Author's Note

Hi! Thanks so much for reading.
I wasn’t sure whether to divide this into multiple books or just keep it all as one big story. Since I’m treating it like a series anyway, I’ve decided to keep things simple and release it as a single, longer post for now—so get comfy, it's going to be a big read!

This is my very first novel. Originally, I wanted to tell this story as a comic series, but with my current health situation, that would’ve taken too long. Writing it as a novel gives me the chance to still share this world and these characters with you.

I'll also be adding illustrations along the way to help bring key moments and characters to life. So keep an eye out for those as the story develops!

I apologize for any mistakes you might spot along the way—I’m doing my best to catch and fix them as I go.
Most of all, I hope you enjoy the journey.

Thanks again, and have fun reading! :)

The line outside Meowtroplex Convention Center shimmered like a rainbow river of wigs, wands, and the occasional flapping cape.
Vinyl banners snapped in the breeze overhead, each one boasting glittery mascots and pastel explosions of text.

The sky was clear, too bright for the soft lighting Celeste preferred, but today was not about comfort—it was about showing up.

She shifted her weight from one paw to the other, trying not to fidget with her wand. It wasn’t real, of course—just carefully painted foam and plastic, with a star at the tip that glowed faintly when tapped. Still, holding it made her feel a little more like Star Enchantress Elira, the magical girl whose courage she envied but hadn’t quite found for herself yet.

“Stop squishing your tail. You’ll ruin the ribbon,” Lumina said, her voice light but distant, like she was making an observation from the far end of a telescope.

Celeste glanced down. Sure enough, the looped blue satin tied around her tail had gotten crumpled beneath her nervous shuffling.

“Right,” she mumbled, carefully untucking it. “Thanks.”

Lumina didn’t respond. She was already half turned away, pretending to adjust the frilled hem of her cape, though Celeste knew her sister well enough to see the tension in her shoulders.

It had been three years since they’d last spent more than an awkward lunch together. And now, here they were—two flame-point ragdoll cats dressed in magical girl costumes that matched in spirit, if not in style, about to step into a whirlwind of fandom, nostalgia, and way too many camera flashes. Celeste wore a flowing blue astral tunic adorned with tiny dangling stars, a constellation come to life, with dark blue shorts underneath for comfort. Beside her, Lumina was in a cherry pink dress with a heart-shaped emblem at the collar and a flared red skirt layered beneath it, every inch the classic magical heroine.

Celeste swallowed hard and looked at the massive glass doors ahead. Fans in feathers, scales, and fur filled the courtyard in dazzling arrays of color and chatter. The buzz was electric—dreams made real for a weekend.

She was nervous. Nervous about the crowd. Nervous about being seen. But mostly nervous about Lumina.

Was this the start of reconnecting… or just a mistake dressed up in glitter and sequins?

“I don’t even know if I belong here,” she muttered.

Lumina glanced sideways, her ears twitching beneath her gem-studded headband.
“Neither do I,” she said softly. “But maybe that’s the point of coming.”

The queue crept forward, each shuffle of paws and hooves bringing Celeste closer to the security gate—and to the glinting scanner arch just beyond it.

Up ahead, a pureblood hamster waddled up with a smug grin, dragging a sparkly suitcase and chatting loudly on her wristband comm. She didn’t even pause at the scanner—just waved and walked through.

“VIP pass, obviously,” she huffed, not even looking at the guards. “Daddy donated to the restoration fund. You’re welcome.”

The scanner lit green. No questions. No hesitation.

Celeste swallowed.

Then, the next in line—a tall, teenage phoenix, radiant with flame-kissed feathers and nervous eyes—stepped up. His wings were folded tight, his hands visible, his smile small but hopeful.

The scanner flickered red. A harsh beep.

Two guards stepped forward immediately.

“Sorry,” one said flatly. “We can’t admit unstable mythics without council approval. You’ll need to return with certification.”

“What?” the phoenix stammered, taking a step back. “I’m not unstable! I’ve been cleared—look, I’m not a danger!”

A third guard’s paw hovered near a stun baton. “Sir. Step aside.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Some looked away. Others muttered.

The phoenix’s feathers dimmed, light curling inward like shame.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, eyes brimming. “She walked right in.”

“She’s a pureblood,” one guard replied coolly. “You’re not.”

Celeste felt her jaw tighten.

The line moved again.

And yet the weight in her chest stayed exactly where it was.

“Almost there,” Lumina said, more to herself than anyone else. Her wand shifted on her hip as she adjusted her sash, the one with a glowing heart-shaped charm pulsing like a heartbeat. It would be dimmed soon, like everything else.

Celeste’s ears flattened. A familiar cold knot twisted in her stomach.

Ahead, a chubby red panda in a mech suit costume stepped into the archway. A flicker of green light swept over his neck, where a glimmer of silver marked the embedded microchip. The scanner chirped, a polite tone, and the panda was waved through with a cheerful “Enjoy the con!”

It all looked routine. Painless. Casual.

But not for them.

Celeste’s eyes flicked to the narrow metal booth beside the scanner—one staffed by a uniformed civet with a screen she didn’t need to see to know what it displayed: identity, registration, chip status, and Species Classification.

Hybrid. Feline/Mythical – Class: Magic Affinity.

That last part always brought a twitch to the nose, a flicker of suspicion in the eyes. Like the word magic was the same as danger.

Her paw tightened around her wand, now little more than a prop. The chip in her neck—smooth, invisible, but always there—suppressed her magic. It muted her senses, dimmed the way she used to feel the world: the pull of stars, the hum of light, the way emotions rippled like tides across others' fur.

The chip silenced all of it. For everyone’s safety, they always said.

Her parents had ensured she and Lumina were marked as “high-status exceptionals”—coded with enough bureaucratic shielding to avoid the worst of the scrutiny. But that didn’t stop the whispers. Or the eyes that lingered too long. Or the quiet, biting fear that one day the exception wouldn’t be enough.

The scanner was just two more bodies away.

“You okay?” Lumina asked, quietly now.

Celeste nodded, but the lie hung there between them, unspoken.

“I hate this part too,” Lumina added, her voice even softer. “Even when nothing happens.”

That made Celeste look at her, really look. Beneath the glitter and ribbons, Lumina’s tail was twitching ever so slightly. Not from impatience—but from anxiety. So I’m not the only one.

The gate beeped again. The guest ahead of them passed through.

Now it was Lumina’s turn.

She stepped forward. The green scan-line passed over her neck. There was a flicker—too long to be smooth, too short to call out. The civet looked up, his eyes scanning, then nodded.

“Approved. Move along.”

Celeste exhaled—only to suck the air back in as she stepped up.
 

She tilted her head slightly, exposing her neck. The scan hit.
 

It burned—not physically, but somewhere deeper. The faintest shudder crawled up her spine, a distant echo of her magic pushing against its invisible cage.
 

The reader stuttered.

Beep.
Beep.
Beep… click.

The civet’s eyes narrowed.

Celeste froze.

“Name?” he asked.

“Celeste Astallan,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He blinked. His gaze dropped to the monitor. Recognition flickered. Then discomfort. Then forced neutrality.

“You’re clear,” he said, too quickly. “Enjoy the convention.”

Celeste stepped through. Her paw brushed against Lumina’s. Neither of them said anything. But in that moment, they didn’t need to.

They were in.

But magic or not, they both knew the real weight they carried wasn’t in their wands, or in the past they shared—it was in the way this world looked at them.
 

And today, for better or worse, it was about to see them.