The Phoenix Ashugar dove again, its metal beak glowing white-hot, firing a rapid barrage of incendiary feathers. The street lit up behind them, every impact throwing debris into the air.

“Duck!” Mezzo bellowed, strumming his axe-guitar. It lit up with wild sonic energy, and he launched a wall of sound that met the feathers mid-air, triggering a triple detonation that lit up the sky.

Plum yelped from the back seat, half-buried under loot bags and her camera gear. “I am ducking! I’ve been ducking for ten minutes! When do we un-duck?!”

“Not today!” Mezzo shouted.

Celeste screamed as she swerved through the firecloud, eyes wide, hands tight on the wheel. “I hate this! I hate this!”

“You’re doing great!” Mezzo said encouragingly. “Like a terrified angel of destruction!”

Plum’s camera rolled across the seat and hit her paw. She grabbed it, looked at the flashing live icon on her Arcbracer, and froze.

The viewer count was climbing.

Fast.

At first, it was mostly hybrid handles flooding the chat.

BRACER_04: Is that Celeste driving?!

MothKid88: THEY ROBBED A BANK???

ArcaneMutt: THAT PHOENIX IS REAL. RUN.

Then more names appeared. Pureblood names. Mythic names. People streaming from cracked windows, basements, cellar doors, abandoned shops, and half-collapsed houses across Clawdiff.

OldMarketMum: We’re hiding near the tramline. We can see the fire.

CopperLark: My children are cheering for you.

TylwythTea: Tell the star girl not to die. She’s giving the little ones hope.

BakerByTheWall: I thought the Knights were gone. They’re not. Stars bless them.

Then tiny donation icons began popping up.

One coin.

Three coins.

A food voucher.

A promise of blankets.

Someone donated a crate of medical bandages from a clinic two districts over.

Plum’s mouth fell open.

“Uh,” she said, voice suddenly small beneath all the chaos. “Guys?”

“Not now!” Celeste yelped, swerving around a blown-out bus, tyres shrieking.

“No, really, now!” Plum shouted, holding the Arcbracer up. “People are watching. A lot of people are watching.”

Mezzo blasted another sonic chord out the window. “Tell them I looked cool!”

“They are already debating that!”

Celeste risked one frantic glance at the glowing screen.

The chat was roaring.

People were cheering.

People were donating.

People were calling them the Knights of Clawdiff.

Celeste’s breath caught.

For one strange, impossible second, the burning street, the shrieking phoenix, and the stolen car all blurred into something else. Somewhere out there, people were hiding in the ruins with children tucked under their arms, watching three idiots in a stolen sports car fight a death bird and somehow finding courage in it.

Her ears flicked back.

Then she straightened.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh. They can see us.”

Mezzo glanced at her, noticing the change. “Princess?”

Celeste swallowed, tightened her grip on the wheel, and forced a trembling smile toward Plum’s camera.

“Hello,” she said breathlessly, far too polite for someone currently fleeing aerial murder. “Um. Please stay indoors. Avoid open streets. And don’t panic. We’re… handling it.”

A feather exploded behind the car.

Celeste screamed, swerved, then immediately added, “Mostly!”

The chat erupted.

StarlingValeGirl: SHE SAID MOSTLY I LOVE HER.

HiddenInTheBakery: GO CELESTE GO!

MythicMossNan: That child is driving like a moon-drunk rabbit.

KnightFan12: KNIGHTS KNIGHTS KNIGHTS!

Mezzo saw the comments and grinned like someone had handed him a stage, a microphone, and legal immunity.

He leaned halfway out the window, guitar blazing. “Citizens of Clawdiff!” he shouted, voice booming over the livestream. “Please enjoy this exclusive performance of Three Idiots Outrun Fiery Bird God! Donations go to feeding refugees, arming Knights, and possibly replacing this mirror!”

One feather clipped the side mirror. It exploded in a burst of glitter and flame.

“I liked that mirror,” Celeste muttered, white-knuckled, dodging debris.

“Tell it at its funeral!” Mezzo yelled over the roar of wind and music.

The donation counter jumped again.

Plum stared at it, stunned. “Someone just donated fifty crownmarks.”

Another ping.

Then another.

Anonymous Pureblood: For the Knights.

RustrowsLantern: For the children at the park.

NoHouseNoMaster: Give that phoenix hell.

Plum’s eyes shone behind her glasses. “If we live through this,” she said, voice shaking with excitement, “this could help the Knights greatly. Supplies, repairs, medicine—Celeste, this is huge.”

Celeste’s own Arcbracer chirped.

Once.

Twice.

Then projected a small, crisp hologram above her wrist.

Lady Umbranox’s face appeared in perfect miniature, calm, elegant, and entirely too composed for someone calling during a flaming phoenix chase.

Celeste glanced down, then immediately looked back at the road. “Oh no.”

Mezzo leaned over, eyes widening. “Is that—?”

“Yes,” Celeste squeaked.

Umbranox arched one dark brow. “Commander.”

Celeste gripped the wheel tighter. “Lady Umbranox! Hello. Lovely to hear from you. Very busy right now. Lots of road. Much road.”

“I see.” Umbranox’s gaze flicked briefly to the blurred city, the screaming Plum in the back seat, the loot bags rattling behind them, and Mezzo hanging half out of the window with an axe-guitar. “How did your bank withdrawal go?”

Celeste’s ears shot upright.

“What bank withdrawal?” she said far too quickly.

Mezzo slowly turned to stare at her.

Plum, still livestreaming, whispered, “Oh, this is painful.”

Celeste laughed in the stiff, terrified way of someone trying to hide a dragon in a teacup. “We didn’t go to a bank. That would be very strange. Banks are closed. Also illegal. Also buildings.”

Umbranox’s expression did not change.

“I see.”

Celeste swallowed. “Good.”

“And did you scrub the security footage in the bank you clearly did not visit?”

Celeste blinked.

“Oh! No, someone else did that.”

A beat.

Her entire face dropped.

“Oops.”

Mezzo made a tiny wheezing sound.

Plum slapped both paws over her mouth.

Umbranox closed her eyes for one long, patient second.

“Commander,” she said softly, “please learn to lie better.”

Celeste’s cheeks burned. “I’m working on it.”

“Clearly not today.”

A fiery feather exploded somewhere behind the car. Celeste yelped and swerved hard around a crater.

Umbranox continued as if nothing unusual were happening. “Fortunately, Silent took care of the footage for you.”

Celeste risked a quick glance at the hologram. “Silent?”

“Yes. You may thank him later, preferably after you are not being pursued through the city by a Phoenix General.”

Mezzo called from the window, “In our defence, she started it!”

Umbranox looked at him.

Mezzo immediately ducked lower. “Respectfully.”

Umbranox returned her attention to Celeste. “Once you reach a safe location, Lady Ivory will contact you. Her house manufactures armour for the Council. She will help you.”

Celeste’s panic softened into startled confusion. “She will?”

“She owes me a favour,” Umbranox said. “Several, actually.”

Plum whispered from the back, “That is the scariest sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Celeste forced an awkward smile, trying very hard to look like a professional commander and not a teenage art student currently committing vehicular crimes. “Thank you, Lady Umbranox. Really. That’s… very helpful.”

“I am aware.”

Another explosion lit the road behind them.

Celeste flinched. “Right. I should probably—road.”

“You should,” Umbranox agreed. “Good luck, Commander.”

Her gaze softened by the smallest amount.

“And try not to die before the armour fitting.”

The hologram vanished.

For half a second, there was only the roar of the engine.

Then Mezzo slowly grinned. “So. Not a bank withdrawal, then?”

Celeste stared straight ahead, cheeks blazing. “If anyone mentions this again, I am driving into a wall.”

Plum lifted her Arcbracer slightly. “The livestream heard everything.”

Celeste made a tiny broken sound.

Mezzo beamed. “Fantastic. Our fanbase just watched you get scolded by the most terrifying woman in Clawdiff.”

Celeste swerved around another burst of flame and muttered, “I miss ten minutes ago, when the worst thing happening was theft.”

Then Ashugar shrieked overhead, and the car fishtailed around a crater.

“Lovely!” Celeste cried. “We’ll celebrate the fundraising after we stop being flambéed!”

From the back seat, Plum shouted to the stream, “You heard her! Keep donating unless you’re in danger, in which case hide first, donate second!”

Mezzo ducked back in. “Okay! New plan! We are not winning this fight!”

“No kidding!” Celeste snapped, gripping the wheel with her velvet-padded paws. “You said turn left, right?”

“Hard left! Tunnel entrance—up ahead!”

Plum popped up, peering over the front seats, still keeping the livestream angled toward the road. “You’re joking! That thing’s not going to fit!”

“Exactly the point!” Mezzo grinned. “Trust me—when in doubt, drive somewhere dumber!”

Through the smoke and chaos, Celeste saw it: the black maw of a long-abandoned city tunnel—broken lights, vines curling from the cracks, DANGER stencilled everywhere in faded red paint.

“Hold on!” Celeste hissed, slamming the wheel.

Plum grabbed the ceiling handle and screamed, “I hate your driving style!”

The car jerked left, tyres shrieking against scorched concrete. They barrelled off the main road and into the tunnel’s yawning entrance just as the Phoenix let out another apocalyptic scream.

It dove after them—too fast, too hungry to stop.

But just before it could reach the mouth of the tunnel, its wings clipped the stone frame.

CRASH.

Flames and sparks burst behind them as the Phoenix scraped the top of the arch, shrieking in pain and fury. Its wings were too wide, too unstable—and it couldn’t follow.

With one final, furious screech, the Phoenix arched up, circling high above, wings glowing hot enough to sear the sky. It banked once… then retreated, leaving a trail of smoke and static behind.

For a moment, the only sound was the engine, the rattling loot, and three people breathing like they had borrowed air from tomorrow.

Then Plum’s Arcbracer exploded with notifications.

Cheers.

Messages.

Donations.

Clawdiff had watched them survive.

Celeste slowed the car, panting, her golden hair completely windblown and her nerves shredded.

Mezzo slumped back into his seat, sweaty and grinning. “Well. That went better than expected.”

Plum popped her head up from the back seat, glasses askew, clutching her camera. “I think I just aged five years. Someone owes me therapy. Preferably chocolate-flavoured.”

Celeste looked at Mezzo, wild-eyed. “Never let me drive again.”

He reached out, gently adjusted her sunglasses—still crooked from the chaos—and gave a soft laugh. “You did great, starcat. You survived.”

“Barely.”

“But in style.”

Plum groaned, holding up her Arcbracer. “And live. Very, very live.”

Celeste froze. “It’s still recording?”

Plum looked at the screen.

The chat was nothing but cheers, hearts, glitter emojis, phoenix emojis, and people chanting:

KNIGHTS OF CLAWDIFF.

KNIGHTS OF CLAWDIFF.

KNIGHTS OF CLAWDIFF.

Mezzo slowly leaned into frame, singed, grinning, and still holding his guitar. “Remember to support your local apocalypse idiots.”

The donation counter jumped again.

Celeste stared at it, then let out a tiny, overwhelmed laugh. “Oh stars. We have fans.”

Plum pushed her glasses up with a smug little sniff. “Followers. Donors. Witnesses. Possibly future legal complications. But yes. Fans.”

The car disappeared into the shadowy tunnel, swallowed by black and silence.

Inside, the only light came from the dashboard glow, the flicker of emergency lights still sputtering on the walls, and Plum’s Arcbracer screen pulsing with thousands of watching eyes.

Celeste kept driving, heart hammering, fur puffed in all directions.

Mezzo slumped into the passenger seat, panting, his spots singed, still clutching his guitar. Plum leaned forward between the seats, face lit by the screen of her Arcbracer.

“So…” Plum said, voice suddenly much too cheerful for someone who had nearly died twice in five minutes. “Where exactly are we going now? Because if it’s another bird, I’m walking.”

They didn’t speak for several long seconds.

Finally, Mezzo gave a low whistle. “You drove like an action movie star possessed by a cat goddess.”

“I drove like someone trying not to die,” Celeste muttered, pulling over once they were deep enough inside to feel safe.

“You did great.” He offered a lopsided grin. “No feathers in the grille. That’s a win.”

Plum slumped back into her seat, exhaling. “And we robbed a bank, fought a death chicken, survived a tunnel chase, and accidentally started a public fundraiser. I’m calling that Pulitzer-level journalism.”

Celeste glanced toward the back seat: bags of cash, stolen tiaras, priceless heirlooms—and that smug, heavy gold dog head, still gleaming like it knew everything.

She exhaled slowly. “Okay. Next time? You drive.”

Mezzo grinned. “Only if you keep firing quips like that. Princess has claws.”

Plum raised her paw weakly. “And a chauffeur licence pending.”

Celeste finally let herself smile, just a little.

Above them, somewhere far behind, the Phoenix let out one last frustrated cry—but it was distant now. Too big for the tunnel. Too clumsy to follow.

They’d lived.

Again.

And as they vanished deeper into the dark, their loot rattling behind them, Plum quietly turned her camera toward the front seats and whispered, “This one’s definitely going viral.”