The garden was quiet in that cathedral way—too manicured, too intentional, like silence had been trained to behave.
Sunlight spilled through high arches and caught on the spray of the fountain at its center. Water curled and fell over carved stone, every drop glinting like glass.
Up on the balcony, Topsy waved both arms enthusiastically at nothing in particular, nearly overbalancing before catching herself on the railing. Mezzo lounged nearby, guitar already summoned, idly plucking out a tune that sounded heroic on accident.
Below, Celeste, Hughes, Pitch, and Skye stood near the fountain.
It depicted a holy knight—armor etched with runes—standing against a writhing mass of darkness. The Void. Tendrils recoiled as the knight raised a blade of pure light. Behind him, carved into the stone, was Motherlight, arms outstretched, her heart glowing. From it, ten beams of light arced outward to ten smaller figures—children, each distinct, each braced against the dark.
Celeste tilted her head, studying it.
“Hughes?” she asked softly. “What… is the Void?”
Hughes didn’t answer right away. He folded his hands behind his back, eyes on the fountain.
“Best way I can put it?” he said finally. “It’s a force. Not a creature. It consumes meaning as much as matter. Anything it touches—life, memory, identity—it breaks down and repurposes.”
Skye shivered slightly.
“They say it’s been seen in space,” Hughes continued. “Drifting between worlds. And a long time ago… it wiped out the Kymara.”
Celeste’s ears twitched. “Wiped out?”
“So the stories go,” Hughes said evenly. “The Luminarch version says a king—Fatherflame—stood against it. That he turned the darkness back at great cost.”
Pitch glanced at the carving, unimpressed. “And the rest?”
“The rest says the Void corrupted Motherlight,” Hughes went on, voice steady, “and her children. That the knight—sometimes the king, sometimes another—brought her back to the light. The ten children were meant to keep the darkness at bay. Anchors. Shields.”
Celeste’s gaze locked on the stone heart, light spilling outward.
“They look… connected,” she murmured. “Like if one breaks—”
“—the others strain,” Hughes finished. “Yes.”
He exhaled. “Personally? I think most of it’s symbolic. A way to explain catastrophe in people terms.”
Pitch snorted. “The Luminarch doctrine’s full of that. Saints everywhere. Every evil defeated by someone with a better title and a shinier sword.” He glanced sideways. “I’ve never actually read it.”
Hughes arched a brow. “You should.”
Pitch blinked. “I’m not surprised you’re religious.”
Hughes didn’t look at him. “I grew up with it.”
A beat.
“…And that’s not up for discussion.”
Pitch raised his hands in surrender. “Noted.”
The sound came sharp and wrong—
a scrape of claw on stone, followed by a wet, sugary crackle.
Celeste turned, already bracing. “That’s not—”
The gryphon hit the light.
Once, it might have been a Chorister.
Now it was candy and bone and vestments fused together—wings crusted in crystallized sugar, halo snapped and embedded in its skull at a crooked angle. Its beak dripped syrup that hissed where it hit the marble.
They scattered on instinct.
“CONTACT!” Pitch barked.
Celeste saw the polar bear Radiant at the edge of the garden—watching. Not screaming. Not running. Just… observing.
Topsy clocked it at the same time. “HEY—!”
She and Mezzo bolted after her, Mezzo already breaking into a sprint, guitar flaring into existence mid-run.
“DON’T YOU DARE—” Topsy shouted, vanishing around the hedge after her.
The gryphon Chorister lunged.
Celeste moved first.
Katanas sang into her hands as she dropped low, sliding across wet stone beneath snapping talons. Her rhythm shifted—step, strike, breath—
Halo Rhythm.
Each slash landed in time with a faint chiming pulse, spark-notes of light ringing out with every perfect beat. Left blade, right blade, turn—
SHHHRRRK—
the timing clicked.
Light flared brighter with each flawless strike, damage stacking as the cadence held. Candy flesh split like soft glass, fractures glowing where her rhythm burned through corrupted mana.
The gryphon reeled—
—and Pitch was already gone.
He slid forward on a ribbon of shadow, boots skimming the floor in a low, lethal arc.
Royal Sweep.
Lady Luck flashed as he carved a wide crescent through the creature’s flank, cards slicing in a clean, elegant spread. Before the gryphon could even register the hit, Pitch shadow-jumped—reappearing safely behind a toppled plinth, breath steady.
“Hi,” he muttered, and fired point-blank into the back of its head.
The creature shrieked—sound warping, echoing wrong.
Hughes stepped in, crook striking stone.
Time stuttered.
The gryphon’s charge slowed to a syrupy crawl. Its talons missed by inches as Hughes twisted his staff and nudged fate just enough.
It stumbled.
Celeste didn’t break rhythm.
She pivoted, spark-notes chiming once more as her blades crossed in a final, perfectly timed beat—light surging through the fractures Pitch had opened.
The gryphon sagged, pinned, its struggle finally losing sync with the fight.
That was when Hughes moved.
He lowered his stance, crook angled just so, time already warping around him like breath held too long.
“Now,” he murmured.
He charged.
Not fast—inevitable.
Headbutt of Ages.
Hughes slammed forward, horns first, crook flaring as it amplified the force beyond anything physics had signed off on. For a split heartbeat, the gryphon froze—time locking it in place, wings half-spread, scream caught in its throat—
Then the impact landed.
The sound was thunder wrapped in stone.
The gryphon was hurled backward like it had offended history itself, smashing through a cracked plinth and skidding across the floor in a spray of glassy candy shards.
Hughes planted his hooves, exhaled once, and straightened as time snapped back into place.
“…That,” Pitch said from behind cover, peering over the edge, “looked personal.”
Hughes adjusted his grip on the crook, calm as ever. “I dislike creatures that pretend they are ordained.”
Celeste glanced at the downed gryphon, then back at Hughes, awe flickering across her face.
“Remind me,” she said lightly, “never to stand in your way.”
Hughes smiled, just a little.
“Sound advice.”
Skye darted forward, heart hammering, ears flat. He raised his hands—
—and the card launcher snapped open with a sharp, familiar click.
A sigil flared into being midair, angular and radiant, shaped like a gilded card torn straight from scripture. Light gathered fast—too fast—until it screamed.
“Judgement—!” Skye gasped.
The beam fired.
A column of divine light lanced across the hall, striking the gryphon zombie square in the chest. The impact wasn’t explosive—it was binding. The creature shrieked as the light expanded outward, hardening into glowing restraints that burned with quiet authority.
The gryphon screamed—and reared back.
Its chest swelled, sugar veins glowing hot—
A candy blast detonated from its beak, a concussive wave that splattered molten syrup across the floor. Celeste skidded sideways as the blast scorched past her—
—but the creature twisted mid-air.
The syrup crystallized.
Shards.
They screamed outward like shrapnel.
“TAIL—!” Pitch shouted, jumping back as one shard scorched past his hip—
Another clipped his tail.
He yelped, smoke curling. “STARSSS—okay that burns—”
Celeste didn’t hesitate.
She crossed her blades in a sharp, snapping arc—
Lunar Cross.
Light tore free in an X-shaped slash, starry trails lingering a heartbeat too long as the strike carved straight through the gryphon’s torso. The candy shell fractured, glowing fissures spiderwebbing outward.
It should have staggered.
Instead—
The gryphon slammed into her.
Celeste hit the wall hard, breath knocked clean from her lungs. Stone cracked. Her blades clattered as she slid down, vision swimming.
“Celeste!” Skye cried.
“I’m—” Celeste gasped, forcing herself upright. Pain flared white-hot—but she pressed her palm to her chest, eyes squeezed shut.
Light bloomed softly around her.
Not explosive.
Not fast.
A covering heal—slow, steady, intentional.
Golden warmth rippled outward, mending torn muscles, easing burns, knitting shallow wounds across the team. Pitch felt the sting across his tail dull. Hughes’ breathing evened. Skye’s hands stopped shaking.
Celeste stayed seated, back against the wall, breathing through the pain.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Just—hold.”
The gryphon shrieked again and lunged—
Pitch met it head-on.
He snapped Lady Luck up, cards flashing.
Lucky Shot.
One card flew—crackling with unstable elemental energy—
fire folded into lightning folded into shadow—
It struck true.
The blast tore into the gryphon’s neck—
—but it wasn’t fast enough.
A talon raked across Pitch’s chest.
He screamed, stumbling back as blood hit stone, jacket shredded, breath knocked from him.
“Pitch!” Ray shouted.
He barely stayed upright.
“…Worth it,” he rasped, forcing himself to aim again.
That was when Celeste pushed herself to her feet—
—and the fight tipped.
At the same moment—
The floor ruptured.
A net-monster burst up from beneath the stone, all jointed limbs and glowing seams, its body unfolding like a mechanical prayer gone wrong. It slammed around the gryphon in a snap of force, limbs locking, cables tightening.
The gryphon thrashed.
Its wings spasmed—then stuck fast, pinned mid-beat by light and steel.
Skye staggered back a step, chest heaving, eyes wide.
“I—I got it,” he breathed, half-disbelieving. “I actually—”
The gryphon snarled, jaws snapping uselessly as the sigil flared brighter, judgement burning through corrupted mana and freezing it in place.
Pitch whooped from behind him. “YES—hold it! Don’t let go!”
Skye swallowed, forcing his hands steady as the launcher hummed, the beam holding firm.
Skye hissed sharply, wincing. His ears flicked, head jerking as if he’d heard something no one else had.
Celeste noticed.
“Skye—?”
“I’m—fine,” he snapped, forcing himself steady. “Just—finish it.”
She didn’t argue.
Celeste surged forward, blades flashing.
One clean strike—
the gryphon’s tail severed, shattering into glittering shards.
Pitch didn’t wait.
He landed, steadied Lady Luck, and fired.
The head came apart in a burst of warped light and sugar-dust.
The body convulsed once—
then distorted, folding in on itself like reality rejecting it.
Pop.
Silence.
Exp glittered across the garden tiles, drifting like fireflies. Among it lay a rare drop—a cracked halo fragment, still faintly warm.
Celeste exhaled, chest heaving.
Hughes released the time-lock. Skye slumped slightly but stayed upright.
Pitch scanned the hedges. “That Radiant didn’t run.”
Celeste’s jaw tightened.
“No,” she said. “She watched.”
From the balcony, Mezzo’s voice echoed faintly—angry, sharp, chasing someone through the grounds.
Whatever this meeting was supposed to be—
it wasn’t just a conversation anymore.
