The Gwennan rolled through the outer district, tyres hissing over wet concrete as Godiad’s facility rose ahead of them.
It did not look abandoned.
That was the first worrying sign.
Most buildings this far from the protected districts had surrendered to the apocalypse in stages—boarded windows, scorch marks, emergency wards flickering tiredly around cracked doors. Godiad looked untouched. Concrete-and-rune walls rose in smooth grey tiers, humming softly beneath lines of embedded light. Ward pylons stood at each corner, their tips glowing faint gold, scanning the road with patient, insectile sweeps.
The building felt less like it was guarding itself.
More like it was thinking about them.
Arcade leaned forward from the back. “That place has too many opinions.”
Ray grunted. “It’s a building.”
“It’s a smug building.”
The Gwennan slowed.
A thin chime rang through the air.
Then something descended from above.
A drone unfolded from the upper wardline, all polished brass, white casing, and rotating rune-lenses. It hovered in front of the vehicle, wings buzzing in neat mechanical beats. Its single eye flared blue.
“YOU ARE APPROACHING A PRIVATE FACILITY UNDER HOUSE CARIAD AUTHORITY,” it announced in a crisp, polite voice. “STATE YOUR BUSINESS.”
Mezzo looked at Celeste. “Do we tell it we’re here to poke suspicious things until they squeal?”
“No,” Hughes said.
Silver rose before anyone else could make things worse.
He stepped from the Gwennan with perfect Council composure, borrowed armour adjusted neatly, chin lifted just enough to be official without looking theatrical.
“We are the Knights of Clawdiff,” he said. “Operating under Church authority and Council jurisdiction. I am Lord Silver Arcturus, acting with House Arcturus authority. We wish to speak with whoever in authority is available.”
The drone’s lens narrowed.
Silence followed.
Long enough for Topsy to whisper, “I think it’s judging your posture.”
Silver did not look back. “Everything judges my posture.”
The drone rotated once.
A pale scanning grid swept over them through the windscreen.
Blue.
Green.
Gold.
“No conventional weapons detected,” the drone said.
Ray glanced down at Heartbreaker’s dormant charm. “That feels rude.”
“Suppression runes in place,” the drone continued. “Mana conductance within acceptable visitor thresholds. House Arcturus authority recognised. Provisional Church designation recognised. Council emergency credentials recognised.”
Celeste exhaled quietly.
The drone rose half a metre.
“You may enter.”
The road ahead shimmered.
A gate that had not been there a moment before unfolded from the wall, rune-lines peeling apart like opening eyelids. Beyond it lay a clean approach road lined with trimmed hedges, security lanterns, and far too much silence.
Arcade muttered, “I hate when creepy places have good landscaping.”
The Gwennan rolled to a stop outside Godiad, its concrete-and-rune exterior humming softly like it was thinking about them.
A woman was already waiting.
Lady Vale Velvet—tall, composed, coat trimmed with subtle ward-thread—turned as they approached. Her eyes flicked to Silver and softened.
“Cousin,” she said warmly. “You vanished from the Council again.”
Silver brightened instantly, posture snapping upright like someone had flipped a switch.
“Vale! I knew you were avoiding those meetings. I missed you at court.”
She smiled, tired but genuine. “Someone has to keep the wards running while the rest of you argue about seating charts. Protection runes don’t maintain themselves.”
Ray muttered, “Tragic.”
Vale’s gaze drifted over the Knights—lingering briefly on Celeste and Lumina, curious but not dismissive.
“So,” she said lightly, “you’re the famous Knights of Clawdiff. I was wondering when you’d come poking around Godiad.”
Celeste stepped forward, hands folded politely. “We’re just here to look around, if that’s alright. We had… questions.”
Vale studied her for half a second longer than necessary.
Then nodded.
“Of course. Transparency is healthy. Follow me.”
Inside, Godiad felt less like a fortress and more like a laboratory that had learned manners. Clean lines. Soft mana-light. Wards etched with care rather than fear.
A short figure approached them, adjusting the cuffs of a mismatched, boldly patterned suit—African-inspired prints clashing charmingly with tailored mythic formalwear.
Director Addfwyn.
A Llamhigyn y Dŵr, ancient and amphibious, with sharp eyes and a smile that suggested he’d seen empires rise, fall, and embarrass themselves in between.
“Well now,” he said pleasantly, hands clasped behind his back. “Visitors. That’s a rarity these days.”
His gaze skimmed Celeste and Lumina—ragdoll ears, soft fur, small frames—and passed over them without pause.
No tension. No suspicion.
Just polite indifference.
Silver noticed. His brow furrowed.
Addfwyn turned back to Vale. “Routine inspection?”
“More like… curiosity,” Vale replied. “They’re investigating unusual activity.”
“Ah.” Addfwyn nodded thoughtfully. “A popular hobby lately.”
He turned to the group, smile warm. “Welcome to Godiad. You’ll forgive me if I don’t roll out a parade. What is it the Knights require?”
Celeste swallowed, then smiled. “Just a tour. And maybe some answers.”
Addfwyn chuckled softly. “Answers are expensive things, Commander. But looking around?” He gestured grandly. “That, I can offer freely.”
Lumina leaned toward Celeste and whispered, “He’s… nice.”
Arcade squinted. “That makes me nervous.”
Addfwyn’s eyes flicked to Arcade with amused precision. “You should always be nervous in places like this, young hedgehog. It keeps you alive.”
Arcade blinked. “I… don’t know if I like him or not.”
Addfwyn smiled wider.
The scanner door slid shut with a polite chime—far too cheerful for something that immediately made everyone feel like they were being politely dissected.
Soft light washed over the Knights.
Blue. Then green. Then—briefly—gold.
Director Addfwyn’s pupils dilated, vertically at first… then wider. Much wider. Like a creature looking at something it hadn’t expected to see in centuries.
“Oh,” he murmured.
That single word made Arcade deeply uncomfortable.
The readout chimed again. And again. And again.
Addfwyn leaned closer to the glass, one clawed finger hovering just shy of the console. “Well now,” he said softly, voice no longer theatrical—just intent. “You all appear to possess cores.”
Silence.
Ray blinked. “Is… that bad?”
“No,” Addfwyn replied immediately. “It is—” he searched for the word, tail flicking once, “—Unique.”
Celeste shifted slightly, ears twitching. “It’s been a thing since Comic Con,” she said, a little sheepish. “Long story. The Council knows.”
Addfwyn’s gaze snapped to her.
“Oh, I’m quite certain they do,” he said mildly. “They tend to notice when the laws of mana politely excuse themselves.”
The scanner finished with a soft ding. The doors slid open.
No alarms.
No lockdown.
Which somehow felt worse.
Addfwyn straightened, smoothing his suit as if he hadn’t just seen something that upended several accepted theories of existence.
“What intrigues me,” he continued conversationally, “is not merely that you have cores—but that they are distinct. Individuated. Harmonised. Each of you carries a different resonance pattern.”
His eyes flicked from Ray to Mezzo, from Lumina to Skye—then lingered on Celeste a fraction too long.
“And you,” he added gently, “are… layered.”
Celeste blinked. “Oh! Um—yes? I’ve been told that before.”
Silver stiffened instantly.
Addfwyn noticed.
He always did.
“I would be most interested in examining your rune codes,” the Director said, tone careful now. “Purely academically, of course. Godiad specialises in optimisation. We could adjust mana flow, reduce strain, perhaps even stabilise feedback.”
Celeste’s eyes lit up.
“Oh—really?” she said, genuinely excited. “That would be lovely. Sometimes it all feels a bit… loud.”
Silver opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again. “Director,” he said coolly, “any such examinations would require Council oversight.”
Addfwyn smiled at him—patient, indulgent, ancient.
“Of course, Lord Arcturus,” he said. “Everything here is above board.”
Then, to Celeste—soft, warm, conspiratorial:
“If you wish, Commander, my staff would be delighted to take a look. No obligation. Knowledge should never be a burden.”
Celeste nodded without hesitation. “I’d like that.”
Something unreadable passed through Addfwyn’s eyes.
Interest.
Calculation.
And—very faintly—satisfaction.
Arcade leaned toward Mezzo and muttered, “I don’t like the way he said layered.”
Mezzo whispered back, “I don’t like the way she said lovely.”
Lumina, blissfully unaware, smiled up at Addfwyn. “Do the machines beep different for everyone? Because mine felt sparkly.”
Addfwyn laughed softly. “Oh yes, little knight. Very sparkly.”
Silver watched Celeste as she stepped forward—open, curious, trusting—
—and for the first time since arriving at Godiad, a cold thought settled in his chest.
This place isn’t hostile.
It’s interested.
The lab came alive at Addfwyn’s soft command.
“Begin preliminary analysis,” he said, almost lazily. “Non-invasive. I want patterns, not answers—yet.”
Scientists moved at once. Screens bloomed with sigils and waveform spirals. Mana-light hummed through the air like distant singing glass.
Celeste stepped forward obediently—then stopped.
Her ears twitched.
At one of the side stations stood a husky hybrid technician, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as she adjusted a rune calibrator.
Celeste’s face lit up with recognition.
“Oh—hi!” she said warmly. “You’re Echo’s sister, right? How are you? Did Echo get into the university alright?”
The husky didn’t look up.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t answer.
She kept working, movements precise, mechanical.
Celeste’s smile faltered.
She took a half-step closer—and that’s when she saw it.
A collar.
Slim. Matte black. Mostly hidden beneath the lab uniform, but unmistakable once you knew what you were looking for.
A suppressor.
Celeste’s stomach dropped.
Before she could say anything—
“Commander,” Addfwyn said smoothly, turning back toward her, “before we proceed—any allergies?”
The abruptness snapped her out of it.
“Allergies?” Celeste echoed. “Um—no? Not that I’m aware of.”
“Excellent,” Addfwyn said pleasantly, making a note. “Always best to be thorough.”
Celeste nodded automatically… but her eyes flicked back to the husky.
The technician’s hands trembled—just barely.
Lumina stepped into the adjacent scanner, the platform lighting up beneath her paws.
Addfwyn turned away to oversee Mezzo’s station, and in that moment—
Lady Vale leaned closer.
She crouched slightly to Lumina’s level, smile gentle and practiced.
“My, don’t you look brave,” Vale said softly. “That uniform suits you. Knights already, hm?”
Lumina beamed. “Thank you! It has pockets!”
Vale chuckled—then her gaze shifted, sharp and calculating, as a diagnostic glyph flared briefly on Lumina’s readout.
For less than a second.
Kymara-class resonance detected.
Vale’s smile didn’t change.
Her eyes did.
“Well,” she said lightly, straightening. “Very impressive.”
Lumina, oblivious, waved. “The machine feels tingly!”
At the far end of the room—
“OW—HEY—HEY—NO—!”
Mezzo yelped as the scanner ring rotated too quickly, catching his tail mid-sweep.
“You absolute menace—!” he protested.
“Hold still!” Pitch snapped, grabbing his arm. “You’re fighting the machine!”
“It started it!”
Pitch physically pried Mezzo free, the scanner emitting an offended beep as Mezzo stumbled backward rubbing his tail.
“I demand hazard pay,” Mezzo declared. “Or at least a sticker.”
Arcade snorted from behind a console. “You got scanned by a ring and lost.”
“I was ambushed.”
Celeste barely heard them.
Her attention was still on the husky.
On the collar.
On the way Addfwyn hadn’t even glanced in her direction.
And on the quiet, awful realization settling into her chest—
This wasn’t just a research facility.
It was a place where people worked…
…with something around their necks that made sure they didn’t ask questions.
And whatever Addfwyn was looking for—
he was very, very pleased that the Knights of Clawdiff had walked straight through his door.
