OK now to set up the third movie. And what better way than bringing up John Dory's guilt? And now before anyone asks, no Floyd is not the one who Velvet and Venner capture and use. It's... John Dory himself! I figured what's even better than Branch saving his favorite brother? All four little brothers team up to save their big brother. And now without further ado, let's dive into John Dory's life and guilt. Grab some popcorn and tissues, it's going to get wildly emotional.

The Neverglade was a place few dared to tread—a wild, untamed stretch of land where nature ruled supreme. Towering trees with thick, coiling roots stretched endlessly into the horizon, their massive canopies casting the forest floor in a permanent twilight. The air buzzed with the hum of hidden creatures, the scent of damp earth and moss hanging heavy in the humidity. John Dory hadn't chosen to live here. But after the fall of their home—after the Bergen attack shattered everything he knew—there was nowhere else to go.

For years, he wandered, searching. Searching for any sign of his brothers, for any whisper of survivors. But the wreckage was absolute. The pod was gone. Their tree, once alive with music, had withered into nothing but a rotting husk. The laughter, the melodies—the heart of their home—had been silenced. No matter how far he traveled, no matter how many Troll villages he passed through, no one had seen them. No one had heard of BroZone or the Pop Trolls who had once filled the branches with song. And so, when the weight of his failure became too heavy to bear, he stopped searching.

He faded into the Neverglade, vanishing into its labyrinth of vines and fog, isolating himself in a place where the echoes of the past couldn't reach him. But life, as it always did, refused to let him be alone. That was how he found Rhonda. She had been small when they first met—an armadillo with big, curious eyes and a shell barely bigger than a pebble. At first, she trailed after him, scurrying behind his heels as he wandered. He tried to ignore her, brushing her off, telling himself he didn't need anyone. But Rhonda never left.

Over time, she grew into something stronger. Larger. Loyal. Her shell, once fragile, became a sturdy, gleaming bronze—strong enough to carry John Dory across the Neverglade's endless terrain. She became his refuge, his last remaining tether to something good in the world. But even as the years passed, the ache of the past never faded. And one day, he made a decision; He had to go back. The journey to the ruins of his old home was long, the path overgrown from years of abandonment. But John Dory pressed on, Rhonda carrying him through the tangled wilderness, her sturdy feet crunching over fallen leaves and gnarled roots.

As he neared the place where their tree once stood, a familiar feeling crept into his chest—hope. What if he was wrong? What if—against all odds—Branch survived? The thought sent his heart racing, and for the first time in years, he let himself believe. But when he finally arrived, hope withered into dust. The tree was gone; not just dead—erased. The place where it once stood was nothing more than a crater of decay, the earth cracked and lifeless, stripped of the vibrant energy that had once made it home. The silence was suffocating. No music. No laughter. No signs of life.

He staggered forward, barely able to breathe, his knees hitting the ground as his fingers scraped through the cold dirt. There was nothing left; nothing. He had searched for so long. And for what? A graveyard? A ghost town where no one had even bothered to leave behind a trace? His fingers clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as grief twisted in his chest. He had failed; his brothers were gone. His family—the one thing that had meant more to him than anything—was nothing more than a memory swallowed by time. A dry, bitter laugh escaped him, the sound hollow.

"What did I expect?" he muttered to himself. "That they'd be sitting here waiting for me? That I'd just show up, and everything would be fine?"

Rhonda let out a low rumble, nudging him gently. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face, trying to push back the sting behind his eyes. This was the end; there was no one left to find. And so, with a heart heavier than ever before, John Dory turned away, letting the past sink into the depths of his soul like a stone at the bottom of a river. He never looked back.

The lights of Mount Rageous could be seen from miles away, piercing through the darkened skies like jagged neon veins. It was a city that never slept, its skyline dominated by towering screens flashing endless streams of advertisements, music videos, and self-indulgent promotions. Gravity-defying highways wove through the cityscape like ribbons of light, filled with sleek vehicles that zipped through the air, leaving glowing trails in their wake. There was no true day or night here—just the constant, artificial glow of electricity. And beneath the pulsing neon haze, John Dory's fate would be sealed.

He hadn't seen them coming. One moment, he was traveling through a dimly lit pass, Rhonda's steady movements rocking him into a lull. The next, an explosion of dazzling lights erupted from all sides, blinding him in an overwhelming display of flashing colors and synthetic music; a trap. Before he could react, figures emerged from the chaos—two towering, eerily flawless beings who moved with a practiced grace; Velvet and Veneer.

Their pearly-white skin gleamed under the artificial lights, and their matching green hair shimmered like silk. Velvet stood taller, her wavy ponytail cascading behind her, violet eyeshadow glittering as she smirked. Veneer, slightly shorter, with his gelled quiff and hesitant expression, hovered just behind her. They were dressed in coordinated gold attire, adorned with crystalline accessories that caught the light in dazzling refractions. John Dory tensed, instincts screaming at him to fight, to run—but he had no time. Veneer lunged first, but his movements were clumsy.

John Dory twisted, dodging with practiced ease, planting his feet firmly as he swung a powerful kick toward his attacker. Veneer stumbled, barely catching himself, his eyes wide with alarm. Velvet let out an exasperated sigh. "Ugh, honestly, Veneer. Do I have to do everything myself?"

With a snap of her fingers, she gave the command. Veneer, caught in his sister's dominating presence, obeyed without hesitation. He moved again, this time with a desperate determination, throwing himself at John Dory with surprising force. John Dory managed to land a few solid blows, but he was outmatched. Veneer wasn't strong on his own, but with Velvet directing his every move, he became relentless. Then came the final strike. Velvet seized her chance. With a flick of her wrist, a diamond-shaped perfume bottle appeared in her grasp, shimmering ominously. Before John Dory could escape, she opened it, and a swirling vortex of energy erupted forth, dragging him into its grasp.

He fought—kicking, clawing, screaming—but the pull was relentless. Then, everything went dark.

Silence. Cold, suffocating silence. John Dory floated in a vast emptiness, the walls of his prison smooth and unyielding. The diamond-shaped bottle confined him, a cruel and glimmering cell. His body felt weightless, his voice lost in the endless void. And then, the memories came; flashes of the past, of laughter and warmth. Spruce and Clay, always at his side, their voices filling the air with playful banter. Floyd, so full of life, his music infectious, his smile wide and bright. And Branch—small, fragile, but full of determination, always looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

John Dory clenched his fists, his heart aching. He had failed them; he had lost them. And now, he was truly alone.