Godiad did not feel quieter after Lumina returned.
If anything, the facility seemed to hum more loudly around her—the glass walls, the rune-lit consoles, the water tubes glowing beneath the floor, all of it breathing with that polished, modern calm that made every nervous movement feel too obvious.
Lumina came back to the main group with holo-projections still flickering faintly in her eyes.
She looked cheerful.
Too cheerful.
Skye noticed.
He didn’t say anything at first. He only watched her for a long moment, golden gaze steady, ears angled forward in that quiet, careful way he had when he was seeing more than people wanted him to.
Then, softly, he said, “Be careful who you trust.”
Lumina blinked at him. “What?”
Skye shrugged and looked away. “Just… be careful.”
Her small frown deepened. “I’m fine.”
But she didn’t really understand what he meant.
Before she could ask, she spotted Celeste across the courtyard.
Celeste and Topsy were hunched over a tablet, whispering urgently. Topsy had one hand pressed flat to the screen as if she might physically stop the data from rearranging itself.
“…It doesn’t make sense,” Topsy muttered. “The timestamp’s wrong.”
Celeste nodded, brow furrowed. “And the mana signature doesn’t match the broadcast location. It shouldn’t have been dismissed that quickly.”
They leaned closer, voices dropping lower.
Lumina hurried over, brightening again. “Celeste! I just—”
Topsy whipped her head around immediately.
“Lumina, could you pretty please come back later?” she blurted. “It’s super important.”
Lumina faltered mid-step.
“Oh.”
Celeste glanced up, apologetic but distracted. “I’m sorry, kiddo. As soon as we do this mission, you can tell me everything. I promise.”
Lumina’s smile wobbled just slightly.
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Okay. Sure.”
She stepped back before they could see the shift in her face.
They were already whispering again, heads bent over the strange video.
Lumina turned away quietly.
She walked to a waiting chair near the far wall and sat down, hands folded neatly in her lap.
The holo-diagrams Vale had sent flickered faintly in her memory.
Project Tempest.
Kymara loops.
Lost Mythics.
Secrets.
She stared at the floor.
Her ears drooped.
“…I matter too,” she murmured softly to herself.
No one heard her.
Across the room, Director Addfwyn was still talking.
His earlier warning about Celeste’s body had left a strange tension in the air, but he carried on as if discussing weather patterns instead of possible disintegration. Data panes floated around him in layered rings, each one turning with delicate precision.
“…fascinating overlap here,” he murmured, tapping one of the displays. “Your alpha dragon markers are dominant, Lord Arcturus, but structurally closer to secondary draconic strains—much like the High—”
Silver’s smile tightened.
“Careful,” he said lightly.
Too lightly.
“High dragons are extinct.”
Addfwyn blinked.
Then he laughed—a soft, delighted sound.
“Oh no,” he said. “There is one standing next to you. Two, if you count young Lumina.”
The room shifted.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But every Hybrid instinct in the room seemed to pause at once.
Silver turned slowly.
Celeste.
“…What?” he said.
Celeste looked up, ears perking. “Oh! Yes. Dad was half High Dragon on his dad’s side.” She nodded enthusiastically, like she was confirming a favourite trivia fact. “So I suppose that makes me… quarter? Or something? The genetics get fuzzy.”
Silver stared at her.
Then he laughed.
Hard.
“That’s a good one,” he said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “You really don’t need to lie to make yourself more impressive, Commander. You’re already doing plenty.”
Celeste blinked. “I’m not lying—”
“Kenaz Astallan never had crystal horns,” Silver snapped, the laugh gone now. “I’ve seen the records. Portraits. Footage. High dragons don’t hide.”
“He did at home,” Celeste said softly. “He wrapped them. Or painted them so they wouldn’t sparkle. He said it drew attention.”
“That’s not how this works,” Silver said, voice sharp now.
Too sharp.
“High dragons are gone. You can’t just decide to be one.”
Something hot coiled in his chest.
His dragon side bristled.
This wasn’t merely incorrect.
It felt insulting.
Mezzo shifted. “Mate. When she first came before the Council, Umbranox ordered her to kneel.”
Silver’s breath hitched.
The room went very still.
“…She didn’t,” Mezzo added. “Something in her wouldn’t.”
Silver’s jaw tightened.
“That proves nothing,” he said coolly. “Stubbornness is not a bloodline.”
Mezzo snorted. “This is Celeste we’re talking about. The girl apologises to plants. You think she refused a direct order from the Caedrix because she was being difficult?”
Silver folded his arms. “You are defending her because you are her friend. Not because it is true.”
Mezzo blinked at him.
Then grinned.
“Oh, I am absolutely defending her because she’s my friend,” he said cheerfully. “But I’m also defending her because I have eyes.”
Silver bristled. “High dragons are extinct. The Astallan line ended. I assumed her name was a tribute.”
Mezzo tilted his head. “You ever been near her when she’s angry? I mean properly angry?”
Silver opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Mezzo leaned forward slightly, then turned toward Hughes.
“When we were with the Mythics,” he said, “you noticed it too, right? How the air bent around her? How the dragons got weirdly quiet? Like something in them stopped talking for half a second?”
Hughes’s expression didn’t change much.
But his eyes did.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “I noticed.”
Silver’s ears flattened.
“Then you both misread the situation,” he said coldly. “Atmospheric pressure, mana density, stress response—take your pick. It was coincidence.”
Mezzo stared at him.
Then slowly grinned.
“Sure,” Mezzo said brightly. “And I’m secretly a pastry chef.”
Silver looked annoyed. “And i still think it's acoincidence and now your bias showing.”
“Right,” he said. “Because nothing says coincidence like multiple dragons going dead silent around one fluffy cat-rabbit with anxiety.”
Celeste’s ears dipped. “I don’t think I like being evidence.”
Hughes gave her a brief, sympathetic glance. “No one should.”
Celeste shifted awkwardly. “Can we not—”
“No,” Silver cut in, sharp again. “Kenaz Astallan never displayed crystal horns. I’ve seen the records. Portraits. Footage. High dragons don’t hide.”
“He did at home,” Celeste said, a little smaller now. “He wrapped them. Or painted them so they wouldn’t sparkle. He said it drew attention.”
“That is not how this works,” Silver snapped. “High dragons do not conceal themselves. They don’t need to.”
Skye leaned closer to Mezzo and whispered, “Alpha dragons rank under High Dragons. They care about hierarchy.”
Mezzo’s eyebrows lifted.
“Oh,” he said. Then his grin returned, sharper than before. “Oh, that explains a lot.”
Silver’s gaze snapped to him. “What does?”
“You’re butthurt.”
The room went silent.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Butthurt,” Mezzo repeated helpfully. “Because if she’s a High Dragon, that means there are dragons ranked higher than you.”
Silver went very still.
“That,” he said dangerously, “is not relevant.”
Mezzo spread his hands. “You’re the one making it relevant. I just think it’s funny.”
Silver stepped closer. “You think this is amusing.”
“I think,” Mezzo said, grin softening just a little, “that maybe it bugs you that her dragon instincts feel… older.”
Silver’s nostrils flared.
“You assume far too much.”
“Do I?” Mezzo shot back. “You don’t want it to be true, so you’re dismissing it.”
Silver’s voice cooled into polished steel. “You are romanticising her because you like her.”
Mezzo laughed. “I do like her. That’s not news.”
Celeste flushed. “What?”
Topsy leaned forward, eyes wide. “Ooooooh. Drama.”
Silver’s claws flexed subtly.
“But I’m not blind,” Mezzo added. “When Umbranox told her to kneel, she didn’t refuse because she’s rebellious. Something in her refused.”
Silver remembered a moment.
The silence.
The pressure in the air.
The way his own dragon had stiffened—not in defiance.
In recognition.
He hated that he remembered.
Celeste shifted between them. “Guys…”
Mezzo shrugged. “Look, believe what you want. But don’t pretend it’s impossible just because it messes with your internal hierarchy chart.”
Silver’s lip twitched. “Hierarchy charts do not—”
“Exist in your head?” Mezzo finished. “Please. You probably colour-coded them.”
Silver inhaled sharply.
“This is absurd.”
“Maybe,” Mezzo said lightly. “Or maybe you’re just annoyed that the Commander outranks you in more ways than one.”
Silver’s eyes flashed.
For a split second—
his dragon flared.
Not fear.
Not submission.
Something older.
Something instinctive.
He suppressed it instantly.
“This discussion,” he said tightly, “is pointless.”
Mezzo leaned back. “Sure it is.”
Celeste looked between them, frustrated and faintly embarrassed.
“I didn’t choose any of this,” she muttered.
Silver’s gaze flicked to her.
And for a moment—
just a moment—
he looked uncertain.
But pride snapped back into place.
“High dragons are gone,” he said firmly. “That is fact.”
Mezzo shrugged. “So were zombies. Didn’t stop them turning up.”
Silence.
Silver didn’t laugh.
But his tail flicked once.
“Stand,” he said abruptly.
Celeste startled. “What?”
“In the hall,” Silver repeated, already stepping forward. “Stand there.”
Mezzo leaned back, stage-whispering, “Ten marks says this goes badly.”
Ray muttered, “Twenty if someone gets punched.”
Celeste hesitated, then stepped into the open space.
Silver straightened, shoulders squaring—not noble now, but ritual.
Old.
Instinctive.
“Kneel,” he said.
Celeste’s ears flattened. “I—Silver, I don’t think—”
“Kneel,” he repeated. Louder. “If you’re a High Dragon, you’ll know how.”
She swallowed.
Tried.
Her knees bent—
and stopped.
Her body refused.
“I can’t,” she said, embarrassed, glancing away. “I’m sorry. I don’t like this.”
“Then command me,” Silver snapped. “Tell me to kneel.”
Celeste shook her head quickly. “No. I don’t want to order you. Please stop.”
That did it.
Something broke.
Not loudly.
Internally.
The echo of marble halls.
A crown too heavy.
A voice saying kneel and meaning submit.
Silver’s claws flexed at his sides.
“You don’t get to dodge this,” he said, teeth bared just slightly. “Prove it.”
Celeste looked away, distressed.
Hughes stepped forward. “Silver. We are on a mission. That is enough.”
Silver’s head snapped toward him.
For one dreadful second, there was barely anything civilised in his face.
His tail lashed.
A lick of flame curled behind his teeth.
“I demand presence,” he snarled.
Topsy blinked. “Wow. That was dragon talking, wasn’t it?”
Hughes didn’t move back.
“It can wait until we’re done.”
Silver’s gaze snapped back to Celeste.
Celeste’s eyes had gone slit-thin.
Everyone in the room felt it then.
This would not end well.
Then—
BZZZT—
An urgent call cut through the speakers.
A voice, sharp and strained, filled the lab:
“All units—respond immediately. Perimeter breach detected. This is not a drill.”
The lab froze.
Director Addfwyn’s pleasant expression cracked for the first time.
He turned toward the nearest wall speaker, eyes narrowing.
“What on Astraea’s name is this?”
Another alarm screamed through the facility.
Red light washed over the walls.
The main doors burst open and two Godiad guards rushed in, armour half-fastened, rune-rifles clutched tight.
“Sir!” one of them gasped. “Zombies on the perimeter!”
Addfwyn went very still. “Impossible. The fence wards are keyed to internal authority.”
“Someone lowered them,” the second guard said, pale beneath his helmet. “They got in before the outer line came back up. East service yard is compromised.”
The room shifted again.
Not with fear.
With purpose.
Topsy was already undoing her harness straps and bouncing to her feet. “Come on!” she snapped, suddenly fierce. “Let’s go. We can’t leave them defenceless.”
Celeste exhaled shakily, relief and terror tangling across her face.
A way out of the argument.
A crisis she understood.
People in danger.
She straightened at once.
“Agreed,” she said. “We help secure the perimeter, then we leave.”
Addfwyn lifted a hand. “Commander, Godiad security can—”
“No,” Celeste said, already summoning her katanas in a shimmer of light. Her voice shook, but it did not bend. “If there are zombies inside the wards, everyone here is at risk.”
Ray’s hammer formed in a burst of phoenix heat. “Finally. Something honest.”
Mezzo swung Infernal Riff over his shoulder. “Right then. Perimeter cleanup. Try not to get eaten by anything with sprinkles.”
Hughes pointed his crook toward the doors. “Move.”
Celeste turned, already running.
The team followed, the moment shattered.
She passed Silver without looking at him, ears still low from the argument, jaw set hard enough to hurt.
Silver stood frozen for half a second longer—
jaw tight, heart hammering, dragon instincts roaring.
A High Dragon.
Impossible.
Dangerous.
Unacceptable.
As he turned to follow, his expression was composed again.
But underneath—
Silver Arcturus was furious.
And afraid.
Because if Celeste Astallan truly was what she claimed—
then the world had just become far more dangerous than he was prepared to admit.
