The Gwennan pulled away from the council hall in absolute, soul-destroying silence.

Then—

“I am never emotionally recovering from that,” Mezzo said flatly.

Topsy gasped from the back seat. “No, no, no—it was iconic. We just need to workshop it.” She popped up between the seats, already waving her arms. “Okay, what if the salute has jazz hands but, like, respectful jazz hands?”

“No,” everyone said at once.

Arcade had already deployed a holographic list that scrolled like a stock market crash.

“Alright,” he muttered, typing furiously. “Jet stabilizers. Unified comm salutes. Backup shields. Water-breathing modules because apparently that’s a thing everyone else remembered. Tactical cloaks. Better boots. Less shame.”

The list kept going.

Celeste sank lower in her seat. “I didn’t know we were supposed to have a brand.”

Hughes turned slowly, voice calm in the way that meant a lecture was fully chambered.

“Knight-Commander,” he began.

Celeste whimpered. “Please don’t say it like that.”

“A leader does not panic in front of the council,” Hughes continued. “A leader stands tall, speaks clearly, and never—ever—lets their entire unit freestyle a salute in front of Lady Umbranox.”

“I froze!” Celeste protested. “There were so many important people! And she was looking at me!”

“Yes,” Hughes replied evenly. “That is, in fact, leadership.”

Celeste groaned, pressing her forehead to the window. “Why is there so much to remember. Why can’t leadership come with instructions. Or flash cards.”

Pitch, sprawled dramatically across the back seat, sighed. “Just put on my tombstone: Here lies Pitch. Cause of death—secondhand embarrassment.”

Mezzo nodded solemnly. “Put mine next to his. Death by proximity.”

“I’ll carve it myself,” Arcade added without looking up. “Stone-etcher attachment is already on the list.”

Topsy clapped her hands. “Ooo, matching graves!”

“No,” Celeste said weakly. “No graves. No more salutes. No more councils.”

She peeked up, cheeks still pink but smiling despite herself.

“…But at least Umbranox laughed.”

There was a pause.

Then Mezzo smirked. “Yeah. We broke the council.”

Arcade finally looked up. “Worth it.”

The van rattled on toward the docks, carrying the most under-equipped, over-mortified strike team in Clawdiff—somehow still together, still joking, and still moving forward.

Clawdiff Bay looked less like a harbor and more like the edge of the world ending.

Gunmetal waves slammed against shattered piers. Searchlights cut through sheets of rain. Naval cruisers idled offshore like crouched beasts, hulls glowing with ward-runes and signal lights. Church banners snapped in the wind. Council drop-ships screamed overhead. Medics ran. Engineers shouted. Somewhere far out to sea, something huge shifted beneath the surface.

Every faction snapped into formation with crisp precision.

Every faction snapped into formation with crisp precision.

Which made the little cluster already waiting beside the deployment path stand out even more.

Plum was there.

So was Bracer.

And Bonbon.

Bonbon stood pressed close to Plum’s side, little paws gripping her coat, eyes huge beneath the grey storm-light. Bracer stood beside them like a wall in uniform, moustache twitching faintly as he watched the military formations with guarded approval.

Celeste blinked.

“I wondered where you guys went when we went inside to see Umbranox.” She hurried over, worry cutting through the panic for a moment. “Why are you here, dears?”

Plum grinned so brightly it was almost offensive against the storm.

“Your followers are dying to see what you do today.”

Celeste stared at her. “My what?”

“And,” Plum continued, producing a small red drone from behind her back like a magician revealing a dove, “I have a fancy new drone. Everyone, meet Dotty.”

The little red drone bobbed in the air.

Then waved.

Actually waved.

With one tiny mechanical arm.

Celeste blinked again.

“Hello, Dotty.”

Dotty spun once, gave a cheerful beep, then vanished.

Celeste jumped.

Plum beamed. “She has cloaking.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed at once. “I wondered where the remaining money went.”

“Hey,” Plum said, raising both hands. “In fairness, I spent some of my bank haul on this little gem. She is going to secure tonnes of contracts for the Knights.”

Celeste’s ears tilted. “I don’t understand.”

Plum leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing holy wisdom and also maybe committing tax fraud.

“You see, if you get popular enough, you may work your way up.” She tapped Celeste’s chest plate lightly. “And so do we. Maybe we get some recognition. Some funding. Some people realising hybrids aren’t just tragic little sewer rumours with teeth.”

Celeste blinked. “Work our way up?”

Plum nodded eagerly. “That’s how half the important groups started. The Paladins weren’t always grand shining heroes with cathedral backing and swords that hum at people. After the Mana Wars, they were just mythic and pureblood priests protecting refugees, carrying wounded, blessing barricades, stopping mana fires from spreading.”

She gestured toward the golden paladins lining the docks.

“People saw them helping. People started trusting them. Then the Church folded them in properly, gave them ranks, armour, funding, holy authority, all of it.”

Hughes grunted. “She’s not wrong.”

Arcade looked offended by this. “Please don’t encourage her.”

Hughes ignored him. “The Crown Wardens started as estate guards during the famine riots. The Afon Watch were ferry crews before the Council made them river patrol. The Lantern Sisters were village healers before they became recognised medical auxiliaries.”

Mezzo suddenly perked up. “And the Brasswing Bards.”

Hughes glanced at him. “Aye. Them too.”

Mezzo grabbed Celeste’s shoulder with great urgency. “The Brasswing Bards started as tavern singers who carried messages between siege lines. Then everyone realised battle songs, signal codes, and morale were basically tactical warfare with better outfits.”

Topsy gasped. “Weaponised music.”

Mezzo looked deeply moved. “Exactly.”

Hughes nodded. “Point is, groups become institutions when enough people decide they matter.”

Plum pointed both fingers at Celeste. “And right now, people are deciding you matter.”

Arcade looked sharply at Bracer. “Bracer, you can’t support this.”

Bracer rubbed his moustache.

“Well, in fairness,” he said, “I do need to recruit more people for the guard, so I’m fine with it.”

Arcade stared at him.

Bracer gave a mild shrug. “Good publicity is good recruitment.”

Celeste looked down as Plum flicked open a screen.

Thousands of comments flooded past.

Not Council channels.

Not military feeds.

Names she didn’t recognise. Little icons. Painted symbols. Warrens slang. Messages racing too fast to read properly.

KNIGHTS OF CLAWDIFF!!

BLUE SCARF GIRL IS BACK

MY LITTLE BROTHER SAYS GOOD LUCK

SHOW THAT KRAKEN WHAT HAPPENS WHEN IT MESSES WITH OUR BEACH

IS MEZZO SINGLE

CELESTE PLEASE DO NOT DIE

Celeste’s throat tightened.

“I thought the internet was shut down.”

“Anything beyond the dome is a lost cause,” Plum said. “But the Warrens have their own networks. Purebloods have their private channels.” Her grin turned fox-sharp. “And I know my way around both.”

Another image popped up.

Celeste froze.

It was fan art.

Of her.

Not perfect. Not polished. But unmistakable.

Blue jacket. Light scarf. Sword in hand. Stars around her head. Her ears were a bit too big and her glasses were crooked, but somehow that made it sweeter. Beside her were the others—Mezzo with his axe-guitar, Ray on fire, Arcade with C.H.I.P., Hughes like a mountain, Topsy holding something that was either a bomb or a sandwich.

Celeste felt her heart swoon.

“Oh,” she whispered.

For a second, all the noise faded.

The Council.

Voss.

The kraken.

All of it became quieter beneath the impossible softness of one person in the Warrens drawing her like she was something worth believing in.

Celeste leaned toward the screen, voice tiny.

“We’ll do our best.”

Plum’s grin softened.

The comments exploded.

Mezzo leaned over her shoulder. “Any for me?”

Plum swiped.

A fresh batch appeared.

Mezzo’s eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Arcade glanced over. “What?”

Mezzo straightened, smoothed his scarf, and immediately struck a pose with one hand behind his head.

“Apparently I have fan girls.”

Pitch looked traumatised. “Of course you do.”

Mezzo changed pose. “This is a heavy burden, but I accept it.”

Plum’s screen filled with hearts, wing emojis, and several comments that made Carys cover Bonbon’s eyes.

Celeste stared at the feed, overwhelmed in a way that did not hurt quite so much.

“I didn’t know we affected this many people.”

Bonbon tugged gently at her sleeve.

Celeste looked down.

Bonbon was frowning up at her with serious little eyes.

Then she noticed Celeste’s lucky hat tucked under her belt.

Without asking, Bonbon pulled it free, stood on tiptoe, and placed it carefully on Celeste’s head.

“Nawr rwyt ti’n edrych fel marchog,” Bonbon said.

Celeste’s eyes stung.

Now you look like a knight.

She touched the brim of the hat.

Then looked at the others.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I guess we do.”

Plum nodded toward the crowd of medics, guards, civilians, and distant hidden cameras that were definitely not supposed to be there.

“These are who you’re fighting for, Celeste. Don’t forget that.”

Celeste looked back at the screen.

At the comments.

At the tiny drawing of herself.

At Bonbon.

At Bracer and Carys and Plum and the unseen Warrens watching from behind broken walls and illegal networks.

“I won’t.”

Plum stepped back, already adjusting something invisible in the air.

“Right. I’m going to get into position. Dotty needs a clean angle if anyone does something heroic, stupid, or contractually valuable.”

Topsy raised her paw. “I can do all three.”

“I know,” Plum said. “That’s why I like you.”

Carys rested one hand on Bonbon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Bonbon is with me. After last time, I don’t trust leaving her alone.”

Arcade nodded solemnly. “Good idea.”

Bonbon puffed out her cheeks as if personally offended by accurate risk assessment.

Celeste crouched and took her little paws.

“You be good, okay?”

Bonbon nodded.

“I mean actually good,” Celeste added.

Bonbon considered this with alarming seriousness.

Then nodded again.

Celeste kissed her forehead and stood.

Plum slipped away into the storm with Bracer close behind, the vanished drone humming somewhere above them like a tiny invisible gossip fairy.

Then Admiral Voss strode onto the raised platform, coat billowing, mane immaculate despite the storm. He lifted one claw dramatically.

“Warriors of Clawdiff,” he boomed, voice rolling like thunder, every syllable performing. “Today we strike not merely at a beast of flesh and sugar—but at the arrogance that believes the sea itself may be claimed!”

Celeste watched, eyes wide, mentally scribbling notes.

Strong posture. Dramatic pause. Confidence. Lots of pointing.

One by one, commanders followed—measured, fiery, poetic. Promises of victory. Of honour. Of unity. Even the Council Knights managed something inspiring despite the jetpacks.

Then all eyes turned to her.

The Knights of Clawdiff looked up expectantly.

Celeste stepped forward.

Her mind went completely blank.

Rain pattered on her hat. The bay roared. A bug-gull screamed like it was judging her.

She swallowed.

“Um,” she said.

Hughes closed his eyes.

Celeste lifted her chin, voice small but earnest.

“Let’s… do our best. And, uh. Try not to die.”

A beat.

Hughes leaned in slightly. “That will do.”

Somewhere, Topsy whispered, “Iconic.”