleeting spark of hope that had begun to fill Erin's chest immediately fizzled out. "They wouldn't have survived the journey, which is why I'm here."

"Not survive—" Letting go of Blue, she threw her hands up in exasperation. "What the bloody hell does that mean? What is this place?"

"It doesn't have a name, or at least not one that Regina could find. It's an ethereal realm though, and as I'm sure you'll recall from your magical studies, travel to such a place is mortally dangerous to anyone but my kind."

She did, in fact, remember that. It was one of the first things her mother and Regina had taught her when they reached her realm traveling lessons, and it explained why she'd yet to come across anyone else. Realms like this were meant to host non corporeal beings like shadow monsters and wraiths, not living humans. And, unlike a normal realm, it was impossible for any living creature other than a fairy to enter an ethereal realm. There was something about their magical makeup that allowed them access without injury. A non-fairy could attemptthe journey, but it always ended in their death.

But then how…

"Are you sure it's an ethereal realm?" she asked carefully. "Because Eric and I came here by falling into a portal and, while I haven't seen him, I know he survived the entry. Not to mention I've fought corporeal beasts like chimeras, hellhounds, and a bloody hydra."

She very deliberately didn't mention the person following her. Erin couldn't explain why she kept that fact from the fairy, other than that something deep inside her whispered not to. It didn't make sense—Blue was an ally, after all—but she'd learned long ago not to question her instincts, no matter how little sense they made at the time.

Blue nodded. "We're absolutely certain it's an ethereal realm. It's not unheard of for places like this to house beasts like you've fought. They're generally food for the incorporeal beings, or left alone to help maintain order. My best guess as to how the two of you survived entering the realm is that whoever opened the portal was powerful enough to create a shield that protected you on the journey."

"Aye, but the only person who could do that would be a fairy. Who would—" Erin groaned as a realization came to her. "Maleficent."

"Our assumption as well, Your Highness."

"But I didn't sense her magic at the portal."

"We don't believe she was working alone," Blue replied. "As far as we could tell, someone else opened the portal. Maleficent just… ensured you'd survive the journey."

"Of course she did," Erin muttered angrily.

It all made sense now. The strange portal, her being tethered to it—of course it was the work of the Dark Fairy. She was still trying to circumvent the prophecy and had once again managed to attempt it without them being any the wiser. And, while most villains would have simply let her die on the journey, the black-hearted Maleficent would absolutely keep her alive but stranded in a place her parents or brothers couldn't reach.

"How did you even find me? This realm feels massive."

"Oh, it is. Luckily I had the foresight to bring a strand of hair from your brush so I could use a locator spell to find you. Tinkerbelle did the same for Captain D'Harper."

That revelation had Erin's heart rate picking up as hope bloomed anew in her chest.

"Tink came with you?"

"She did."

Relief flooded Erin's exhausted mind. It helped to know that not only was someone else searching for Eric, but that they had the tools with them to do it far more accurately than she could.

"Okay, so what's the plan for getting us out of here? If memory serves, the risk of death is still there even when leaving an ethereal realm."

Blue nodded again. "Tink and I worked on a spell before coming that would mimic how Maleficent was able to get you here. We have an assigned location to meet at that's about a five-hour walk from here."

"Well, then let's go!" Erin said, the first genuine laugh she'd had in a week escaping her as she jumped up. "The sooner we're out of this godforsaken place, the better."

"Of course, Your Highness."

Shouldering her nearly-empty bag, Erin didn't waste a moment in leaving the safety of the golden leafed tree. If she'd looked back, however, she would have seen a cold, sinister smile spread across Blue's face as the fairy followed her.

                                    ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Dread pooled in Matthew's stomach as Erin and Blue departed the clearing.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Hermes had been very clear that he and Neal would be the only ones allowed to interact with Erin and Captain D'Harper. So why was Blue here? And when had she died? The last he knew, she was still very much alive. Hermes had certainly not mentioned her appearing two days ago when he left the last bag of provisions with Matthew.

No, something was wrong here. Very, very wrong. He could feel it down to his core that this hadn't been a part of whatever plan Hermes had to get Erin through the perils of the Underworld.

As Blue and Erin disappeared into the blackened forest, he moved to follow them at a safe distance. He could only hope that Hermes arrived sooner rather than later with the next provision bag.

If not, Matthew had a sinking suspicion he would have no choice but to reveal himself to his wife in order to protect her.

                                    ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Standing at the railing of the Jolly Roger, Emma gazed out over the ocean shrouded in darkness and took a deep, trembling breath.

Everything had been fine after they'd left the galley. More than fine, really. She'd felt fully rested and like they were, finally, on the right path to finding Erin and Eric. That wouldn't happen for another twelve days, of course—not until they were in Avalon—but they were a lot closer to discovering it than they'd been yesterday. For the first time since Erin and Eric were pulled into the portal, optimism had bloomed within Emma's chest.

But then, as she hugged Liam good-bye a few moments ago, it had happened again, and any peace or optimism she'd felt had vanished in an instant.

"Be safe."

"I won't be in your care so someone can't kidnap me. Couldn't be safer."

Tears strung Emma's eyes and blurred her view as she recalled those words. She tried, as she had done for the last four months, to tell herself he hadn't actually said them. That it was just her mind playing tricks on her yet again. But she couldn't quite talk herself into that, nor could she shake the sense of loneliness and despair that wrapped around her like a cold, wet blanket.

What if her mind wasn't playing tricks on her?

After all, it happening once could be written off. But this many times? And from multiple people? Maybe she wasn't imagining things. Maybe whatever was going on with her was revealing how they really felt. Maybe it allowed her to hear truths she'd spent the last thirty years ignoring….

A warm, gentle hum reached through Emma's dark thoughts and, with a forcible yank, tugged her back to reality. Gasping quietly at the mental whiplash, she blinked against the tears still filling her eyes and looked down. Her hands—which moments ago had been resting lightly on the Jolly Roger's railing—were now shaking and, beneath their uncontrollable movement, was the source of the humming. It was the ship. The warm, gentle thrumming that felt like a crackling fire on a cold day emanated from the very wood her hands trembled against, and Emma could only stare in surprise upon that realization.

Emma knew the Jolly Roger had, from the moment she was built, never been an ordinary ship. Constructed on Numenor, the large and vast island kingdom that resided within Middle Earth, every inch of her was made from an enchanted tree that grew on the island. Unlike the enchanted trees of Misthaven, however, the magical trees of Numenor were sentient. They were able to perceive and feel emotions, as well as communicate with other beings telepathically, and that ability hadn't ceased once it had been crafted into the Jolly Roger. It was why Killian could sail her by himself if need be. Because the ship was, for all intents and purposes, a living, breathing entity with a strong will and protective personality.

She only communicated directly, however, with Killian. Or the kids, though Emma had never been sure if that was because they sometimes sailed her themselves or if it was simply because of their connection to her captain. The ship had never spoken directly to her though. Sure, it would helpfully reveal things to her when she needed them—a misplaced ribbon, a lost book, the coconut from Neverland—and Emma had certainly spent enough time aboard herto learn what the ship's nonverbal language meant, but this…

The Jolly Roger had never done this before.

It was as if the ship was concentrating its magic—which had only ever been a faint, buzzing presence to Emma whenever she searched for it—directly into her mind and attempting to convey its emotion to her.

Like it was trying to communicate with her.

A quick glance over her shoulder told Emma that she was still alone on deck. After Merlin translocated his group to Agrabah, her own had gone back below for various reasons while she stayed up top to get some fresh air. Will, Elsa, and Henry had returned to their cabins—with her children's godfather and her son hoping to get more rest before their shifts to relieve Killian of manning the helm came about—and Circe had spoken of a need for a bath. Belle and Killian had retreated to his and Emma's cabin, the brunette librarian deciphering Merlin's writing to learn where in Narnia they needed to go as Killian plotted a more detailed course off her findings.

Good, she thought while turning her attention back to the warm, humming sensation. The last thing she needed was for someone, particularly her husband, to over hear her having a conversation with a ship.

"What are you trying to say, old girl?" Emma murmured affectionately.

The humming of the ship's magic beneath her palms increased slightly and, though she'd never be able to explain how, Emma knew it was the Jolly Roger's way of asking if she were okay. A single tear finally escaped to roll down her check, and Emma sniffled.

"I'm fine," she whispered, stroking the railing with a hand that still trembled. "Just… processing some things."

It was a lie, of course, and one the ancient ship clearly didn't believe. The wood beneath Emma's feet groaned in response, and she'd swear until her dying day it sounded more like a frustrated sigh. There was another surge of warmth and then an image of Killian—so crystal clear it was as if he were standing in front of her—briefly flashed through her mind. Talk to him, the ship was trying to tell her, and a despairing, watery sound escaped Emma's throat.

If only I could, she thought as another tear trailed down her cheek.

"Swan?"

Startling with an audible gasp, Emma hastily swiped at her cheeks before spinning around to find her husband a few feet behind her.

"Yes?"

Killian, who had gone without his great coat and vest upon waking earlier and still hadn't donned either garment, studied her with a worried crease between his brows.

"Everything okay?"

Talk to him. While the thrumming of the Jolly Roger's magic was no longer directly beneath her palms, she could still feel its presence behind her, as well as its gentle, encouraging plea. Just talk to him and everything will be fine.

Wetting her lips, Emma cleared her throat. "No, it's not. I—"

Once again she tried to say those words. I'm hearing things that aren't being said. Like every other time she tried to speak about it or her nightmares, however, the words failed to form. They caught in her throat, burning it with their intensity and desire to be spoken. As quickly as a candle being blown out they were gone, scattering into the ether as she continued to stand silently beneath her husband's worried gaze, and she was left with nothing but frustration and despair clawing at her insides. When her right hand began to tremble again, Emma clasped her hands behind her back to hide it.

"No, it's not," she repeated, her mind racing to find a way to explain her red eyes and odd demeanour that wasn't a lie. Because she had to tread carefully here. While he didn't have her superpower, Killian was an observant man, and he'd see right through a straight-up lie at this point. "I, um… I'm just worried," she added with a sad smile. "About everything, really, but mostly the twins."

It wasn't a lie. It also wasn't the truth.

Killian continued to stare at her for a long moment, blue eyes assessing in a way that they hadn't been in almost thirty years, before he closed the distance between them in two strides and enveloped her in a hug.

"I know what you mean," he murmured into her hair. "I don't like the idea of Liam being out of our sight any more than you do."

That familiar mixture of rum, leather, and sea salt washed over Emma as he pulled her against his chest, and she greedily breathed the calming scent in. It eased the tension that had taken root in her shoulders and chased away her frustration and despair, leaving behind nothing but the gentle warmth of his unconditional love. Fresh tears stung at her eyes, and it wasn't until she'd returned his hug—her fingers all but gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline—that she realized her hand no longer trembled.

"He'll be okay, right?"

It may not have been the true reason behind her initial tears, but her worry for their youngest child was just as real as Emma's confusion over her current mental state.

"Aye." Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, he ran his hand up her back in a soothing gesture. "We taught him well in the art of self defense, love."

"We taught Erin as well and it didn't help her."

The sigh Killian exhaled moved even her body where it was pressed tightly to his chest, and she felt the emotion—the heaviness of it—all the way to her toes.

"No, it didn't, but your parents are with him. They're one of a handful of people, other than ourselves, that I can say with utter confidence would lay down their lives for him if they had to."

Emma nodded. He was right, of course. Her parents had always been protective of the kids, and the only reason she hadn't fought the group assignments more—other than them making sense strategy wise—was because she knew Liam would be with her parents.

"They certainly can't fail him any worse than you did me thirty years ago." Emma's breath hitched as the words, dripping with revulsion and anger, were whispered in her ear. "After all, it was what, Savior? Months before you realized I was missing my heart?"

Emma's eyes slammed shut against the utter hatred she heard in her husband's voice. No, not his voice. Because Killian would never say that, had never felt that way… Right?

As her mind reeled between what she knew and what she feared, Emma buried her face into Killian's neck and desperately tried to banish it all by breathing his scent in again. Only this time, it didn't chase away the despair. It was like pouring gasoline on a fire. The smell of him caused that despair to ignite and roar with an intensity that took her breath away as a fleeting moment from her time in the Netherworld flashed through her mind.

Her husband emitted a dark chuckle and, with a familiar saunter she would recognise even in a crowded room, he moved towards her. "What's going on, princess, is that you were so wrapped up in finding the little ice queen and her bumbling sister a portal back to their realm that you never noticed your own boyfriend was missing his heart!"

Emma backed up with every step he made towards her until she felt her legs hit a desk. Killian's face was a mask of fury, his normally blue eyes nothing more than twin points of red as he stalked forward. It was a kind of fury she had seen in the depths of Neverland when their son had been poisoned with Dreamshade, and in the seconds after Erin had cried herself to sleep after Matthew's death. It was a rage she had borne witness to numerous times over the course of their marriage, but had never been directed at her until now.

When he reached her, invading her personal space in that way only he could, Killian grinned menacingly.

"You think you're such an observant lass, but the truth is when it comes to me, you know nothing. All that time the Crocodile had my heart and you never suspected a thing. Never questioned my odd behavior or actions. What kind of a girlfriend does that make you?"

"I'm your wife," she whispered.

Leaning forward until she could feel his breath tickling her face, he growled, "It makes you a pathetic one, that's what it does."

"Swan!"

The worry in Killian's lilting accent yanked her from the memory as quickly as the Jolly Roger's magic had done earlier, and her eyes snapped open. Only, instead of having her face buried in his neck, Emma found herself looking directly into her husband's concerned eyes. At some point he'd pulled them apart, creating just enough space so he could see her with his hook resting at her waist and his hand gripping her left bicep.

"What's wrong?" he asked, eyes scanning his face. "You're trembling."

So she was. It wasn't just a tremble in her hands, either. Her entire body shook as if she had just fallen into a frozen lake.

"I—I'm fine."

Emma regretted the words the moment she said them. Because that was a lie. A bold-faced, flimsy false statement that anyone with a pair of eyes could see right through. And Killian, who could read her better than anyone, knew it was a lie the second she said it. Killian's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed with anger born of frustration and concern.

"Emma."

He didn't say her name angrily or with even a molecule of heat to his voice. No, his tone was calm and measured. Too calm, her mind screamed at her as dread pooled coldly in her stomach. It was the voice of a man who had spent months toeing the line between letting his wife come clean on her own or confronting her, and Emma's heart began to beat rapidly against her chest.

This was it. The moment where the tension that had been building between them over the last few months snapped like a rubber band, forcing Killian to stride over that line in the sand. He was going to ask her about the nightmares, about her sleepless nights and why she hadn't talked to him about any of it, and all she would be able to do was meet his questions with silence.

"Before Percival arrived to tell us Camelot was under attack, I—"

A sudden, ear-splitting roar cut off Killian's sentence, and it took her longer than it should have to realize it wasn't from the pounding of blood in her ears. No, the sound that filled the quiet night air came from behind Emma, out in the ocean shrouded in darkness, and she reacted on instinct. Her magic instantly flared to life as she spun from Killian's tentative hold to face whatever threat lay in the sea. There were a number of things it could have been—the unmistakable silhouette of a kraken rising from the deep, hundreds of mermaids, a giant Leviathan—but what she saw was the very last thing she expected to see.

It was a portal.

Its mottled green color was a stark contrast to the blackness of the ocean, and as it started to rapidly expand, the wind—which had only been a light breeze before—began to pick up speed until it was a howling, ferocious gale. She tried to see what, or who, came through it, but the wind was too strong. It sliced at her eyes like thousands of tiny knives until she was forced to close them against the constant onslaught. Mere seconds later, the Jolly Roger tilted sharply to the right, as if a giant wave had struck her port side, and the move sent Emma sprawling to the deck.

And then, as suddenly as it had all begun, it ended. The roaring of the portal vanished, leaving the night quiet and still once again, and the wind returned to a light, pleasant breeze.

Opening her eyes, Emma saw Killian lying on his back a few feet from where she was.

"You okay?"

"Aye, bloody fantastic," he replied with a groan. "You?"

"Peachy," she muttered before wincing.

Her right shoulder had taken the brunt of her unexpected tumble to the deck. It wasn't broken or dislocated, thankfully, but it hurt enough to let her know she'd have to heal it or deal with a persistent ache for a few days. First aid would have to wait, though. They needed to find out what had come through the portal.

They both scrambled to their feet and turned towards the empty expanse of ocean off the Jolly Roger's port side. Or, at least, what had been an empty expanse of ocean.

A ship sat unmoving in the water alongside them—as if its anchor had been dropped the moment it popped out of the portal—and was the same length, height, and make as the Jolly Roger. An ominous, otherworldly sense clung to its blackened wood and purple sails, permeating the very air like a living entity. To anyone else it would have caused cold dread to settle in their stomachs and paralyzed them with fear, but all Emma could do was stare in shock and confusion.

Because she knew that ship. She'd seen it from a distance only once before, some twenty years ago, moored in the harbor of the Isle of Lost Souls.

"Is that—?"

"Aye."

Tearing her eyes away from the ship that had struck fear into the hearts of sailors throughout countless generations, Emma saw the angry clench of her husband's jaw. It was a different type of anger, however, from what had been leveled at her. This one was born not from frustration and concern, but abandonment and betrayal. A rage so deep and hot that Killian's eyes burned an icy blue in the inky blackness of night as it radiated off him in palpable waves.

"It's the Flying Dutchman," he confirmed with a growl. "My father's ship."