Celeste stumbled outside, lungs tight, heart racing. The footage still burned in her mind — that version of herself, monstrous and glowing, tearing through the chaos like a walking starburst of destruction.

She climbed the stairs to her room in a daze, her hand shaking as it gripped the rail.

Behind her came Mezzo’s voice, low and careful.
“Oi… Princess. Hold up a sec.”

She stopped, shoulders curling. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what that was. And you—” she turned, eyes wide, voice breaking, “—you walked towards me after that?”

Mezzo scratched the back of his head, trying for a grin but not quite making it.
“Yeah. Pretty daft, huh? But you pulled me out from under Mandibite when no one else would. Guess we’re even now.”

Her lip trembled. “Thank you,” she said, and stepped forward, hugging him.

He stiffened in surprise, arms hovering a beat before wrapping around her with an awkward squeeze.
“Hey now… it’s alright,” he said softly, then added with a crooked smile, “Let me guess — off to grab that book, aye?”

“Yeah,” Celeste sniffled. “It’s in my room.”

Lumina caught up, Bonbon’s tiny hand in hers. “We’ll find it with you,” she said simply, her little smile warm.

Celeste’s room was exactly as the others remembered — chaotic, cozy, and aggressively Celeste. Walls were covered in a mosaic of pastel sticky notes, magical girl posters, and rough mana theory sketches. The bookshelf was a Tetris of spellbooks, tea tins, and stuffed animals.

“Stars above…” Mezzo muttered, glancing around. “How many plushies does one girl need?”

“Don’t judge,” Celeste said, wiping her eyes and managing a tiny smile. “They’re emotionally supportive.”

Mezzo picked up a small dragon plush. “So’s this little guy? What's he do — tax advice?”

Celeste smirked. “No, that’s the teacup pile’s job.”

The desk, meanwhile, was a mess of tea-stained notes, chipped porcelain, and scribbled manga anatomy references. Bonbon immediately began stacking the plushies into a precarious tower.

“Right,” Celeste muttered, focusing. She scanned the shelf, then pulled out a heavy book with a navy cover: “Hybrid Genetics: A Study of Instability.”

She flipped it open, skimming through the pages until a heading caught her eye:

“Second Generation Hybrids – Risks & Rarity.”

Her breath hitched as she read aloud:

“There are few documented cases of second-generation hybrids. In most cases, the fetus’s mana overwhelms the host — either overloading and killing the mother, or being rejected entirely due to genetic instability…”

The words blurred on the page.

Her fingers tightened around the book's spine.

Celeste turned the book around, holding it out to Mezzo with wide, uncertain eyes.
“I… I found something,” she said. “It might help explain what’s wrong with me.”

He leaned in beside her as she pointed to the paragraph.

“If two hybrids attempt reproduction, the fetus is either rejected by the host or causes fatal overload of the maternal mana core. Hybrids, genetically unstable, are typically considered sterile between one another. Offspring are only viable when born from Mythic and Pureblood pairings.”

Celeste’s fingers trembled on the page.

She looked up. “So… if that’s true, and I’m a hybrid—then my dad must’ve lied to me.”

Mezzo frowned. “Lied how, lass?”

She swallowed. “He told me my mum was a mare. That he was a ragdoll. Said I was a hybrid. But if two hybrids can’t have kids… and I’m not a pureblood… Then…”

She sat down slowly, the truth settling in like cold fog.

“I think my dad might be a Mythic. Or something else entirely.”

Mezzo ran a hand through his spotted hair, whistling low. “Well… if your dad is a mythic like you said before, maybe there’s something out there we can dig up. We've already stumbled across info on him more than once.”

Lumina perked up. “Arcade might be able to find more. He’s scary-good at slicing into locked records.”

Celeste nodded slowly. “It’s worth a try. If we figure out what he was… maybe I can figure out what I am.”

Bonbon, now riding a giant stuffed bee like it was a noble steed, gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up with a lollipop in her teeth. “Mynnwch y cyfrinachau! Mae cyfrinachau'n gwneud cacennau bach!”

Celeste blinked. “What?”

“Don’t question her,” Lumina murmured. “She’s on a sugar mission.”

But then—
A scream rang out from downstairs.

A loud one. Then several more.

Celeste shot upright, the book nearly falling from her lap.

“That was Plum!” Lumina gasped.

Mezzo’s ears twitched. “And Kirrin.”

Another crash. Moaning.

Celeste didn’t need anyone to explain what came next.

Zombies.

Of course.

The moment they heard the screams, Celeste, Lumina, and Mezzo took off running.

They burst into the courtyard, weapons at the ready—only to skid to a stop.

The moment they heard the screams, Celeste, Lumina, and Mezzo took off running.

They burst into the courtyard weapons raised—only to freeze at the surreal sight.

The zombies weren’t like the usual candy-stained ones. These were massive, malformed beasts—fused together from warped chocolate eggs and deranged bunny molds, their limbs oozing fondant, jelly eyes twitching. Their bodies were smooth and glossy like real starbloom treats, but each moved with thunderous force, rolling on their sides like confectionery boulders.

And worst of all?

They were regenerating.

Kirrin was already mid-spin, her gryphon staff blazing with ribbons of mythic energy. She slammed it down, sending a shockwave through the cobblestones, hurling several chocolate abominations into the air like ragdolls.

Plum crouched behind a garden wall, one hand steadying a sleek silver pistol. “Left flank!” she shouted, before blasting a candy-stained crawler in the forehead. “Boom! That’s journalism, baby!”

For a moment, it looked like they had it under control.

Then Lumina gasped.

“...They’re healing.”

The creatures Kirrin had flattened were already twitching, goo pooling as shattered cocoa shells re-fused. Their jelly eyes re-lit, their arms reassembled like snapped twigs pulling themselves together.

Mezzo dove as one of them rolled past, nearly flattening him like a pancake.

“What the sugar-frosted hell—?!” he barked, leaping up and swinging his axe.

It bounced off.

No effect.

Kirrin’s staff cracked down with a thunderous wave, her voice thick with grit.
“Hit the yolk! In the belly—see the glow? That’s the weak spot!”

“Copy that!” Mezzo bellowed.

He bolted forward, slashing horizontally. His axe bit into one’s midsection—right through the gummy swirl in its belly—and the monster split in half.

With a shimmering pixel burst, it disintegrated into thin air, leaving behind a glowing swirl of EXP.

Mezzo grinned. “HAH! You gotta crack the egg to get the treat!”

But already, the others were rolling again, targeting the slowest runners, forcing them into corners. Plum's bullets now did little more than chip them. Kirrin’s staff strikes sent them tumbling, but they kept coming.

Mezzo’s eyes widened as the pieces came together.

“Stars…” he muttered. “That’s why we’ve been surviving. It’s us hybrids. We’re the ones actually damaging them—everyone else just slows ‘em down.”

He looked around.
Plum’s shots were less effective.
Kirrin’s mana barely kept them back.

It was hybrid mana that shattered the yolk-cores. Only they could delete these things.

Celeste stepped forward, her blades drawn.

The chocolate beast in front of her paused, sensing her.

Then it backed away.

She blinked.

Then noticed something else. A pattern.

Even Lumina, sweet, brave Lumina, had started pulling ahead, clutching her sword a little tighter. Mezzo was behind, swinging his axe—still smiling—but keeping his distance.

And whenever Celeste moved closer?

They adjusted. Just slightly. Like magnets resisting her presence.

Like instinct tugging them away.

Not from the zombies.

From her.

Her heart sank.

Just then, Ray and the others came rushing from the side hall. Pitch, Arcade, Bracer, Hughes—armed and ready.

Ray's eyes scanned the area. “Is everyone all right?”

But she wasn’t looking at the injured.
She was staring at Celeste.

Mezzo wiped goo off his cheek. “Barely! These egg rejects hit like bloody carriages!”

Ray’s brow furrowed. “You let her fight?”

Celeste shrank a little under her stare. “I just—I heard the screaming. I thought I could help—”

Mezzo tensed. “We were just looking for a book. Heard the noise and jumped in.”

“We didn’t let her,” Lumina added, stepping up. “She helped.”

Celeste opened her mouth. “Wait—I found a book. I think it explains—”

“Don’t.” Pitch’s voice cut sharp, final. His shadow curled tight at his boots. “Not here. Not now.”

She flinched and accidentally dropped the book. It hit the ground with a soft thump.

Pitch glared at her. “Anything could have caused that flare-up. You shouldn’t have messed with your rune. You should have waited.”

“I was just trying to understand,” Celeste said, voice breaking. “I didn’t know—”

Pitch glared, his voice low. “You don’t get it. One wrong slip and you’re not you anymore. Runes are all that keep us from tearing this place apart. If yours doesn’t work, you’re a liability. Trust me. I know.”

He glanced toward the rooftops, then the dark gaps between the ruined buildings beyond the courtyard.

“The Council has drones everywhere,” he said. “Patrol drones. Spy drones. Little mechanical bugrats with wings and worse manners. If they saw what you can do, and they know where you are…” His eyes flicked back to Celeste. “I don’t need to tell you what happens next.”

Mezzo shifted uneasily, fur lifting along his shoulders. “Do you really think they’ll find us here?”

Hughes’ expression darkened. “They probably already know everything.” He looked toward the black sky, jaw tight. “Why they haven’t acted yet is what worries me.”

The words settled over them like cold rain.

Celeste hugged herself, suddenly feeling very small beneath the open night.

The air around him went still. Heavy with something unspoken.

Celeste looked down, tears slipping down her cheeks as quietly as falling stars. She didn’t say another word. Just turned and walked back toward the base, hands clenched, glasses fogged.

Mezzo’s ears went back. “Grand job, lads,” he snapped. “Shatter her worse than the bloody zombies managed.”

Ray flinched, guilt flashing across her face but she said nothing.

Arcade rubbed his brow, muttering, “Congratulations. We’ve weaponized group therapy.”

Hughes stepped forward, crouching to pick up the book. He turned it over, brushing the dust away.
“Hybrid Genetics,” he read softly. His jaw set. “Aye. Figures.”

He tucked it under his arm and straightened. “We’ll lock down the yard, then I’ll give this a proper read. Answers’ll come. Just… not tonight.”

Bracer gave a short nod, voice level as steel. “Perimeter first. Debrief after.”

The courtyard smelled of burnt sugar, the night heavy with unspoken words.