Clover’s eyes, usually so bright with mischief, finally met Bloom’s in the dim, dappled light of the canopy. The forest around them was unnervingly indifferent; the wind continued to whistle through the ancient pines with a hollow, crystalline chill, and the distant calls of night birds felt like mockery against the silence of their shattered lives. Here, perched on a precarious limb, the bark felt abrasive and cold, a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from Leafa’s trembling form.

“Auntie Bloom,” Clover whispered, her voice paper-thin and jagged. “This… this is just a dream, right? She forced a small, ghastly laugh that died in her throat. “Papa…he's okay, right?

The denial in Clover’s eyes was so sharp it felt like a physical blow to Bloom’s chest. Bloom’s own grief was a tidal wave held back by a crumbling levee; she could still see the flash of Darken’s blade and the spray of crimson against the dining room floor. Her throat constricted, tasting of copper and bile, but she forced her features into a mask of impossible calm. She had to be the anchor. If she let a single crack show, the current would sweep them all away into the abyss.

A single, traitorous tear escaped Bloom’s eye, tracing a hot path through the soot on her cheek. “I wish I could tell you that, sweetheart,” she choked out, her voice thick with the weight of truths too heavy to bear. “I wish I could wake us all up.”

While still pinning Leafa to her heart, Bloom reached her trembling paw out toward Clover, beckoning her into the only sanctuary left in a world that had turned into a nightmare.

Clover stared at the offered hand, her shoulders shaking as the fragile walls of her denial finally began to crumble. She lunged forward, collapsing into Bloom’s side with a desperate force, as if trying to physically merge into her aunt’s fur to escape the reality outside their tree. 

Bloom pulled them both inward, squeezing her nieces in a fierce, protective coil. In this small, tangled knot of fur and soft weeping, the terrifying shadows of the forest seemed to recede for a heartbeat. The smell of cedar and rain mingled with the salt of their shared tears.

She buried her face in the tops of their heads, closing her eyes tight against the darkness, and let out a long, shuddering exhale that was half-sob and half-prayer to the spirits she no longer knew if she could trust.

Releasing her hold on the two young ones, Bloom stepped back to look at Clover and Leafa.

“We can get through this, both of you,” Bloom promised, determination firm in her expression. “We simply need to keep going. Flowerfield City is only a few miles ahead, and safety awaits us there.”

Leafa wiped at her face, nodding in agreement. Clover gave a firm nod as well, striving to remain resolute.

Observing Clover, Bloom remarked softly, “You haven't shed a single tear yet, Clover. You truly are a brave cat.”

Clover turned her head timidly. “Oh… well, I'm not so sure about that.”

Setting aside the heavy weight of her grief, Bloom mustered an encouraging smile. “Listen, when we get through this ordeal, what do you say I take the two of you back to see the circus?”

Leafa wiped her nose as a glimmer of hope returned to her face. “Truly?”

Clover’s pink eyes sparkled. “D-do you really mean it?”

“Absolutely,” Bloom reassured them warmly. “I’m certain the circus is performing in one of the grand kingdoms. Once we get there, we’ll travel together, just the three of us.”

A smile returned to Clover’s face.

Having sheltered in the tree canopy for the remainder of the night, the three cats resumed their journey at dawn.

Moving with extreme vigilance, they navigated the woodland paths leading toward Flowerfield City.

Reaching a narrow, shallow stream that offered a safe crossing, Clover's face lit up with relief.

She bent down to take a quick drink, then stepped into the cool water to soothe her feet. Splashing excitedly, she turned and waved for Bloom and Leafa to catch up.

Bloom held tightly to Leafa's paw, guiding the youngling whose small legs were still exhausted from their relentless sprint.

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over Bloom, forcing her to pause.

Leafa glanced up, her eyes filled with concern. “Is something wrong, Auntie Bloom?”

“It's nothing, sweetheart,” Bloom replied, shaking her head to clear her mind.

“Hey!” Clover's enthusiastic call drew their eyes back to the stream. “Hurry! The capital is just beyond these trees!”

A faint smile touched Bloom's lips. It was remarkable how Clover maintained her bold, spirited energy even amidst such grave danger. It brought a sense of comfort and kindled a flicker of hope in Bloom's chest.

As Clover stepped further into the water, blissfully oblivious to any threat, Bloom's smile abruptly vanished.

There was a small, faint gleam from one of the trees further down, a subtle glint of polished metal reflecting the morning light that was painfully easy for anyone to miss. Bloom's fur bristled with an immediate, icy dread as she saw Clover trodding across the stream, completely unaware of the lurking danger ahead. Releasing Leafa's paw, Bloom didn't hesitate for a single second; she sprinted with everything she had, her paws splashing wildly through the shallow water as she surged right toward Clover.

A gunshot cracked through the forest, scattering the birds into a frantic cloud. Bloom didn't think; she lunged, tackling Clover into the shallow stream with a violent splash. Leafa’s terrified squeal pierced the air as she scrambled toward them.

Bloom kept her eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat, bracing for impact. When she opened them, she found her arms wrapped tightly around Clover, who was gingerly rubbing her head. The cold mountain water soaked through their fur, chilling them instantly.

Bloom’s hands frantically roamed over her niece. “Clover, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Clover blinked, dazed. “I... I think so.”

“Oh, thank the spirits.”

A sharp intake of breath from Clover froze Bloom in place.

“What is it?” Bloom asked.

“Y-your arm!”

Bloom glanced down. The clear water around them was swirling with an unnatural, deepening crimson. Her gaze followed the trail to her right arm. A small, ragged hole pierced through her bicep, and dark blood was already pulsing from the wound, tainting the stream.

As the adrenaline finally receded, the searing, white-hot agony rushed in to take its place. Bloom clutched her arm, a raw, piercing wail escaping her throat. 

My arm...I can barely move it. she thought, her mind fracturing. It hurts so much. I have to stop the bleeding, or else…

A rhythmic crunching of dry leaves cut through her haze. Footsteps.

The forest, once a haven of shadows, suddenly felt too small. Seven figures emerged from the tree line, their rhythmic, heavy footsteps vibrating through the damp earth and straight into Bloom’s marrow. They didn’t just walk; they colonized the space around her, a wall of polished steel and predatory intent that made the very air turn stagnant.

Bloom hauled herself up, the world tilting and sharpening at the edges. The metallic tang of her own blood made her head swim, yet she forced her focus to the forest line. Beside her, Leafa scrambled toward her sister, but Clover stood her ground, teeth bared in a snarl that belied her size. The soldiers emerged—a dark, armored tide from Darken's ranks. But as the formation parted, the air seemed to grow heavier. Three figures stepped forward, their presence cutting through the chaos like a jagged blade.

One of them appeared to be a young beige and white mollycat, armed with two pink daggers on her waist

Beside her strutted a sleek, attractive yellow mollycat, flicking her hair as she advanced with shiny bladed greaves fitted to her shins.

The third figure was a tall, golden tomcat whom Bloom knew instantly. That tomcat from yesterday—Korn! He’s serving in this wretched army?

While the rank-and-file soldiers carried gunblades, a long rifle slung over Korn’s shoulder made it painfully clear:  He was the marksman who had aimed for her beloved niece, striking  Bloom’s flesh instead. 

A wave of pure hatred washed over Bloom as she glared at him, a fury deeper than any she had ever felt toward another living soul.

“Mmm, this stream feels nice and cool,” the yellow mollycat purred, lightly splashing her paws in the water before turning her eyes toward the injured Bloom. “It seems General Darken had good reason to station us near the capital.”

Korn halted and stared directly at Bloom. His expression was an unreadable mask, a detached, predatory appraisal that made her skin crawl. He didn't seem to recognize her—or maybe, he didn't care.

Nearby, the beige and white mollycat’s pink eyes—a haunting mirror of Clover's—fixed on the children with sterile indifference. At her imperceptible nod, the troopers levelled their gunblades with terrifying, practiced precision.

“Don't you dare point those weapons at them!” Bloom lunged, but she was too slow. Before she could take a single step, Korn flowed into her space like smoke. His arm coiled around her midsection with a sickening, possessive strength, pinning her breath and anchoring her against his chest. 

As he pulled her against him, he buried his snout into her luscious red hair. He didn't just sniff; he inhaled a slow, deep drag of air, as if he were savoring her sweet scent. 

“You smell…” His voice dropped to an intimate, gravelly rasp, bypassing her ears and chilling her to the bone. “...like apples.”

The words triggered a primal, desperate reaction. Ignoring the scream of her torn muscles, Bloom twisted and lashed out, her left hand connecting with his face. Claws raked fur and skin. A thin line of crimson bloomed on Korn’s cheek.

He raised a paw to touch his cheek, a disturbing smirk creeping across his lips.

Weakness washed through Bloom, causing her knees to give out completely. Blood continued to pour from the wound in her right arm.

“Auntie Bloom!” Leafa cried out in terror.

As coldness seeped into her body, Bloom struggled to draw breath.

With armed soldiers encircling them and offering no mercy, despair gripped her. Her vision flickered as consciousness slipped away, knowing that Clover and Leafa were terrified and in grave peril. Surrounded by hostile forces, her world was crumbling around her, leaving her utterly powerless.

When Bloom parted her lips to speak, Korn crouched down beside her, leaning close to catch her feeble words.

“Please…don’t hurt them.,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I beg you… those little girls mean everything to me.”

Korn stared into Bloom’s pleading eyes.

“Very well.” He finally said. 

Korn got up and faced his fellow troopers. “Take the younglings back to the 1st base camp.” He ordered. “Put them in Fern's custody until Darken finishes with Trifosia Village.”

The beige and white cat impatiently placed a paw on her hip. “Are you sure about that? Shouldn't we just kill these three and be done with it?”

The yellow cat purred beside her. “Ah dearest Mina, always so dreadfully eager to spill red, as usual. Such an endearing quality of yours.”

“F**k off, Senna. Or better yet, kill yourself.”

“Oh my! Feisty today, are we?”

Korn sighed. “General Darken said to intercept anyone who flees from the village. He never said we'd have to kill them.”

“What about you, sir?” A trooper asked.

Korn didn't answer right away as he lifted Bloom up, and carried her in his arms. Bloom's eyes were beginning to fade.

“I'll take this one to the small abandoned hut not too far from here. Her wound needs to be treated. There should be medical supplies located there.” Korn explained.

Senna pointed towards her chin. “That's oddly thoughtful of you. Where is this coming from?”

Korn began walking away from the group, with Bloom in his arms. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

Bloom watched as they moved farther away, the forest canopy swallowing them like a hungry maw. The rhythm of Korn’s stride was maddeningly steady, a stark contrast to the chaotic thrum of her own fading life force. She tried to fight the pull of the darkness, clawing at the edges of her awareness, but her body was failing her, growing impossibly heavy and numb.

She didn't take her eyes off Clover and Leafa. Even as her vision began to tunnel, the edges fraying into static, she locked onto them. They looked so small, so devastatingly fragile against the backdrop of the towering, iron-clad troopers. Bloom’s soul seemed to strain against the confines of her chest, a silent, desperate prayer that Korn’s orders held—that he wouldn't let his subordinates turn their cruelty on the children.

Her focus sharpened on Clover one last time. The youngling’s face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated terror.

“Auntie Bloom!” Clover’s voice pierced the dulling roar of the wind, ragged and high-pitched. “Please, don't leave me!”

The plea hit Bloom harder than the bullet had. Her heart broke—not with a clean snap, but with an agonizing, slow crush. She wanted to reach out, to run back, to scoop them up and shield them from the nightmare, but her limbs were dead weight in Korn’s arms.

The darkness was creeping in now, cold and inevitable. With the last dregs of her strength, Bloom pinned a weary, fragile smile onto her face. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she forced the muscles to hold, praying it looked like courage instead of surrender.

Don't cry, Clover dear, she whispered into the silence of her own fading mind. We're going to see each other again. I promise. I will make sure of it.

The forest blurred into a streak of green and black. The sound of Clover’s sobbing muffled, then muted, then vanished entirely. As the final sliver of light slipped from her vision, the only thing she held onto was the cold, unyielding weight of the tomcat holding her—a predator’s prize, slipping into the dark.