Back at base, Silver walked in like he owned the place.
Not loudly. Not arrogantly. Just with that effortless confidence that said this room will adjust to me, not the other way around.
Mezzo clocked it immediately.
So did Ray.
Hughes narrowed his eyes just a fraction.
Pitch leaned back, arms crossed, already unimpressed.
Celeste, blissfully, noticed none of it.
She beamed and clapped her hands together. “Okay! Everyone—this is Silver. He’s… um… our newest member.”
Mezzo slammed both hands on the table.
“Nooooooo.”
Silver straightened smoothly. “A pleasure.” He gave a shallow, practiced bow. “Lord Silver Balthazar Arcturus the Third.”
There was a beat.
Mezzo squinted. “What happened to the first and second?”
Topsy snorted.
Arcade burst out laughing.
Silver didn’t miss a beat. “Tragic accidents. One tripped over ambition, the other died of boredom.”
The table erupted.
Celeste giggled—an honest, surprised sound.
Mezzo felt something deep in his chest crack.
No.
His dog-side growled internally. I’m the one who makes Celeste laugh.
War was declared.
Celeste, unaware she had just triggered a silent blood feud, pulled out her clipboard. “Right! So—chores and duty rotations for the week. I wasn’t expecting this, so, Silver, you can help with my rotation this week and I’ll help with yours next week. And obviously—if zombies attack, we drop everything and focus on that.”
Silver nodded graciously.
Then he looked down at the list.
Laundry rotation.
Dishes.
Kitchen prep.
Egg Tree maintenance.
Supply sorting.
Laundry again (why was it on there twice).
His smile froze—just for half a second.
The concept of doing dishes might as well have been written in ancient runes.
He leaned closer to Celeste, lowering his voice just enough to sound vulnerable. “I should confess something, Commander.”
Celeste tilted her head. “Oh?”
“I’ve… never done any of this.” He gestured vaguely at the clipboard. “Ever. I fear I’d only slow everyone down. Or break something. Possibly both.”
He softened his expression, just a touch. “It would be a shame if morale suffered because I ruined a sponge.”
Celeste blinked.
“Oh! That’s okay,” she said immediately. “I can do it—you can just watch until you understand!”
Silver’s eyes flickered with quiet victory.
Ray’s pen snapped in her grip.
She leaned toward Pitch and whispered through clenched teeth, “Do you see this?”
Pitch didn’t look away from Silver. “Oh, I see it.”
Across the table, Silver smiled politely, already pulling out a chair next to Celeste.
Mezzo stared at him like he was about to flip the cookie table.
Hughes sighed, deeply, like a man watching a slow-motion disaster.
Then, Hughes cleared his throat.
Not loudly. Not aggressively. Just that calm, iron-spined dad voice that made even artillery think twice.
“Lord Arcturus,” he said, polite to a fault, “you’re part of a team here. We all pull our weight.”
Silver didn’t even look up from the clipboard.
“I am,” he scoffed. “I’m second in command. I only take orders from Celeste.”
The table went dead quiet.
Then—
Laughter.
Not mocking. Not cruel. Just instant, collective, helpless laughter.
Topsy snorted so hard she nearly fell off her chair.
Arcade wheezed.
Pitch covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.
Even Lumina hid a smile behind her cup.
Silver frowned. “What’s so funny?”
Mezzo reached over and slapped his shoulder, friendly and fatal.
“Mate. We’re all her second in command.”
Silver blinked.
“…No,” he said slowly. “That’s not how a chain of command works.”
Hughes folded his hands on the table. “At the moment, we don’t have one.”
Silver turned, incredulous. “You don’t—?”
Celeste peeked up from her clipboard, ears twitching. “Oh! Um. I left it to a table vote.”
Silver stared at her.
Hughes continued, “Celeste’s our commander. But after the kraken, we agreed she listens to what the vote suggests.”
Ray leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “No ranks under her. No one outranks anyone else.”
Pitch nodded. “Means no resentment.”
Ray added flatly, “And no more fights.”
There it was.
Silver opened his mouth.
Closed it.
His brain visibly tried to reorder reality.
“No… no, that’s—” He gestured helplessly. “Someone must have authority. A hierarchy. You can’t just—”
Arcade grinned. “We just did.”
Mezzo leaned back, smug. “Welcome to democracy, your lordship.”
Silver looked around the table.
No guards.
No aides.
No titles that mattered.
Just people. Tired, muddy, stubborn people who had fought a kraken together and decided this worked better.
For the first time since he’d walked into the tree, it hit him.
Here, his name meant nothing.
His rank meant nothing.
His polish meant nothing.
He wasn’t special.
He wasn’t protected by protocol.
He was just… another body at the table.
Silver swallowed.
“…I see,” he said carefully.
Ray smirked. “Do you?”
Hughes slid the clipboard back toward him. “Dishes are tonight.”
Silver stared at the word like it had personally insulted his bloodline.
Silver didn’t storm out.
That would’ve been dramatic.
Instead, he did the dignified thing: excused himself with a tight smile, stepped into the hallway, and the moment the door slid shut—
“CALL MOTHER.”
Lady Umbranox’s image snapped into existence in a wash of pale light, already unimpressed.
“No.”
Silver blinked. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“I know exactly what you’re about to say,” Umbranox replied pleasantly. “And the answer is no.”
Silver straightened. “I’m merely calling to discuss the… logistical incompatibilities of this arrangement.”
“No.”
He switched tactics instantly, smile warm, voice smooth. “Mother, surely you can see this is inefficient. I could be far more useful elsewhere. Strategically. Politically.”
“No.”
He sighed, then—lower lip. Hands clasped. Full, theatrical pleading.
“Mother.”
She didn’t even flinch.
“Dishes won’t hurt you,” Umbranox said dryly. “You should see what my mother made me do when I got too big for my boots. Two years of mythic relief efforts.”
Silver grimaced. “That sounds horrific.”
“It was muddy,” she admitted. “But I met your father there. So it wasn’t a total loss.”
Silver muttered, “I somehow doubt I’ll meet my future wife in a tree.”
Umbranox laughed—actually laughed. “That’s beside the point. You’re not leaving.”
She leaned closer to the holographic display, eyes sharp as cut glass.
“And if you try,” she added sweetly, “I’ll cut off your allowance.”
Silver’s blood ran cold.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Umbranox’s smile sharpened. “Try me.”
The call cut.
Silence.
Silver stared at the dead display, then dragged a hand down his face and exhaled long and slow.
“…I hate trees.”
He turned back toward the common room—
—and stopped.
Celeste’s voice drifted through the doorway, soft and earnest.
“Please try to be nice,” she was saying. “I don’t think he knows how to be… hybridy. We should try to teach him.”
Silver froze.
Mezzo’s voice followed immediately. “He’s going to be a pain in the arse.”
Ray, flat and certain. “I agree. Don’t trust nobles. Especially council ones.”
Arcade chimed in cheerfully, “Want me to dig up dirt? My money’s on a scandal.”
There was a pause—then Arcade added, more thoughtful, “Also, let’s be real. He probably had a whole staff cleaning for him. Dressing him. Folding his socks. I’d bet actual money he wouldn’t know how to clean a plate if his life depended on it.”
“That’s fine,” Celeste said immediately. “I’ll teach him. He’ll be the bestest dish cleaner in the base.”
Ray snorted. “Celeste, you dropped two plates this morning.”
Celeste bristled. “In my defence, my fur gets slippery in water.”
“Uh-huh,” Ray said. “Tragic.”
Hughes cleared his throat. “If he’s staying, he’ll need to be whipped into shape. Best ask Bracer to run him through training. Cardio. Climbing. Jumping. Proper fundamentals.” He nodded grimly. “Needs sorting. Soon.”
Ray glanced toward the doorway. “He looks like the thought of exercise is grounds to sue.”
Celeste waved it off. “That’s fine. I’ll slow things down. Make sure no zombies nibble his pretty tail.”
Topsy gasped theatrically. “Oooooh. Celeste thinks his tail is pretty.”
“It is,” Celeste shot back without missing a beat. “Very fluffy. Did you see it? He probably spends ages brushing it. Honestly, I should brush mine more.”
Mezzo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “You’re being awfully nice, princess.”
Celeste sighed. “I don’t want Umbranox to kill me.” Then, in a pitch-perfect imitation, she added coolly, “I will personally hunt you down if anything happens to him.”
Pitch snorted. “Don't worry about Umbranox, Worry about him. He’s the council poster child. He’d sell us under the table if it meant better treatment.”
Celeste leaned forward, lowering her voice like she was asking a dangerous tactical question.
“…What’s a poster child?” she whispered. “Does that mean he was raised with posters? Like motivational ones?”
The room didn’t react.
For half a second.
Then it collapsed.
Mezzo went first—an undignified bark of laughter that turned into wheezing as he slid straight out of his chair and hit the floor. Topsy cackled so hard she fell backwards, kicking her feet in the air. Arcade slapped the table, gasping, “I— I can’t— stars—”
Even Hughes lost it.
Actually lost it.
He bent over, hands on his knees, shoulders shaking, trying—and failing—to breathe. “I— I’m— excuse me—” he choked, waving a hand like he needed a medic.
Pitch wiped tears from his eyes, laughing so hard his voice cracked. “No— no— no, it means something else,” he managed between breaths.
Celeste nodded solemnly, utterly serious. “Oh. Thank goodness.” She relaxed. “I really didn’t want to go running out for posters today. The zombies are a bit snappy, and I wouldn’t know what would inspire him.”
That did it.
Mezzo rolled onto his back, clutching his ribs. “I’M DEAD— I’M ACTUALLY DEAD—”
Ray had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, muttering, “Stars help me, she’s lethal.”
Behind the door, Silver pressed his forehead lightly to the frame.
And laughed.
Just a little.
Quiet. Unnoticed.
Against his will.
For the first time since walking into the tree, the laughter didn’t sound stupid.
It sounded… warm.
