They moved through the cathedral gardens in a loose, hurried cluster.
Or at least, they attempted to.
The gardens had clearly once been beautiful—ordered paths, trimmed hedges, little gold-capped fountains, saint statues posed in peaceful reflection beneath flowering trees. Now one hedge had melted into a sticky green-black puddle, half the paving stones were cracked, and a scorched statue of some long-dead martyr was missing an arm.
Silver finally took in the scene around them.
Cracked stone.
Melted hedges.
A saint statue lightly smoking where its hand used to be.
He raised a brow. “I step away for five minutes and you redecorate the cathedral?”
Celeste glanced back, sheepish. “Mythic attack. Gryphon priest. Also the Radiant tried to set us up.”
Silver hummed. “Ah. Of course she did.”
Then, smoothly, warmly, “Still—very clean response. Efficient teamwork. Nicely handled, Commander.”
Celeste blinked.
Then smiled, a little brighter than she meant to. “Thank you. I do wish you’d been here though—your bow would’ve been really helpful. It was very… airborne.”
Silver’s mouth curved. “Tragic. I miss all the glamorous bits.”
He gestured vaguely at himself. “But alas—indispensable Council asset. Imagine the paperwork if I were injured.”
Celeste giggled despite herself. “I’m sure we’d manage.”
Silver smirked. “Perish the thought.”
They moved off together, quickening their pace as they slipped back toward the side entrance of the cathedral.
The plan was simple.
Find Crystal.
Do not alert the entire cathedral.
Avoid ruffling plate mail.
They failed almost immediately.
Mezzo tried to walk casually past a pair of Radiants and somehow made it look like he was smuggling a stolen chandelier under his jacket. Topsy tiptoed behind him with her arms held out dramatically, whispering “sneaky sneaky sneaky” under her breath, which rather undermined the point of whispering. Arcade kept glancing at every security rune they passed with the hungry expression of someone resisting the urge to take it apart with his teeth.
Ray looked suspicious purely by existing.
Silver looked innocent, which somehow made him look more suspicious.
Celeste tried smiling politely at everyone.
This also made her look suspicious.
A passing priest slowed, frowning.
Celeste panicked and pointed at a stained-glass window. “Lovely weather for saints.”
The priest stared at her.
Hughes gently took her by the shoulders and steered her around the corner.
“No more talking to the clergy unless necessary, lass.”
“I think I made it worse.”
“Aye.”
Topsy popped up beside them. “Good news! If anyone asks, we are definitely not looking for secret murder walls.”
“Topsy,” everyone hissed.
“What? That means I remembered the mission.”
They moved deeper through the cathedral’s side corridors, keeping to quieter passages where the incense hung thinner and the polished floors gave way to older stone. Here, the building felt less like a place of worship and more like something ancient wearing holy clothes.
They reached the paladin quarters—and whatever had happened there hadn’t been subtle.
Lockers lay on their sides. Bedding was ripped open, feathers and stuffing everywhere. Crystal’s footlocker had been forced, its contents scattered like someone had been searching in a hurry.
Mezzo crouched, running a hand over a gouge in the stone. “Yeah. That’s a fight. And not a polite one.”
Celeste swallowed. “Crystal…”
Hughes was already scanning the room, eyes sharp. He bent and picked something up between two fingers.
A pin.
Luminarch. Gold filigree. Priest’s mark.
A Confessor’s eye
“…They were involved,” Hughes said quietly.
Silver’s jaw tightened. “That narrows things.”
More clues surfaced as they fanned out.
Hughes found feathers—large, scorched at the edges.
Ray spotted tufts of fur snagged on a broken chair leg.
Arcade’s optics flickered as he zoomed in on the floor.
“Hey. That glow—”
Skye grabbed his sleeve.
Hard.
Arcade froze.
Looked down.
Looked at Skye’s face—tight, pale, ears pinned back.
Light dust.
Carbuncle residue.
Arcade understood instantly.
“…Got it,” he said softly, lowering his hand. “Didn’t see anything.”
Skye didn’t thank him.
He just nodded once and turned away.
But the trail didn’t stop there.
Near the doorway, caught in a crack between two stones, more pale dust shimmered faintly. Not ordinary mana. Not just residue from a spell. It carried that soft, refracted glow Skye knew too well—the particular signature of carbuncle magic, clear and sharp and threaded with light.
His stomach twisted.
Tamsin.
His father had been here.
Or someone using his mana had been.
Skye crouched, fingers hovering over the dust without touching it.
For a second, he wanted to say it.
He should say it.
That was what Knights did. They told each other things. They trusted each other with horrible truths before the horrible truths got teeth.
But the words stuck.
Because if he said it, then it became real.
And if it became real, then maybe Arcade was right.
Maybe his father hadn’t just left.
Maybe his father had chosen something worse.
Topsy appeared beside him in a soft bounce, unusually quiet for someone who seemed built out of bells and bad ideas.
She held out a sweet.
Skye blinked at it.
“It’s not cursed,” Topsy whispered. “Probably.”
He took it with a small, shaky smile. “Thank you.”
She rocked back on her heels, watching him with sharp little eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Skye looked down at the sweet in his palm.
Then at the glowing dust.
“My father was here,” he said.
Topsy’s ears shot up. “Your dad?”
He nodded.
“The carbuncle priest?” she whispered, horrified.
Skye nodded again.
Topsy stared toward the corridor as if she might personally go and bite the cathedral.
“Wait,” she said. “Why aren’t you with him?”
Skye’s face folded inward.
Just a little.
“He gave up custody to my grandmother,” he said quietly. “He had a higher calling.”
The words were small.
Practised.
Like he had said them before and hated every version.
Topsy’s mouth fell open.
Then her expression changed.
Not silly.
Not chaotic.
Angry.
“Oh, I am going to give him such a piece of my mind,” she said, already turning. “A big piece. With sprinkles. And possibly shouting.”
Skye caught her sleeve.
“Please don’t.”
Topsy stopped.
Skye’s fingers tightened. “That’s what Arcade tried to do. It doesn’t work.” He swallowed. “I want to try my way. If that’s okay.”
For once, Topsy looked genuinely conflicted.
Every part of her clearly wanted to launch herself down the corridor like an emotional firework and explode in Tamsin’s general direction.
But Skye was still holding her sleeve.
So she stayed.
“Okay,” she said at last, voice softer. “Your way.”
Skye exhaled, relief trembling through him. “Thank you.”
He just nodded once and turned away.
Silver, who had been listening from a few steps away with his arms folded, lifted one brow.
“Is the daddy issue a Skye thing,” he asked dryly, “or do all of you have daddy issues?”
Celeste raised her hand.
Immediately.
Lumina raised hers too.
Then Mezzo.
Arcade sighed and raised his.
Topsy raised hers halfway. “In my defence, both my parents are missing.”
Celeste looked thoughtful, then lifted her hand a little higher. “My mum as well, then.”
Hughes stared at the growing number of raised hands.
Then, with a long, tired sigh, lifted his own.
Everyone turned to Ray.
Ray held Silver’s gaze for one flat second.
Then raised her hand.
Pitch glanced around, counting. “My parents are dead. Does that count?”
Hughes grimaced. “I’d say it counts enough.”
Silver looked around at the entire unit.
All hands up.
All faces varying degrees of serious, awkward, sheepish, or offended.
He closed his eyes.
“Why,” he said, “did I even ask?”
Mezzo patted his shoulder. “Because deep down, you want to belong.”
Silver opened one eye. “Touch me again and I’ll report you to tailoring.”
Topsy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We should have counselling at the base when this is over.”
Everyone looked at her.
She nodded, more serious now. “I think we all need it.”
Hughes gave a low hum. “She’s not wrong. Most of the zombie generals have a nasty habit of using your fear as a weapon.” His gaze drifted down the corridor, expression darkening. “It’s amazing how many times parents or relatives come up when someone wants to break you.”
The joke thinned for a second.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
Topsy lifted one finger. “Then it’s settled. I’ll be the therapist.”
Arcade’s head snapped toward her. “Absolutely not.”
“I’ll get glasses,” Topsy said, warming to the idea. “Very round ones. And a little chair. And a bowl full of sweets.”
“No way do I want you in my head,” Arcade said.
Topsy smiled sweetly.
“Too late.”
Arcade stared.
She popped a sweet into her mouth. “Also, the bowl of sweets is for me.”
Silence.
Then Arcade glanced at the sweet.
Then at her.
“…Can I have one?”
Topsy beamed and handed him one instantly. “Healing has begun.”
Silver rubbed his temple.
“This unit is a medical hazard.”
Celeste smiled, soft and fond despite everything.
“No,” she said. “I think this might actually be good for us.”
Silver looked at her.
Then at the sweet Arcade was now suspiciously eating.
Then at Topsy, who was pretending to write notes on her palm.
“I refuse to attend squirrel therapy.”
Topsy gasped. “First breakthrough: denial.”
Mezzo wheezed.
Skye smiled despite himself.
The trail led them down a side corridor—scuff marks, dragged footprints, broken prayer beads—
—and then stopped.
Blank wall.
No door.
No passage.
Mezzo scowled. “That’s not a dead end. That’s a cover-up.”
Arcade stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “There’s a draft.”
Topsy gasped. “Secret murder wall?”
Silver sighed. “Please stop calling it that.”
“But it listens when I do.”
Celeste pressed one hand gently against the stone. It felt cold beneath her palm. Too cold for a wall inside a warm cathedral.
“Crystal might be behind there,” she whispered.
Before anyone could respond—
Footsteps.
Shouting.
Two Radiants sprinted past them, robes hitched, panic written across their faces.
“The main hall!” one cried. “It’s overrun—zombies everywhere!”
The air changed instantly.
Celeste’s katanas snapped into existence with a familiar flash of white-blue light.
“Alright,” she said, fear pushed down, resolve snapping into place. “Whatever happened to Crystal—it just escalated.”
Silver drew Windswept, eyes already scanning exits. “Then we finish this quickly, and then we ask our uncomfortable questions.”
Mezzo cracked his neck. “Guess subtlety’s off the menu.”
Arcade grinned, sparks dancing over his fingers. “Shame. I was enjoying detective mode.”
Topsy bounced once on her heels. “Can we still call it the secret murder wall later?”
“No,” Hughes said.
“Yes,” Mezzo said at the same time.
Celeste took one last look at the blank stone.
At the place where the trail vanished.
Then she turned toward the screams.
They ran.
Behind them, the quiet quarters stayed silent—
and somewhere beyond the wall that shouldn’t exist, something listened.
