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. But i will be doing the comic when i am able to.

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! :)

Disclaimer

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

The Room of the Cookie table smelled like vanilla and fire.

Walls made of layered wafer bricks creaked softly under the shifting weight of the Egg Tree above. Sugarglass windows let in pale starlight through marshmallow panes. A round cookie table, wide and caramel-edged, stood at the center—its center seat, the largest one.

Celeste sat alone inside it.

Her blue knight armor caught the warm, flickering light of a nearby jelly-lantern. Her scarf—light blue, frayed at the edges—twisted gently as a breeze swept through the ancient roots of their home. Crumbs and dust clung to her boots. She hadn’t taken the armor off in days.

And atop her head, tilted just so, sat her faded blue newsboy hat—the one with two gold stars stitched at the side and soft wing patches on either side. It was old, battered, the brim a little torn—but lucky. She’d worn it since the beginning. Through storms. Through fire. Through the dark.

Celeste reached up and touched it now, briefly, as if to remind herself she was still here.

The Nommipedia sat open in front of her.

A heavy, gold-trimmed book that listed every creature they had ever faced, vanquished, or mourned. Pages bloomed with sketched diagrams and poetic warnings.

Gumdrop Revenants. Taffy Sirens. The Candy Dragon.

She ran her fingers over the names. Softly. As if touching the dead.

Beside her, a half-packed cookie tin rattled as she shifted. Inside it: a stitched plush of Chip, a cracked card from Skye’s deck, a splintered wand from Lumina, a guitar pick carved with lightning bolts. A group photo with frosting smudges.

At the bottom of the tin—an old, crumpled comic convention ticket, marked with a smeared green paw print.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she reached for a small  voice recorder sitting near her tea mug. She picked it up, exhaled—and hit record.

Click.

“…Hey. This is Celeste Astallan. I guess… I guess this could be the last time I get to talk like this.”

Her voice cracked. She wiped at her eye. It only made the tears fall faster.

She stopped the recording. Breathed in. Tried again.

Click.
Whirr.
Click.

“…This is Celeste Astallan. Flame Ragdoll. Hybrid. Knight Commander of the Knights of Clawdiff. We’re about to head into the final battle. And this time, there’s no next phase. No act two. This is it.”

She reached down and carefully opened her journal. Old. Soft from months of clutching it in fear, in hope.

“I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know they are. They’ve come so far. Ray, Topsy, Pitch, Arcade, Skye, Lumina… Silver…”

Her hand hesitated on the last name.

“…And even Mezzo.”

She smiled sadly.

“I want to remember what we were. Not just what we’re fighting. And maybe… if I tell the story, it’ll make more sense. To someone. Someday. Because even now, after all of it… I still can’t believe how it began.”

She opened the tin again, picked up the convention ticket. Turned it over. That paw print had stained her sleeve the first time she’d touched it.

She gave a small, tearful laugh.

“It started with a comic convention.”

Her eyes lifted to the great ceiling of the Cookie Room—carved with candy knight crests and ancient battle scenes.

“…And an invitation.”

Outside, the Egg Tree groaned as wind curled through the branches.

And below it, one spark readied for the end—by remembering the beginning.