The Knights carried on, limping through the quiet streets until the glow of the Egg Tree lights flickered up ahead—the park-turned-base.

Their home.

The smell of tea, oil, and fried bread drifted faintly in the air, comforting and tired.

And then Celeste stopped short.

Carys sat outside one of the repaired tents, needle and thread in hand, working by lantern light. A stretch of deep navy cloth hung between two poles, her paws moving with care.

“Ah! There you are,” Carys said without looking up, a smile tugging her lips. “Goodness, you all look dreadfully rumpled but delightfully alive.”

Pitch groaned. “Barely.”

Celeste tilted her head, stepping closer—and her breath caught.

On the fabric, a symbol was taking shape: a dragon’s wing unfurled on one side, an alicorn’s wing mirrored on the other. Between them, a golden crown encircled by a single sword pointing downward.

Carys tied off a thread, cheeks pink with pride.

“Well,” she said, brushing hair from her face, “I thought the Knights of Clawdiff deserved something to stand under. Something that says you’re still here. Still fighting. Still… wonderfully stubborn.”

Celeste’s eyes shimmered faintly in the lantern glow.

“Carys… it’s beautiful.”

Carys gave a modest shrug.

“It’s a start. A banner’s not much, but it’s something to believe in.”

Pitch smirked tiredly, crossing his arms.

“You sew fast for someone who can’t even cook beans without starting a fire.”

Carys shot Pitch a warning look.

“And yet somehow, you’re the one who keeps coming back burned.”

Pitch opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and just shrugged in defeat.

Celeste laughed—a soft, bubbling little sound that lifted the weight from everyone’s shoulders. She reached up, brushing her paw along the edge of the banner.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered. “A dragon and an alicorn. Fire and light. Balance.”

Carys tied off the final thread, fingertips lingering against the cloth.

“Well, yes, precisely,” she said warmly. “You can’t have one without the other, don’t you think?”

Celeste tilted her head, studying the two wings again—the sweeping dragon wing, the elegant alicorn feathers. A gentle curiosity flickered in her expression.

“Carys… why did you choose those?” she asked softly. “Why those two in particular?”

Carys froze for half a heartbeat.

Then her cheeks flushed pink beneath her fur.

“Oh—oh goodness, well—it’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” she stammered in her lovely Albryne lilt. “You’re our commander, Celeste. Our first second-generation hybrid. I thought… well… it should mean something.”

Celeste blinked.

“Mean something?”

Carys nodded, fidgeting with her needle.

“Hybrids are dual-natured. Two sides. Two histories. Two heritages working as one. A dragon and an alicorn—fierce strength and radiant magic.”

She smiled shyly.

“And you… you’re both, Celeste. You embody that balance. I thought it was symbolic. Hopeful. And perhaps…”

Her voice softened, trembling just a little.

“…perhaps you won’t be the last second-generation hybrid if we keep fighting for this world.”

Celeste’s breath caught.

“Oh goodness,” she whispered, eyes shimmering. “Carys… that means so much.”

Then she wrapped her arms around Carys in a sudden, heartfelt hug.

“Thank you. Truly. I’ll… I’ll try to be worthy of it.”

Carys gave a soft laugh, hugging her back tightly.

“You’re such a big softy,” she murmured fondly. “But that’s all right. Better you than Mezzo—gryphon wings are terribly complicated to sew. But—oh! Don’t tell Mezzo I said that. He’ll be insufferable for weeks.”

Celeste giggled into her shoulder.

Pitch snorted. “He’s already insufferable for weeks.”

Carys swatted him lightly with a folded scrap of fabric.

“Yes, but we love him despite it.”

The banner above them fluttered proudly in the cool dawn breeze—dragon wing, alicorn wing, a sword, a crown.

Pitch crossed his arms, smirk returning.

“Guess we’ve got ourselves a flag.”

Carys looked up at it, hope warming her voice.

“No,” she said softly. “We’ve got ourselves a future.”

“Knight Commander Astallan?”

Celeste turned.

A white chow chow stood a few paces away, almost swallowed by a pile of bags, rolled leather, metal cases, measuring tapes, and fabric samples slung over both arms. She wore welding goggles pushed up onto her forehead, thick gloves, and a tattered outfit that screamed function over form with the confidence of someone who had once set fashion on fire and decided the ashes were more practical.

Her fur was fluffy.

Her expression was not.

Her accent was crisp, polished, and painfully posh.

Celeste blinked. “Um—yes? Hello, I’m—”

“Oh yes,” Carys said brightly. “She’s been asking for you since you left.”

The chow chow stepped forward.

Celeste attempted a polite smile. “I’m Celeste Astallan, it’s very nice to—”

The chow caught Celeste’s wrist, tapped her arcbracer twice, and somehow accessed three layers of data before Celeste finished inhaling.

Celeste froze.

“Oh.”

Lines of blue light streamed from the bracer, scanning over Celeste’s body from ears to boots.

“Mm-hm,” the chow murmured. “Height inconsistent under stress. Wing deployment suppressed. Horn manifestation suppressed. Tail clearance required. Gem resonance masked. Shoulder flexibility above projected average.”

Celeste stared at her. “I’m sorry, are we… friends?”

“Arms out, please.”

Celeste obeyed out of pure confusion.

The chow chow moved like a storm wearing tool belts.

A measuring tape snapped around Celeste’s waist.

Then her shoulders.

Then her arms.

Then one ear.

Celeste squeaked.

“Oh! Goodness. That’s attached.”

“Ear clearance noted.”

“I’m very glad.”

The chow pinched the sleeve of Celeste’s coat, frowned, scribbled something on a tiny clipboard, then crouched to measure her inseam with alarming seriousness.

Celeste tried very hard to stand still.

Every inch of her was measured, pinched, turned, assessed, and documented. Her tail was lifted. Her coat hem was tugged. Her boot was inspected. Her gait was judged by a woman who looked deeply unimpressed by gravity itself.

Then the chow stepped behind her.

Celeste’s ears twitched. “Um?”

“Full manifestation required.”

Celeste’s eyes widened. “Full what now?”

The chow’s gloved fingers found the stabiliser rune at the back of Celeste’s neck.

Carys’s needle paused.

Pitch straightened. “Uh—”

Before anyone could object, Lady Ivory yanked the rune free.

The world exploded blue-white.

Celeste gasped as mana burst out of her in a radiant shockwave, flattening the grass in a perfect circle around her. Her coat snapped in the blast. Lanterns flickered. Carys grabbed the banner before it could sail away into the morning. Pitch threw up one arm as loose feathers and sparks whirled past him.

Wings unfurled from Celeste’s back in a violent sweep of light and feathers.

Her crystal dragon horns flashed into place, shining like carved moonstone.

The alicorn gem bloomed on her forehead, bright and pulsing.

For one breath, Celeste stood there glowing, horrified, magnificent, and making a very small squeaking noise.

Lady Ivory smiled.

Not warmly.

Professionally.

“Ah. There we are.”

Celeste’s wings trembled at full span.

“I—please—warning would have been lovely—”

“Hold still.”

The measuring tape snapped out again.

Celeste stared at her. “You’re measuring them?”

“Yes.”

“My wings?”

“Yes.”

“My horns?”

“Yes.”

“My very startled soul?”

“If it affects armour clearance, eventually.”

Celeste opened her mouth.

Lady Ivory was already beside her, measuring the curve of one wing from shoulder joint to feather-tip with terrifying speed. She checked the membrane stress points, feather spread, horn angle, horn base, gem projection, brow clearance, and the distance between wing roots.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Asymmetrical stress during sudden deployment. Feather structure stronger than expected. Horns crystalline but not brittle. Forehead gem will require a reinforced open setting. No pressure across the brow. Absolutely no helmets unless custom-built.”

Celeste’s eyes crossed slightly as Ivory measured between her horns.

“I feel like a very magical wardrobe.”

“An armoured wardrobe.”

“That’s worse.”

“More survivable.”

Before Celeste could protest further, Lady Ivory slammed the stabiliser rune back into place.

The wings vanished with a soft crack of displaced mana.

The horns snapped away.

The gem dimmed beneath the skin of her brow.

Celeste dropped into a seated heap on the grass like her bones had briefly resigned from service.

Lady Ivory straightened.

“Thank you. That is all I needed.”

Celeste stared up at her from the ground.

“Wait,” she said faintly. “Who are you?”

The chow had already moved on to Pitch.

Pitch took one step back. “Absolutely not.”

She caught his sleeve.

“Arm out.”

“No.”

“Arm out, please.”

Pitch hesitated.

The chow stared at him.

Pitch sighed and stuck out his arm.

The tape snapped around his bicep.

The chow spoke without looking up. “Umbranox sent me. I am making your armour.”

Celeste’s ears perked from the floor.

“She did?”

The chow turned, goggles glinting. “Yes.”

Celeste blinked. “For all of us?”

“Naturally. I already have approximate measurements for your companions based on the washing hanging in the tree, movement footage from your arcbracer, and gait analysis from public defence recordings.”

Celeste stared.

“You can tell measurements from laundry?”

The chow smiled.

It was small.

Dangerous.

“I am very good at my job.”

Carys leaned toward Celeste and whispered, “Poor Arcade was not prepared for her.”

From somewhere inside the base, Arcade shouted, “I heard that, and I’m still emotionally processing it!”

The chow ignored this.

“Right,” she said, scribbling briskly as she measured Pitch’s shoulders. “You are going to need chainmail reinforcement for zombie bites, but nothing too heavy or you’ll lose speed. Lightweight Astraen mesh may work for that, assuming I can make it flexible enough without swearing at it for six hours.”

Pitch looked offended. “I’m fast.”

“Yes. And dramatic. Hold still.”

He held still.

“Flameproof cloth is essential,” she continued. “Waterproof boots, obviously. Spring insoles for jumping. Landing absorption if you are flying. Impact bracing at the knees. Reinforced cuffs. Quick-release seams.”

Celeste raised a paw. “Mezzo can run very fast.”

The chow did not miss a beat.

“Extra-tough soles, then. Grip-lined. Replaceable tread. Adjustable holes in the back for wings and tails in case of partial manifestation.”

Celeste sat up a little straighter.

“Oh, that’s clever.”

“I know.”

Carys smiled into her sewing.

The chow snapped the tape away from Pitch and tucked it into a side pouch.

“Thank you, Commander. I’ll be with you again soon.”

She began to walk off.

Celeste gasped.

“Oh! Wait! Don’t forget pockets.”

The chow stopped.

Celeste rose to her knees, suddenly very serious.

“Lots of pockets. Please. I’m always losing things, and sometimes the things are important, and sometimes they are jam, and I would like both categories safely contained.”

The chow looked back at her.

For the first time, her smile softened.

“Pockets. Noted.”

Then she walked off toward the main workshop tent, already muttering about bite plates, wing slits, elastic reinforcement, and why no one in this organisation knew how to fold trousers properly.

Celeste watched her go.

Then slowly turned to Bartleby.

“Who was that?”

Bartleby adjusted his glasses.

“Oh. That was Lady Ivory Asquith.”

Celeste went pale.

“I just let a noble measure my tail.”

Pitch snorted.

Celeste’s panic bloomed instantly.

“Did I disrespect a noble? Oh my stars, Umbranox is going to kill me. Or worse, give me a lecture. A quiet lecture. Those are the deadly ones.”

Bartleby lifted both hands calmly.

“Relax. Lady Ivory is a minor lady, like myself. Not an heir. We simply do the things the Council wants done but cannot trust the paid staff to do.”

Celeste stared at him.

“That doesn’t make me feel less rude.”

“It should. Minor nobles are generally used to being ignored until something expensive breaks.”

Pitch flexed his newly measured arm with a wince.

“Well, she’s terrifying.”

Carys tied off another stitch, smiling.

“Yes,” she said fondly. “But imagine the pockets.”

Celeste’s eyes widened.

“Oh.”

For one blessed heartbeat, the entire apocalypse became slightly more manageable.