The rain hit them the moment the doors opened—thin, cold drizzle hissing against the marble steps.

Mezzo gasped, breathing it in like freedom itself. “Oh stars… we’re alive.”
He didn’t care that it soaked his fur flat. Didn’t care that the air reeked of wet stone and ozone. He just stood there, chest heaving, staring at the city skyline beyond the Council spires.

Ray and Pitch followed, faces pale but relieved. Pitch ran a shaky hand through his fur, muttering, “I was two heartbeats away from biting someone.”

Arcade practically threw his arms around Celeste, laughing nervously. “You didn’t screw it up! You actually didn’t screw it up!”

Celeste blinked, her tail flicking shyly as she managed a small, stunned smile. “I’m… happy, I think. And also… terrified.”

Brassmane stepped beside them, his mane slick with rain. “Well,” he rumbled, “that could’ve gone worse.”

Celeste gave a shaky laugh. “Excuse my language—but I spiritualy shit myself back there.”

Brassmane chuckled, low and approving. “You did good.” His tone turned quieter. “But when you have a moment, we need to talk. What Umbranox said about your heritage… I believe I know what you might be. It fits with what Hughes asked me to investigate.”

Celeste blinked, rain dripping from her lashes. She turned toward Hughes, who stood a few paces away with his hood up.

He met her gaze and nodded slowly. “We’ll talk back at base,” he said.

For the first time that day, Celeste felt something almost impossible—hope.

They were escorted down the long marble steps, the air thick with rain and the electric hum of mana barriers. The sky above Clawdiff roared with thunder, streaks of gold lightning glancing off the Council spire. A line of armored soldiers waited beside a flying transport van, engines whining softly in the storm.

Commander Backfire—the massive bear from before—stood at the barrier’s edge, arms folded, rain glinting off his polished pauldrons. His face was carved from stone.

Beyond the barrier, the city burned.

Celeste’s gaze drifted past the guards—and froze.

On one side, pureblood families were being ushered into protected zones—escorted beneath shimmering domes of mana, handed blankets and food. Council drones hovered above them, projecting the crest of the Eye of Sight like a beacon.

But on the other side of the street… the hybrids and mythics.

They were being turned away. Shoved back through the gate. Forced into the rain, into the chaos where the hoards were already shambling closer. A mother screamed as she was pushed back; a child clawed at the barrier’s glow, crying until the sound vanished under gunfire.

Mezzo’s voice cracked, raw with disbelief.
“They’re turning hybrids and mythics away,” he said. “But this is the only place with mana barriers—they’ll be slaughtered out there!”

Commander Backfire didn’t even glance at him. His deep voice rumbled through the storm.
“That’s not your concern, mutt. Now get in the van.”

Celeste’s claws tightened at her sides, her chest burning. Every instinct told her to argue—to fight—but the look in the commander’s eyes said he’d enjoy breaking her jaw.

So she said nothing.
But inside, something ignited—a vow.

One day, she thought, staring at the barrier’s glow, I’ll change this.
She had known cruelty, but not this kind of quiet, casual cruelty—systemic, accepted, justified. She had no idea how hard hybrids had it in the city until that moment.

She turned to Carys, Plum, and Bracer, who stood with a small escort just outside the perimeter. “Why aren’t they taking you?” she asked, confusion in her voice.

Backfire didn’t even look up from his datapad. “This transport’s for hybrids only.”

Celeste blinked. “Then—Bonbon stays with them. She’s just a child, she doesn’t fight.”

The commander paused mid-scroll. A long silence hung between thunderclaps before he finally grunted, “Fine. The kid stays.”

Celeste’s ears twitched. “Can I—can I say goodbye?”

He gave her a flat look. “No. Get in the van before I throw you in myself.”

Celeste turned toward Bonbon, who stood clutching her plush unicorn, her wide eyes shimmering behind the rain. Celeste forced herself to smile—soft, trembling, but real—and gave a small wave.

“Be good, Bonbon,” she whispered.

Then she stepped inside.

The hatch slammed shut behind her, sealing out the rain.

The van rattled and groaned as it cut through the rain, the dull hum of the engines mixing with the rhythmic clank of chains. The interior lights flickered, casting tired faces in flashes of gold and shadow.

“I wanted to talk to you before the Council got a hold of you,” he said quietly, voice nearly drowned by the roar of the wind outside. “But Bracer and I suspected something for a while now — ever since your training incident with him.”

Celeste tilted her head. “The one where I accidentally went postal?”

“That would be the one,” Hughes said dryly. “The readings didn’t match any standard Hybrid mana signature. I wanted to consult Brassmane about it — he’s been studying cores for decades — but… I was hoping to keep it from the Council.”

He hesitated.

Then his ears lowered slightly.

“And there was another reason I kept refusing him.”

Ray’s eyes shifted toward him, cautious. “Refusing what?”

Hughes looked down at his hands, thumbs rubbing over the worn seams of his gloves.

“Brassmane wanted us to undergo the clan trials.”

The van went a little quieter.

Even Mezzo stopped muttering.

Celeste blinked. “Trials?”

“Aye,” Hughes said. “Old Mythic trials. Recognition rites. They test your blood, your mana, your bond instincts, your place in the old clan structures.” He glanced at Celeste, then Ray, then the others. “For Hybrids like us, it would reveal a lot. Maybe more than we’re ready for.”

Arcade frowned. “That sounds useful.”

“It is,” Hughes said. “That’s the problem.”

Ray shifted uncomfortably, arms folding tighter across her chest.

Hughes noticed, but didn’t call her out.

“Brassmane wasn’t trying to hurt us,” he continued. “I want that clear. He’s not Council. He’s not Silas. But the clans are dying out. Mythic numbers are low. Bloodlines are thin. Some houses haven’t had children in years.”

Celeste’s expression softened with confusion and concern.

Hughes sighed. “They need Hybrids. Not as tools, not like the Council does, but still… they need us. To replenish numbers. Restore bloodlines. Bring mana back into families that are fading.”

Ray looked away, jaw tight.

“They wouldn’t force anyone to stay,” Hughes said carefully. “Brassmane would never put chains on us. But it would be implied. Once you pass the trials, once a clan recognises you, there are expectations. Duties. Invitations that don’t feel like invitations after a while.”

Mezzo swallowed. “You mean… stay with them full-time?”

“Aye,” Hughes said. “Maybe not at first. Maybe not in words. But eventually, yes. That’s what I was afraid of.”

He looked at Celeste then, his face open and tired.

“I didn’t want to make that decision for all of us. Not for you. Not for Ray. Not for the kids. Not for anyone. So whenever Brassmane asked, I shook my head.”

A soft silence settled over them.

Celeste stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly.

Grateful.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just enough that Hughes saw it.

“Thank you,” she said.

Hughes gave a small shrug, though his ears warmed beneath his hood.

“Aye, well. Someone around here has to think before accidentally joining a clan, starting a prophecy, or becoming someone’s political miracle.”

Pitch leaned back against the wall. “That sounds aimed at several people.”

“It is,” Hughes said.

Celeste gave a tiny, nervous smile.

Ray still looked uncomfortable, but some of the tension had eased from her shoulders.

Outside, lightning flashed against the rain-streaked windows, briefly illuminating all their faces in pale gold.

Ray let out a sharp exhale, leaning back with her arms crossed. “Well, that ship’s sailed. They know now.” She glanced at Celeste. “But seriously—you never knew?”

Celeste looked at her paws, fidgeting with the chain between her wrists. “I swear, I didn’t. My dad never told me. I didn’t even think it was possible.”

Lumina, sitting close, turned with wide eyes. “I didn’t know either…”

Celeste offered her a gentle look. “You have memory loss, Lumi. I wasn’t expecting you to.”

Pitch, lounging opposite them, tilted his head, his shadow twitching faintly on the wall. “You sure you don’t have it too? Sometimes it’s like—there are gaps when you talk about your past. Places that don’t line up.”

Celeste blinked, uneasy. “Maybe… I just don’t remember the right things.”

Hughes rested his elbows on his knees, voice steady but thoughtful. “Memories are tricky things. We only keep what we can handle. Not everyone wants to remember everything.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not cruel—just full of the things no one had the courage to say.

Then Mezzo piped up, breaking the mood with a shaky laugh. “But seriously—you said no to the Council. That was awesome! I thought you were about to get vaporized where you stood!”

Celeste flushed. “Don’t remind me. I was this close to fainting.” She pressed her fingers together to demonstrate, eyes wide.

Hughes chuckled softly. “That defiance might not have been rebellion—it was instinct. High dragon blood.”

Celeste blinked. “High dragon?”

He nodded, the light catching in his glasses. “If you wouldn’t kneel to a Council member, then the only thing that makes sense is dragon lineage. High—or Alpha—dragons never kneel to anyone unless defeated in combat. It’s in their nature.”

Celeste frowned, a little pale. “So… which one am I?”

Hughes smiled faintly, glancing toward the rain-streaked window. “Umbranox said High dragon so thats what i suspect,” he said, “we’ll find out soon enough.”

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating Celeste’s reflection in the glass—eyes faintly glowing, pupils narrowing to draconic slits for just a heartbeat.

Mezzo caught it and muttered under his breath, “Stars help us all.”

Celeste turned to him with a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Stars help us indeed.”

Arcade leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. “Don’t forget the alicorn part,” he said, half-smirking. “You resurrected an extinct plant in front of the entire Council, remember? And you told us your mum was a mare.”

Celeste rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “From what I knew, I thought she was. It’s not like my family sat around discussing species over tea.”

Hughes chuckled under his breath. “Well, if you ever get bored of saving the world, I’m stealing you for gardening duty. My greenhouse has been dying since the last mana surge. I could use an alicorn touch—Whispershade Festival’s coming up, and my pumpkins aren’t going to glow themselves.”

Mezzo blinked. “Wait, alicorns can resurrect things? Like, anything?”

“Not exactly,” Hughes replied, adjusting his gloves. “They’re rare—very rare. Most of their power flows through mana itself. They can heal what still carries a spark, or revive things bound to mana—plants, flora, maybe even corrupted creatures.” He shrugged. “But don’t quote me. I’ve never met one. Bracer has. Brassmane too.”

Celeste stared at her hands, uncertain. “I don’t feel like something that special…”

Ray nudged her lightly. “You literally brought a flower back from the dead, Blondie. That’s pretty special by definition.”

Before Celeste could answer, the van jolted hard—suddenly braking. Everyone lurched forward, grabbing the seats or each other to stay upright.

The bear commander’s gruff voice came through the intercom. “We’ve arrived.”

Celeste pressed a paw to the window, peering out.

Her heart sank.

Below them stretched the ruins of the old Clawdiff Power Plant—and it was swarming. Hundreds of candy-zombies staggered through the flooded yard, their bodies glistening like melted taffy and cracked chocolate. Gumdrop eyes blinked wetly in the dim light, and trails of syrup pooled across the ground like blood.

Mezzo swallowed hard. “Stars above… that’s not a horde—that’s a bakery from hell.”

Brassmane’s voice came steady, calm, but with the faintest edge of excitement. “Perfect,” he said, stepping forward. “Now let’s see what our newly appointed Knights of Clawdiff can really do.”

Celeste’s stomach twisted. She glanced at her friends—Ray tightening her gloves, Pitch strapping his coat, Arcade powering up his Arcbracer, Skye rocked a little and Lumina clutching her ribbon with both hands.

“Guess this is our first mission,” Celeste murmured.

Mezzo exhaled, brushing his red hair. “And our first mistake.”

Hughes smiled faintly. “Then let’s make it a glorious one.”