The base felt tense. Not the buzzing, frantic energy of battle

But the held breath of a city on the edge.

In one of the egg tree chambers, the mystics had set up a mana ward. Pale green vines wove across the doorway, blooming with glowing petals. The air hummed with protective magic, gentle but firm.

Inside, behind reinforced glass and soft magical seals, Celeste lay still.

She hadn’t moved since the fall.

The bed beneath her was threaded with soft moss, her body propped carefully to avoid pressure on her spine. Though whole, she still bore the marks of faded runes etched like bruises across her back and arms. Symbols from some older magic.

Some said it was just trauma.

Others whispered it was a sign.

A remnant.

Of something ancient.

He didn’t know what to think.

Brassmane and the other mythics had returned to the base, bringing reclaimed materials, wires, and antenna parts to help build what Celeste had asked for:

A radio station.

Not for war.

But for connection.

To reach others. To remind the world, Clawdiff still stood.

To rebuild hope, not just defences.

Some helped Bracer the wolf install new perimeter fencing to keep the remaining zombies at bay.

Kirrin, her feathers dusted with ash and chalk, led the mystic supply lines, organising deliveries of food, medicine, and spare cores from the outlying wards.

They worked with quiet resolve.

Because she’d asked them to.

Because despite everything…

Celeste still wanted to help.

And that meant something.

Outside the sealed room, Hughes and Ray stood at odds again.

Ray leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, eyes puffy from too many sleepless nights. “We shouldn’t have locked her up like this. She’s not dangerous now. After everything… I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Saff. I feel responsible.”

Pitch’s shadow curled and flickered at his boots as he stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “Ray… you can’t blame yourself for Saff. She played all of us like fiddles on fire. Celeste ain’t her. She’s not gonna be.”

Ray shot him a glare, jaw tight. “…Doesn’t mean she won’t.”

Skye shifted in his chair, eyes flicking toward the glass wall. His voice was quiet but matter-of-fact, words tumbling out like puzzle pieces.

“She scares me sometimes. Not like… monster-scary. More like… gravity. When she cries, it’s like the world tilts. That’s not normal.”

Arcade didn’t look up from the tangle of schematics on his desk, fingers twitching over half-finished wiring. His tone came cool and clipped, but it carried weight.

“Yeah. She scares me too.”

He finally glanced up, eyes sharp behind his goggles.

“But here’s the thing: I’m scared because I trust her. And trusting someone that dangerous? That’s a hell of a leap. But I’d make it again.”

Hughes sat back on a crate of old gardening supplies, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at the glass at the stillness beyond it.

“Y’know,” he said, “you’re all talking like she’s a bomb. Maybe she’s just a girl.”

He exhaled slowly. “Ever think of that?”

Pitch's gaze dropped. His shadow coiled tighter, twitching.

“No,” he said quietly.

“But she will be again.

If we give her a chance.”

Mezzo lingered near the doorway, silent. He hadn’t said a word. Not since carrying her in. Not since she whispered “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what to think.

Bonbon padded softly down the hallway, her unicorn plush clutched tight. She stopped at the vine-draped door to Celeste’s chamber, blinking at the glowing seals with wide, uncertain eyes.

Ray noticed first.

She moved quickly, crouching down and blocking Bonbon with a gentle but firm hand.

“Hey, sprout", Ray said, voice low but not unkind. “Can’t go in there right now.”

Bonbon’s lower lip quivered. “Ond… rydw i eisiau ei gweld hi.”

Ray’s face softened, but her voice held. “She’s sleeping, Bon. Deep. We don’t wanna scare her when she wakes up, yeah?”

Bonbon didn’t reply, just hugged her plushie tighter and looked down.

Meanwhile, in the centre room, the others had gathered around the old meeting table. Tension thickened the air like dust after a quake.

Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose, flicking a glance at Lumina. “So… what was that back there? The glow show?”

Skye shifted beside Lumina, ears twitching. “Yeah. You lit up again. And you nearly walked off the balcony. Looked… wrong.”

Lumina clutched her elbows, shrinking a little under the attention. “I… I don’t know. It was like my body wasn’t mine. My head was screaming 'stop', but my feet just… moved.”

“What were you gonna do?” Skye asked gently. “When you got to her?”

Lumina swallowed. “Hold her,” she said. “I just… wanted to hold her. Like that would stop it. I don’t know why.”

Arcade rubbed his temples. “Okay, well that’s two sisters randomly syncing up to cosmic-level magic. Do you two have, like, matching abilities or something? Who were your parents? None of your mana makes sense. Not even by hybrid standards.”

Lumina flinched at that. “I don’t know. I mean… my dad’s… around sometimes. My mum…” She looked down. “I don’t really know her. She was gone before I started remembering things. No one really talks about her.”

Ray leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. “Two zombies knew your dad,” she said flatly. “Said something about him being military. I’m guessing that’s connected. And when Celeste wakes up, I say we demand answers.”

Hughes, still seated on the crate, exhaled heavily. You’ll get naught but more questions. She won’t know either. This is bigger than her.”

Ray slammed her hand against the table, the sharp crack making Bonbon jump in the hall. “Not good enough! You don’t stumble through life with power like that and not notice! When my phoenix magic kicked in, I burnt down my bloody room. We all remember our first flare. Don’t tell me she didn’t.”

Silence.

From the corner, Mezzo finally spoke, his voice stripped of its usual fire. “She said sorry to me.”

Ray’s eyes snapped to him. “Could’ve been guilt.”

Skye shook his head quickly. “No. I felt it. Her heart, she didn’t know. She’s scared. Not hiding. Scared.”

Ray scoffed, folding her arms tighter. “What do you know, magic card boy?”

Arcade shoved his schematics aside, eyes flashing. “More than you right now. Lay off, Ray.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the slam of her hand.

Ray’s jaw worked, fire still behind her eyes. At last she shoved off the wall with a growl. “…Fine. I’ll go see if there’s anything outside that needs breaking.”

She left in a snap of boots against stone, her temper trailing after her like smoke.

A long silence followed.

Then Hughes muttered, “Well. That went as well as a flamethrower in a paper factory.”

Skye glanced toward the sealed room again. “When she wakes up… we’re gonna have to figure out if she’s still the same Celeste.”

Arcade didn’t look up from the exposed relay guts he was rewiring. His tone was dry and clipped. “We’d better hope she is. Because if she’s not…” He trailed off, lips pressing thin.

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Pitch leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, shadow curling lazily and restlessly at his boots. “Look. Mana regulators don’t just throttle your magic. They bottle the rest of you, too. Thoughts you don’t like. Instincts you don’t wanna own up to. Little sins… and big ones.” His voice dipped lower, the weight in it clear. “Her rune kept all that chained. And now we’ve seen what happens without it. That’s not something to tinker with.”

Arcade finally glanced up, pushing his glasses back into place. “Doesn’t change the fact her mana and Lumina’s doesn’t line up with any recorded hybrid strain. It’s not just strong, it’s… corrupted code. Wrong inputs, wrong outputs. Until we know what species they’re spliced with, we’re fumbling in the dark.”

Hughes scratched at his beard, crossing one booted leg over the other. “Only folk who’d know for sure are the Council. And trust me, they keep them records tighter than a miser’s purse. Lineages, pairings, every dirty secret. Especially when it comes to hybrids. You don’t get a pedigree outta them unless they’ve already decided what you’re worth.”

Mezzo, sitting nearby with arms draped over his knees, visibly tensed. His ears twitched.

“I don’t wanna see the Council,” he muttered, the Irish lilt quieter than usual. “Last time they came through our district…”

He trailed off.

Didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t have to.

The pain on his face said enough.

Arcade caught his look and gave a small nod. “Yeah. Then we steer clear. Council’s not the answer.”

Before another word could be spoken, the doors opened with a soft chime and a gust of cooler air.

Brassmane entered, flanked by two guards whose armour gleamed not for war but for ceremony. His steps were slow and deliberate; his mane was brushed with gold dust that caught the lantern light. He stopped just inside, hands clasped behind his back, and inclined his head.

“I came to offer an apology,” he said, voice low but even, like a steady drumbeat in the hush. “For Saff’s choices. They were her own… but they came from within my ranks. That is a shadow I will carry.”

Everyone turned. Even Hughes straightened a little.

Brassmane’s gaze moved from one of them to the next. “We are making headway nonetheless. The relay station is almost functional. A few more calibrations, a little mana to steady the flow, and we can broadcast across the bay and further still.”

He looked to Arcade. “Your talent for improvisation will be needed again. A handful of power cells might be all that stands between silence and signal.”

Arcade gave a wry, tired thumbs-up without looking up from his tablet. “Sure. I’ll dig up something volatile and hope it doesn’t explode on me. It’s my process.”

Brassmane allowed the faintest smile before turning to Pitch and Hughes. “And both of you thank you. The Rustrows are moving supplies again. Civilians have shelter. That is not a small thing.”

Pitch rubbed the back of his neck, looking like a wolf caught in a compliment. “Yeah, well. Didn’t do much. Just kicked a few zombies and yelled at a guy with a rake.”

Hughes grunted but there was a warmth under the gravel. “We do what needs doin’.”

Brassmane dipped his head again. “Even so. Clawdiff owes you.”

As the dust settled on Brassmane’s final words, the chamber doors hissed open again, this time revealing Kirrin, her deep azure scarf fluttering like ocean silk, her mane braided in long coils threaded with glowing sigils.

She stepped in, staff humming quietly, eyes sharp but polite.

“Brassmane,” she said simply. “I need a word.”

The mythic gave a slight bow of his head and turned to the others.

“I’ll leave you for now. Tonight I’ll consult the Elders. Our memory orbs hold mythic lineages stretching back to the dawn of our craft. If Celeste or Lumina carry something older, it may be recorded.”

Hughes stood, bowing his head respectfully.

“That’d mean a lot. Diolch.”

With a final nod, Brassmane turned and followed Kirrin out into the lantern-lit corridor, the faint tink of her staff echoing behind them.

A few seconds of quiet passed.

Then the soft shhkt of sliding glass.

Carys stepped in from the mana ward, coat half-buttoned, fur slightly ruffled from long hours. She still had a pen tucked behind one ear like she’d forgotten it. The glowing interface hovered beside her like a holographic lantern.

At her side walked a mythic healer a tall, slender antelope mythic with soft bioluminescent tattoos glowing down her arms. Tiny charms hung from her horns, each one chiming faintly like windbells in motion. Her eyes were a calm lilac, and a wreath of medicinal flowers crowned her head, still faintly damp from a blessing ritual.

The healer gave a solemn nod to the group, pressed a hand to the glass, and whispered something in an old language, a prayer of rebinding. As her palm lifted, a faint shimmer danced across the glass and faded.

Without a word, she turned and slipped silently back through the door, leaving only a lingering herbal scent behind.

Carys lingered, glancing at the others.

“Right!” she said brightly, brushing a loose curl from her face. “They’ve done what they can. Celeste’s mana burns are sealed; her core’s stable, thank goodness.”

She paused, brow furrowing.

She hesitated, brow creasing. “But her poor body’s taken a dreadful beating. Deep tissue trauma, arcane bruising… she needs time. I don’t recommend forcing her awake just yet.”

Her eyes flicked from one hybrid to the next. “Still… should we try soon? Or give her more time?”

Mezzo stepped forward, his hand brushing the frosted glass.

“…No,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Maybe time will help her more than we can.”

But then he looked at her – really looked at her.

Behind the ward, Celeste lay still. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

Mezzo’s ears drooped. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“…Please be alright, princess.”

He pressed his palm to the glass, claws lightly tapping the surface.

“I’ll wait. Just… don’t leave us.”