Before the assembled forces could begin their formal march, the war chamber fractured into questions.

Not loud enough to be mutiny.

Not quite.

But close enough that every officer in the room suddenly became very aware of where Lady Umbranox stood.

A naval captain near the left dais cleared his throat. “Where is General Brimstone?”

Several heads turned.

Another officer, armour still marked with dust from the lower tunnels, added, “His infantry should be here. If we’re moving against the kraken, we need heavy ground support.”

Umbranox’s gaze remained on the battle map.

“General Brimstone’s forces are still in the Warrens,” she said. “They are keeping the bulk of the candy undead underground until reinforcements can be sent. I’m afraid we are cut off from our heavy infantry.”

A murmur passed through the chamber.

“We really could have done with him today,” one officer said carefully. “Why send him there?”

The question landed badly.

Umbranox looked up.

For one sharp second, Celeste saw it—the flicker of insult behind her eyes. Not because the question was unfair, perhaps, but because it sounded close enough to accusation.

Close enough to incompetence.

“It was assumed,” Umbranox said, voice cold enough to frost brass, “that the primary breach was emerging from below. The Warrens were overwhelmed first. Multiple tunnel routes collapsed. Mana-rail lines went dark. Refugee reports placed the highest concentration of candy undead under the city.”

Her claw tapped the floating map.

“Until the Gumball Nexus rose from the ground in the Central District.”

Silence followed.

The massive hovering image of the gumball flickered above the table like an accusation none of them could dismiss.

Another officer spoke from the rear ranks. “With respect, Lady Arcturus… where are the Silver Arrows?”

Celeste went very still.

The name passed through the room like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.

“They were here the day the candy undead attacked,” the officer continued. “Commander Kenaz Astallan’s unit was seen near the assembly grounds.”

A second voice cut in, lower and harsher. “Didn’t they die in the mana EMP at the assembly?”

Celeste’s fingers tightened at her sides.

Umbranox’s expression did not change.

“The last confirmed communication from the Silver Arrows came from outside the dome.”

That did it.

The murmurs sharpened.

“Outside?”

“Convenient.”

“Cowards.”

“Abandoned their post.”

Celeste flinched.

Mezzo’s tail twitched.

Ray looked away.

Umbranox’s cane struck the floor once.

The sound silenced the chamber.

“The Silver Arrows are chasing leads beyond Caerfaen,” she said. “This threat did not begin and end within our city walls. It is bigger than Caerfaen. Possibly bigger than Prydain. Until the dome can safely be lowered and contact restored, we are running clearance on immediate threats.”

Her eyes swept the room.

Anyone still inclined to mutter suddenly discovered wisdom.

“Today is not about assigning blame to soldiers who cannot answer for themselves. Today is about securing supply routes from the emergency vaults. Food. Medicine. Mana stores. Evacuation corridors.”

The map shifted.

The image of Jell’thuzad rose from the projected water, tentacles curling around shattered docks and drowned access roads.

“And for that,” Umbranox said, “a monster must die.”

No one argued.

Not after that.

Admiral Voss gave a low approving rumble. Air Chief Marshal Naver Suirbit folded her prosthetic wing tight with a soft click. Diana Lockhart bowed her head once, solemn but ready.

Umbranox stepped back from the dais.

“Proceed.”

The assembled forces began to move as one.

Each unit marched past the council dais, boots striking stone in perfect rhythm. As they passed, they gave their call signs and salutes—crisp, practiced, utterly confident.

“Iron Tide—advance!” barked the Navy marines, fists to chest.

“Luminarch, by the Stars!” rang out from the golden paladins, swords lifted in blinding salute.

“Council Vanguard—unyielding!” snapped the jet-packed elites, weapons locking into place with theatrical precision.

Celeste watched it all with growing dread.

Her stomach dropped.

She turned slowly to her team.

“…We don’t have one,” she whispered.

Topsy’s eyes went huge.
“Oh stars. We don’t have one.”

Mezzo hissed, “Why do we not have one??”

Hughes muttered, “I told you we should’ve stuck with the standard.”

Arcade was already panicking. “Okay—okay—something short. Something punchy. Something that doesn’t get us arrested.”

“Something heroic!” Topsy whispered loudly.

“Something that doesn’t sound like a children’s show,” Pitch shot back.

They leaned in tighter, whispering frantically over one another as their turn crept closer.

“Knights of Clawdiff—hold fast?”
“Too boring.”
“Stormbound?”
“Too dramatic.”
“Sugar Brigade?”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Celeste felt her soul leaving her body.

“Please,” she whispered. “We need something.”

Hughes cleared his throat. “We go simple. Respectful. We adapt the old guard salute. It’s solid.”

Everyone nodded.

Yes. Sensible. Safe.

They stepped forward.

Umbranox turned to them, composed, expectant.

Celeste straightened, heart hammering.

And then—

They did it.

But not quite how Hughes said.

Hughes saluted sharply. “Standing together.”

Pitch nodded, arms folded. “Standing together.”

Arcade lifted two fingers half a second late. “Standing together.”

Topsy flung both arms up. “Standing together!”

Then Mezzo swept one arm dramatically across his chest, wings twitching. “By axe and feather!”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Mezzo hissed. “Mine was better.”

Ray, still stiff and avoiding Celeste’s eyes, crossed one fist over her chest. “All bite. No mercy.”

Hughes closed his eyes.

“Ray.”

“What?” she snapped. “Mine was better too.”

Then Lumina and Skye, who had clearly rehearsed absolutely nothing with anyone, stepped forward together.

Lumina raised both hands like she was casting a shield. “Little lights, big hearts!”

Skye thrust one paw upward. “Summons ready, tails steady!”

A devastating silence followed.

Hughes slowly dragged one hand down his face.

The assembled commanders stared.

Somewhere in the chamber, someone coughed.

The result was a strange, wobbly, half-military, half-chaotic gesture that looked like a salute had collided with a group hug and lost.

Silence.

Utter, devastating silence.

Then—

Umbranox laughed.

Not a polite exhale.

Not a restrained chuckle.

She laughed.

Head tipped back. One hand braced on the dais. A real, full-bodied laugh that echoed through the chamber.

The room froze.

Council members stared in open-mouthed disbelief.

Military commanders exchanged alarmed looks.

Silver’s jaw dropped. Completely. He blinked like reality had glitched.

Celeste wanted the floor to end her.

Umbranox wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, finally composing herself with visible effort.

“…It needs work,” she said, still smiling. “But it has spirit.”

Celeste had not moved.

She had frozen completely.

Just standing there in her blue armour, eyes wide, ears flat, looking like her brain had politely resigned from command.

Umbranox’s gaze settled on her.

“Commander Astallan.”

Celeste jolted. “Yes?”

“Why did you not join in?”

Celeste looked at her team.

Then the watching Council.

Then the generals.

Then the paladins.

Then the floor, which remained tragically unwilling to open up and swallow her.

“I…” Her mouth went dry. “I forgot.”

Silver, standing near the side of the chamber, pressed his lips together very hard.

Umbranox’s eyebrow rose.

“Again, then.”

Celeste’s panic sharpened.

Again?

Again what?

She had already forgotten what everyone had done.

Was it standing together? Was there a hand movement? Did Mezzo flap? Was Ray’s part official? Were the children allowed to invent things? Was this how commanders died?

Celeste glanced desperately across the chamber.

Her eyes landed on Brassmane.

The old Mythic stood among the Crefft representatives, watching her with quiet, steady attention.

And suddenly she remembered.

Something said in the Rustrows beneath broken metal and ancient bones.

Words that had made scared people stand straighter.

Meanwhile Pontifex Taiyang sensing her panic moved.

He had been watching her closely, calm and unreadable beneath the white-gold vestments of the Luminarch Cathedral. Now, seeing her struggle, he placed one hand over his heart.

Then lifted the other, two fingers pointed toward the sky.

A devotional stance.

Simple.

Old.

Celeste saw it.

Copied it.

One hand over her heart.

One pointed toward the light above.

Lifted her chin weakly.

“Knights of Clawdiff,” she said, voice trembling but clear, “by the light we stand.”

For one heartbeat, the chamber went utterly still.

Brassmane stared.

Surprise first.

Then shock.

Real shock.

His ears lifted, eyes widening as if Celeste had reached into something sacred and pulled out a living ember without knowing it could burn.

Pontifex Taiyang’s eyes flicked to him.

The two religious leaders looked at one another.

Neither spoke.

But something passed between them.

The Mythic elder’s old Crefft saying, shaped through Celeste’s mouth.

The Luminarch gesture, mirrored by her hands.

Two faiths honoured in one stance.

Two traditions folded unknowingly into the Knights of Clawdiff.

Celeste had no idea what she had just done.

Which somehow made it worse.

And better.

Brassmane’s stern face softened.

Pontifex Taiyang smiled.

Small.

Almost private.

Umbranox studied Celeste for a long moment.

Then she glanced at the others.

“At least one of you has a sense of theatre.”

Mezzo opened his mouth.

Umbranox’s eyes cut to him.

He closed it.

“That one,” Umbranox said. “Commander Astallan’s version. Keep it.”

Celeste’s entire face went hot.

“Yes, Lady Umbranox.”

Topsy leaned toward Arcade and whispered, “But little lights, big hearts was good.”

Arcade whispered back, “It was devastatingly marketable.”

Hughes muttered, “I’m retiring.”

Umbranox waved a hand. “Dismissed.”

The Knights of Clawdiff turned as one and fled the chamber with as much dignity as a group of people who had just made history by accident could manage.

The moment the doors shut behind them—

They all collectively prayed for a sinkhole.

Or a portal.

Or divine intervention.

Anything.

Anything at all.

Celeste stood in the middle of them, hands still shaking, face burning.

“I want to crawl into a hole,” she whispered.

Mezzo patted her shoulder. “Aye, but respectfully, Commander, you made the better catchphrase.”

Ray looked away and muttered, “Mine still had bite.”

Hughes groaned into both hands.