Celeste arrived at the council building on instinct more than confidence.
The marble steps were still the same—too clean, too white, too expensive—but the feeling was different now. Fewer outright sneers. More sidelong looks. Recognition, if not respect.
Most nobles still dismissed her with practiced indifference.
But they knew who she was.
The receptionist didn’t even look up this time—just slid a hand across the desk and pointed down the hall. “Top floor. Third door. Don’t wander.”
Celeste nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”
The guards watched her as she passed. Not hostile. Not welcoming.
Evaluating.
Caedrix Umbranox’s office doors opened at her touch.
And Celeste stopped short.
Silver was already there.
Seated. Hands folded. Posture impeccable. Expression… deeply uncomfortable.
He looked like someone who’d been assigned a group project with the one classmate who actually did the reading—and was desperately hoping the teacher wouldn’t call on him first.
Celeste blinked. “…Oh.”
Silver cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her.
Lady Umbranox didn’t miss a beat. “Sit, Celeste.”
Celeste obeyed, spine straight, hands folded in her lap like she was back at school and about to be told she’d done something terribly wrong.
Instead, Umbranox reached beneath her desk and placed a small, velvet-lined box in front of her.
She opened it.
Inside lay a Knight-Commander’s badge—platinum, heavy, edged with carefully set mana gems that shimmered softly in the office light. Elegant. Official. Real.
On the inner plate, etched clean and unmistakable:
Knight Commander Celeste Astallan
Her breath caught.
Umbranox spoke calmly. “It’s fitted with a digital clearance pass. Council building. Military facilities. Restricted zones when appropriate.” A pause. “Your unit is now official.”
Celeste stared.
“You are no longer provisional,” Umbranox continued. “Congratulations, Commander Astallan.”
For one terrifying moment, Celeste genuinely didn’t know whether she should cry, hug her, salute, or bolt out the door.
So she did the only thing her brain could manage.
“I—” She swallowed. “I’m honoured, Lady Umbranox.”
Umbranox inclined her head. “It was earned.”
She gestured toward the badge. “The formal ceremony will have to wait. There will be a ball. Eventually.”
Celeste panicked instantly. “Oh—you don’t need to—”
“It’s custom,” Umbranox said firmly. “And endorsement.” Her gaze sharpened. “It ensures you are taken seriously. By people who otherwise wouldn’t.”
Celeste nodded, clutching the box like it might vanish if she let go.
“Now,” Umbranox said, folding her hands atop the desk, “to the matter I actually called you here for.”
Silver stiffened.
Immediately.
He studied the wall. The ceiling. A decorative plant that definitely hadn’t existed five minutes ago.
Celeste noticed.
Oh.
This is going to be awkward.
Umbranox’s gaze flicked to Silver. Then back to Celeste.
“You and Lord Arcturus have had… overlapping experiences recently.”
Silver winced.
Celeste tilted her head, cautious. “Yes, Lady Umbranox.”
“Some of those experiences,” Umbranox continued evenly, “involved matters that were not disclosed to me. Or to the Council.”
Silver shut his eyes for half a second.
Celeste felt the weight of the room shift.
Umbranox leaned back slightly, assessing them both.
“And before either of you decides to speak,” she added, cool and precise, “be very certain that what you say next is the truth.”
Silence stretched.
Silver finally exhaled, resigned.
Celeste tightened her grip on the badge box.
Whatever this was—
It wasn’t small.
Umbranox folded her hands on the desk, fingers steepled, gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
“The reports I received from both of you,” she said calmly, “are… creative. Thorough in places. Strangely poetic in others.” Her eyes flicked between them. “And yet both somehow fail to mention my son’s recent return of mana.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
Celeste and Silver spoke at the same time.
“I didn’t think it was my place—”
“It was circumstantial—”
“It kind of just happened—”
“I was going to tell you—”
“—eventually!”
Umbranox raised one finger.
The room stopped.
“Enough.”
Both of them snapped their mouths shut instantly.
She leaned back slightly. “The Council has long feared mana users within its ranks. That is why suppression runes were legalized by my predecessor.” Her eyes slid to Silver. “So that you could be eligible to join the Council at all.”
Silver crossed his arms. “Which worked. So this is unnecessary.”
“It is not,” Umbranox said flatly.
She continued, voice measured. “Now that your mana has returned, the Council wants reassurance. Political reassurance. Structural reassurance. Personal reassurance.”
Silver scoffed. “This is paranoia.”
“This is governance,” Umbranox corrected. “And perception.”
She turned her gaze fully on him. “To enter the Middle Ring, you require military backing. You already have education, lineage, clearance, and leverage.” A pause. “What you do not have is trust.”
Celeste tilted her head sympathetically. “Oh dear. That’s not very nice. Have you tried a gift basket? People like those.”
Silver dropped his head into his hands. “I’m doomed. I’m absolutely doomed. Mother, please—look at her.”
Umbranox did.
Then said, calmly, “I am.”
Celeste froze.
“And no, Commander Astallan,” Umbranox added dryly, “a gift basket will not be necessary.”
Silver peeked through his fingers.
“Lord Arcturus requires field experience,” Umbranox continued, “to demonstrate control of his mana—and to witness firsthand the lives of the people he will one day govern.”
Silver straightened. “Fine. Assign me to a unit. Any unit. I’ll manage.”
“You will,” Umbranox agreed. “Commander Astallan’s.”
The room detonated.
“What?!” Celeste and Silver said in perfect, horrified unison.
Silver spun toward his mother. “Absolutely not. I outrank her.”
Umbranox didn’t even blink. “We have a commander. A capable one. And you—if placed in charge—would find a way to supervise from a chair.”
Silver bristled. “This is torture.”
“This is work,” she replied. “And this way, I know you’ll do it.”
She turned to Celeste. “Until the zombie outbreak is resolved, Lord Arcturus will serve as your second in command.”
Celeste’s brain stalled. “…Me?”
“Yes.”
Silver opened his mouth.
Umbranox raised a brow.
He closed it again, teeth clenched.
“You will not give him your formal backing during this period,” Umbranox continued. “Should he refuse orders, disregard protocol, or attempt to coast on charm alone—”
She smiled faintly.
“You have my permission to remove him from the field until he learns discipline.”
Silver stared. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am.”
Then she leaned forward, eyes narrowing just a fraction as she looked at Celeste.
“And should he die, Astallan,” she said pleasantly, “know there is no place in this world or the next where I would not find you and crush you.”
Celeste went very still.
“Yes—yes, Lady Umbranox,” she said quickly, nodding so fast her hat nearly fell off. “Understood. Completely. Crushing acknowledged.”
Umbranox straightened, satisfied.
“You are dismissed.”
She paused, just long enough to look at Silver.
“Oh—and Silver?”
“Yes, Mother,” he muttered.
“Do have fun.”
Silver groaned aloud.
Celeste stood there, clutching her new badge, staring at the door as it closed behind them—
—and realizing she’d just been promoted, threatened, and given a very handsome problem in the span of five minutes.
They stepped out into the marble hallway together, the doors to Lady Umbranox’s office closing behind them with a soft, ominous thud.
Silver glanced sideways at Celeste.
First thought: How did I get stuck with her? She has absolutely no idea what she’s doing.
Second thought: …She’s cute.
He sighed inwardly. This will be easy. A few well-placed smiles, a bit of charm, and she’ll fold like a garden chair.
Celeste, meanwhile, was catastrophizing at olympic speed.
Okay. New second-in-command. Don’t let him die. Don’t let him insult Ray. Don’t let Arcade cook for him. Mezzo jokes are a workplace hazard. Can someone die from second-hand embarrassment? Also Bonbon is absolutely a trip hazard. Must remember that.
Silver broke the silence first, hands in his pockets.
“Well,” he said dryly, “I suppose we’re stuck with each other. Again.”
Celeste brightened immediately. “Oh! It appears so. I have so much to show you. Our base is currently a tree.”
Silver stopped walking for half a second. “…A tree.”
“Yes! A very good one.”
“Oh, goodie,” he drawled. “I’ve always wanted to wage war from shrubbery.”
They continued down the corridor. As they passed clusters of nobles, whispers followed them like gnats.
“Is that—”
“Why is he with her?”
“A hybrid peasant—”
“Disgraceful—”
Silver’s shoulders slowly hunched, posture tightening, his tail flicking once in irritation. He suddenly looked very interested in the floor, wishing—truly wishing—he could simply evaporate.
Celeste, oblivious, kept talking cheerfully.
“And that wing over there has really confusing signage, and the lifts don’t work half the time, and Arcade wired the lights to explode once but it was an accident—”
Silver glanced at her, baffled. She didn’t even seem to notice the looks.
At the exit, sunlight spilling in ahead of them, he stopped and turned toward her.
She stopped too, attentive.
“You know,” he said lazily, “you’re much prettier when you’re quiet. Adds to the mystique.”
Celeste flushed instantly. “Oh—! Um. I can… talk less? If that helps?”
Silver blinked. Oh. That worked faster than expected.
He stepped a little closer, voice lowering. “And you have lovely eyes,” he continued smoothly. “So big and expressive. And that little pink button nose—quite unusual for a ragdoll.”
Celeste’s ears went flat. She yanked her hat down over her face like it might save her.
“I—I’m rather self-conscious about my eyes and nose,” she mumbled. “They’re kind of… big. Compared to my face. I’ve tried making them look more normal but—”
“Nonsense,” Silver said lightly.
Before she could react, he lifted the brim of her hat just enough to see her face and gave her a quick wink.
“I like them.”
Celeste’s brain fully blue-screened.
Steam practically came off her ears as she squeaked something unintelligible and hid behind the hat again, tail puffed, face burning.
Silver straightened, utterly pleased with himself.
His cat side purred smugly.
Yes, he thought. This will be very easy.
Lysander caught up to them before Celeste had taken more than three steps.
He didn’t even bother hiding the look—cold, dismissive, like he’d spotted something unpleasant stuck to the sole of his boot. Then his attention slid back to Silver, all polished composure.
“Ah. Silver.” His gaze flicked past him again. “Could I have a word?”
Celeste blinked, already stepping back. “Oh—yes! I’ll just, um—wait near the fountain.”
Lysander’s lip curled faintly. “Do try not to sully it. Stars know where your hands have been.”
Celeste paused, tilted her head, then smiled brightly.
“Oh! I had a bath yesterday. Used a bath bomb I found while scouting. Candy floss. My third favourite flavour.”
And with that, she scampered off toward the fountain, humming softly, immediately crouching to peer at the bug-pigeons fluttering around the water.
“…You look like a Harold,” she whispered to one. “And you’re definitely a Button.”
Lysander watched her go with visible distaste.
“You have my sympathy,” he said to Silver. “Is Umbranox truly making you stay with that?” He gestured vaguely in Celeste’s direction, like she might be contagious.
Silver sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Then, with a faint smirk:
“But honestly? I say the right things and she’ll probably do most of the work for me. You know how girls are.”
Lysander gave a thin chuckle. “Just don’t sleep with her. Hybrids aren’t like us—no standards.”
Silver waved a hand. “No distractions. I’ve a recommendation to earn. Middle Ring by Winterlight Festival.” He glanced toward Celeste again, voice dropping. “Besides, she strikes me as the desperate-for-belonging type. Pathetic, if you ask me.”
“She isn’t like that.”
Both of them stiffened.
Silver turned first. Bartleby stood a few paces behind them, hands folded, expression calm—but his eyes were sharp.
Silver’s face rearranged itself instantly into charm.
“Bartleby! I didn’t see you there.”
“I heard enough,” Bartleby said evenly. He looked at Silver, then Lysander. “Try not to be like that around them. They’re not as bad as you think.”
Lysander scoffed. “Lazy hybrids living in a tree? Can’t even maintain a proper base. I’d wager they stole the funds for those uniforms. Typical criminals.”
Bartleby didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.
“At least I can trust them,” he said quietly. “There are things money can’t buy, Lysander.”
He turned away before either could reply, heading toward the fountain where Celeste was now gently shooing two bug-pigeons apart like a kindergarten teacher.
Lysander exhaled sharply. “He’s never going to forgive me, is he?”
Silver shrugged. “Probably not.”
Then, with a dry smile:
“Ah well. I’m off to live in poverty. Might as well make the most of it.”
Lysander straightened. “Just don’t let them influence you. Remember who you are.”
Silver nodded, expression smoothing into something cooler.
“Patron of Sight. Ruling next to my brother—the Judge of Sight.”
“Good,” Lysander said. “Now show them what education and standards can do.”
Silver turned away, already rehearsing the role in his head.
Across the hall, Celeste laughed softly as a bug-pigeon landed on her finger.
He didn’t look back.
