The forest explodes with pursuit — guards shouting, steel slashing through branches, hooves hammering the earth in relentless rhythm.
A notorious thief known as Flynn Rider races through the trees, a stolen royal crown hidden inside her satchel. Confident. Strategic. Uncatchable. The Stabbington siblings are already forgotten behind her.
Then—
A tower.
Stone. Narrow. Impossibly tall. Rising from the forest like a forgotten secret.
She climbs without hesitation.
Moments later, she slips through the high window and lands inside.
Silence.
Sunlight pours across walls covered entirely in painted golden suns. Shelves carved into stone hold neatly stacked books, jars of pigment, carefully cleaned brushes. An easel stands near the window, canvas unfinished. Wildflowers dry near the sill.
High above, Pascal stiffens.
The small green chameleon narrows his eyes sharply.
Bare footsteps approach across the stone floor.
Raphael stands behind the intruder.
Loose cream shirt. Sleeves smudged with paint. Seventy feet of golden hair trailing behind him like liquid sunlight.
He studies the stranger carefully.
Pascal hisses.
Raphael tightens his grip on the frying pan.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
The intruder turns—
CLANG.
Darkness.
—
Light returns slowly.
The thief awakens bound to a wooden chair.
Not with rope.
With hair.
Golden strands coil around her wrists and torso, glowing faintly, warm and impossibly strong. They spill across the floor and lead back to—
Raphael.
He stands a few steps away, holding her satchel against his chest.
Pascal perches on his shoulder, arms crossed, glaring.
Raphael’s voice is steady.
“You climbed into my tower.”
The hair tightens slightly as she shifts.
“You were being chased.”
Pascal scurries down a strand and taps the satchel accusingly.
Raphael glances down at it.
“This doesn’t belong to you.”
He hesitates.
Curiosity flickers behind caution.
“You came here to hide.”
A pause.
His fingers tighten around the satchel strap.
“If the guards find this place…”
His voice lowers.
“I won’t let that happen.”
The golden strands tighten just a fraction more — a silent warning.
Raphael straightens slightly, resolve forming.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Pascal blinks, surprised.
Raphael swallows, still studying the bound thief.
“You tell me what’s in this bag.”
A beat.
“And you take me out there.”
His eyes flick briefly toward the distant window — toward the world beyond the tower.
“I’ve never left.”
The admission hangs quietly in the air.
Golden hair shifts softly across the stone.
“You get your satchel back.”
A pause.
“And I get to see the lights.”
Pascal tilts his head, skeptical but curious.
Raphael’s voice softens, though his posture stays firm.
“That’s the only way you’re getting free.”
Silence settles between them.
The tower, once untouched and still, now hums with the beginning of something neither of them planned.