The flag rippled lazily in the morning breeze, sunlight catching on the silver thread of its embroidered sword. Around the small camp, tools clinked, kettles hissed, and for once, peace lingered.

Celeste stood beside Carys, gazing up at the banner as if afraid it might vanish.

“It’s perfect,” she murmured, her voice warm and soft. “I think everyone will really, really love it.”

Carys smiled, her paws still busy stitching along the hem. “They’d better. I nearly stabbed my thumb to death for it.”

Celeste chuckled—but then frowned, glancing toward the east road. “Where are they, anyway? Hughes, Ray, Mezzo—they should’ve been back by now.”

Carys’s nose twitched. “They should. They left before dawn to scout the freight line, said they’d be back before lunch.” She looked toward the half-packed food crates. “Speaking of lunch—” She reached for a metal tin and handed it to Celeste. “They forgot these.”

Celeste took the box, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You never stop looking after us.”

“Someone’s got to.” Carys straightened, but her smile faded when she caught the scent of dried blood. “Hold on—Pitch is hurt?”

Celeste blinked. “It’s not serious, just a scratch—”

“Scratches get infected,” Carys muttered, grabbing her sparkshot from the weapon rack and checking its charge. Her voice sharpened. “If they’re not back by sundown, something’s wrong.”

Bartleby appeared from a side tent, coat buttoned and paperwork neatly stacked under his arm.
“If anyone’s wondering, I’m heading to the Council drop-point. Report filing, bureaucratic wrangling, potential shouting matches — the usual.”

Celeste raised her eyebrows.
“You’re going to tell them the truth? All of it?”

Bartleby offered a small, scholarly smirk.
“I’ve been studying your team. Honesty seems extraordinarily contagious.”
He adjusted his shoulder strap. “Not to worry — I shall inform them the Knights are performing admirably.”

Carys pursed her lips.
“Do be cautious, Bartleby. The Council is still rather sensitive about the trial results.”

He nodded solemnly.
“If they desired comfort, they would not have sent me.”

Bartleby lingered a few steps behind her.

He adjusted his glasses.

Then adjusted them again.

Then cleared his throat with the careful dread of a man approaching a dragon with paperwork.

“Commander Astallan?”

Celeste turned, ears twitching. “Yes?”

Bartleby’s paws tightened around his satchel strap.

“I wished to apologise. For earlier. Regarding Marzipan.”

Celeste went very still.

“Oh.”

Bartleby winced at once. “Yes. Precisely. Oh.”

Pitch, sitting nearby while Carys inspected the bandage on his shoulder, glanced over with interest.

Bartleby pushed on, brave in the way only deeply uncomfortable scholars could be.

“I did not intend to imply she should be destroyed simply because she is inconvenient to categorise. I spoke… poorly.”

Celeste’s tail gave one small, guarded flick.

Bartleby looked toward the broken skyline, then back at her.

“Perhaps there may be a way to convince the Council to spare her. A scientific curiosity, perhaps. Or a mascot for the Knights. Something symbolic. A sign that even the infected can be studied, managed, possibly even—”

He brightened with the terrible confidence of someone about to make it worse.

“Of course, she would need to be defanged.”

Celeste blinked.

Pitch closed his eyes.

Carys inhaled through her nose.

From beneath the worktable, where he had apparently been repairing a cracked comms crystal while pretending not to listen, Arcade said, “Funny thing.”

Everyone looked at him.

Arcade did not look up from his tools.

“The Mythics used to do that to Purebloods during the Chains of Mana era. Defanging. Horn-cutting. Soul-binding. Tongue charms too, if the old records are accurate.”

Bartleby recoiled as if the words had slapped him.

Arcade tightened a screw.

“Said it made them more obedient.”

The quiet that followed was horrible.

Bartleby’s mouth opened.

Closed.

His ears lowered.

“I…”

He looked properly sick now.

“I did not mean it like that.”

“No,” Arcade said, voice flat. “People usually don’t.”

Celeste looked down at her paws.

Bartleby swallowed hard.

“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “perhaps we could find another use for her. One that does not involve… that.”

Celeste lifted her head.

Her face was soft.

But her eyes were tired.

“We’re useful, Bartleby.”

He froze.

Celeste’s voice stayed gentle, which somehow made it hurt more.

“Hybrids. Mythics. Commoners. Marzipan. All of us. We are very useful.”

Bartleby said nothing.

Celeste looked back up at the banner.

“But not everything has to be.”

The words settled over the camp.

Small.

Quiet.

Uncomfortably true.

Bartleby lowered his gaze.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I see.”

Carys’s paws softened around her needle.

Pitch looked away first, jaw tight.

Arcade finally glanced up from his tools, expression unreadable.

Celeste gave Bartleby a tiny smile. Not bright. Not fixed. But real enough.

“I think she helps because she wants to,” Celeste said. “Or because she likes us. Or because something inside her still remembers how to.”

Bartleby’s throat bobbed.

“Then I shall try to remember that before I speak of usefulness again.”

Celeste nodded.

“Thank you.”

He lifted a paw. “Stay safe, Commander.”

When he vanished down the road, Celeste let out a breath.
“Should we…? You know… go find them?”

Carys hesitated — then nodded decisively.
“Yes. Take Arcade with you. And Bracer — heavens, especially Bracer. I’d rather you weren’t wandering dangerous territory without someone sensible.”

Celeste smiled sheepishly. “You’re really starting to sound like my mum.”

Carys brightened.
“Splendid! Someone has to, darling. Now — go fetch my wandering little disasters.”

Celeste smiled faintly. “Bracer, level-headed. Arcade, less so.”

“Balance,” Carys said with a wink.

Across the yard, Arcade sat cross-legged beside a small, floating robot that looked suspiciously like a wind-up toy. The robot’s painted eyes blinked as it projected a small hologram of Clawdiff’s city map.

Carys crossed her arms primly.
“Arcade, dear, you’ll stretch your legs. Off you go.”

Arcade stared at her.
“Oh. Fantastic. Field trip.”
He grabbed his toolkit with dramatic resignation. “If I get shot, I’m invoicing someone.”

C.H.I.P. chirped in a singsong voice, “Adventure detected! Possible doom! Yay!”

“Not helping,” Arcade muttered, swatting at the air as the tiny machine zipped in circles around his head.

Celeste folded her arms, amused. “We’re checking on Hughes’ squad. They’re late.”

Arcade sighed. “Fine. But if something explodes, I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” she said with a grin.

A shadow fell across them—Bracer, towering, scarred, the kind of wolf who carried authority without needing to raise his voice. His mane was streaked with grey, his stance disciplined.

“You’re not going alone,” he said simply. “Carys told me. I’ll handle the pathfinding. You handle not dying.”

Arcade muttered, “See, that’s exactly what I was gonna say, but with more style.”

Bracer shot him a sidelong look. “Then it’s good I said it first.”

Celeste smiled, feeling a bit of tension ease. “Thank you, Bracer.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, buckling his cloak. “We’re heading toward the district. It’s been quiet, and quiet never means good.”

Lumina popped out of a tent flap, eyes wide and sparkling.
“CAN WE COME TOO?” she chirped, sounding exactly like a ball of sugar shaped into a girl.

Skye peered beside her. “We’ll be super careful!”

Carys shook her head firmly. “Not this time. I need you both for measurements.”

Skye frowned. “Measurements?”

“Scarves,” Carys said matter-of-factly. “Warm ones. Don’t argue.”

The kits groaned but obeyed.

Bonbon toddled out, clutching her panda plush. “Hwyl fawr, Mama!” she squeaked, waving her little paw.

Celeste knelt beside little Bonbon, who was sitting amid her plush army like a tiny queen.
“We’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

As Celeste stood, Bracer gave a curt nod toward the east gate. “Time to move.”

The five of them—Celeste, Bracer, Pitch, Arcade, and the chirping C.H.I.P.—headed out beneath the fluttering new flag.
A dragon’s wing. An alicorn’s wing. A crown and a sword.
Their banner of unity.
Their promise.

Skye and Lumina trudged across the courtyard like two storm clouds in tiny hybrid bodies.

Lumina kicked a pebble so hard it ricocheted off the bunker door.
“I swear, every time. ‘Stay here, kids.’ ‘Too dangerous, kids.’ ‘Go help Carys, kids.’”

Skye walked beside her, arms crossed, tail dragging slightly, ears low.
He spoke quietly, eyes on the ground.
“We literally passed our trials.”
A pause.
“I… faced the Void. It tried to eat me.”
He kicked the dirt. “And they still think I’ll… fall in a pothole. And die.”

Lumina nodded sharply. “We wouldn’t fall in a pothole.”

Skye blinked. “I… might. But not the point.”

Bonbon waddled by holding three plushies at once and absolutely not helping their argument.

Carys poked her head out of the bunker door, a measuring tape around her neck like a battle banner.
“Darlings, could you grab me some thread? Celeste keeps half the textile industry in her drawers.”

Lumina’s tail flicked. “Fine…”

They slunk upstairs to Celeste’s room—warm, messy, overflowing with art supplies, plushies and glitter jars that had been sealed for everyone’s safety.

Skye opened a drawer and immediately inhaled sparkles.
“Glitter bomb—!”

Lumina rolled her eyes. “That’s normal for her.”

She pulled out a wad of thread, some pens, a plush star… then a folded bit of paper fell out.

Coordinates.

She paused.

“Skye… look.”

They pressed their heads together over the note. 51.4816° N, 3.1791° W

Skye tapped his arcbracer. The hologram flickered… then stabilised.

A map appeared.

A blinking dot.
A location.
A label.

SWEETTOOTH HARMONICS — CENTRAL CLAWDIFF.

Both kids froze.

“…Celeste kept this?” Skye whispered.

Lumina’s tail twitched, a soft hum vibrating in her throat — hmm—mmm—hm…

“But why would she hide it?”

Skye swallowed. “Maybe she didn’t want anyone else going near it. Maybe it’s dangerous.”

Lumina didn’t answer at first.
She stared at the pulsing dot — thinking, humming, thinking some more.

Then softly:
“…Or maybe she wanted to go but couldn’t.”

Skye looked at her, something settling behind his eyes.
“And if we went… and brought back whatever’s there…”
He hesitated, cheeks pinking.
“She’d have to stop treating us like… kids.”

They shared a breath.
A small revolution in silence.

Lumina nodded slowly — determined hum building in her chest.
“They don’t trust us. Not really.”

Skye whispered, “Then… we make them trust us.”

The decision landed between them, solid and bright.

They padded back to Carys’s worktable and set the thread down gently.

Carys was mid-measurement of Bonbon’s extremely squishy arms, muttering about “ideal circumference for winter warmth,” while Bonbon giggled like a fizzy little soda.

Lumina turned, humming nervously — mmm-hmm-hmmm — and darted back upstairs to her room.

Skye followed, puzzled.
“What’re you doing? We have to go—”

Lumina snatched something from beside her pillow.

Miss Jellybean.
Her rabbit plush. Wearing a frilly pink Lolita dress.
Complete with bonnet.

Skye blinked.
“…Why are you taking her?”

Lumina hugged the doll to her chest.
“She gets lonely on her own.”

Skye stared.
Then sighed.
Then smiled — shy and exasperated all at once.

“…Fine. Bring Miss Jellybean.”

Lumina brightened, humming a tiny triumphant tune.
Skye reached down and quietly took her hand.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Skye nodded once, steady.
“Yeah.”

They slipped out the back gate together —
Two small hybrids and one very fancy rabbit doll
marching toward the most dangerous building in Clawdiff.

Coordinates glowing.
Hearts racing.
Unaware of what waited ahead.

Carys finished tying off Bonbon’s scarf measurement and turned toward her table.

“Now then, where did those two wander—”

Her voice trailed off.

The thread sat exactly where she’d asked.

But the children were gone.

She leaned out the bunker doorway.
“Lumina? Skye?”
Her voice carried a hopeful lilt — but there was no answer.

Bonbon tilted her head.
“They sneaky-sneaked.”

Carys’s ears lowered.
“Oh no… oh dear no…”

Far above the park, Plum Clippings adjusted her headset, watching storm readings flicker across her screens.

“Uh… Knights? This is a warning,” she said cautiously into the mic. “We’ve got a mana surge building to the north. Looks like… atmospheric instability. Possibly forming into a—”

The tower lights flickered violently.

“—mana storm,” Plum finished quietly.
Her fur stood on end. “A big one.”

She peered out the broken window at the horizon.

A wall of swirling light gathered above the old candy district — violet, gold, and sickly green. Lightning without thunder. Magic without mercy.

“Something’s coming,” she whispered.

Between the broken factories and the sugar-coated rubble, something massive stirred.

A heavy hoof struck the ground — THOOM.
Then another.

The fog parted around a hulking form of jawbreaker plates and cracked candy armour.
A Minotaur.
Its skull made of swirling gemstone candy.
Sugar steam hissed from its nostrils.
Its eyes glowed molten cherry-red.

Behind it, an entire army of candy zombies followed, shambling in unnatural unison.

The Jawbreaker Minotaur, Crackjaw raised its hammer — a massive slab of hardened toffee, fused with broken signage — and bellowed, voice deep enough to make windows tremble.

Celeste, Arcade, Bracer — even Pitch — were nowhere near.

Only Lumina.
Skye.
Miss Jellybean.
And a map they didn’t understand.

The storm cracked open above the monster’s head, showering it in mana-light as it marched toward central Clawdiff…

straight toward the base.