A few days passed.

Not pepeacefully.

Never peacefully.

The base kept moving because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering everything that had happened in the courtyard.

Brassmane came by more than once during those days. Always quietly. Always formally. He would find Hughes wherever he happened to be — by the medical stores, near the radio tower plans, outside the supply room — and speak to him in a low voice no one else could quite catch.

Whatever he was asking, Hughes never agreed.

Each time, Hughes would shake his head, shrug his broad shoulders, and say something too soft for the others to hear. Not angry. Not frightened. Just firm.

And each time, Brassmane would study him for a moment, then nod with perfect respect, as though Hughes had given an answer he expected, but not the one he wanted.

Then he would leave.

No one knew what it meant.

Ray asked once.

Hughes only muttered, “Old business,” and went back to sorting cables.

Which, naturally, made everyone ten times more curious and exactly no times wiser.

The hum of construction echoed constantly from the radio tower site. It rose like a skeletal monument over the base, surrounded by scrap, cables, and the focused murmur of team members trying to keep busy — or keep their distance.

The tower itself creaked higher every day like a jagged prayer — sharp and hopeful, but half-cursed. Its wires buzzed. Its scaffolding hummed.

And beneath it all was Celeste, drifting through the base like a ghost in her own skin.

Everyone had something to do.

Except Celeste.

She wasn’t forbidden from helping — not officially — but no one had asked her to. No one told her not to. They just… didn’t include her. The quiet isolation was worse than any locked cell.

People no longer flinched around her.
They just hesitated.

Even Bonbon, once her tiny shadow and constant clinger, had begun to drift. The glittery wand that once waved in Celeste’s face now waved from across the yard. Bonbon still looked her way sometimes — cautiously, guiltily — but rarely ran to her.

Celeste had overheard Ray trying to coax her once.
“She needs space, Bon. Just for now, okay? Just until we know more.”

And Pitch, more direct:
“She almost broke the base. Give her a minute to not break the rest of us.”

Bonbon hadn’t answered. She just hugged her lollipop wand and looked at the sky with wide, shimmering eyes. Then she nodded and stayed by Lumina’s side instead.

It wasn’t anger that distanced people now.
It was fear, poorly hidden behind politeness — and that made it hurt worse.

Even Skye had buried himself in tasks, avoiding her gaze like eye contact might electrocute him.

No one said anything unkind.
They just spoke carefully.

As if a single wrong word might light the fuse again.

She sat by the window, silent, tracing the rim of a chipped mug someone left behind. Celeste kept staring at the mug. The quiet isolation pressed in harder than any locked door.

Carys appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs and a dented tub of old art supplies—paint tubes like fossils, tangled string, a riot of glittery beads. Her coat was unbuttoned, her hair a little windblown from the yard.

“I found these in storage,” she said, voice bright but gentle. “Thought you might fancy a little craft time. I’m one glitter mishap away from turning the base into a mosaic.”

Celeste blinked at her. “You… want to hang out?”

“Of course!” Carys beamed, stepping in. “Skye and Lumina abandoned arts-and-crafts night, the traitors. I can’t very well glue stars to my own forehead, now can I?”

They sat down together on a frayed blanket near the heater. Outside, sparks flickered from the tower’s peak, and faint shouting echoed as workers argued over the transmitter array. But here, it was quiet.

Celeste picked up a piece of string and started threading a few uneven beads.
She wasn’t good at this. Her hands trembled too much.

“You ever think this is all just… ridiculous?” Celeste asked suddenly, threading a blue bead through the string. “Us. Doing crafts while the world’s ending?”

“Constantly,” Carys replied, sticking a glittery star to her forehead. “But it’s not about what we’re doing. It’s that we’re still doing something. That means we’re alive.”

Celeste looked down at the half-made keychain in her hand.
It was bent.
The string had frayed.

She adjusted it, tugged too hard —
—and the whole thing snapped.

Beads scattered across the blanket like soft rain.

She stared down at her hands. “I… can’t even do this right,” she whispered.

A drop hit her hand. Then another.

Carys blinked, realizing what they were.

Tears.

Silent, sudden, unrelenting — they streamed down Celeste’s face, unnoticed even by her, like her heart had finally sprung a leak.

Carys instinctively reached out to hug her. “Oh—sweetheart—”

But Celeste jerked back, curling into herself, voice breaking. “Please… don’t touch me. I don’t… I don’t know what’ll happen if you do.”

Carys froze — not in fear, but in respect.

Her arms lowered.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. I’ll just sit right here then. Not touching. Just here.”

She didn’t move closer.
Didn’t say anything more.

As Celeste cried into her hands — not because she broke a keychain, but because she was breaking, quietly, bead by bead.

“I can’t stop seeing it,” Celeste whispered at last. Her voice cracked like glass. “That footage Bracer showed me—running in my head on a loop. The horns. The wings. Glitching out. On fire. And I don’t remember any of it.”

Celeste buried her face in her hands, shoulders trembling.“No one believes me when I say I don’t know anything about it,” she whispered. “Everyone flinches when I walk past. I think maybe… maybe if I just left, they’d feel better. But they can’t even use their weapons without me, can they?”

Carys’s ears drooped, but she didn’t rush in. She sat very still, tail curled neatly around her knees. “I’ll admit…” her voice softened, “when I saw that footage, I didn’t think you had that in you either. It frightened me.” She leaned closer, her tone steady but kind. “But I don’t want you to leave, Celeste. I think the others just feel… vulnerable. Like they’re standing too close to a fire they don’t understand.”

Celeste dug her fingers into her knees, voice shaking. “I get that. I do. But I hate not knowing what I am. I hate this thing in me. Stars, I hate myself so much right now. And I can’t even talk to anyone about it.”

“You can talk to me,” Carys said gently. Her long mouse tail brushed across the blanket until it touched Celeste’s hand, feather-light, like a quiet promise.

Celeste blinked at her. “…Thanks. I just… feel like I can’t do anything right. I’m not good at fighting. I’m not good at talking. And I’m definitely not good with mana, apparently.”

Carys smiled, a little crooked. “You’re good at being a friend. And believe me, that’s rarer than people think.”

Celeste blinked at her, voice tiny. “…Thanks. I just… feel like I can’t do anything right. I’m not good at fighting, or talking, or—” she swallowed hard “—mana. Apparently.”

Carys didn’t try to answer. She just stayed there, tail still resting lightly against Celeste’s hand, a small anchor in a storm that had no edges.

Carys hesitated—then reached out and touched Celeste’s hand.

“It’ll be alright,” she said quietly. “You’ll see.”

Celeste blinked, her breath catching just a little. She didn’t pull away. The touch was warm. Steady. Something in her chest eased—not all the way, but enough to breathe again.

She blushed faintly and let her hand stay there, lacing her fingers lightly with Carys’s. It was the first real connection she’d felt in what felt like forever.

“…Thanks, Carys,” she said hoarsely. “Maybe… if I make myself useful, they’ll stop looking at me like a monster.”

Carys frowned, firm now. “Or maybe you could ask Bracer or Hughes to teach you. They’re clever ones, they’d know where to start. Don’t hate yourself. Who knows—once you understand it, maybe your mana will be the best anyone’s ever seen.”

Celeste gave a tiny laugh—quiet, but real. “I hope so. It just… looks scary.”

“Scary-looking doesn’t mean scary-being,” Carys said, then leaned over to boop Celeste’s ear with her fingertip. “You’re a big scaredy cat. But you’re not scary.”

Celeste laughed again, a little brighter this time.

Unseen by them both, Arcade had paused at the hallway entrance, a tablet tucked under one arm. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—but the words had caught him off guard. He’d never heard Celeste speak like that. Never realized how deeply she felt it.

He lingered for a heartbeat longer, then silently walked on, his ears tilted back in thought.

Hughes caught up with Arcade just past the corridor near the storage rooms. The old goat’s crook tapped once before he spoke.

“Arcade, lad. I need a word.”

Arcade didn’t turn right away. His ears twitched, tail flicking. “How long were you standing there?”

Hughes exhaled through his nose. “Long enough.”

That made Arcade wince. He tucked his tablet under one arm, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “She’s falling apart, Hughes. We can’t just keep sidestepping it. Every time someone avoids her, it chips another piece off.”

“Aye,” Hughes nodded grimly. “And that’s the problem. I’ve been thinking—we may need to speak with Brassmane about this. Celeste… and Lumina too. They don’t seem like normal hybrids.”

Arcade adjusted his specs, voice lower. “Me neither. But trying to protect her by pretending everything’s fine isn’t working anymore.”

He tapped his tablet. “I’ll talk to Mezzo. We’re fixing the perimeter fence tomorrow. I’ll get him to bring Celeste along. Might break the ice, give her something to do.”

Hughes clapped a heavy paw on his shoulder. “Good lad. A bit of normal might help.” He started to leave, then paused. “I’ll ask Plum to dig quiet. If anyone can ferret out a secret, it’s her. And Kirrin. They’ll know what strings to pull with Brassmane.”

Arcade smirked faintly. “We’re really siccing the gremlin press on this?”

Hughes grunted. “Better she snoops for us than against us.”

The two walked off down opposite halls, the weight of the moment pressing heavier than their steps.

Arcade adjusted the settings on his datapad, frowning at the specs for the base's perimeter fence. Sparks sputtered behind him where half the panels had shorted out again.

“Ugh, I hate this thing,” he muttered. “Why do zombies have to chew wires?”

Mezzo popped his head around the corner, sleeves rolled up and grease already on his cheek.

“Oi! You said somethin’ about the fence?” he asked cheerfully, stretching his arms. “Need a handsome assistant?”

Arcade arched a brow. “Tomorrow. And bring Celeste. She needs something normal. Something useful.”

Mezzo perked up, grin lopsided. “Celeste? Sure thing. If it helps her feel wanted, I’m in. Besides…” he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I like having her around.”

Just then, a sharp voice cut through the corridor like broken glass.

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

Ray stood just behind them, arms folded, one brow arched like she’d just stepped into a bad punchline.

Arcade lowered his glasses, expression flat. “No, Ray. I’m not joking.”

“She could blow, Arcade!” Ray snapped. “We saw what she did. Her mana. You want to hand her a toolbox and say ‘let’s fix the fence’? Really?”

Arcade didn’t blink. “No. I want her to feel like part of the team again. Because if she leaves, we lose our weapons. If she goes down, we all go down. So yes—better a blown fuse than no mana core at all.”

Ray’s jaw clenched. “Fine. Your funeral. But I’m keeping my distance until I know what she is.”

Arcade pushed his glasses up, tone colder now. “You do that. But don’t expect her to give a shit when you need backup.”

Ray blinked—just once—then turned and stalked off down the hallway.

Mezzo whistled low. “Whew. Tension much?”

Arcade muttered, half to himself, “Welcome to leadership.” Then louder, with a wry tilt: “See you tomorrow, bells-on?”

Mezzo grinned. “With bells and banter.”