The Green Crown Fleet ruled the grey waters beyond Clawdiff.

Dozens of warships cut through the mist in disciplined formation, their hulls painted deep naval green and trimmed with brass. Mana cannons lined their decks like sleeping dragons. Signal flags snapped in the salty wind. Searchlights swept over wreckage, broken cargo crates, drifting corpses, and the faint shimmer of the barrier that sealed Clawdiff away from the wider sea.

At the centre of the formation sailed the Demeter.

The largest ship in the fleet.

A floating fortress of steel, mana, and old pride.

Admiral Leo Voss stood upon her forward command deck, paws clasped behind his back, his striped tiger fur silvered by age and sea mist. His coat hung heavy around his shoulders, medals gleaming dull gold against the stormlight. His eyes, sharp and amber, stared toward the barrier as if he could intimidate it into moving.

Beside him stood Captain Marek, an ocelot with a narrow smile and a perfectly tailored uniform. Where Voss looked carved from iron and bad weather, Marek looked polished enough to lie in front of a mirror and convince the reflection it had started the conversation.

A young officer approached, saluting stiffly.

“Admiral. Mana cannon is charged. Firing solution locked.”

Voss did not look away from the barrier.

“Do it.”

The order passed down the deck.

Warning bells rang.

The Demeter’s forward cannon awakened with a deep mechanical groan. Mana coils lit one after another, blue-white energy spiralling around the barrel. Sailors braced. Engineers shouted readings from brass consoles. The air grew sharp with ozone.

Then the cannon fired.

A beam of condensed mana tore across the water and struck the barrier dead centre.

For one blinding moment, the sea became daylight.

The blast spread over the barrier in violent rings, flaring gold and blue, bright enough to cast the entire fleet in stark shadow.

Then the light faded.

The barrier remained.

Unmoved.

Uncracked.

Untouched.

The officer swallowed. “No breach, Admiral.”

Voss’ jaw tightened. “I can see that.”

Marek’s whiskers twitched faintly. “A stubborn little dome.”

“A prison,” Voss said.

“Depending on which side one stands.”

Before Voss could answer, his arcbracer chimed.

A golden sigil bloomed above his wrist.

Lady Umbranox Arcturus appeared in miniature, composed and severe despite the faint strain behind her eyes.

“Admiral Voss,” she said. “How goes the attempt to breach the barrier?”

Voss saluted. “Negative, my lady. Despite our best effort, the barrier will not yield.”

Umbranox’s expression tightened.

Only slightly.

On anyone else, it would have been a grimace.

“Then withdraw for now.”

Voss frowned. “My lady?”

“In a few days, we launch our assault on the kraken. The Knights have drawn it from its hideout. It will not be long before the creature grows desperate.” Her golden gaze sharpened. “I want the navy shoreside, prepped and ready for an all-out assault. No delays. No heroics. No wasted fire.”

Voss struck his fist to his chest. “It will be done.”

“See that it is. Clawdiff’s supply routes are bleeding, Admiral. If the coast falls, the city starves.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, only the sea spoke.

Then Marek exhaled softly through his nose. “She hides it well, but she is worried.”

“Good,” Voss said. “A commander who isn’t worried is either drunk or incompetent.”

Marek smiled. “And you, Admiral?”

“I am neither.”

“Of course.”

The Demeter began to turn, engines rumbling beneath the deck as the fleet shifted course away from the barrier.

Below them, sailors moved with practised urgency. Damage crews inspected scorched plating from earlier skirmishes. Medics carried wounded below deck. Engineers argued over cracked mana conduits. The kraken’s last attack had not sunk the Demeter, but it had left teeth marks on the fleet’s pride.

Marek watched a crew haul a warped cannon casing under canvas. “That creature is becoming bolder.”

“It is testing us.”

“Or baiting us.”

Voss grunted. “Same thing.”

“The Knights hurt it,” Marek said.

Voss’ expression darkened.

Marek continued lightly, “The reports are quite clear. The new militia engaged the kraken directly and survived. More than survived, in fact. They forced it to retreat.”

“They look like children.”

“Some of them are children.”

“They are not men and women of war,” Voss said, lip curling. “They are strays with weapons and luck.”

“Useful weapons. Remarkable luck.”

Voss gave him a sideways glance. “You approve of them?”

“I approve of anything that hurts our enemy.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No,” Marek agreed. “But in wartime, it often matters more.”

The Demeter passed through a field of wreckage. Bodies bobbed on the surface, tangled among broken planks and split barrels. Some wore sailor’s uniforms. Some wore civilian clothes. Some were too coated in sugar rot to tell.

Then something moved beneath them.

Candy-zombie dolphins slipped through the water in eerie formation, their gummy bodies glistening beneath the surface. Behind them came larger shapes — squid-like whales, bloated and strange, their tentacles curling around the dead with almost careful precision.

Along the distant shoreline, more zombies waited.

They dragged the recovered bodies inland.

Toward the city.

Toward Gumball.

Voss watched, amber eyes narrowing.

“They waste nothing, do they?”

Marek’s smile faded. “No. They are learning supply.”

“Then we need to be more creative.”

“I have been.”

Voss looked at him.

Marek folded his hands behind his back, gaze still on the shore. “Some of the assignments reaching the Knights through Lady Umbranox have been… adjusted.”

“Adjusted.”

“Redirected, perhaps. Certain zombie nests. Certain weapons caches. Certain patrol routes that offer more practical combat experience than the Council’s official errand lists.”

Voss’ brow lowered. “You have been feeding them jobs.”

“I have been seasoning them,” Marek said smoothly. “They do not know, of course. Hidden caches were placed nearby. Routes chosen to test reaction time, discipline, adaptability. They believe they are merely being overworked.”

“They are being overworked.”

“Yes. Efficiently.”

For the first time that morning, Voss almost smiled.

Almost.

“Good.”

Marek inclined his head. “I thought you might appreciate the principle.”

“They need hardening.”

“They do.”

Voss watched the candy whales roll through the water, gathering the dead like harvesters.

“Umbranox is not Silas,” he said at last. “Too sentimental toward Hybrids.”

Marek’s eyes slid toward him. “Sentiment can be useful.”

“It can get people killed.”

“So can cruelty, if applied without skill.”

Voss snorted. “You sound like a politician.”

“I survive among them. There is a difference.”

The admiral turned back toward Clawdiff’s distant glow. “She needs to be tougher. Or we will not win this war.”

Marek’s expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps. But if we secure the fishing routes and transport to the hidden storage isles, we stand a chance. Food, medicine, replacement parts. Enough to keep Clawdiff breathing while the barrier holds.”

“And if the kraken keeps smashing every ship we send?”

“Then we need the Knights.”

Voss’ ears flicked in irritation.

Marek smiled faintly. “You dislike that answer.”

“I dislike needing children to do a navy’s work.”

“I dislike starvation more.”

Voss said nothing.

The sea wind pulled at his coat.

At last, Marek added, “Let us hope this Astallan girl is like her old man.”

Voss’ eyes narrowed. “Kenaz?”

“Stubborn. Difficult to frighten. Impossible to steer once he chose a direction.”

“Typical dragons,” Voss muttered.

Marek’s smile sharpened. “Indeed.”

Ahead, the Green Crown Fleet turned toward the wounded coast, engines roaring low beneath the waves.

Behind them, the barrier shimmered over Clawdiff.

Unbroken.

And beneath the surface, the candy dead continued gathering their harvest.