The room looked as though it had once been important.

Not grand, exactly.

A laboratory office buried beneath Sweettooth Harmonics, with frosted glass walls, brass-framed monitors, filing cabinets, and long counters crowded with half-dead equipment. Dust lay thick over everything, softening the sharp edges of machines that had not hummed in years. Cracked screens flickered on standby, casting weak green light across the floor. Old cables hung from the ceiling like vines in a metal jungle.

Everything smelled of rust, sugar, and stale mana.

Celeste moved carefully between the counters, or tried to.

Her tail did not cooperate.

It swished nervously behind her and knocked a stack of folders from a chair.

“Oh—sorry.”

Another flick.

A metal tray clattered to the floor.

“Oh goodness—sorry again.”

Mezzo gave her a look from near the door. “You apologising to the furniture now?”

“It might have feelings. We don’t know what experiments happened here.”

Arcade crouched beside one of the consoles, C.H.I.P. hovering over his shoulder and chirping in tiny alarmed bursts.

“Please don’t emotionally bond with the lab equipment,” he muttered. “Half of it probably violates eleven safety codes and at least three moral ones.”

Celeste bent to pick up the fallen papers.

Then stopped.

On the top sheet was a diagram of a suppression rune.

But not like hers.

Not like Skye’s.

Tiny.

Rounded.

Made for a neck barely larger than her paw.

Celeste’s stomach tightened.

“These are…”

She lifted the paper carefully.

The notes were written in polished Council script, overlaid with Sweettooth Harmonics technical markings.

INFANT-SCALE SUPPRESSION RUNE
EXPERIMENTAL REGULATOR MODEL
FOR EARLY CORE STABILISATION IN HYBRID SUBJECTS

Celeste’s mouth went dry.

“Baby runes,” she whispered.

Arcade looked up sharply. “What?”

Celeste found another paper beneath it. Then another.

Small runes.

Soft-backed regulator plates.

Experimental core dampeners designed for children too young to speak, let alone consent.

Her ears flattened.

On top of the pile sat a cream envelope sealed with black wax.

The seal was House Arcturus.

Celeste opened it with trembling paws.

The letter inside was short.

One word had been written across the proposal in Umbranox’s hard, unmistakable hand.

DENIED.

Beneath it, a note.

No implementation. No trials. No infants.
—U.A.

Celeste let out a breath she had not realised she was holding.

“Oh. Thank stars.”

Mezzo peered over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“Something horrible,” Celeste said softly. “That someone stopped.”

Arcade’s expression darkened. “Or tried to.”

Celeste set the papers aside carefully, as if they might bite.

Her eyes drifted across the counter.

A notice was pinned beneath a cracked piece of glass, half-hidden under a coil of cables.

FACILITY CLEARANCE TRANSFER
PRIVATE RESEARCH ACCESS AUTHORISED
HOUSE CARIAD—

Celeste froze.

House Cariad.

Umbranox’s voice echoed in her head.

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

“Oh,” Celeste whispered.

She reached for the notice.

Her paw brushed the glass.

The old pin snapped.

The paper slipped free, fluttered down the back of the counter, and vanished into the narrow gap behind it.

Celeste stared.

“No.”

She dropped to her knees and shoved one arm into the gap.

Her fingers brushed dust, broken wire, and absolutely not the paper.

“No no no no—come back, important ominous clue!”

Pitch crouched beside her. “Can you reach it?”

Celeste strained, cheek pressed to the counter.

“I can reach three crumbs, a screw, and something furry that I’m choosing not to identify.”

Arcade leaned over. “Move the counter.”

“It’s bolted to the floor,” Mezzo said.

Celeste wriggled her arm deeper. “Topsy? Topsy, can you get this?”

Topsy was still under the table.

Happily.

Crinkling wrappers. Soft munching noises. An occasional satisfied little hum.

Celeste was halfway through forming another plan when she felt it—

A tug.

Not physical.
Deeper than that.

A gentle pull in her core, like a thread tightening… warm, familiar, alive.

She stiffened.

“…Uh—guys?” Topsy said suddenly.

They all turned.

Topsy crawled out from under the table, blinking down at her chest.

“…Why am I shiny?”

She was glowing.

No—glittering.

From the center of her chest, a warm radiant light pulsed outward in rainbow hues. Sparks of colour danced over her shoulders, spinning and refracting like a disco ball had detonated inside her ribcage. Confetti-light spilled across the walls.

Celeste’s breath caught.
“Oh—Topsy, you’re—um—glowing?” she said softly. “Is that… supposed to happen?”

“I THINK I’M ASCENDING!” Topsy shrieked.

The air fwoomped.

With a loud, celebratory POP, a giant candy-striped rocket launcher materialised in Topsy’s hands.

Pink and teal spirals.
Confetti decals.
Heart stickers.
A glittery emblem that was absolutely not regulation.

The weapon hit the floor with a heavy CLUNK—and immediately detonated a harmless burst of fireworks and rainbow streamers straight into the ceiling.

The name stencilled along the side shimmered into place:

THE PARTY CRASHER

“OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH I HAVE A WEAPON!”

Topsy bounced in place, hugging the launcher like a plushie.

“I KNEW this would happen eventually!” she squealed. “I’M PART OF THE TEAM NOW! WOOHOO!”

She bolted across the room and slammed into Celeste with a crushing, glitter-coated hug.

“You have NO idea how long I’ve waited for this!” Topsy babbled. “I get a weapon! A REAL weapon! I’m not just the snack scout anymore!”

Celeste—now sparkling faintly like a cursed magical idol—laughed breathlessly.

“Oh—wow—okay—yes—hi—” she managed, hugging her back. “I mean—welcome. Um. Officially. To the team. Please don’t fire that indoors?”

Topsy beamed so hard it was frankly dangerous.

“Don’t worry!” she declared, cradling the launcher. “I’ll help you take care of Gideon until he stops pouting and stops being a Meanie Beanie.”

She leaned in and whispered lovingly to the weapon.

“You and me, ‘Splodey-Boi. We’re gonna make art.”

Arcade stared.

Blink.

Blink.

“…We’re all gonna die,” he muttered.

Celeste tilted her head, eyes shining as she admired the launcher despite everything.

“It’s… actually really kawaii,” she said thoughtfully. “In a—terrifying way.”

Before anyone could respond—

A zombie came charging down the corridor, screeching.

Mezzo moved without hesitation.

One clean swing.

Candy shards exploded as the creature dropped.

Mezzo didn’t even look back.
“That’s our cue—right, legs, don’t fail me now.”

He shifted into a runner’s stance, eyes locked toward the observation wing.

“I’m getting the kids. No discussion. Watch my back—or don’t—but I’m movin’.”

Celeste’s grip tightened on her blades.

Topsy hoisted the Party Crasher with a delighted grunt.
“SHOTGUN—BUT LIKE, THE FUN KIND.”

Mezzo took off like a bullet.

The corridor blurred—lights streaking, alarms screaming—until—

WHAM.

He slammed shoulder-first into a reinforced bulkhead.

“STARS—! Okay—okay—walls are still a thing—good to know!”
He shook his head hard.
“Right. Brain first. Then feet. Then screaming.”

He recalculated, eyes snapping up—

—and there they were.

Ahead, through the shattered observation window: Lumina and Skye, pressed flat against the glass as a wall of zombies piled up beneath them. Candy hands clawed. Jaws snapped. The glass bowed with every impact.

In the hallway, Council soldiers fought desperately, rifles barking. Some held the line. Some were already being dragged down, screams cut short under fizzing sugar and teeth.

Lumina’s breath hitched.

She felt it—
a surge.

Mana flared hot through her chest.

With a startled gasp, her sword flashed into existence—

—and immediately clattered to the floor.

“No—no—!” Lumina whimpered, humming desperately, palms still braced to the glass. She couldn’t let go. If she did—

Skye tried to lift his card launcher.

Nothing.

His hands shook.
“I—I can’t—there’s no angle—”

Mezzo let out a feral, frustrated yell—half battle cry, half pure adrenaline—
“COME ON THEN! LET’S GO! I’VE HAD WORSE DAYS THAN YOU, YOU GUMMY BASTARDS!”

He was there in a blink, axe spinning as he ploughed into the horde. Heads flew. Candy bodies detonated in sticky bursts. He carved a path, teeth bared, wings flaring—

But there were too many.

“Topsy—NOW—RIGHT NOW—PLEASE TELL ME YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING—”

Topsy planted her feet, eyes shining, hoisting The Party Crasher.

“OKAY SPL—”

“NO!” Arcade screamed, diving for her barrel. “FIRING THAT IN A HALLWAY WILL KILL EVERYONE—INCLUDING US—”

The launcher whined ominously.

Arcade wrestled it down just as—

Celeste broke into a run.

“LUMINA—!”

She crossed the threshold—

—and the air locked.

A translucent grid snapped into place around her.

Stasis field.

She hit it hard, palms slamming against invisible force.

“No—no, please—!” she gasped, panic flaring. “Wait—wait—let me through—she’s my sister—!”

Footsteps echoed calmly behind her.

The gunfire faltered.

Lord Rex Gideon stepped into view.

He looked up—

—and froze.

For the first time, his mask cracked.

“Stars……Well. This is unexpected.”

His eyes locked on Celeste, wide with something like genuine shock.

“…It’s you?” he murmured, almost pleased. “How very inconvenient.”

Celeste stared back, chest heaving.
“Me?” she echoed faintly. “I—sorry—do we… know each other?”

Gideon blinked once. Then twice.

He straightened, composure snapping back into place like a well-worn coat.

“Well,” he said lightly, straightening his cuffs as if preparing for a dinner party.
“This place does attract strays, but you?”
A thin smile.
“You’re a collector’s item.”

His gaze flicked over her face—searching.

And then he frowned.

Slowly.

Realisation dawned.

“…You truly have no idea,” he said softly, with open delight. “Oh, that’s delicious.”

Celeste’s claws curled into fists against the stasis field.

“Know… what?” she asked, voice small but fierce. “I really don’t like how you’re saying that.”

Behind her, the glass cracked.

Lumina screamed.

Mezzo bellowed and swung again.

The field hummed.

Gideon’s smile thinned.

“It scarcely matters,” he replied, voice bored and brittle.
“You’re trespassing, darling. And that… rodent has something that belongs to me.”
A pause.
“I’m quite fond of my things.”

Topsy popped her head out from behind a console, offended.
“I am a squirrel.”

A gunshot cracked.

The bullet tore past her ear, clipping fur.

“EEP—!” Topsy shrieked and vanished behind the wall, tail a blur.

Celeste surged against the stasis field.
My sister and her friend are trapped!” she cried. “They’re just children—I—I came to help, that’s all—!”

Gideon’s eyes flicked—once—to the cracked glass, the pressing horde, the children braced there.

Then back to Celeste.

“Tell me,” he said pleasantly, as if asking about the weather,
“what precisely do you think you’ve discovered?”
His smile sharpened.
“I despise surprises I didn’t commission.”

Celeste shook her head, breath ragged.
“I don’t—honestly—I just arrived! I don’t know your secrets or your plans or—anything! They’re just hiding from the storm—please—”

Gideon studied her—calculating. Cold.

He sighed.
“…How tiresome.”
Then, calmly:
“No. None of you leaves.”
A flicker of amusement.
“Except, perhaps, the ones I find useful.”

His gaze sharpened.
“I require you,” he corrected mildly.
“And your sister.”
A beat.
“Alive is preferable. Cooperative is optional.”

Celeste’s ears flattened.
“I—I’m on a mission from Lady Umbranox,” she said, swallowing hard. “So—um—sorry. I can’t stay.”

Gideon’s jaw tightened.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, raising the pistol with lazy precision,
“I stopped offering options years ago.”

The air howled.

BOOM.

A deafening party toot blasted through the corridor as a cloud of glitter and rainbow fog exploded outward—confetti raining, fireworks popping, candy-sweet smoke flooding the space.

“SORRY—NOT SORRY!” Topsy’s voice echoed triumphantly.

The Party Crasher had fired.

The floor gave way.

Concrete screamed. Metal sheared. The world dropped out.

Celeste felt the stasis field shatter—

—and then she was falling.

Not fast. Not slow.

Just… endlessly.

Wind tore past her ears, her stomach locked somewhere above her heart, the darkness stretching on and on like it had all the time in the world. Panic fluttered, then dulled, then came back sharper.

Then—

Someone fell beside her.

Pads, silent as thought.

She turned her head mid-plummet.

The Lynx drifted there as if gravity were a polite suggestion, tail swaying, eyes bright with reflected starlight.

“What are you running from?” he asked mildly.

Celeste blinked at him, half-hysterical.
“I’m not running,” she snapped. “I’m falling.”
She flailed a little. “Also—how did you even get here?!”

The Lynx hummed.
“You’ve been running for a while now,” he said. “From the past. From your decisions. From yourself.”
A pause.
“There’s rather a lot to unpack.”

Celeste swallowed.
“I’m trying,” she said quietly. “I really am. I just—things keep happening faster than I can think.”
She looked down into the endless dark.
“And how deep is this hole?”

The Lynx’s ears twitched.
“We can fall forever,” he said. “Or we can climb out.”
He glanced at her.
“And you desperately need to start climbing.”

Celeste huffed weakly.
“Captain Vague, I really think I’m going to die any minute now. I’ve been falling for—like—five minutes.”
Her voice wobbled.
“Could you maybe help? Just a little?”

The Lynx smiled.

“I think I can help,” he said. “I think I can do many things.”
His tone softened, turning grave.
“But first, I need to tell you something instead.”

His eyes locked onto hers.

“You are running out of time, Mamgoleuni.”
The word echoed in her chest.
“You must face yourself instead of falling away from it. Those guided by your light are fracturing.”
A beat.
“You must call them back to you.”

Celeste felt the fall suddenly speed up.

Panic clawed up her throat.

“I—I can’t!” she cried, reaching blindly into the darkness. “Please help—I’m scared. I don’t want to hit the bottom. I don’t know what’s there!”

The Lynx’s smile turned gentle.

“Reach out,” he said. “And there you will find harbour.”

She did.

Her fingers slammed into something solid.

A ledge.

The world snapped back into focus.

Celeste gasped and opened her eyes as her feet hit the floor with a soft, stunned thud.

She stumbled forward, catching herself on her hands.

Silence.

Dust drifted lazily.

She looked up.

The hole above her was small—no more than a story high.

Her heart hammered.

“…What?” she whispered.

The Lynx was gone.

In his place, lying neatly on the floor as if it had always belonged there, was a keycard.

Black metal. Etched lettering.

TEMPEST WING — AUTHORIZED ACCESS

Celeste picked it up slowly, turning it over in her paws.

Her legs still trembled.

Her chest still felt like she’d fallen for miles.

“…Why,” she murmured to the empty room, “did it feel like forever?”

Somewhere far above, alarms wailed.

And now—

Celeste Astallan was standing on solid ground again.

Whether she was ready or not.