Silver walked beside Celeste for a while—longer than a block or two—neither of them in any hurry to speak.

Autumn leaves skittered across the street in little amber spirals, crunching underfoot, caught between frost and decay. He found himself watching them more than the road ahead.

Gold. Rust. Deep red.

Colours that meant time had moved on without asking his permission.

His mind drifted, uninvited, back to the gumball—the slick walls, warped reflections, and sickly-sweet stasis of it. No sun. No seasons. Just waiting.

He tried to measure it now, stacking moments like fallen leaves, and failed.

How many days had passed? Weeks?

What had the city done without him?

What had Celeste done?

What had he missed?

A strange tightness settled in his chest. Life didn’t pause just because he had been trapped. Trees still shed their leaves. Streets still filled and emptied. People kept becoming older versions of themselves while he stayed the same.

Silver glanced sideways at Celeste. She walked calmly beside him, her scarf shifting with each step, utterly real in a way the gumball had never been.

Relief tangled with something heavier—grief, maybe, for time he’d never get back.

Ahead, the Council spire loomed closer, all sharp lines and old authority, cutting into the autumn sky like it had every right to still be there.

Silver exhaled slowly and kept walking.

Celeste cleared her throat. “So… what’s it actually like? Working on the Council, I mean.”

Silver made a thoughtful noise. “Formality. Connections. Endless meetings where everyone pretends they’re the most bored person in the room.”

He waved a hand. “I don’t even make decisions yet. Outer Ring member. Which is Council-speak for decorative furniture.”

Celeste blinked. “But—you’re a hybrid. On the Council. That’s amazing.”

He snorted, a short, dry sound. “It’s more of a curse, honestly. But… thank you.”

She smiled anyway. “Still. It matters.”

Silver glanced at her, his expression unreadable for a beat. “How I got there is… complicated.”

Then, with a thin smile, he added, “Let’s just say I was an inconvenient mistake for my grandfather and leave it at that.”

Celeste winced. “Oh—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said lightly, then tilted his head. “You said your last name earlier. Remind me?”

“Astallan.”

He stopped walking.

Turned.

“…The Astallan?” he repeated. “As in Kenaz Astallan?”

Celeste nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “He’s my dad.”

For exactly half a second, Silver forgot how to be a dignified Council heir.

“Oh. Stars.”

He straightened instantly, smoothing his jacket. “Commander Kenaz Astallan is—I mean—I’ve read his field reports. Twice. Possibly three times. The man is a legend.”

Then he coughed and adopted his professional mask again. “Ahem. Apologies.”

Celeste laughed softly. “He hasn’t… really been around. I don’t know why.” Her smile faded a little. “I wish he was.”

Silver’s voice gentled. “That’s regrettable.”

The air grew a touch too heavy, so—true to form—Silver sidestepped it.

“Well,” he said smoothly, leaning in just enough to sound conspiratorial, “if it’s any comfort, you’ve got the kind of presence that makes people follow you into extremely ill-advised situations.”

Celeste tilted her head. “Oh. Um. Thank you?”

He smirked. “It’s a quote.”

She blinked again. “…Wait. That’s from Starbound Tactician IV. The loading screen before the final raid.”

Silver’s eyes lit up. “You know it.”

Her cheeks pinked. “Yeah. I, um… I’ve played it. A lot.”

He laughed, genuinely delighted. “Excellent taste. I’m relieved.”

Silver gave a soft, almost sheepish laugh as they walked. “You know… I’ve never met a woman on the Council who plays video games. Or admits to it, anyway.”

He glanced sideways at her. “It’s… refreshing.”

Celeste smiled. “There are loads of people who do. I met tons at Clawdiff University.”

Her expression dipped, just a little. “Well. If I ever go back.”

Silver nodded thoughtfully. “Once this is over,” he said gently, “maybe you will.”

Then Silver tried, uncertainly, “I mean—if we fail, we can always reload from the last save.”

Celeste tilted her head. “Only if you remembered to save.”

He froze for half a second.

Then he laughed, loud and helpless.

“Stars, Folding Circles 2,” he said, still smiling. “That one gets me every time.”

Ahead, the quickest route curved through the Royal Gardens.

Silver hesitated for half a breath, then angled towards the black iron gates.

Celeste looked up. “Are we allowed through there?”

“One of the advantages of being an Arcturus,” Silver said dryly. “People assume you are allowed almost anywhere unless someone very important has already told you no.”

The gates opened with a soft hum of mana.

The Royal Gardens were beautiful at night.

Celeste stopped just inside them.

For a moment, she forgot the gumball. Forgot the zombies. Forgot Ray waiting back at the Egg Tree with a glare sharp enough to peel bark.

Moonlight silvered the lawns. Glass lanterns hovered over the paths like captured stars, their light spilling across frost-dusted hedges and flowerbeds arranged in sweeping circles. Tall autumn roses climbed white trellises. Velvet-blue moonblooms opened their petals only in darkness. Pale, bell-shaped flowers chimed softly when the breeze touched them, their tiny notes scattering through the cold air.

At the centre of the gardens, an artificial pond reflected the sky so perfectly that it looked like someone had cut a window into another world. Small enchanted lilies drifted across its surface, glowing faintly pink and gold.

Celeste’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” she breathed. “It’s gorgeous.”

Silver followed the path with practised precision, his hands behind his back. His voice took on a polished, distant cadence, as though he had recited the words far too many times for far too many guests.

“The Royal Gardens were redesigned after the Third Thorn Budget, when House Veyr insisted native flora did not possess sufficient diplomatic grandeur. The moonblooms were imported from Albryne, though they were later crossbred with Caerfaenic frostbells to improve resilience. The pond is artificial, of course, fed by a contained mana spring below the eastern basin.”

Celeste listened, impressed anyway.

“They glow,” she said softly.

“Yes,” Silver continued, still sounding faintly like a tour guide who had been threatened into enthusiasm as a child. “That is due to reactive pollen filaments. They respond to lunar exposure and high ambient mana.”

He turned to say something else.

Then stopped.

Celeste was no longer on the path.

Silver stared.

She had stepped onto the grass.

The grass.

No one stepped on the grass.

Even as children, noble heirs were taught that the lawns were decorative, symbolic, expensive, and absolutely not for feet. The only people who crossed them were gardeners, guards during emergencies, or particularly suicidal drunk lords at midsummer functions.

Celeste crouched beside a cluster of moonblooms with complete innocence.

Silver’s mouth opened.

No sound came out.

She reached for one of the flowers.

Silver’s soul briefly left his body.

“Celeste—”

She picked it.

Actually picked it.

Then she lifted it to her nose and inhaled.

Silver stared at her as though she had just declared war on botany.

Celeste smiled. “It smells like vanilla and rain.”

“I—yes. I imagine it does.”

“You’ve never smelled one?”

Silver blinked. “They are decorative.”

“So?”

“So one does not usually—”

Celeste sneezed.

A tiny burst of blue dragon fire puffed from her mouth.

It was not ordinary flame. It glittered like crystal dust, scattering little sparks of sapphire and silver into the cold night air. The fire curled harmlessly above the flower she had picked, then drifted out across the pond in a soft shimmer.

Celeste clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Oh, stars. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneeze fire on the royal flowers.”

Silver was still staring.

Not at the flower.

At her.

Before he could answer, the grass around them began to glow.

One light flickered.

Then another.

Then dozens.

Rainbow fireflies rose from the flowerbeds in a glittering cloud, drawn by the strange crystal flame. They swarmed gently around Celeste—red and green and violet and gold—circling her ears, her hands, and her tail. Their reflected light danced across the artificial pond, turning the water into a shifting mirror of colour.

Celeste lowered her hands slowly.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Then she laughed.

It bubbled out of her so suddenly and brightly that Silver almost forgot to breathe. She turned in a slow circle, laughing as she did, and another ribbon of blue fire slipped from her lips—this time on purpose, soft and playful, no larger than a breath.

The fireflies surged towards it.

More and more of them poured from the dark flowerbeds until the whole edge of the lake glittered with living colour. Then the drifting crystal dust from Celeste’s fire caught in the air with the heavy pollen from the moonblooms and frostbells, and all at once, the field seemed to ignite in rainbow light.

Not burning.

Blooming.

The grass shimmered.

The flowers glowed.

The pollen hung in the air like a veil of prismatic mist while the fireflies danced through it, turning the entire garden into something dreamlike and unreal.

Silver had seen the Royal Gardens lit for galas, coronations, funerals, treaty nights, and one wildly expensive midsummer masquerade.

He had never seen them alive like this.

Celeste turned back to him, her face bright with wonder.

“Silver, look!”

“I am,” he said quietly.

She held out her hand.

He looked at it.

Then at the grass.

Then at the empty path.

Then back at her.

Celeste smiled, small and hopeful. “Come on.”

Silver glanced around the gardens as though expecting half the Royal Quarter to leap from the hedges and accuse him of treason against lawn etiquette.

No one appeared.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped off the path.

The grass was cold beneath his boots.

It felt ridiculous.

It felt forbidden.

It felt brilliant.

Celeste took his hand and tugged him closer to the pond. The fireflies shifted, accepting him into their orbit with cautious little pulses of light.

“I love that you’re a dragon like me,” Celeste said softly.

Silver looked at her.

The words struck him in an unexpectedly fragile place.

A dragon like me.

Not a monster.

Not a mistake.

Not a political inconvenience.

Not an Arcturus scandal.

A dragon.

Like her.

Celeste inhaled, then breathed another tiny stream of blue crystal fire into the night. It spiralled above the pond, and the fireflies chased it in glittering loops.

Silver hesitated.

Then, for once, he stopped checking where every door was. Stopped thinking of who might be watching. Stopped holding his posture like armour.

He drew in a breath.

Turquoise flame slipped from his mouth, uncertain at first, then brighter. It mingled with Celeste’s blue fire above the pond, the two colours twisting together in the air like a living ribbon.

At the same moment, he summoned his butterfly.

It appeared in a shimmer of mana light, delicate and glowing, its wings catching all the colours around them.

Celeste laughed softly and summoned her moth in answer, pale and beautiful and dusted with moonlit powder. It fluttered beside Silver’s butterfly, and the fireflies immediately followed both little summons, weaving around them in sparkling swarms.

For one suspended, impossible moment, the whole garden seemed to breathe with colour.

The pond blazed with reflected rainbow light.

The flowers shone.

The pollen glittered.

The butterfly and moth circled together.

Silver smiled.

Not the polished, careful smile he wore like part of his title.

A real one.

Open.

Young.

Like he had not smiled that way in years.

And for a moment—just a moment—he was free.

Celeste’s hand was still in his. She beamed up at him, her eyes glowing in the rainbow haze.

“This is so beautiful.”

“Yes,” Silver whispered. “It truly is.”

But he was no longer looking at the fire.

He was looking at her.

Then someone gasped.

Silver’s head snapped towards the far path.

Two nobles stood near the hedge arch, frozen in scandalised horror. One had a hand pressed to her pearls. The other looked between the picked flower, the grass, and Silver’s mouth as though trying to calculate which crime carried the higher social penalty.

Silver’s mask returned so fast it was almost impressive.

“Time to go.”

He took Celeste’s hand more firmly.

Celeste, still smiling, followed without protest as he guided her swiftly back onto the path and towards the opposite gate.

Behind them, the fireflies continued to dance above the lake, and the rainbow haze slowly settled back over the flowers like a dream trying not to be remembered.

Neither of them spoke until they were out of the gardens.

But both of them were smiling.

The Council spire loomed closer, all sharp lines and old authority, cutting into the autumn sky like it had every right to still be there.

Silver exhaled slowly and kept walking.