The line outside Meowtroplex Convention Center shimmered like a rainbow river of wigs, wands, and the occasional flapping cape.

Vinyl banners snapped in the breeze overhead, each one boasting glittery mascots and pastel explosions of text.

The sky was clear, too bright for the soft lighting Celeste preferred, but today was not about comfort—it was about showing up.

She shifted her weight from one paw to the other, trying not to fidget with her wand. It wasn’t real, of course—just carefully painted foam and plastic, with a star at the tip that glowed faintly when tapped. Still, holding it made her feel a little more like Star Enchantress Elira, the magical girl whose courage she envied but hadn’t quite found for herself yet.

“Stop squishing your tail. You’ll wreck the ribbon,” Lumina said, voice light but distant, like she was reporting from the far end of a telescope. She hummed a little tune under her breath as she said it, almost absentmindedly.

Celeste glanced down. Sure enough, the looped blue satin tied around her tail had gotten crumpled beneath her nervous shuffling.

“Oh—oh, you’re right. Silly of me, isn’t it? Thank you, love,” she murmured, carefully untucking it.

Lumina gave a tiny shrug and turned half away, fussing with the frilled hem of her cape. “Mhm.” Her hum resumed, this time quieter, though Celeste knew her sister well enough to see the tension in her shoulders.

It had been months since they’d last spent more than an awkward lunch together. And now, here they were—two flame-point ragdoll cats dressed in magical girl costumes that matched in spirit, if not in style, about to step into a whirlwind of fandom, nostalgia, and way too many camera flashes. Celeste wore a flowing blue astral tunic adorned with tiny dangling stars, a constellation come to life, with dark blue shorts underneath for comfort. Beside her, Lumina was in a cherry pink dress with a heart-shaped emblem at the collar and a flared red skirt layered beneath it, every inch the classic magical heroine.

Celeste swallowed hard and looked at the massive glass doors ahead. Fans in feathers, scales, and fur filled the courtyard in dazzling arrays of color and chatter. The buzz was electric—dreams made real for a weekend.

She was nervous. Nervous about the crowd. Nervous about being seen. But mostly nervous about Lumina.

Was this the start of reconnecting… or just a mistake dressed up in glitter and sequins?

“I don’t even know if I belong here,” Celeste murmured, almost to herself, eyes still on the glittering glass doors ahead.

Lumina glanced sideways, her ears twitching beneath her gem-studded headband. “Me neither. But… maybe that’s the whole point.” She pronounced those last two words with deliberate weight, like she’d been saving them up

The queue crept forward, each shuffle of paws and hooves bringing Celeste closer to the security gate—and to the glinting scanner arch just beyond it.

Overhead, a voice crackled through the tannoy, cold and officious:
“For the safety of all, the Council has made it clear: only those with Council-approved mana suppressor chips will be admitted. Unless written consent is provided, no exceptions will be permitted. The Eye of the Council is ever watching.”

A murmur rippled down the line—some nodding grimly, others fidgeting with their collars or sleeves where the chips might lie hidden.

Up ahead, a pureblood hamster waddled up with a smug grin, dragging a sparkly suitcase and chatting loudly on her wristband comm. She didn’t even pause at the scanner—just waved and walked through.

“VIP pass, obviously,” she huffed, not even looking at the guards. “Daddy donated to the restoration fund. You’re welcome.”

The scanner lit green. No questions. No hesitation.

Behind Celeste, a voice piped up nervously, “D-do we need to be scanned too?”

Another answered with a scoff, “It’s fine. Purebloods don’t have mana, so they don’t need chips. Different rules.”

A third snorted under their breath, “At least we aren’t hybrids. They’ve got those runes slots burned into the backs of their necks. Look awful, don’t they?”

The words pricked Celeste’s ears, each one heavier than the last.

Celeste swallowed.

Then, the next in line—a tall, teenage phoenix, radiant with flame-kissed feathers and nervous eyes—stepped up. His wings were folded tight, his hands visible, his smile small but hopeful.

The scanner flickered red. A harsh beep.

Two guards stepped forward immediately.

“Sorry,” one said flatly. “We can’t admit unstable mythics without council approval. You’ll need to return with certification.”

“What?” the phoenix stammered, taking a step back. “I’m not unstable! I’ve been cleared—look, I’m not a danger!”

A third guard’s paw hovered near a stun baton. “Sir. Step aside.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Some looked away. Others muttered.

The phoenix’s feathers dimmed, light curling inward like shame.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, eyes brimming. “She walked right in.”

“She’s a pureblood,” one guard replied coolly. “You’re not.”

Celeste felt her jaw tighten.

The line moved again.

And yet the weight in her chest stayed exactly where it was.

“Almost there,” Lumina said softly, more to herself than anyone else. She shifted her wand on her hip, humming again, the note wobbling just slightly.

Celeste’s ears flattened. “Mm… I wish I didn’t feel like my stomach was doing somersaults.”

Ahead, a chubby red panda in a mech suit costume stepped into the archway. A flicker of green light swept over his neck, where a glimmer of silver marked the embedded microchip. The scanner chirped, a polite tone, and the panda was waved through with a cheerful “Enjoy the con!”

It all looked routine. Painless. Casual.

But not for them.

Celeste’s eyes flicked to the narrow metal booth beside the scanner—one staffed by a uniformed civet with a screen she didn’t need to see to know what it displayed: identity, registration, chip status, and Species Classification.

Hybrid. Feline/Mythical – Class: Magic Affinity.

That last part always brought a twitch to the nose, a flicker of suspicion in the eyes. Like the word magic was the same as danger.

Her paw tightened around her wand, now little more than a prop. The chip in her neck—smooth, invisible, but always there—suppressed her magic. It muted her senses, dimmed the way she used to feel the world: the pull of stars, the hum of light, the way emotions rippled like tides across others' fur.

The rune silenced all of it. For everyone’s safety, they always said.

Her parents had ensured she and Lumina were marked as “high-status exceptionals”—coded with enough bureaucratic shielding to avoid the worst of the scrutiny. But that didn’t stop the whispers. Or the eyes that lingered too long. Or the quiet, biting fear that one day the exception wouldn’t be enough.

Council droids stood guard at the entrance, chrome-plated and gleaming under the hall lights. Their frames were modeled after Victorian police officers, but there was nothing human in the way they moved—stiff, jointed metal with polished helmets and long arms bristling with concealed mechanisms. Twin laser ports glowed faintly in their wrists, ready but silent. Their glass-green eyes swept across the waiting line, scanning every face without a word.

When the machines detected someone not on the list, the glow in their eyes shifted to crimson. No noise, no fuss—just a cold flicker as they updated the doors not to admit the trespasser. The denied simply found the gate refusing to open, the droids unmoving, as if the judgment had already been passed.

The scanner was just two more bodies away.

“You okay?” Lumina asked, quieter now, her hum fading out.

Celeste gave a small nod. “Yes, yes—just… breathing through it, sweetheart.” She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I hate this bit too,” Lumina admitted, her voice small. “Even when nothing bad happens. It’s like waiting for a boo-jump in a scary movie.”

That made Celeste look at her, really look. “Oh, my heart… you’re nervous as well, aren’t you?”

Lumina’s tail twitched, and she gave a half-grin that didn’t last long. “Mhm.” Beneath the glitter and ribbons, Lumina’s tail was twitching ever so slightly. Not from impatience—but from anxiety. So I’m not the only one.

The gate beeped again. The guest ahead of them passed through.

Now it was Lumina’s turn.

She stepped forward. The green scan-line passed over her neck. There was a flicker—too long to be smooth, too short to call out. The civet looked up, his eyes scanning, then nodded.

“Approved. Move along.”

Celeste exhaled—only to suck the air back in as she stepped up.
 

She tilted her head slightly, exposing her neck. The scan hit.
 

It burned—not physically, but somewhere deeper. The faintest shudder crawled up her spine, a distant echo of her magic pushing against its invisible cage.
 

The reader stuttered.

Beep.
Beep.
Beep… click.

The civet’s eyes narrowed.

Celeste froze.

“Name?” he asked.

“Celeste Astallan,” she whispered, voice catching slightly. “Um… sir.”

He blinked. His gaze dropped to the monitor. Recognition flickered. Then discomfort. Then forced neutrality.

“You’re clear,” he said, too quickly. “Enjoy the convention.”

Celeste stepped through and her paw brushed against Lumina’s. Lumina looked up at her with wide eyes, then let out a tiny hum — the same tune she’d been humming before. No words, but Celeste’s soft smile was enough of an answer.

They were in.

But magic or not, they both knew the real weight they carried wasn’t in their wands, or in the past they shared—it was in the way this world looked at them.
 

And today, for better or worse, it was about to see them.