The vendor halls were chaos incarnate — booths bursting with plushies, holographic posters, enamel pins, and enough body glitter to blind a small city. Celeste barely had time to process any of it. Her eyes were locked on the crowd ahead, scanning for lynx ears and the faint shimmer of a Sir Vireon-style cape.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” she murmured, tail flicking in focused arcs.

“Watch out—!” Lumina said a second too late.

They collided chest-first into a broad, white-furred torso — and stumbled back in unison.

“Ah-HA! Suspicious movement detected!”

Celeste blinked, then looked up into the beaming, mismatched eyes of a dalmatian wearing a convention security vest that was at least one size too tight and had a comically large walkie-talkie clipped to each shoulder. He had a mop of tousled black and red curls tied back in a halfhearted ponytail, and his name tag read: MEZZO.

He leaned in dramatically, snout twitching.

“Two magically dressed felines—glancing around like yer plotting a heist? Classic behavior.” He lowered his voice. “Are ye trying to steal the giant plush hydra from the raffle booth? Because if so, I’ll need in. Those things are collector’s edition.”

Celeste opened her mouth, closed it again.

“No?” she managed, completely thrown off. “Um—no? Stars, no, we just… bumped into you.”

“I—uh—yeah,” Lumina piped up, nodding hard. “Just boop. That’s it.”

Mezzo squinted suspiciously at them, nose wriggling.

“Hmm. That’s what they all say. ‘Oh, we’re just Magi Girls with tragic backstories, prancin’ about with tiaras and trauma beams, no crimes here!’” He leaned closer to Lumina. “But tell me this: which season? If it’s post-Revelation Arc, I knew there was somethin’ shady afoot.”

Celeste straightened her shoulders, trying to salvage some dignity. “Excuse me, Sir, but we’re doing nothing wrong. We’re simply here to enjoy the convention, same as everyone else.”

“Ohhh, I know,” Mezzo said, eyes wide in mock horror. “That’s what makes it dangerous! Happiness, contentment… sinister stuff.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached into a pocket and produced a glitter-laminated flyer from seemingly nowhere.

“BUT! That aside. You two clearly appreciate talent, aesthetics, and emotional storytelling through impractical outfits, so—”

He thrust the flyer at them with both paws.

“BUT! Seein’ as you clearly appreciate artistry and emotional storytelling in impractical outfits—” He thrust it into Celeste’s paw. “Tonight. Eight sharp. Mezzo & The Minor Keys. It’s just me, a guitar, and twelve minutes of pure unholy shreddin’. Ye’ll either ascend to a higher plane or leave with mild tinnitus. Maybe both!”

Celeste took the flyer like it was evidence in a crime she hadn’t committed.

“Oh—um—well, we’ll… consider it?” she said weakly.

“Brilliant!” Mezzo saluted, grinning. “Don’t break me heart now. I will cry in public. I’ve got range!”

Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd like some sort of musical cryptid.

There was a long silence.

Lumina stared at the flyer. Then up at Celeste. “…Was he… real?”

Celeste laughed breathlessly. “I—I honestly couldn’t tell you, Sweetheart.”

Celeste gave her pigtails a quick fluff, adjusting the little gemstone clips that kept them neatly coiled just above her shoulders. She was starting to feel like herself again—nerves fading with every passing minute, despite the occasional bump from excitable cosplayers and vendors hawking glowing drinks that probably weren’t FDA approved.

Then she saw it.

Just beyond the rainbow wall of plushies and keychains, a soft glimmer caught her eye—a blue newsboy cap, nestled on a velvet mannequin head, edged with gold embroidery and featuring gold stars. On either side: tiny, delicate angel wings, crafted from glittered foamcore, just like in Season One of Magi Girls 3 when Elira first unlocked her celestial powers.

Celeste gasped aloud.

“Oh my stars—it’s the Arc Initiation Cap!”

She made a beeline for the vendor booth, barely noticing Lumina trailing behind. The seller, a sleepy-looking lemur in a Rarewears & Relics hoodie, perked up as she approached.

“Whoa, good eye,” he said, lifting the cap carefully. “Most people think it’s just a weird steampunk thing.”

“This is from Elira’s first major transformation scene!” Celeste said, breathless. “Episode four—she trades her old headband for this before facing down the Grief Beast in the Library of Lights. It’s iconic.”

“You got taste,” the lemur said, grinning. “Forty quid, and I’ll even throw in a badge pin with her sigil.”

Celeste was already digging in her purse, glowing with excitement—when a shadow fell across the booth.

The lemur vendor had just named his price when a deep, booming voice cut in from behind.

“Forty quid for THAT?”

Celeste startled, ears flicking back.

“You could buy a water filter and six weeks of rations for that!” the voice continued, rich with theatrical gravitas.

She turned. A tall, grey-furred wolf loomed there in a trench coat that seemed designed to swallow light, a battered tactical pack slung at his shoulder. His hood shadowed most of his face, but his grin gleamed through like stage lighting.

He extended a paw dramatically.

“Pitch. E. Blak. Survivalist. Strategist. Builder of bunkers both practical and emotionally resonant.”

He gave her an exaggerated wink. “Didn’t expect the resistance to have THIS much style, blondie.”

Celeste blinked, paw halfway to her purse. “Oh—I, ah—hello?”

Pitch leaned in, dropping his voice into mock-conspiracy mode. “Tell me. Ever think about what happens when the suppression chips fail? That little soda can of magic you’ve got bottled up? Psshhhht—” he mimed a can exploding with both hands, “—straight in your face!”

Celeste’s mouth opened, then closed again. “I—I hadn’t exactly—”

“I have,” Pitch boomed, chest puffing as if onstage. “First it’s regulation, then restriction, then BAM—riot bots in the streets and ration lines for toothpaste!”

Lumina hummed a little note, head tilted. “Do you… talk like this all the time?”

Pitch turned, lowering himself to her eye level with a big smile. “Oh, absolutely. Builds morale. Keeps the vibes UP.”

Celeste folded her arms, still flustered. “And… the toothpaste?”

Pitch’s grin widened. “That part’s real. But don’t worry—” he leaned in closer, voice dropping to mock-seriousness, “I’ve got a stash. Mint. Because survival doesn’t have to taste terrible.”

The vendor coughed. “So… are you buying the hat or…?”

Pitch straightened, threw an arm toward Celeste like he was introducing royalty. “Buy it. A stylish headpiece increases morale by twenty-seven percent. Scientific fact. Probably.”

Celeste quickly passed over her coins, tucking the cap into her bag with both paws. “Right. Lovely. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse us, we really must—lots to see, ha ha—goodbye!”

She grabbed Lumina and hustled into the crowd, cape flying behind her like a retreating heroine.

Pitch cupped his paws to his muzzle and bellowed after them:

“REMEMBER! When the vending machines go silent—that’s the FIRST SIGN!”

They didn’t look back.

Ahead, the crowd thickened, buzzing with energy. Music thumped from hidden speakers. A ring of screens began to flicker with countdowns and graphics. The main stage lights swirled to life.

Something big was about to happen.

And Celeste—hat now tucked safely under her arm, mind spinning—couldn’t help but feel like she was standing at the edge of something important.

Even if part of her still smelled vaguely like Pitch’s forest-mint survival cologne.