Plum, meanwhile, had discovered the egg display. “Ooh, sparkly.” She opened the nearest one, revealing a tiny clockwork bird that chirped and spat glitter. “I love it. I’m taking these.” She started stacking eggs into her bag, adding a few gemstone brooches for good measure.

Mezzo looked between them, laughing. “You two are the most adorable thieves I’ve ever seen.”

Plum raised an eyebrow. “Correction: liberators of unclaimed historical artifacts.”

“Yeah,” Celeste added, smirking. “With impeccable taste.”

Celeste lingered near one of the display cases, eyes flicking from gem to gem like a cat tracking a laser pointer. The light bounced off her fur and scales in little glints of rose and gold. She reached out—just one paw—to lift a handful of jewels.

Sapphires, emeralds, and rubies sparkled in her grasp.

And something… changed.

Her pupils narrowed to slits. A low rumble, deep in her chest, began to build—soft, rhythmic, unmistakably a purr. The air shimmered faintly around her, crawling up her arms and across her cheeks. Her scales, normally muted under fur, began to glint like molten glass catching firelight.

“Uh…” Plum’s voice trembled with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Celeste? Sweetheart? You okay there?”

Celeste didn’t answer. Her eyes gleamed brighter, half-feral, half-entranced. The jewels in her palms glowed in response, mana resonating with her core. She held them tighter—possessive, protective, almost trembling.

Plum took a careful step closer. “Alright, easy there, treasure goblin. Deep breaths. Put the shinies in the bag nice and slow…”

Celeste’s tail twitched.

A wisp of smoke curled from her lips.

“Mine,” she hissed softly—half-growl, half-purr—as a faint flicker of flame danced past her teeth.

Above them, one of the old smoke sensors blinked.

Then another.

A tiny red light pulsed on the ceiling with a soft, ominous beep.

Plum’s eyes shot upward. “Oh no. No, no, no. We are not getting caught because someone got emotionally attached to a handful of jewellery.”

Celeste growled again. The flame at her mouth brightened.

Another sensor beeped.

Plum slapped her Arcbracer, fingers flying. “Okay. Okay. Searching: how to calm down dragon hoarding. Stars, please let there be a guide that isn’t written by someone who got eaten.”

The Arcbracer projected a flickering text box.

Plum squinted. “‘In the event of territorial hoarding behaviour, avoid sudden movements, do not challenge ownership, reduce nearby rival claimants, and offer reassurance in a calm tone.’ Oh, brilliant. The ancient solution is basically: don’t be annoying.”

Mezzo froze mid-coin toss, blinking. “Uh. Why’s she looking at the jewellery like it owes her money?”

Plum whispered quickly, “Dragon hoarding.”

“What?”

“She’s part dragon, you dolt! When they get too close to raw mana treasure, the instincts kick in—possession reflex, territorial fixation, sparkly obsession, you name it.”

“Oh, come on,” Mezzo scoffed, stepping forward. “She’s fine. She’s—”

The moment his shadow touched the pile of gems, Celeste snarled, eyes flaring like twin lanterns. Her tail lashed and the temperature spiked. Flames licked briefly along her fingers.

The smoke sensor overhead started beeping faster.

Mezzo immediately stepped back, feathers ruffled. “Okay, okay! She’s not fine!”

Plum hissed through her teeth. “Typical mythic blood. You give them one shiny rock, and they want the whole mountain.”

But Mezzo wasn’t exactly immune either.

The gold light shimmered across his feathers, and his gryphon instincts flickered awake like a switch. His eyes darted to the nearest pile of coins—and before he knew it, he was crouching low, talons flexing.

“...Actually,” he muttered dreamily, “that coin’s got a nice gleam.”

Plum groaned, pressing both paws to her forehead. “Oh for—great. One dragon, one gryphon magpie. Perfect. My career ends in a mythic treasure-hoard meltdown.”

Mezzo scooped a handful of coins into his arms and backed toward the same glittering pile Celeste was guarding.

Celeste’s head snapped toward him.

A deeper growl rolled out of her.

More flame curled between her teeth.

Mezzo froze, clutching the coins to his chest.

Then, from somewhere very deep and very gryphon, he squawked at her.

It was not a bark.

It was not a yelp.

It was a sharp, indignant, bird-of-prey sound that bounced off the vault walls and startled all three of them into silence.

Celeste blinked.

Her ears lifted. “Did you just… squawk?”

Mezzo’s fur puffed in horror. “No.”

“You did,” Plum said, delighted despite the danger.

“I am a dog.”

“You are also part gryphon,” Celeste murmured, as if remembering it at the worst possible time.

Mezzo clutched his coins tighter. “That was a very dignified warning cry.”

Celeste’s eyes narrowed again. The dragon in her clearly disagreed.

Plum stepped between them, hands raised. “Both of you stop it. You’re upsetting her.”

Celeste spun toward Plum.

For one heartbeat, her ears dropped.

The fire dimmed.

Her expression twisted—not angry now, but wounded, confused, and horribly soft. She looked from Plum’s raised hands to the gems in her own palms, then slowly reached out and offered Plum an emerald the size of a plum stone.

Plum froze.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

The Arcbracer chirped again. Plum glanced down, reading the new entry scrolling across the projection.

“Uh… alicorn empathy response,” she murmured. “Instinctive offering behaviour. High emotional sensitivity. Excessive generosity when distressed.”

Celeste’s paw trembled, the emerald glittering between her claws.

Then her other hand tightened around the rest of the jewels.

Her pupils flickered—slit, round, slit again.

The air around her shuddered.

Plum swallowed. “Oh, that’s not good.”

Celeste’s dragon side wanted to hoard.

Her alicorn side wanted to give everything away.

The result was Celeste standing in the middle of the vault, visibly fighting herself, one paw extended in aching generosity while the other clutched the treasure like the universe might steal it from her.

“I…” Celeste whispered, voice strained. “I don’t know if I want to keep it or give it to you.”

Plum softened. “Celeste, sweetheart, you don’t have to do either.”

“But you looked worried,” Celeste said, ears drooping further. “And Mezzo wants the coins. And I want the gems. And I want everyone to have nice things. But also if anyone touches them, I might set the curtains on fire.”

“There aren’t any curtains,” Mezzo said.

Celeste’s eyes flashed. “I’ll find some.”

Plum pointed sharply at him. “Do not help.”

Mezzo, who had been staring at the emerald with increasingly obvious coin-gremlin temptation, suddenly lunged.

Not at Celeste.

At the loose gems sliding off the display beside her.

“My shiny!”

Celeste gasped, startled clean out of her inner war.

Mezzo hit the floor with both paws outstretched, catching two rubies, three coins, and one very confused brooch.

Plum moved instantly.

While Celeste and Mezzo were distracted—both circling each other now with identical guilty, feral little treasure faces—Plum calmly scooped the remaining gems from Celeste’s loose paw, collected the pile at their feet, and dumped everything into the open duffel bag.

Zip.

The sound seemed to snap through the vault like a spell breaking.

Celeste blinked.

Mezzo blinked.

They both looked at the sealed bag.

Then at each other.

Then at Plum.

Celeste’s ears drooped all the way down. “Oh no.”

Mezzo slowly lowered the rubies he was holding. “I may have gotten… slightly birdy.”

“I may have gotten slightly dragon,” Celeste said, cheeks burning.

Plum crossed her arms. “Slightly?”

Celeste winced. “Moderately dragon.”

Mezzo cleared his throat. “Medium bird.”

“You squawked.”

“That is private.”

Celeste looked at Mezzo, then at the faint scorch mark near her claws. Her voice softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to growl at you.”

Mezzo rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish now. “Nah. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to get all coin-gremlin near your hoard.”

“It isn’t my hoard.”

Plum lifted the duffel bag.

Celeste and Mezzo both stared at it.

Plum narrowed her eyes.

Celeste coughed delicately. “Right. Yes. Our legally questionable supply bag.”

Mezzo nodded. “Community hoard.”

“No,” Plum said.

Celeste’s claws flexed once, the last of the flames dying down to harmless embers as her core steadied. The glow around her dulled, and she shook her head, blinking rapidly.

“...Sorry,” she murmured again. “That was… weird.”

Plum handed her the bag carefully. “Yeah, next time maybe don’t pet the treasure like it’s a lost kitten, okay?”

Mezzo, still crouched by the tiara, looked up sheepishly. “...Can I keep one?”

“No!” both Celeste and Plum shouted in perfect unison.

The echo rang through the vault, followed by Plum’s muttered sigh. “Never bringing you two into a bank again.”

They knelt side by side for a moment, comparing loot like children after a candy raid—Celeste’s dragon pile dignified and gleaming, Plum’s a chaotic rabbit’s hoard of shiny nonsense.

Plum grinned. “Yours looks like a museum exhibit. Mine looks like a magpie went shopping.”

“And somehow,” Mezzo said, tossing a gold coin in the air, “both fit perfectly.”

Celeste chuckled, brushing a thumb over the golden jewellery box in her bag as it softly hummed its celestial tune again. “Maybe this isn’t stealing,” she said quietly. “Maybe it’s remembering.”

Plum tilted her head, smiling. “And maybe you just really like shiny things.”

“Also true.”

Mezzo pointed dramatically toward the vault entrance. “Right, team glitter gremlin—time to move before the chocolate turtles respawn.”

Clank.

They all turned.

Mezzo stood in front of a pedestal, holding up what could only be described as a giant golden dog head—stylised, snarling, and very heavy-looking.

Celeste blinked. “What... is that?”

He blinked back, still holding it. “I dunno. But it looks like me.”

Then, in perfect comic timing:

BEEEEP.

The walls came alive with flashing red lights. A siren wailed—a deep, ancient klaxon that vibrated through their bones. The vault door slammed shut behind them with a seismic boom.

Celeste stared at Mezzo.

Mezzo grinned sheepishly. “Okay. Maybe I should’ve left the dog head alone.”

“You think?”

Plum, who’d been crouched behind a case stuffing a handful of novelty Fabergé eggs into her jacket, froze mid-reach and then immediately shoved the last egg into a pocket like a magpie with good taste. “Oh for—” she spat, half-laughing, half-terrified. “You absolute donut. I told you not to touch anything with a face.”

The golden mutt began to glow ominously where Mezzo had set it down.

“I touched nothing,” he said quickly. “You saw nothing.”

Celeste was already scanning the ceiling, searching for turrets, lasers, or chocolate-based defences.

“Okay,” she muttered. “No panic. No problem. We just need to find another exit, disarm an ancient vault trap, and avoid getting smelted by enchanted dog decor.”

“Classic Tuesday.”

“Let’s move.”

But the sirens were still howling when the first turret dropped from the ceiling with a shunk, its ruby-red targeting lens sweeping the room.

“Oh no,” Celeste muttered, ducking behind a stack of gold bricks.

“Oh yes,” Mezzo whispered from beside her, clutching his axe-guitar and the cursed golden dog head. “Time to be heroes. Or at least… mildly competent fugitives.”

A bolt of energy zapped across the room, narrowly missing the painting Celeste had tucked under her arm.

Plum didn’t freeze—she snapped into action. “Right—cover me!” she barked, popping up and firing a precise shot at the turret’s power lens. Her blaster chewed through circuitry with a fizz and a little smoke plume; the turret juddered, sparkled, and went tulip-shaped—dead, for now. She spun, yanking a short length of cable out of the fallen machine and jammed it into the next turret’s exposed socket like a field fix. The new turret snarled, hiccupped, and focused on the ceiling instead, giving them two seconds of blessed, panicked silence.

Mezzo let out a ridiculous whoop. “Plum! You glorious menace!”

Plum shot him a look that was equal parts triumphant and furious. “If you made me have to shoot anything, I swear I will personally return every coin you stole.”

Celeste slid the painting into the duffel and shoved it at Plum. “Grab the art. Help us make for the—” She pointed toward a half-hidden maintenance hatch that Arcade’s earlier scans had flagged as a maybe-possible exit.

Plum shoved the painting under her arm and, with a theatrical bow, shouted, “On it! Also, I’m never letting you two into a bank again.” She kicked a loose grate; it shifted. “If this collapses, I am charging you for emotional damages.”

They moved like a band of ridiculous thieves: Mezzo cradling dog-head regret, Celeste edge-focused, Plum grumbling while actually grinning, and the vault continuing its very dramatic tantrum behind them.

“You break this, I break you,” Celeste hissed at Mezzo as they slipped through the hatch.

“Noted,” he said, and for a heartbeat his grin was all sheepish apology and grin-splattered joy.

The sirens howled, the vault tilted toward going full security apocalypse, and Plum tucked the tiny jewelled eggs into a hidden pocket, muttering, “Worth it.”