The mythics bowed or hurried off, still muttering, still afraid.

And in the flickering light of the fading mana storm, Celeste’s hand trembled over her heart—feeling, deep beneath the pain and confusion, that faint second heartbeat still echoing within her.

The others walked over to Celeste, concern etched across some faces, wariness across others.

Ray reached her first.

“What happened?” she demanded, voice sharp enough to cut stone.

Celeste flinched. “Ray—”

“No, seriously, what happened?” Ray snapped. “Brassmane said you were being looked at to see if you could do their Trial, and now the whole square’s had a front-row seat to this spectacle.”

Celeste’s ears flattened. “I don’t know. I panicked. I didn’t mean to—”

Ray growled low in her throat. “This is making us look bad, Celeste.”

Mezzo’s brows shot up. “Ray.”

“I lived with them for a time,” Ray snapped, not looking at him. “I know what they’re like. Mythic clans are suspicious. They remember everything. They whisper about everything. You basically made us outcasts before we even got through the gate.”

Celeste’s eyes went glassy. “I’m sorry.”

“Why couldn’t you just stay still?” Ray demanded. “Why did you have to run into the square?”

Celeste’s mouth trembled. “They tried to take Bonbon. They trapped me. I was scared.”

Ray’s jaw clenched. For half a second, guilt flickered across her face.

Then anger covered it again.

“Everyone’s scared.”

Celeste recoiled slightly.

Hughes stepped forward, his voice hard. “Ray, get your head out your ass and focus.”

Ray turned on him. “Don’t.”

“This is gossip,” Hughes said. “They’ll forget in a week.”

Ray laughed once, bitter and humourless. “No, they won’t.”

Pitch’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Ray went still.

The question hung there, and for once, she didn’t have a quick answer ready. Her shoulders tightened. Her gaze slid away from them all, toward the edge of the square where the mythics had disappeared between bone-and-rune archways.

“I didn’t do my Trial,” she said at last.

Mezzo frowned. “You said you weren’t ready.”

“I wasn’t,” Ray muttered. “I didn’t understand how to control my temper. Every time they pushed me toward it, I put it off. One more month. One more season. One more excuse. Then the pressure got too much and I left.”

The fire in her voice faded into something rawer.

“I thought if we were made to do this Trial, at least afterwards it’d only be awkward. Some gossip, some smug elders, a few old aunties telling me I should have done it years ago.”

She looked back at Celeste, hurt twisting beneath the anger.

“But now? Now you’ve ruined it again.”

Celeste’s face crumpled. “Ray, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Save it.”

The words were quiet.

That made them worse.

Mezzo stepped in, raising both paws with an awkward grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Look, no one needs to get hitched or anything. We do the spooky Trial, everyone has a good magical cry, then we go back to base and pretend none of this was emotionally devastating.”

Ray’s laugh came out strained. “You don’t get it.”

Mezzo’s grin faltered.

Ray looked at him properly then, tired and angry and frightened in a way she clearly hated showing. “Their species is dying, Mezzo. The old clans are fading. Mythics don’t have litters like we do. Most have one child. Maybe two, if they’re lucky. Some don’t have any at all.”

She gestured sharply at the hybrids. “But us? Hybrids can have litters. More children. Strong mana. New blood. Without us, half these clans would already be dead.”

The words made the square feel colder.

Ray’s voice lowered, but the bitterness stayed. “Why do you think they want us? Why do you think they’re so interested in hybrids passing Trials? As soon as we’re recognised, they’ll start pushing. Pair with this clan. Bind with that bloodline. Think of the future. Think of the people. Think of duty.”

Celeste’s ears drooped. “Having children isn’t… bad, though.”

Ray looked at her.

For once, she didn’t snap straight away.

“No,” Ray said at last, quieter. “It isn’t.”

The anger in her face shifted, just slightly, into something more private. More wounded.

“I want kids someday,” she admitted, like the words had been dragged out of her. “Maybe. If it’s mine. If it’s mutual. If I choose it. Not because some elder with a bloodline chart decides my womb is clan property.”

Celeste swallowed.

“I think I’d like children someday too,” she said softly. “But… not like that.”

Ray glanced at her then.

Only for a second.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not even close.

But it was the first small bridge between them that night.

Arcade, who had been standing awkwardly with his hands shoved into his pockets, cleared his throat. “Still. At least the Mythics pretend choice is involved.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Arcade shrugged, trying for casual and landing somewhere near uncomfortable. “Pureblood families usually match hybrids up with Purebloods. Especially noble ones. They think it makes their kittens—” He raised both hands and crooked his fingers in exaggerated quotation marks. “—‘curse-proof.’”

Celeste blinked. “Is that true?”

Arcade gave a short, humourless laugh. “Not really. It’s not some holy shield. More like… resistance to mana. A child with hybrid blood might survive exposure better than a Pureblood would. Might not twist as fast. Might not die immediately.”

His mouth tightened.

“But it still hurts them. Just not as badly.”

Mezzo’s expression had gone flat. “That is horrifically grim, even by current standards.”

“Welcome to blood politics,” Arcade muttered.

Ray folded her arms tightly across her chest. “So yes. I left. Because I knew what came after the Trial. Smiles. Blessings. Songs. Then pressure. Always pressure.”

She looked away, jaw tight.

“I thought if we were going to be made to do this, at least afterwards it would only be awkward. But now…” Her eyes flicked toward Celeste, still raw with anger and fear. “Now you’ve ruined it again.”

Her voice cracked with disgust.

“Why do you think I left?”

The group went silent.

Even Mezzo had no joke ready.

Celeste stared at Ray, horror softening into understanding. “Ray…”

Ray looked away. “Don’t.”

Before anyone could answer, Brassmane returned across the square, his mane dimmed now to a softer gold, though his presence still carried the weight of command. Behind him, several elders waited in tense silence.

His gaze moved across the group, lingering on Ray for a moment, then on Celeste.

“We need to continue,” he said.

Pitch exhaled through his nose. “Is this really necessary?”

Brassmane turned to him. “Yes.”

Pitch’s ears lowered. “Why?”

“Because without the Trial, you will never fully understand your mana,” Brassmane said. “You may use it in flashes. In fear. In battle. But you will not command it with fluency. Not safely. Not completely.”

Pitch glanced at Celeste, then away.

Brassmane’s voice softened, but did not bend. “If you refuse, your power will remain half-known. And half-known power is often the most dangerous kind.”

Pitch sighed, defeated. “Wonderful.”

Mezzo muttered, “Love a cheerful pep talk.”

Brassmane looked toward Celeste. “You will stay by the fountain. Your mana is still unsettled.”

Celeste hesitated, lips parting to protest—but Bonbon clung tighter, tiny claws digging into her cloak. The panda wouldn’t let go.

So Celeste stayed.

The others followed Brassmane and the elders out into the moonlit path. Ray did not look back. Lumina did, just once, her expression uncertain before she disappeared beyond the glow.

The soft splash of the fountain filled the courtyard—one of the few peaceful sounds left in the Rustrows that night. Its water shimmered faintly with mana light, blue and gold catching the drifting motes of dust like stars fallen into a bowl.

Celeste sat hunched beside it, knees drawn close, her reflection rippling in the surface. Bonbon lay across her lap, tiny paws curled into her dress as Celeste absently stroked her fur, over and over, like if she stopped, the world might start spinning again.

Her mind was still a storm.

Kymara.

Her core—not her own.

Ray’s voice.

Save it.

She didn’t know which thought frightened her more.

When the quiet voice came, she didn’t look up.

“Long night, child?”

Elder Arlo’s reflection appeared in the fountain before his body did—soft and blurred. He moved with the slow grace of someone who had seen too many dawns to fear the dark.

Celeste’s ears drooped. “If you’re here to tell me I’m divine again, please don’t. I’ll probably cry, and that’ll just make things awkward.”

He smiled gently. “No. I’m here to tell you you’re alive.”

She looked up at him warily as he settled down beside her. His robe brushed against the moss, releasing a faint scent of mint and age-old ink.

“I saw the way you held your breath,” he said quietly. “Like someone afraid to exhale. You’ve been holding them back.”

She frowned faintly. “Feels like if I do, I’ll fall apart.”

“These pieces of you that were never meant to live in isolation.”

He circled the fountain, running his paw over the runes carved into its rim—symbols of wind, flame, and root. “Four lines, braided where none should ever meet. Dragon. Alicorn. Ragdoll. Lionhead. Predator and prey, light and instinct, wound into one flesh.”

Celeste’s ears flattened. “They said that earlier,” she murmured. “That I’m… all of them. But what does that even mean?”

“It means,” he said softly, “you carry the wildness of creation itself. Each bloodline pulls toward its own truth—its own will. The suppressor chip the Council gave you? It was not for your safety.”

Her voice cracked. “Then whose?”

He met her eyes. “Theirs.”

Celeste stared, unable to find words. He went on, voice calm but heavy.

“You were born with fire and flight. Light and shadow. That kind of mana doesn’t serve—it rules. So they dammed it. Sealed it behind runes and steel. But a river, no matter how bound, finds a way to flow again.”

The admission cut deeper than she expected.

“So what happens now?” she whispered. “If I can’t keep it caged?”

“Then you learn to speak to it.” He smiled faintly. “Magic isn’t a trick, Celeste. It’s a conversation.”

He tapped the stone beside her. “Sit. Breathe. Don’t reach—just listen.”

Celeste hesitated but obeyed, closing her eyes. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Then begin where it hurts,” he said gently. “Where it presses most. That’s where it gathers.”

She focused on the dull ache in her ribs. On the warmth crawling up her spine. The more she noticed it, the more it moved—slow, liquid, alive.

Something deep within her stirred.

Bonbon lifted her head as the air thickened, faint motes of blue light swirling up around them.

Celeste gasped softly. “It’s warm…”

“Good,” said Arlo. “Don’t be afraid of it. Let it out.”

She did.

And for a moment—it was beautiful. Light flowed from her skin, shimmering like water, her fur glowing silver-blue. The fountain rippled brighter in response.

Then the pulse changed.

The warmth turned hot—too hot. A wave of raw mana surged upward, forcing her hands to the ground.

“Ah—!”

Her body shuddered. Iridescent scales broke through fur; her pupils narrowed into slits; horns of pure light unfurled from her temples. Wings—half energy, half memory—erupted from her back, scattering droplets of glowing water.

The courtyard shook. The runes on the fountain flared like lightning veins.

Elder Arlo didn’t flinch. He stepped forward and pressed his forehead gently to hers, his voice low and firm.

“Breathe, child. You are not your power. You are its guide.”

Her breathing hitched, then slowed. The wild shimmer dimmed. The horns and wings faded back into the ether.

When it was over, she collapsed to her knees, gasping, the water reflecting her shaking silhouette.

Arlo placed a hand on her shoulder. “You opened too wide. That’s how it begins. Hybrids who never learn either break… or break everything around them.”

Celeste wiped at her eyes. “That thing inside me—it isn’t mine, is it?”

His gaze softened. “It’s you—but unshaped. Ancient. Echoes of what came before.”

She swallowed hard. “Then what are the Kymara? Everyone keeps saying the word like it’s supposed to mean something.”

He leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Few remember. None speak of them.”

He looked toward the moonlit mountains, his voice dropping to a reverent hush.

“They were the first—the ones who walked before division. The ancestors of Mannalings, Nullborn, and Twainvians alike. One people, made of light and dream. When the world fractured, they did too. The Council hides it, but in our oldest songs, the truth endures.”

Celeste frowned. “So they’re what we were meant to be.”

“And our shame,” he said quietly. “Because we forgot what we were. We built borders instead of bridges. You—” he nodded to her chest, where her core still glowed faintly—“are proof of what we lost. And perhaps, what might return.”

She looked down at Bonbon, who had fallen asleep again on her lap, small chest rising and falling.

Her voice came out as a whisper. “Then why is one living in my chest?”

Arlo smiled sadly, tapping his cane once against the stone. “Ah, that,” he said, eyes twinkling with both humour and dread. “That, my dear, is a mystery I intend to lose sleep over.”

He rose to his feet, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the fountain.

“Rest now. Tomorrow will ask more of you than fear ever could.”

Celeste nodded weakly, staring into the rippling water once more. For just a second, in its reflection, she thought she saw her eyes gleam—not blue, but that same impossible iridescence.

And somewhere deep inside her chest… something purred.