They arrived back at the Egg Tree in a noisy, muddy clump.
For all the talk of Knightly dignity, they clambered inside like rowdy children coming home from school after being specifically told not to jump in puddles.
Boots were kicked off near the door in a tragic heap. Coats were loosely hung on hooks, chair backs, railings, and—in Mezzo’s case—one unfortunate lamp. Someone’s gauntlet thudded onto the floor. Topsy slid in on her socks and nearly took out a crate of medical supplies.
“SAFE!” she declared, arms thrown wide.
“You hit the wall,” Ray said.
“But not the supplies.”
Arcade wandered in spraying deodorant with the grim determination of a man attempting to fumigate his own battle trauma.
Mezzo grabbed the bottle next. “Give it here, I smell like swamp regret.”
“Please ration that,” Celeste said kindly, already collecting two abandoned gloves from the floor. “We don’t know when we’ll find more.”
Pitch took the deodorant from Mezzo, sprayed once, paused, then sprayed again.
Celeste looked at him.
He sprayed a third time while maintaining eye contact.
“Pitch.”
“What? Morale is important.”
“Breathing is also important,” Hughes muttered, wafting the air away with one hand.
Silver stepped in behind them, looked at the heap of boots, the crooked coats, the sock-slide marks across the floor, and the general collapse of discipline.
His face said many things.
His mouth, for once, said none of them.
Celeste turned to gather everyone properly—
—and nearly walked straight into Crystal Lockhart.
She stopped short, ears flicking in surprise. “Oh—hi! Um. You’re… early?”
Crystal hovered just inside the threshold, bundled in plain winter clothes—thick scarf, neutral coat, boots scuffed on purpose. No armour. No insignia. If anyone glanced her way, she looked like just another civilian trying not to be noticed.
Her hands were clasped so tightly her gloves creaked. Her eyes flicked down the corridor, then back again.
“Were you followed?”
Celeste blinked, then shook her head. “No. Promise.”
Crystal exhaled, just a little. “I have… a mission. If that helps. But—please—make sure the Council or the Church doesn’t find out.”
Celeste made a very solemn face, mimed zipping her lips, then threw the imaginary key over her shoulder.
Crystal smiled despite herself.
A small one.
But real.
“You’re not like most military units I know.”
“Yeah,” Celeste said lightly. “We’re more… chaos with snacks.”
Mezzo leaned back in his chair. “We’re very flexible.”
Ray muttered, “That’s one word for it.”
Silver had moved slightly aside, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeve. He looked like he was trying to decide whether the Egg Tree counted as a base, a hostel, or a cry for help.
Celeste glanced at him.
Then suddenly gasped.
“Oh! Wait. Before anything serious.”
Silver’s eyes narrowed at once. “That phrase has never preceded anything good.”
Celeste hurried to one of the side tables, rummaged in her bag, and came back holding a tiny cupcake wrapped in paper and a small handmade card.
Silver stared at them.
Celeste held both out, smiling nervously. “It was your birthday.”
The room went quieter.
Silver blinked. “My what?”
“Your birthday,” Celeste said. “The thirteenth of Grayshade. It already happened. You were still trapped in the Gumball then, so you missed it, and that seemed sad.” She paused. “Also, I didn’t know you yet. Well, properly. I knew of you. Mostly as the angry kidnapped noble everyone was trying to find. But still.”
Silver looked from the cupcake to the card.
The card had little hand-drawn stars on it. And a cat. And what might have been a dragon if the dragon had lost a fight with a teapot.
Inside, in Celeste’s neat writing, it said:
Happy belated birthday, Silver.
I’m glad you got to have another one.
—Celeste
For once, Silver had nothing ready.
No quip.
No graceful dismissal.
No carefully polished answer.
He just stood there, holding the card and cupcake like they were relics recovered from a civilisation that had invented kindness and then vanished.
“Oh,” he said.
Everyone clapped.
Not formally.
Not mockingly.
Just because Topsy started, Lumina joined, and then the others got dragged in by sheer social momentum.
Silver immediately stiffened.
“Right,” he said, too quickly, setting the cupcake and card carefully on the nearest table. “Very charming. Thank you. I’ll eat it later.”
Topsy squinted. “That’s what people say when they’re overwhelmed.”
“I am not overwhelmed.”
“You looked emotionally ambushed.”
“I am frequently ambushed. It rarely involves sponge.”
Celeste’s smile softened. “You don’t have to eat it now.”
“I said later,” Silver replied, clearing his throat and turning sharply away. “Wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite before whatever suspicious stew happens here at night.”
“It’s casserole,” Lumina said.
“That does not reassure me.”
From deeper inside the room, voices carried.
Plum was already there, perched on a crate with a blanket around her shoulders, talking animatedly to Lumina and Arcade. She was gesturing with both hands, clearly mid-story, eyes bright in that way reporters got when their nerves finally settled enough to let curiosity take over again.
“And then the tentacle just—no warning—right over the railing—” she was saying.
Arcade nodded along. “Classic Tuesday, honestly.”
On the floor nearby, Bonbon sat surrounded by wooden blocks, stacking them with intense concentration. A little tower leaned dangerously to one side.
When Celeste stepped fully inside, Bonbon’s ears perked.
“Ce!”
She squeaked happily, abandoned the tower mid-collapse, and toddled across the floor at full speed, blocks clattering behind her.
Celeste barely had time to kneel before Bonbon ran straight into her arms.
“There you are,” Celeste murmured, scooping her up, pressing her forehead gently to Bonbon’s. “I was wondering when I’d get tackled.”
Bonbon giggled, clutching at Celeste’s jacket like it was the most important thing in the world.
From behind them, Plum smiled softly at the sight.
Crystal watched too—quiet, thoughtful—taking in the warmth, the mess, the way this place felt more like a home than a command post.
Then her expression tightened.
She glanced around again, visibly nervous, then squared her shoulders and stepped forward.
“Someone has been bribing the Luminarch Knights to look the other way.”
The room shifted.
Even Arcade stopped fiddling with his arcbracer.
“Go on,” Hughes said quietly.
“Mythics are going missing,” Crystal continued. “Not random ones. Ones in Council-controlled districts. The ones fitted with runes.” Her voice tightened. “But the runes aren’t suppressing their mana to stabilise it. They’re controlling it.”
Celeste’s stomach dropped. “Control… how?”
Crystal swallowed.
“Like a leash.”
That earned a sharp intake of breath from Lumina.
“And that’s not all,” Crystal said. “Someone’s been sneaking into Council buildings. Relic vaults. Old sanctums. Things are missing. No alarms. No witnesses. No one claims to have seen anything.”
Arcade frowned. “That’s not a ‘no one saw anything’ situation. That’s a ‘someone made sure no one remembers’ situation.”
Pitch crossed his arms. “Okay. But what does this have to do with you?”
Crystal hesitated.
Her shoulders slumped just a fraction.
“My mother is being blackmailed.”
Silence.
“She won’t admit it,” Crystal said softly. “She’s too proud. Too… Luminarch.” Her jaw clenched. “But one of the Knights cracked. After torture.” Her hands curled into fists. “He confessed before they silenced him.”
Ray swore under her breath.
“I know where the next meeting will be,” Crystal finished. “I need you to go. Watch. Listen. Find out who’s behind it before more people disappear.”
She looked up at Celeste then.
Not a soldier asking a commander.
A daughter asking for help.
Celeste didn’t hesitate.
“Okay,” she said, steady and warm. “We’ll take the job.”
Hughes exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Careful now,” he said, voice calm but edged with warning. “Taking every job that walks through the door tends to come with… attachments.”
Celeste blinked at him. “Oh.” She glanced at Crystal, then back. “I just thought she looked friendly. And like she needed us.”
Crystal laughed, soft and a little sheepish. “I promise, I don’t bite.”
Hughes gave her a sideways look. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
He turned his attention back to Celeste.
“It’s whether this drags us into something the Council would very much disapprove of.”
Celeste’s ears dipped. “…Oh.”
She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. “Should we cancel, then? I’m—sorry, I’m confused.”
“No,” Hughes said immediately. Firm, but not unkind. “Don’t cancel. Just—” He tapped his boot lightly against the floor. “Think about what I said. About timing. About consequences. And about what’s good for the team.”
A beat passed.
Celeste nodded slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”
Hughes gave a small, approving nod in return.
Crystal watched the exchange closely, something thoughtful settling behind her eyes.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Respect.
Celeste smiled. “Okay. We accept the case.”
Mezzo grinned. “See? Not a charity. We just hate bullies.”
Arcade cracked his knuckles. “And blackmailers. And leash enthusiasts.”
Pitch tilted his head, eyes sharp. “You sure you’re ready for what we might find?”
Crystal nodded, even though her hands were shaking.
“I have to be.”
Crystal’s eyes flicked past Celeste—
—and landed on Silver.
All the colour drained from her face.
She took a step back instinctively, shoulders tightening like she was bracing for a blow.
Silver noticed immediately.
He straightened, posture snapping into something polished and official, arcbracer glinting.
“As a Council member,” he said coolly, “shouldn’t this information go directly to the Council?”
Crystal’s breath hitched.
“Please—no,” she said quickly, the words tumbling over each other. “Every time we’ve tried that—every single time—people disappear. Witnesses. Messengers. Knights. That’s why I came here.”
Her voice shook, but she didn’t back down.
“You’re still authority. Just… not the Council. Not the Church. Somewhere in between.”
The room went very still.
Silver opened his mouth, clearly ready to assert himself—Outer Ring rank, protocol, jurisdiction—
—but Hughes cut in, calm and immovable.
“Trust goes two ways,” Hughes said evenly. “If we want people to bring us the truth, we don’t answer by bludgeoning them with titles. That’s how the Council makes people shut up.”
Silver stiffened. “That is not—”
“That is how it looks,” Hughes replied, not raising his voice. “And if you want this unit to work, you don’t start by proving her fears right.”
Silence stretched.
Silver’s jaw worked.
Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his arcbracer.
“…Very well,” he said at last, clipped but controlled. “We’ll do things your way. For now.”
His eyes flicked to Crystal.
“Let’s see where this goes.”
Crystal let out a breath she had clearly been holding for minutes.
Celeste smiled at her, small but reassuring.
Ray crossed her arms, gaze fixed somewhere far away.
“…I’d have to go there anyway,” she muttered. “For something else.”
Mezzo’s ears perked up immediately. “Oooh? ‘Something else?’ Sounds mysterious. Got a secret date with danger, Ray?”
Ray shot him a look sharp enough to peel paint.
“Mind your own business.”
Mezzo held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Just saying—it’s nice when the team multitasks.”
Ray growled. “Say one more word and I’ll multitask you into the floor.”
Mezzo wisely shut up.
Celeste cleared her throat, brightening just a little.
“Mezzo?”
Mezzo blinked. “Uh-oh.”
“Could you please lend Silver one of your spare armour sets?” Celeste asked. “Just for now.”
Mezzo stared at her.
Then at Silver.
Then back at her.
“You want me to give him my armour?”
Silver sniffed. “I don’t need to borrow equipment like a child.”
Mezzo shot back instantly, “Good, because I don’t lend gear to snobs.”
Silver rounded on him. “You—”
Celeste clapped her hands together softly but decisively.
“I’ll make steak tomorrow.”
The room froze.
Mezzo squinted. “What kind of steak?”
“Proper,” Celeste said solemnly. “With garlic potatoes.”
Mezzo sagged like a man surrendering a battlefield.
“…Fine. But if he stretches it, I will know.”
Silver pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is unnecessary.”
Celeste tilted her head up at him, earnest and gentle.
“You’re one of us now. You should look the part. And feel included.”
Silver didn’t answer right away.
Inside, his noble instincts screamed.
Downgrade.
Humiliation.
A public step down the ladder he had spent his life climbing.
An exercise in endurance.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the table where the tiny cupcake and handmade card still sat.
Then back to Celeste.
He swallowed it all.
“…Very well,” he said stiffly.
Mezzo muttered, “Welcome to poverty, your lordship.”
Silver shot him a look.
Celeste beamed anyway.
And just like that, the mission moved forward—
not with rank,
not with fear,
but with borrowed armour, fragile trust,
and the quiet sense that something dangerous had just begun.
