The Knights of Clawdiff stood in a rough circle around Arcade’s scanner chip, all of them staring at the tiny glowing projection as if it had personally kidnapped Celeste.
The chip hovered above Arcade’s palm, spinning out a trail of light through the air—thin gold lines, faint blue pings, red warning sparks, and several deeply unhelpful symbols that looked like angry insects.
Arcade squinted at it.
C.H.I.P. hovered over his shoulder, optics glowing.
“Trajectory suggests high-speed aerial extraction,” Arcade said. “Sharp vertical lift. Sudden eastern bank. Then a dive toward the outer cliffs.”
Ray folded her arms. “Translation?”
Arcade tilted the chip, watching the glowing trail wobble. “He flew away like a dramatic idiot.”
C.H.I.P. chirped. “ADDITIONAL NOTE: DRAMATIC IDIOT MAINTAINED EXCELLENT ALTITUDE CONTROL.”
Arcade frowned. “Don’t compliment the kidnapper.”
“I APPRECIATE QUALITY ENGINEERING REGARDLESS OF MORAL FAILURE.”
Mezzo leaned over Arcade’s shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Can it tell us where he went?”
“It can tell us where Celeste’s bracer got dragged through the sky by someone with a jetpack, too much silk, and absolutely no chill.”
Silver’s jaw tightened.
Arcade flicked the projection again. The trail extended, curved over several rooftops, passed between two shattered watchtowers, then veered toward the darker edge of Clawdiff where the city thinned into cliff roads and broken stone.
“Huh,” Arcade said. “He wasn’t trying to shake pursuit.”
Ray’s ears twitched. “He wanted us to follow?”
“Or he’s arrogant enough to think no one can.”
Mezzo slung Infernal Riff over his shoulder. “Grand. We’ll find his hideout and politely ask for our commander back.”
Hughes gave him a look. “Politely?”
Mezzo grinned. “With punctuation.”
Lumina adjusted Heartguard on her arm. “Does punctuation mean hitting?”
“With emphasis,” Mezzo said.
Silver brushed past them, eyes fixed on the glowing trail. “Then we move.”
They followed the scanner’s path through the scarred outskirts of Clawdiff, where cracked paving gave way to rougher stone and the wind carried the salt-metal tang of the bay. The city sounds thinned behind them: fewer voices, fewer engines, fewer signs of people stubbornly trying to survive.
Ahead, the land rose.
Then fell away.
Skye reached the cliff first.
He peered over the edge, ears lifting in the wind, then immediately leaned back with the expression of someone who had just been personally insulted by geography.
“…That’s far.”
Silver was pacing.
Not a dignified, aristocratic stride—this was full-on tail-flicking, claws-flexing, breath-too-fast pacing.
“She’s been gone for seven minutes,” he snapped, staring at the arcbracer trail hovering in the air like a mocking ribbon. “Seven. Do you understand how many things can happen to a person in seven minutes?”
Ray, sitting on a fallen column and chewing a lollipop, shrugged. “Depends. With Celeste? Mostly weird stuff. Sometimes explosions.”
Silver stared at her. “You’re not concerned?”
Ray crunched the candy. “I’ve met more threatening turtles. This guy’s giving ‘nerd with too much money’ energy.”
Arcade nodded, scanning the trail with C.H.I.P. hovering beside him. “Jetpack. Custom silk. Overengineered entrance. Yeah—classic rich weirdo. Probably monologues.”
Silver bristled. “Whoever he is, he won’t escape the Inner Ring’s wrath. I can pull records, freeze accounts, have him—”
Mezzo slung his guitar more comfortably over his shoulder. “Relax, buddy. We’ll find his hideout and politely ask for our commander back.”
Skye, still peering over the cliff edge, added quietly, “He means hit him until he says stop.”
Silver blinked. “…Good to know.”
They reached the cliff edge properly and all looked down.
Straight drop.
Jagged stone.
Wind screaming up from below.
No stairs.
No ladder.
No sensible path whatsoever.
Ray leaned over, squinting. “Yup. That’s a vertical problem.”
Pitch cracked his neck. “I can shadow-jump, but I can’t carry everyone.”
Lumina peeked over and immediately stepped back. “I do not like that.”
Arcade tilted his head, already thinking. “Jet exhaust residue. He went in, not down.”
Mezzo snapped his fingers. “Secret door. Fancy villain loves a dramatic reveal.”
Silver looked between them, incredulous. “And how exactly do you plan to find it?”
Celeste’s arcbracer pinged.
Once.
Then again.
Right in front of them.
The rock face shimmered faintly—just for a second—before going still.
Everyone froze.
Silver’s ears shot forward. “That’s her signal.”
Arcade crouched, fingers dancing over his scanner. “It’s a directional ping. Low power—probably automatic distress handshake. She didn’t manually send it.”
Silver’s stomach dropped. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Arcade said calmly, “she’s moving. And the bracer’s trying to maintain connection.”
The ping shifted.
Slightly left.
Then deeper.
Into the cliff.
Ray slid off the column. “So. Hidden lair. Called it.”
Silver stepped closer to the rock face, palm hovering inches from it like he might will it to open. “Celeste, if you can hear me—”
Ping.
Mezzo squinted at the stone. “Before we start punching geology… maybe one of us could, you know.”
He gestured vaguely at his nose.
Ray’s eyes slid to him.
Then to Pitch.
Both canines stiffened.
“Yes,” Ray said flatly. “Smell her out. You two are literally built for this.”
Mezzo coughed into his fist. “Right, funny story. Jet fuel. Ruins the scent profile. Very harsh on the nostrils. Doctor’s orders.”
Pitch rubbed his nose dramatically. “I’ve got a cold.”
Ray stared at him. “You were fine ten minutes ago.”
“It’s very sudden,” Pitch said solemnly. “Tragic, really.”
Silver looked between them, incredulous. “You are both apex predators.”
Mezzo shrugged. “Selective apex.”
Ping.
Closer.
Mezzo watched Silver with a crooked grin. “You’re pacing holes in the ground, mate. Anyone’d think you care.”
Silver stiffened. “I care about the Commander of the Knights of Clawdiff. That is called professionalism.”
Mezzo snorted. “Professionalism doesn’t make your tail fluff up like that.”
Silver’s tail immediately snapped still.
Ray pinched the bridge of her nose. “Stars above.”
Topsy leaned in, voice sing-song. “You’ve been awful cosy with her lately. Training sessions. Council briefings. That whole gaming thing—”
“That is private,” Silver snapped.
“Mm-hm.” Topsy grinned wider. “Too interested, are we?”
Silver folded his arms. “I require her recommendation to the Middle Ring. It is entirely strategic.”
The words hung there.
Ray slowly turned her head.
Mezzo blinked.
Then lit up like he’d just won a carnival prize. “Aha! I knew it. You’re in this for a promotion. You don’t actually care.”
Silver lifted his chin. “What gave you that impression?”
His voice was smooth.
His ears were flat.
His tail was twitching so hard it might achieve flight.
Mezzo cackled. “You’re climbing the political ladder by cosy-ing up to the Commander. That’s cold, Arcturus.”
Silver scoffed. “You are one to speak. Forever trying to make her laugh with those idiotic memes. It’s nauseating.”
Mezzo gasped theatrically. “First of all, my memes are elite. Second—”
He stepped closer and booped Silver’s nose.
“I have no motive. I just like making her laugh.”
Silver recoiled, scandalised. “Do not touch my—”
“Children,” Ray cut in sharply, pointing at Mezzo. “Stop being an idiot. And stop filling my inbox. It’s distracting.”
“My messages don’t pop up!” Mezzo protested.
Ray pointed at Silver next. “And you. Stop being a twat. You’re not getting out of zombie duty until the big scary dragon is dead.”
Silver spluttered. “That is not how—”
Ping.
Louder.
The rock face shimmered again.
Everyone turned to look at Silver.
Ray grinned slowly. “Congrats, your lordship.”
Silver stiffened. “On what?”
Mezzo clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Go on, knock. Ask nicely.”
Silver swallowed, heart pounding, and stepped forward.
Arcade stood. “Frequency just increased. She’s deeper now. The hideout is directly behind this wall. Cloaked. Probably keyed to mana signatures.”
Silver’s teasing bravado vanished instantly.
His voice went low and tight.
“Open it.”
Arcade gave C.H.I.P. a nod.
The little robot chirped and projected a thin grid of light over the stone. Runes flared faintly beneath the surface.
“Pressure plate disguised as natural rock,” Arcade murmured. “Classic.”
Mezzo rolled his shoulders. “Right then. Rescue mission. Try not to pace the whole way down, your Highness.”
Silver didn’t answer.
He was already stepping toward the hidden seam, jaw set, eyes burning.
Promotion or not, panic had carved itself into his bones.
The cliff opened like a blooming flower of gold and crystal.
Warm light spilled out.
A distant, familiar voice echoed from within.
“Ooooh! You made the vents hexagonal? That’s genius!”
Silver’s breath caught.
“…That’s her.”
Ray cracked her knuckles. “Told you. Nerd lair.”
Mezzo grinned ferally. “Let’s go get our commander.”
And together, the Knights of Clawdiff stepped into the hive.
Inside the hive-lair, everything hummed.
Not loudly—more like the gentle purr of a thousand well-paid machines doing exactly what they were told. Golden light spilled through hexagonal corridors. Mana conduits pulsed like honey veins. Every surface was polished to the point of obsession.
The Gilded Wasp paced excitedly, cape fluttering as he gestured at a rotating holo-display of schematics.
“And this—this beauty—adjusts trajectory mid-flight based on hostile mana resonance! The Council said it was impractical,” he scoffed, then corrected himself with a huff, “—I mean, my friend’s idea was impractical.”
Celeste, perched happily on the edge of his throne like it was a beanbag chair, tilted her head.
“…Friend?”
The Wasp froze.
She smiled softly, like she had just noticed a loose thread and decided not to pull it.
He cleared his throat. “A-anyway. The Council doesn’t appreciate vision. Or kindness. Or innovation unless it’s wrapped in lineage and smugness.”
Celeste hopped down and gently touched his arm—careful, grounding, warm.
“It doesn’t matter what Lady Umbranox said,” she said sincerely. “You’re smart. You’re talented. And you’re… really sweet.”
The Gilded Wasp short-circuited.
His visor fogged.
His shoulders stiffened.
His voice cracked just a little.
“…Oh.”
He turned away quickly, pretending to adjust a console that absolutely did not need adjusting.
“T-to be honest,” he admitted, quieter now, “I was hoping if I found the Pontifex, the Council would have to listen. If I brought him back, or at least proved where he was taken… then they’d see my inventions weren’t toys.”
Celeste blinked. “You were looking for the Pontifex?”
He nodded eagerly, relief flooding his posture now that someone understood.
“My info-scanners picked up Mythic-grade droid signatures. Old ones. Military, but… wrong. Not Council standard.”
He pulled up a star-map.
“Trajectory analysis suggests he was moved near Godiad headquarters.”
Celeste’s ears flattened slightly.
“…Hmm,” she murmured. “We’ve been hearing about Godiad for a while now.”
She looked up at him, eyes bright with an idea.
“Maybe we could work together. You know—compare notes. Share information. Find him faster.”
The Wasp straightened.
“You’d work with me?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! You already know more than most people we’ve talked to. Plus… your lair is really cool.”
That did it.
He pulled up his arcbracer, fingers flying, and pinged her device.
“There,” he said proudly. “Private frequency. Direct line. Emergency use only.”
Celeste glanced at the contact, then grinned.
“Ooo. Secret numbers. That feels very dramatic.”
He flustered again. “O-only if you escape. I mean—not that I— I didn’t mean—”
She laughed, light and genuine.
“That would be fun.”
For a moment, standing in a golden hive full of humming inventions and half-finished dreams, the Gilded Wasp felt something dangerously unfamiliar.
Hope.
And far above them, hidden in shadow and stone, the Knights of Clawdiff were getting very close.
