For the first time in months, Clawdiff woke to silence that wasn’t born of fear.
No sirens.
No gunfire.
Just the low hum of machinery, and birdsong—artificial, sure, but cheerful all the same.

At the heart of the park, a brand-new tower gleamed in the morning light: tall, spindly, and stubbornly proud, its crystal antenna refracting sunrise into ribbons of color. The first proper broadcast tower built since the fall.

Someone had propped a blank sign against the stone base.
A marker lay beside it, uncapped and waiting.

Carys stood with her paws on her hips, looking utterly pleased despite the missing name.

“Well,” Plum said, adjusting her glasses, “if we’re opening this thing today, we need to decide what to call it.”

Arcade, halfway up the tower, shouted down, “Preferably something cool. Nothing with ‘sparkle’ or ‘fluffy’ in it.”

Bonbon pouted. “Sparkle tower ... yn neis…”

Lumina nodded solemnly. “Sparkle tower good.”

Skye whispered, “I mean… they’re not wrong.”

Carys tapped the marker thoughtfully. “What about Gobaith? It means ‘hope.’ Seems fitting.”

Plum blinked. “Isn’t that your surname, Carys?”

Carys’ ears perked. “Oh! Oh no, that's just—just a total coincidence. Really. Completely unrelated to my personal brand.”

Plum narrowed her eyes with the suspicion of a journalist who’d seen too much.
“Mhm. Well… we’ll put it to a vote later. For now, we’ll use it as a placeholder.”

She turned, voice warming.
“And—before we go live—I really want to thank all of you. Every single one of you. This,” she gestured around the park, “was just an idea in my notebook. And you all made it real.”

Mezzo raised his cup of tea. “Grand speech, Plum. Try not to cry on camera; it messes with the filters.”

Plum shoved him lightly. “I’m being professional!”

“You’re bein’ adorable,” Mezzo said. “Big difference.”

She huffed and flicked her arcbracer into recording mode.

Around them, the rest of the team kept finishing touches on the temporary sign—“Radio Gobaith (For Now)” scribbled across it in bright marker.

The whole team had gathered for the opening: Kirrin, Bartleby, and Cosmo had arrived with the Mythic delegation, their robes blending oddly with the patched street uniforms of the hybrids. Arcade and Bracer were already halfway up the tower, tightening bolts that didn’t need tightening.

Bonbon ran circles around them, chasing glittering reflections from the antenna.
Lumina helped string up a row of pastel flags.
Even Mezzo looked genuinely happy for once, perched on a railing with a cup of strong tea and a pair of sunglasses, muttering,

“Finally, something that’s not feckin’ exploding for once. Grand day out, lads.”

Ray smirked.

“Give it five minutes.”

The little park was crowded—survivors from the nearby blocks had gathered, most of them hybrids. They brought tools, salvaged bricks, and whatever scrap metal they could find. Under Arcade’s sharp instructions and Bracer’s steady hands, they’d started reinforcing the shelters and laying out plans for an emergency bunker beneath the park.

“If the nommie zombies hit us again,” Arcade explained, half-shouting over the drill’s whine, “we’ll have space for at least fifty people underground. Ventilation, power conduits, the works. Not fancy, but it’ll keep ‘em breathing.”

“You’re turning into a proper engineer, Arcade,” Bartleby said, adjusting his glasses. “I’d almost call you reliable.”

“Please don’t,” Arcade shot back. “It’ll ruin my image.”

From the speakers above the tower, Carys’s voice came through, clear and strong.

“—and that’s us live, folks! For the first time in far too long, this is Clawdiff calling. You’re tuned into Radio Gobaith—and wherever you are, whatever you’re building, you’re not alone anymore.”

The crowd cheered.
Someone popped a bottle.
Mezzo immediately claimed it as his.

Bonbon jumped into Celeste’s arms, waving a little homemade flag that said “Team Hope!” in wobbly handwriting. Celeste laughed and lifted her higher.

“See, sweetling?” she said softly, eyes bright. “This is what all the terrifying, horrible, very explodey bits are for. So we can have silly little flags and too many people in one park again.”

Lumina, standing beside her, smiled faintly, shading her eyes against the sun.

“It almost feels like… normal world,” she said, ears wiggling. “Like… pre-zombie cartoon episode.”

Celeste’s gaze lingered on the tower, on the light glinting off its crystal spire.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Almost. Like we’ve… stitched a tiny bit of it back together.”

Behind them, the radio tower pulsed once—mana currents syncing through the crystals, connecting every coms-node, every arc-bracer, every surviving transmitter across the city.

For the first time since the apocalypse began, Clawdiff had a voice again.
And that voice was hope.

The sun was sliding lower across the rooftops when the team finally took a breather, plates and mugs scattered across the park benches around Radio Gobaith’s newly glowing tower. The air smelled faintly of fried bread, oil, and ozone from the still-buzzing antenna.

Bonbon was curled up in Lumina’s lap, lazily braiding a bit of her mane while Arcade fiddled with a data crystal that hummed like a tiny heartbeat.

Mezzo leaned back on his elbows, sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose.

“So,” he said, grinning, “how’s everyone feelin’ after our little mythic field trip? I’m still waitin’ on me honorary cape and theme music, by the way.”

Ray chuckled. “They’d give you one if you didn’t try to dance on their sacred fountain.”

“That was art,” Mezzo protested. “Cultural feckin’ exchange!”

Pitch snorted into his drink. “Cultural disaster, more like.”

Hughes let out a hearty laugh, thumping the table. “Still, can’t deny it was impressive. All those mythic clans—they’ve got bits of everything, like patchwork souls stitched with magic. Makes you feel small in the best way.”

Celeste nodded softly, staring down at her paws as if she could still see the trial runes there.
“They were… beautiful,” she said quietly. “Like all their different pieces decided to be friends instead of biting each other. When they pulled my rune out, I felt it right here—” she pressed two fingers gently to her chest “—like someone tugged a loose thread behind my ribs. Just a little sting. Like a reminder I’m not… quite arranged properly.”

“You get used to it,” Mezzo said, rolling his shoulders. “When I’m flyin’ in gryphon form without the rune, I can feel my mana burnin’ faster than I can breathe. Feels brilliant at first, then it’s like your lungs are tryin’ to hop out the nearest exit.”

Lumina tilted her head, Pulled her rune free, her gem catching the last of the sun. “Speaking of…” She poked the glowing pink diamond in her forehead with a little frown. “Why do I have this shiny thing? Shouldn’t it be a horn like yours? Horn seems more pokey.”

Hughes, halfway through a mouthful of toast, raised a hand. “Unicorns get horns, pegasi get wings, alicorns get both—but the royal lines, the old ones, they had forehead gems instead of horns. It’s where the mana focuses. Kind of like a built-in lens.”

“So she’s literally radiant,” Ray said, smirking. “Fitting.”

Lumina’s eyes widened. “Radiant…” She puffed her cheeks. “I am… deluxe model.”

“Oi, and my flames glow purple now,” Ray added proudly, flicking her fingers. Tiny amethyst fire rippled across her knuckles. “Never did that before.”

Pitch leaned back with a grin. “Good. If the lights ever go out, we’ll just use Skye as a lamp.”

Skye puffed up, his fur shimmering faintly with soft bioluminescence. “At least I’d look good doing it!”

He stuck out his tongue. Pitch chuckled.

Arcade peered over the top of his goggles, unimpressed. “You still look like a glow stick at a rave.”

Celeste giggled. “No, no—he looks like he’s powering up for a final boss fight. All he needs is dramatic shouting and about fifteen explosions behind him.”

Arcade paused, considering that. “…Okay, yeah. That’s actually pretty cool.”

“Told you,” Skye said smugly, tail flicking.

Before anyone could add another round of teasing, Plum jogged up, headset crooked, a camera drone hovering at her shoulder.

“Alright, everyone! I’m about to go live—first official broadcast from Radio Gobaith! Try to look heroic. Or at least conscious.”

Mezzo straightened his jacket instantly. “Heroic’s my default, love. Cameras love me.”

Ray rolled her eyes. “You were born loud, not ready.”

“Semantics,” Mezzo said. “Loud is ready.”

Plum gave them a grin. “We’ll be streaming across every com-crystal and arc-bracer in Clawdiff. Let’s show them what hope looks like.”

The team shuffled closer together—still half in their work clothes, still smudged with dust and paint—but when the camera’s little red light flickered on, something changed.

Celeste stood at the center, sunlight glinting in her eyes.
Behind her, the others formed a loose semicircle—laughing, alive, together.

The air in the little park buzzed with nervous excitement. Cables snaked across the grass, crystals hummed in their sockets, and the makeshift radio desk glowed faintly blue beneath Plum’s paws.
She took a deep breath, pressed the switch, and the red rune on the transmitter flared to life.

“Good morning, Clawdiff!” Plum’s voice rang out, bright and steady, her tail swishing behind her. “You’re tuned into Radio Gobaith—your signal of hope across the valley. And we’re kicking things off the only way I know how—”

She flipped a switch.
A distorted guitar riff screamed through the speakers, followed by a familiar gravelly voice.

“Classic rock?” Arcade blinked, ears perking. “Really?”

“You can thank Hughes for that,” Plum said over the mic, grinning.

The old billy goat leaned against the generator with his arms crossed, a proud twinkle in his eye.

“Best thing to wake a city up,” he said. “Ain’t hope without a bit o’ rhythm.”

Mezzo snorted. “You just like songs that were ancient history before you were born, old man.”

“And yet they still sound better than your concerts, lad.” Hughes gave a rare grin—and when Plum turned to him for approval, he even raised a thumbs up.

“That’s a first,” Ray murmured. “She’s earned a blessing from the grumpy mountain himself.”

Plum chuckled into the mic. “And that was ‘Thunder in the Bones,’ dedicated to everyone still kicking, still fighting, and still hungry for a future. You’re not alone out there—”

Then the console crackled.
The cheerful hum turned sharp, jittery.
Static burst across the line.

“—this is—anyone hearing this—!”

The entire team froze. Plum’s ears shot up.

“Patch it through.”

The sound stabilized, just enough to make out the voice—a rough, terrified hybrid.

“We’re under attack! Raiders—south edge of Dock District—there’s fifteen of us! Families, kids—please!”

Another line buzzed in right after, overlapping with the first.

“—this is Council Supply Convoy Nine—multiple hostiles on the East Ridge—need backup! Repeat, we are under—”

Both signals screamed in static and then went dead.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Celeste’s hand hovered over the comm switch, eyes wide. “Two attacks,” she breathed. “At the same time. That’s… that’s not very neighbourly.”

Arcade’s scanners beeped. “Same part of the city. Same insignia, different groups. Someone’s coordinating this.”

Celeste swallowed hard. “Then—then we split?” Her voice wobbled. “If we split wrong, people… don’t get to see next week.”

Ray crossed her arms, sharp-eyed. “You’re the commander, Cel. Decide. Which group do we go after?”

“I—” Celeste’s throat caught. “If we go to the families, the Council convoy might lose vital medicine, and if we go to the convoy first, the kids—” She winced. “I really don’t like this choice.”

The others exchanged uneasy glances.

Ray sighed and stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. “You can’t freeze, Commander. Make a call. Fast.”

Celeste’s heart hammered. The responsibility pressed like a storm in her chest.

And then Hughes stood.
The goat’s heavy boots hit the ground with purpose.

“Enough talk,” he said calmly. “We’ll cover both fronts. I’ll take Ray and Mezzo. We’ll handle the convoy—strongest fighters go where the fire’s thickest. Celeste, you take Pitch. You’re faster, you can flank. Go save those civilians.”

Celeste looked up at him, startled. “But what if I—what if I choose wrong and everything catches fire again and—”

“No buts,” Hughes said gently, but firmly. “You’ve got a knack for getting people out alive. Use it.”

Pitch nodded beside her, loading his shotgun. “I’ll back her up. Been a while since I’ve done a little bandit hunting.”

Bartleby cleared his throat, nervously clutching a satchel. “If I may… I’d like to join them.”

Pitch blinked. “You?”

Bartleby’s whiskers bristled. “I can handle myself. I’ve been practicing with that laser musket the council left me. I can hit a button off a cup at fifty meters.”

Mezzo let out a low whistle. “Alright, sharpshooter. Just don’t shoot us, yeah?”

Pitch sighed. “Fine. But don’t expect me to babysit you, professor.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bartleby muttered, though his ears twitched nervously.

Hughes gave him a firm nod. “Stick close to them, lad. You’ll do fine.”

As the group began to split off, Celeste caught Ray’s sleeve. “Ray—wait.”

Ray turned, expression unreadable.

Celeste hesitated, swallowing. “Um. Could you… not die? Please? I’d really like it if you came back in one piece. Two at most.”

Ray gave her a faint smile, and this time it reached her eyes. “Always am.”

Then she turned away, joining Hughes and Mezzo as they sprinted toward the waiting van.

“Convoy team, let’s move!” Hughes barked.

“Rock and roll!” Mezzo whooped, vaulting onto a bike. “Try not to let us have all the fun, yeah?”

Celeste stood there for a moment, wind tugging at her hair, her pulse still too fast.
Pitch tossed her a look over his shoulder.

“You heard the goat. Let’s move, Commander.”

Celeste took one last breath—deep and shaky, but real—then nodded.
“Alright,” she said softly. “Let’s go untangle this mess and bring them home in one piece. Or… several pieces, but alive, preferably.”

The team scattered across the rising dawn—half toward the convoy, half toward the city’s burning south edge—
and Radio Gobaith stayed on the air, broadcasting rock and hope into a city that desperately needed both.