The radio static still hissed faintly through the speakers as the Knights scrambled to gear up.

Boots thudded against the ground. Weapons primed. Comms crystals hummed as they synced to Celeste’s core. The air smelled like ozone and adrenaline.

The Egg Tree base had gone from sleepy morning chaos to organised panic in under three minutes.

Arcade crouched over the transmitter, goggles glowing faint green as lines of mana-data flickered across his lenses. Skye hurried past him with a satchel of medical crystals clutched to his chest. Hughes checked the rifle across his back with the calm efficiency of someone who had been expecting everything to go wrong since breakfast.

Then Celeste’s arcbracer shrieked.

Not rang.

Shrieked.

Celeste yelped so hard she nearly dropped both katanas.

“Oh stars—! I’m awake! I’m armed! Please don’t explode!”

Arcade looked up from the transmitter. “It’s a call.”

“I knew that.”

“You tried to stab it.”

“It surprised me.”

The bracer flashed once, then projected a small blue-gold image above her wrist.

Caedrix Umbranox Arcturus appeared in miniature, sharp-eyed and composed despite the static crackling through the feed. Behind her, Council lights flickered across polished stone and brass machinery.

Celeste straightened so fast her tail puffed.

“Lady Umbranox!”

“Knight Commander,” Umbranox said, voice dry. “How did your training go?”

Celeste’s ears twitched.

The others all went extremely quiet in that very suspicious way people went quiet when they knew the answer was bad and wanted to hear someone else say it.

Celeste smiled.

It was the smile of a girl attempting treason against reality.

“It was fine.”

Umbranox stared at her.

Celeste held the smile.

Umbranox’s eyebrow rose by one devastating millimetre.

Celeste’s smile began to die.

“No need to tell me,” Umbranox said. “I already know.”

Celeste blinked.

Then immediately began talking too fast.

“Oh, good. Well. Not good that you know. I mean, good that information is flowing. Communication is important. Very important. Especially when the training involves, um, a very small amount of structural damage.”

Arcade coughed.

Ray muttered, “Small.”

Celeste continued, “And I would like to clarify that any rumours about me opening the sky are probably exaggerated. Not false, exactly. Just… emotionally inflated.”

Umbranox’s mouth twitched.

“Noted.”

Celeste’s ears went pink.

Umbranox’s expression sharpened back into command.

“There may be a mana storm moving through Clawdiff today. Reports are conflicting, but the readings are irregular enough that I want you all cautious.”

Hughes lifted his head. “Natural storm?”

“If we are fortunate,” Umbranox said. “Which we rarely are.”

Pitch groaned softly. “Great. Sky problems.”

“That is not all,” Umbranox continued. “We are also receiving conflicting reports of a large horde of candy undead moving through the lower districts. Some witnesses place them near the old canal routes. Others claim they are heading toward the Dock District.”

Celeste’s hand tightened around her bracer.

“A large horde?”

“Yes. Watch yourselves. Do not split too far unless necessary, and do not assume the first report is accurate. Fog and panic are making everyone unreliable.”

Bartleby, already looking nervous, adjusted his glasses. “That is… deeply comforting.”

Umbranox’s gaze flicked toward him. “Good morning, Bartleby.”

He stiffened. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Try not to die. Your replacement would irritate me.”

“I shall take that as encouragement.”

“You should.”

Her gaze returned to Celeste.

“One more thing, Knight Commander.”

Celeste swallowed. “Yes?”

“Any information you uncover regarding Zygurr or House Cariad would be appreciated.”

Celeste blinked.

“House Cariad?”

Umbranox watched her carefully.

“Yes.”

Celeste glanced at the others, confused. “I… don’t know anything about House Cariad.”

“Then learn carefully. And if you hear the name, do not ignore it.”

Celeste nodded, though her brow remained furrowed.

“Right. Zygurr and House Cariad. Watch for zombies. Avoid mana storm. Don’t die. That’s… a very full list.”

“Welcome to command.”

Celeste gave a tiny, nervous laugh.

Umbranox’s voice softened by the smallest degree.

“Be careful, Celeste.”

That made her go still.

Then she nodded.

“I will.”

The projection flickered.

Then vanished.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Pitch said, “So. Casual morning.”

Ray cracked her knuckles. “I miss breakfast.”

Arcade crouched over the transmitter again, his goggles glowing faint green.

“Alright, before you all start charging off like sugar-high squirrels—remember, the radius.”

Celeste blinked. “Radius?”

Arcade looked up at her over the rim of his goggles. “Yeah, sunshine. The link from your core only stretches so far. Your mana field keeps the rest of us synced. If you get too far apart, your bracers lose stability. Think of it like… a really annoying magical Wi-Fi drop.”

Pitch groaned. “Perfect. Mythic router problems.”

Hughes straightened his jacket and adjusted the rifle on his back.

“We’ll manage. It’s only a street away. Once we’ve handled the convoy, we’ll regroup at the crossroads.”

Arcade frowned but nodded reluctantly.

“Fine. Just don’t push it. If the signal cuts, I won’t be able to track your vitals or energy feedback. And when that happens—”

“We’re on our own. Aye, got it,” Hughes interrupted, voice steady.

He gave Arcade a firm pat on the shoulder.

“Relax, lad. We’ve danced with worse.”

Arcade muttered something about “last famous words” as Hughes turned to the others.

“Alright. Mezzo, Ray, with me. Pitch, Celeste, Bartleby—you take the Dock District. Quick and quiet.”

Everyone moved in unison, splitting into their squads. The sound of boots, crackling comms, and the hum of engine cores filled the park.

As Hughes’s team jogged toward the bikes, Mezzo glanced over his shoulder, catching the look on Celeste’s face—hesitant, torn.

He grinned faintly.

“We’ll handle it, love. Just don’t break anything I can’t fix, yeah?”

Celeste forced a small smile.

“No promises.”

They took off, dust swirling, engines flaring blue as the three of them disappeared down the street.

Half a block later, Mezzo slowed his pace slightly, his grin fading.

“What’s up back there?”

Ray walked beside him, eyes fixed ahead, her tail flicking like a metronome of frustration.

“Nothing,” she said at first, then exhaled sharply. “Just wish she’d take charge for once. Stop second-guessing everything.”

Mezzo raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk about self-doubt.”

“Difference is, I fake confidence better,” Ray muttered. “She’s got the kind of power people write songs about—and she still acts like she’s asking permission to breathe.”

Hughes, riding just ahead, caught the tail end of it but said nothing.

He understood both sides too well.

The weight of command.

The cost of hesitation.

Everyone moved in unison, splitting into their squads. The sound of boots, crackling comms, and the hum of engine cores filled the park.

The route carried them along the old elevated tramline, where the broken rails still hummed faintly with emergency mana. From up there, Clawdiff spread beneath them in layers.

And the lie of the city was impossible to miss.

To the north, the Royal Quarter glittered behind sealed wards.

Gold domes. White towers. Clean streets. Garden balconies misted by private weather charms. Elegant Pureblood families moved beneath glass awnings as if nothing had happened at all. Servants carried tea trays. Clockwork carriages rolled silently along polished roads. A pair of children in embroidered coats chased a toy dragon between sculpted hedges while a governess clapped politely.

The sky above them shimmered with reinforced mana barriers.

No candy undead.

No smoke.

No hunger.

No panic.

Below that, everything else was Clawdiff.

Ordinary Purebloods, Mythics, and Hybrids had dragged furniture, carts, broken signs, and factory shutters into makeshift barricades. Mana barriers flickered weakly across whole streets, patched with scavenged batteries and prayer charms. People were growing food wherever they could—bean vines crawling up lampposts, mushrooms sprouting from cellar grates, emergency herb beds in cracked gutters and window boxes.

A family stirred a pot over a barrel fire.

Two children carried water in chipped teapots.

A Mythic grandmother sat beneath a railway arch, coaxing pale green leaves from a wooden crate with shaking hands while a Pureblood boy watched her like she was performing a miracle.

Ray’s lip curled.

“Of course,” she muttered. “Got to keep the nobles happy while everyone else starves.”

Mezzo’s grin had vanished.

Even he had no joke ready.

Hughes rode ahead, his expression hard beneath the brim of his hat.

“That’s why this convoy matters,” he said. “Supplies are being pulled from old vaults. Food, medicine, ward crystals, water filters. They’re meant for the common districts.”

Ray looked toward the sealed Royal Quarter again, disgust plain on her face.

“Meant for.”

“Aye,” Hughes said. “That’s the trouble.”

Their bikes dipped lower, engines whining as they passed above a street where a group of civilians were painting warning marks on boarded doors.

Hughes continued, “Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone counted how many people actually live in the Warrens and Rustrows. Official numbers never did care much for folk under the floorboards.”

Ray’s ears flicked back.

Mezzo glanced at him. “You sound like you’ve got the whole city map in your head.”

“I’ve got Bartleby.”

Mezzo blinked.

Hughes gave him a sideways look. “He keeps me updated. You too, if you opened your ears once in a while.”

Mezzo placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

“Bartleby is white noise to me.”

Ray snorted. “That’s because he uses words with more than two syllables.”

“I understood syllables. Didn’t like them.”

Hughes shook his head, but his mouth twitched.

Then his expression sobered again.

“Supply routes are collapsing. Raiders are filling the gaps. Anyone who can pick up a gun is trying to take ground while the army’s distracted.”

Ray looked sharply at him.

“The army’s still in the Warrens.”

“Aye,” Hughes said.

The street below opened into one of the old Warrens entrances. The stairwell was barricaded with steel plating, steam pipes, and overturned troop carts. Distant flashes of gunfire pulsed from below, muffled by earth and stone.

Hughes’s voice dropped.

“And I don’t think they’re winning.”

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Only the engines hummed.

Only Radio Gobaith whispered through the comms beneath the static.

“You’re not alone out there. Keep moving. Keep believing. Hope is still on the air.”

Ray exhaled slowly.

“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Mezzo looked down at the streets, at the crowds gathering near barricades, at people clutching kitchen knives, hunting rifles, mana charms, anything that looked like hope if held tightly enough.

“There’s only a few of us,” Ray said.

Mezzo’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Maybe we need more hybrids on the team.”

Ray glanced at him.

He grinned, but there was less mischief in it than usual.

“Yeah. A whole army.”

Hughes did not laugh.

He looked back at them over his shoulder.

“Do you think Celeste can handle that?”

The question cut cleaner than either of them expected.

Mezzo opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Ray’s tail stopped flicking.

For all her fire, even she hesitated.

Celeste with one team already looked like she was carrying the sky on her back. Celeste with an army of hybrid cores tied to hers…

That was a different kind of weight.

Mezzo looked away first.

“She’d try.”

“Aye,” Hughes said quietly. “That’s what worries me.”

Ray stared ahead, jaw tight.

The Royal Quarter glittered behind them.

The Warrens burned below.

And somewhere in the fog, a convoy needed saving.

“She needs to get stronger,” Ray said at last.

Mezzo glanced at her.

Ray’s voice was firm now, but not cruel.

“We all do. But especially her. We can’t keep treating her like she’ll break if someone asks her to stand up straight.”

Hughes watched her for a long second.

“And if pushing her breaks her faster?”

Ray swallowed.

Then lifted her chin.

“Then we learn how to push without snapping her.”

Mezzo’s face softened.

“That sounded almost wise.”

Ray pointed at him without looking. “Tell anyone and I’ll deny it.”

Hughes gave a low chuckle, then faced forward again.

“Hold that thought. Convoy’s two streets ahead.”

Ahead of them, through the fog, gunfire cracked.

Mezzo reached for his weapon.

Ray’s hands lit with phoenix flame.

Hughes lowered his shoulders, old instincts settling over him like armour.

“Right then,” he said. “Let’s make sure the common folk get their breakfast.”