The last of the mana butterflies lifted away, dissolving into soft motes of light that vanished into the dark like fading embers.

Silver watched the space they’d been, chest still tight, breath uneven. He flexed his fingers once, as if checking whether the warmth was real.

“Will it always be there now?” he asked quietly. “The mana.”

Celeste hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. As long as you stay close to me.” She glanced down at her hands, flexing them in a way that suggested she could feel it too. “For some reason… my core is different. It lets other hybrids link their cores to mine. Like a conduit. If I’m too far away, though, it stops working.”

Silver blinked. Then frowned. Then very deliberately pressed two fingers to his chest.

“Wait,” he said. “I have a core in my chest?” His voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and mild offence. “Hybrids don’t have mana cores. That’s—this is insane.”

Celeste winced a little. “Normally, yes. But if you eat Zygurr candy, it can force one to form.” She looked up at him, eyes earnest and apologetic. “And for some reason… yours attached itself to me.”

Silver stared at her.

Then he raised an eyebrow, slow and incredulous. “This is completely unhinged. I’m going to have words with the Council when I get back.” He paused, the weight of the thought settling in. “But if what you’re saying is true… you might need to come with me.”

Celeste smiled. Small. Sheepish.

“Oh. Um. Umbranox already knows about me.” She scratched her cheek. “I lead the Knights of Clawdiff. Because of her.”

Silver froze.

The implications hit him all at once—political, personal, catastrophic—and he said none of it. He only exhaled slowly, filing the revelation away for later like a blade slipped back into its sheath.

Then the sound came.

Footsteps.

Scraping.

The wet drag of candy flesh.

Zombies poured down the hall toward them.

Celeste snapped into motion, blades flaring back into existence. “Okay—stance firm. Summon your bow again,” she called over her shoulder. “Pace yourself. You’re doing great.”

She charged.

Silver watched her for half a second—how gracefully she moved, how her catlike reflexes let her twist and dodge, every strike precise and fluid.

Another beast lunged.

Silver turned, heart steady now, drawing Windswept with newfound confidence. He loosed an arrow.

It struck clean.

“So this,” he said, almost laughing, “is what it feels like to be overpowered. I could get very used to this.”

“Then now’s your chance,” Celeste shouted, slicing through two more in a blur of light. “You’ve got more where that came from. Get used to it fast.”

They fell into rhythm.

Celeste carved through the thick of them with grace and fury, blades flashing like comets. Silver held her back, arrows of pure light raining down with unexpected elegance and precision.

The hive groaned.

More were coming.

But now, Celeste wasn’t alone.

Not in power.
Not in spirit.

As Silver notched another arrow, eyes gleaming, he glanced at her and smirked.

“You’re lucky I’m here,” he said. “I’m fantastic under pressure.”

The corridor stretched on—far longer than it should have.

Wave after wave of candy-born monstrosities leapt from alcoves and oozed from vents, syrupy rot and glowing veins pulsing with each movement. Breathless and grinning, Silver and Celeste moved as one.

“Duck!” Silver called, loosing a shot that arced perfectly and shattered a jawbreaker fiend mid-leap.

“That’s twice now,” Celeste replied, slicing through another. “If you save me again, I’ll owe you lunch.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I accept full catering and beverage service.”

Another beast lunged.

Celeste rolled beneath it and cut upward in one clean motion. “I didn’t say you get to pick the menu.”

They laughed—bright and breathless.

For a moment, it almost felt like fun. Like a chaotic co-op game where everything had gone beautifully wrong.

Then the corridor ended.

A massive pair of mint-steel doors loomed ahead, pulsing with low light and an ominous hum that thrummed through the floor.

Silver eyed them, lips quirking. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume something truly horrific waits behind those.”

Celeste nodded grimly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Before they could take another step, something banged against the glass.

Hard.

Silver flinched.

A pod to their left shuddered as a pureblood crocodile inside slammed both hands against it, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. His scales were dull with fear, his suit torn, fingers scrabbling desperately at the seal.

“Help—!” he mouthed.

Silver surged forward on instinct. “Wait—hold on, we can—”

The crocodile’s body jerked.

Candy veins erupted across his skin like fractures, glowing violently. His jaw cracked wider than anatomy allowed, teeth crystallising into sugar spikes. His eyes clouded over—

And then the pod burst.

The creature spilled out, already snarling, already lost, candy flesh overtaking bone as it lunged blindly.

Celeste pulled Silver back just in time, cutting it down in one clean, merciful strike.

The body collapsed into syrup and silence.

Silver stood frozen.

Hands shaking.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I’m part of the Council. We’re supposed to protect citizens. We’re supposed to stop this.”

Celeste swallowed hard. “I thought this only happened at Comic Con,” she said quietly. “I had no idea it was happening up here. All this time.”

They looked closer at the surrounding pods.

And Celeste’s blood ran cold.

Some pods didn’t hold people.

They held duplicates.

Multiple versions of the same zombie—identical features, identical distortions—stacked in parallel chambers. The machinery feeding them was different too: thicker conduits, heavier siphons.

Modified pureblood pods for battery absorption.

But these—

These were cloning pods.

Each one was stamped with a cold designation:

CA-01
CA-02
CA-03

Celeste covered her mouth.

“…They’re making an unlimited zombie army,” she whispered.

The mint-steel doors groaned open.

And everything changed.

The scent hit them first—chemical sugar, charred flesh, and something metallic beneath it all.

The room beyond stretched wide and cavernous, more laboratory than hive. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, flickering dimly over endless rows of stasis pods and tech-scarred slabs.

Purebloods.
Mythics.
Hybrids.

Some still.
Some twitching.
Some suspended mid-transformation—bodies locked in that horrifying in-between state. Mouths stretched too wide. Limbs warped. Others had already collapsed into glittering sludge that shimmered with unnatural colour.

Silver stopped beside her.

The snark vanished completely.

“…Stars,” he whispered. “They were turning them.”

Celeste moved slowly through the space, boots squelching against something viscous on the floor. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“This is a testing site,” she said. “And we’re walking through the results.”

Along one wall, data modules blinked to life—scrolling logs, charts, readouts, frozen frames of screaming subjects caught mid-change.

Every file bore the same mark.

The same cold name.

Project Tempest.

Silver went still.

Not dramatically.

Not with one of his usual polished little pauses.

Still.

The kind of stillness that meant something had reached through the present and put a hand around his throat.

Celeste noticed at once.

“Silver?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes were fixed on the name glowing across the nearest monitor.

PROJECT TEMPEST

His jaw tightened.

“I remember that,” he said quietly.

Celeste turned fully toward him.

“What do you mean?”

Silver blinked, as if realising he had spoken aloud.

“Nothing.”

Celeste’s ears lowered.

“That didn’t sound like nothing.”

“It sounded like excellent survival instincts telling me not to discuss family scandals in a murder-gumball.”

“Silver.”

He sighed.

Then looked her up and down, not cruelly exactly, but with the automatic carelessness of someone raised among ranks and ledgers.

“Well,” he said, “you are a commoner, and no one would believe you, so I suppose there is no real harm in telling you.”

Celeste nodded earnestly.

“Oh. That’s good, then.”

Silver paused.

He looked at her.

“You do realise that was insulting?”

Celeste blinked. “Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She thought about it for half a second. “Sorry.”

Silver opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then gave a faint, helpless laugh.

“You are remarkable.”

“Thank you?”

“That was not entirely praise.”

“Oh.”

“It is now,” he decided. “Moving on.”

He turned back to the screen, the humour thinning from his face.

“Two years ago, my grandfather became involved in something particularly nasty. Human trafficking. Hybrid trafficking, mostly, though officially nobody with a title used that term. They preferred charming phrases like relocation concerns and undocumented civic movement.”

His mouth twisted.

“It had consequences for me.”

Celeste’s expression softened.

“What happened?”

Silver’s smile returned, but there was no warmth in it now.

“I did the sensible thing.”

Celeste tilted her head.

“You told someone?”

“I tracked down the smuggling ring, infiltrated it, gathered evidence, and revealed it before the court.”

Celeste stared.

“That’s your sensible thing?”

“Naturally.”

“That sounds very dangerous.”

“It was also stylish.”

“Silver.”

“Yes, fine. It was stupidly dangerous.” His gaze hardened. “But it worked. I stopped one of their key operations. Exposed enough names that even the Inner Circle had to pretend to care.”

He tapped the Project Tempest file with one claw.

“My grandfather hid his tracks well. Not well enough, clearly, but well. This project was part of it somehow. I never learned what for. The old bastard deleted every trace of his involvement before anyone could pin it down properly.”

Celeste looked at the rows of pods.

“And then he died.”

“Shortly after,” Silver said. “Conveniently.”

His voice stayed light.

Too light.

“If he was involved with candy zombies, you can see why that might be bad for the family image.”

Celeste frowned.

“Is family image everything?”

Silver looked at her as if she had asked whether breathing was fashionable.

“Reputation is everything.”

Celeste’s frown deepened.

“Naturally,” Silver added, almost lazily. “I personally adore being a stain on it. Family dinners are much livelier when everyone wishes you had been born less embarrassing.”

His smile faded as he looked around the laboratory again.

“But this…”

The monitors reflected in his eyes.

“This is beyond bad. This is rot under the marble. And I believe we should find out why.”

Celeste nodded slowly.

“I agree.”

They moved ahead together, stepping between cables and half-lit consoles. The lab hummed around them, full of sleeping horrors and unfinished answers.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Then Celeste glanced at him.

“But why do you still want to look into it?”

Silver arched a brow. “Because I enjoy ruining my family’s day?”

“No, I mean…” She hugged her arms around herself, trying to find the words. “Your part in it is over, isn’t it? You exposed the ring. Your grandfather died. You could just… not keep looking.”

Silver stopped walking.

Celeste stopped too.

For once, he did not immediately answer with a joke.

The amber light made the white of his fur look almost ghostly.

“I made a promise,” he said at last.

Celeste’s voice softened.

“To someone important?”

Silver let out a quiet breath.

“No. It is not like that.”

His fingers flexed once at his side.

“It was a baby.”

Celeste went very still.

Silver did not look at her.

“One of the children they moved through the ring. A newborn. Too young to understand anything. Too small to even be frightened properly.” His voice dropped. “I found records of her. A transfer code. A holding location. Then nothing.”

Celeste’s ears folded back.

“I couldn’t save her,” Silver said.

The words were plain.

No flourish.

No smirk.

No armour.

“I have no idea if she is alive or dead. I don’t even know what name they gave her after the transfer, if they gave her one at all. But I promised I would not stop looking.”

Celeste looked up at him with wide, aching eyes.

“That’s very sweet.”

Silver’s mouth tightened.

“It is not sweet.”

“It is a bit.”

“It is guilt.”

“Sometimes guilt is sweet when it makes people try to do better.”

He looked at her then, caught off guard.

Celeste gave him a small, hopeful smile.

“Maybe we’ll find her.”

Silver’s expression closed almost at once.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

Celeste blinked.

“Of course it matters.”

“It was two years ago.” His voice sharpened, but not at her. Never quite at her. “Two years in the hands of people who built this. Two years with men like my grandfather deciding what children are worth.”

He looked back at the Project Tempest files.

“Something horrible probably happened to her.”

Celeste’s paws curled at her sides.

“Maybe,” she said quietly.

Silver glanced at her.

“But maybe not.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue.

To be clever.

To make it hurt less by making it sound inevitable.

Then a distant scream echoed through the lab.

Arcade.

Celeste’s head snapped up.

Silver’s face hardened.

The past had claws.

But the present had teeth.

Celeste tightened her grip on her blades.

“We find Arcade first,” she said.

Silver nodded once, all trace of playfulness gone.

“Then Project Tempest.” 

Together, they ran deeper into the hive.