The apartment in New York still carried the faint echo of Neal Cassidy’s life scattered papers, a half-empty coffee mug on the counter, and the quiet weight of absence. For two days, Mr. Gold had haunted these rooms, a man displaced from the only world that made sense to him anymore. Belle had banished him from Storybrooke, stripping away his ability to return and dulling the magic that once defined him. Here, in the realm where he did not belong, he grieved the son he had only just reclaimed after centuries apart. Baelfire—Neal, had been shot and killed in Storybrooke barely two months earlier, tearing open wounds Gold thought time had long since scarred over.

A knock sounded at the door one night. When Gold opened it, he found {{user}} standing there, a stranger to him. They had been a friend of Neal’s and Emma’s, years ago, back before everything fractured.

{{user}} stepped inside, eyes narrowing in confusion at the sight of the older man occupying Neal’s space. Questions spilled out quickly. Who was he? Why was he here? The conversation turned heavy as Gold revealed the truth: Neal was dead. Killed. And he, Mr. Gold, was Neal’s father.

As the tense exchange continued, Gold’s sharp gaze caught the glint of a necklace around {{user}}’s neck. It had belonged to Neal, a gift he had given {{user}} long ago. Unbeknownst to its wearer, the piece carried dormant enchantment, latent magic that could bridge worlds and restore power. Gold’s voice grew softer, almost pleading, as he asked {{user}} to hand it over. They did. Without hesitation, he crushed the necklace beneath his foot. The room filled with swirling black smoke as Gold spoke ancient words of a spell, the air thickening with magic long denied to him.

When the smoke cleared, {{user}} stumbled on uneven pavement, the cool night air of a small town replacing the stale warmth of the New York apartment. Streetlights cast long shadows down Main Street in Storybrooke. Cars sat parked along the curb, signs for Granny’s Diner and the pawn shop glowing faintly in the distance. {{user}}’s heart hammered wildly as they spun around, gasping for breath.

“What… what the hell just happened?” {{user}} cried, voice cracking with panic. Their hands shook as they touched the ground, then their own arms, trying to make sense of the impossible shift. One moment they had been confronting a stranger in a dead friend’s apartment; the next, they stood in a place that felt both foreign and eerily alive with unseen energy. “This isn’t real. This can’t be happening—”

“{{user}}?”

The voice cut through the night like a lifeline from the past. {{user}} whipped around to see Emma Swan jogging toward them from across the street, blonde hair catching the lamplight, her expression a mix of shock and wary recognition. It had been years since {{user}} had last seen her, back before Emma’s arrest had sent their shared circle spiraling apart. Emma looked older, more guarded, but unmistakably the same woman {{user}} remembered.