Brassmane left the tent with all the weight of clan law behind him.
The flap fell shut.
For exactly five minutes, everyone behaved.
Five full minutes.
Mezzo even counted them under his breath, sitting cross-legged on his cot with his hands folded in his lap and the expression of someone enduring great spiritual persecution.
Arcade watched him suspiciously over the top of his goggles.
Ray narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”
Mezzo’s ears twitched.
“I haven’t done anythin’.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“I think about many things. Poetry. Heroism. Sandwiches.”
“Your rune.”
Mezzo gasped, scandalised. “Ray, I am wounded by this accusation.”
Pitch grunted from the floor. “Accurate accusation.”
The fifth minute ended.
Mezzo’s rune came out.
Red light snapped through the tent, and his gryphon wings burst into existence so fast they knocked over a stool, clipped the side of Arcade’s charging device, and sent Ray’s burned marshmallow rolling across the rug.
“HA!” Mezzo shouted, spreading both wings until they brushed either side of the tent. “Look at that! Feathers! Proper dramatic feathers! I’m goin’ to be insufferable.”
“You already were,” Ray said.
“Now with lift.”
Arcade leaned away as one of Mezzo’s wings flickered through his shoulder, then solidified just enough to smack him in the ear.
“Ow. Congratulations. Your new power is being furniture with ambition.”
Mezzo grinned and flexed the wing again. “Can’t wait to fly.”
“You can’t even stand up without hitting the roof,” Ray said.
“That’s because the roof is jealous.”
Skye, sitting near Lumina, looked around the tent with bright, nervous eyes. “Do you think the ceremony will have more Trials?”
Every head turned to him.
He immediately shrank. “Sorry.”
Ray stabbed her marshmallow back onto the knife and held it over a tiny phoenix flame. “No. It’ll be flower crowns and old people saying meaningful things. Don’t think too much about it.”
Arcade frowned. “That is an alarmingly casual summary of a formal clan rite.”
Ray shrugged. “I survived enough ceremonies growing up. They braid stuff in your hair, say you’re connected to the land, maybe make you hold a candle, then everyone eats.”
Mezzo’s ears lifted. “There’s food?”
“Probably.”
“I support the clan.”
Hughes, still half-reclined on his cot, had not been listening properly. His eyes were fixed on the tiny green shoot curling from his palm.
A real shoot.
Not a flicker of mana.
Not a hallucination.
A living thing.
He touched it with one thick finger, expression softer than any of them had seen.
“I’ll need to expand the garden back at base,” he murmured.
Arcade glanced over. “You were technically meant to be resting.”
“Aye.”
“You are mentally landscaping.”
“Aye.”
Hughes smiled faintly as another little leaf opened from his knuckle. “Been years since I could grow anything without it hurting. If this holds, I’m putting herbs along the east wall. Maybe fruit trees by the training yard.”
Ray looked at him. “You’re going to turn the base into a farm, aren’t you?”
“A defensive farm.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“With enough brambles, it is.”
On the other side of the tent, Lumina was showing Skye her new horns.
Four delicate crystal horns curved from her head, catching the lamplight in soft pink-gold flashes. Between them, her alicorn forehead gem shimmered like a tiny sunrise.
Skye leaned in, deeply impressed despite himself.
“They’re really shiny.”
Lumina tilted her head proudly. “They’re not just shiny. They probably increase my mana focus.”
“By how much?”
“I don’t know. Lots.”
“That isn’t a stat.”
“It’s my stat.”
“Lots is not a number.”
Lumina frowned at him. “Fine. Plus ten prettiness.”
Skye blinked. “That’s also not a battle stat.”
“It is if the enemy is jealous.”
Arcade pointed at her without looking up. “That logic is terrible, and I support it.”
Lumina puffed her cheeks. “Well, your forehead gem makes you look like a nightlight.”
Skye gasped. “Rude. You called yours a stat.”
“At least I don’t glow when I get emotional.”
Skye folded his arms. “At least I’m not a coat hanger.”
For one silent second, Lumina stared at him.
Then she burst out laughing.
Skye tried to look serious, failed, and laughed too.
Pitch, apparently unwilling to be outdone by anyone else’s lack of sense, quietly removed his own rune.
The tent filled with shadow-silver mana.
He grew.
And grew.
And grew.
Within seconds, he was crouched awkwardly beneath the canvas roof, shoulders nearly brushing the sides of the tent, muscles broad, claws long, mane wild around his face.
Mezzo looked up slowly.
“Show-off.”
Pitch flexed one arm.
Ray stared at him.
Pitch tried very hard to look casual while being roughly the size of the tent.
“So,” he said, voice deeper than usual. “This happened.”
Ray’s mouth twitched.
Pitch flexed again.
“Careful,” Arcade said. “Any more of that and the tent will have self-esteem issues.”
Ray walked over to Pitch.
Pitch straightened as much as the roof allowed.
She looked him up and down.
Then reached up and scratched behind one of his ears.
Pitch’s entire body froze.
His eyes went wide.
His ears lowered.
A low, helpless rumble came out of him.
Ray scratched again.
Pitch collapsed onto his side like a tree falling in slow motion, tail thumping once against the floor.
Ray stared down at him.
“Oh my stars.”
Mezzo wheezed. “Big scary wolfy. Taken down by ear scritches.”
Pitch, flat on the rug, muttered, “Tell no one.”
Arcade looked at his device. “Too late. I’m emotionally recording this forever.”
The tent filled with laughter.
And in the middle of it, Celeste sat quietly on her folded blanket.
She smiled when everyone laughed.
She even tried to laugh too.
But her hand kept drifting to her chest.
To the soft glow beneath her ribs.
Arcade noticed.
Of course he did.
He was pretending to adjust his device, but his eyes had gone sharp behind his goggles.
He shifted closer and lowered his voice. “You alright there, Anime?”
Celeste blinked at him.
“Oh. Yes. I’m fine.”
Arcade stared.
She smiled too quickly.
“Mostly fine.”
He kept staring.
“A little bit not fine,” she admitted.
Arcade sat beside her, careful not to crowd. His quills still sparked faintly every few seconds. “Do you want to talk about the part where the sky opened, the valley inverted, and you briefly became everyone’s least favourite sun?”
Celeste looked down at her hands.
Her fingers curled into the blanket.
“I… maybe.”
Her ears dipped.
“There was something in the Trial.”
Lumina, still laughing with Skye, turned her head.
“A weird lady,” she said.
The tent quietened at once.
Celeste’s stomach dropped.
Lumina looked around, suddenly aware of everyone staring. “What?”
Arcade’s expression sharpened. “Define weird lady.”
Celeste sat up straighter. “It was probably just part of the Trial.”
Lumina looked at her.
Confused.
“But I saw her too.”
The silence became heavier.
Hughes rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Could still be part of the Trial. Shared spirit space, shared trial, shared vision. Stranger things have happened today.”
“Today has ruined that phrase,” Arcade muttered.
Celeste nodded too quickly. “Yes. Yes, exactly. It was probably that.”
Lumina’s face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
The light in her eyes dimmed a little.
Celeste froze.
“Lumi—”
Lumina stood.
Her crystal horns caught the lamplight as she turned toward the tent flap.
“I need air.”
She walked out before anyone could stop her.
Celeste sat still for one miserable heartbeat.
Then she got up and followed.
Outside, the camp had settled into uneasy twilight.
The crater still smoked in the distance, though Cosmo’s emergency wards had swallowed most of the wild mana. Lanterns flickered between tents. Healers moved like shadows through steam and herb smoke. Somewhere nearby, a group of children were still pretending to be Knights, though quieter now, as if even their game knew the adults were frightened.
Lumina stood a few paces from the tent, arms folded, her back to Celeste.
Celeste slowed.
“Lumi?”
Lumina did not turn around.
“Why didn’t you tell the truth?”
Celeste’s ears sank.
“I don’t know.”
Lumina looked over her shoulder.
Celeste winced.
“That was also maybe not true. I do know. I think.”
She stepped closer, wringing her hands.
“It might have been part of the Trial. Truly. But it also might not have been. And if I tell everyone that there is a strange ancient Kymara lady talking to me from inside my core, they may…”
She swallowed.
“They may get very frightened.”
Lumina’s voice went small. “Because they’ll think she’s possessing you.”
Celeste looked down.
“Yes.”
The word landed between them.
Lumina went quiet.
For a moment, she looked younger than she had in the Trial. Younger than her horns and wings and newly awakened mana made her seem.
Then she hugged herself tighter.
“But she threw me.”
Celeste’s face crumpled.
“I know.”
“She looked at me like she hated me.”
“I know.”
“And you still didn’t say.”
Celeste stepped closer, voice trembling. “Because I’m scared. I’m scared they’ll look at me and only see her. Or the core. Or whatever I’m turning into.”
Lumina looked away.
Celeste whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Lumina said nothing.
Not because she had forgiven her.
Not yet.
Because she was thinking.
Deep down, she knew Celeste might be right.
That made it worse.
A tiny blur of pink and black shot across the camp.
“Mam!”
Bonbon slammed into Celeste with both arms, hugging her around the middle so hard Celeste almost stumbled.
Celeste gasped, then immediately softened.
“Oh—hello, cariad.”
Bonbon buried her face in Celeste’s tunic. “Paid mynd boom eto.”
Don’t go boom again.
Celeste let out a weak, broken laugh and hugged her back.
“I’ll try very hard not to go boom again.”
“Addo?”
“Promise.”
A few seconds later, Plum appeared from between two tents with Bartleby close behind her. Plum’s eyes were enormous behind her glasses, her notebook already open, several pencils tucked behind both ears.
Bartleby carried three folders and looked like he had been waiting for bureaucracy to become emotionally appropriate.
“Celeste,” Plum said, breathless, “I have approximately a million questions.”
Bartleby cleared his throat. “Technically, I have organised mine into categories.”
Celeste looked at them.
Then at Lumina.
Lumina had gone quiet again, standing slightly apart, one hand brushing self-consciously over one of her new crystal horns.
Ignored.
Again.
Celeste’s heart squeezed.
She turned back to Plum and Bartleby with an apologetic smile.
“Can we talk later? Please? I need to speak with Lumina first.”
Plum stopped at once.
Bartleby blinked, then nodded. “Of course.”
Lumina looked up.
Just a little.
But Celeste saw it.
The tiny flicker of surprise.
The tiny lift in her face.
Celeste had made time for her.
Celeste turned back to Lumina, Bonbon still attached to her waist.
“When we get back,” she said softly, “I’ll teach you how to draw like me. Properly. Not just little doodles between missions.”
Lumina’s expression shifted.
Hope tried very hard not to look too obvious on her face.
“You will?”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
Lumina nodded, then looked down at her feet.
Her voice went sheepish.
“Do you think I’m big enough to go on missions now?”
Celeste stiffened.
Lumina rushed on. “Not all of them. I know I’m not, like, fully trained. But I did well at the power plant. And today I helped. And I can fight zombies. Maybe not huge ones. But smaller ones. Or medium ones if they’re ugly.”
Bonbon lifted her head. “Bonbon fight ugly ones.”
“No,” Celeste and Lumina said together.
Bonbon pouted.
Celeste looked at Lumina for a long moment.
Her first instinct was no.
No forever.
No missions.
No zombies.
No danger.
No world that asked little girls to become weapons before they had learned how to be bored.
But Lumina was watching her with that fragile, waiting hope.
And Celeste remembered what it felt like to be told what she was allowed to be by people who called it protection.
She breathed in slowly.
“I would rather you got to be a little girl.”
Lumina’s ears lowered.
Celeste reached for her hand.
“Not because I think you’re weak. Because I’m scared.”
Lumina looked up.
Celeste’s voice grew softer.
“I’m scared you’ll get hurt. I’m scared you’ll get killed. I’m scared I’ll look away for one second and lose you.”
Lumina squeezed her hand.
“But,” Celeste continued, though the word clearly cost her, “there are still lots of zombies. And you did help at the power plant. And today.”
Lumina’s eyes widened.
“So… maybe low-risk missions first. Properly supervised. Smaller zombie packs. Scouting. Training. And when I’m confident you can handle it, maybe the really big ones.”
Lumina’s face lit up.
“Really?”
“Low-risk,” Celeste said quickly.
“Really low-risk?”
“Extremely low-risk.”
“With zombies.”
“Unfortunately, yes, probably with zombies.”
Lumina bounced once on her heels.
“I’m going to be the best zombie slayer.”
Celeste smiled despite herself.
“I know you are.”
Lumina’s smile softened.
Then Celeste’s expression grew serious again.
“There is one more thing.”
Lumina tilted her head.
Celeste glanced toward the tent, then lowered her voice.
“Please don’t mention Karethiel yet.”
Lumina’s smile faded.
Celeste held her hand tighter.
“Not because I want to lie to everyone forever. I don’t. I just need time to understand what she is. And what she wants. And whether telling everyone right now will make them afraid of me.”
Lumina searched her face.
“You’ll tell them eventually?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
Celeste nodded.
“I promise.”
Lumina thought about it.
Then, slowly, she nodded too.
“Okay.”
Celeste let out the breath she had been holding.
Lumina looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her.
“But if she throws me again, I’m telling everyone.”
Celeste gave a tiny, horrified laugh.
“That is very fair.”
Celeste kissed the top of Lumina’s head.
“Yes, cariad. You may absolutely tell on the ancient mirror lady if she throws anyone.”
Lumina laughed.
This time, Celeste did too.
For a moment, beneath the bruised sky and the smoking crater and all the frightened whispers of Rustrows, they were only sisters.
Just sisters, holding hands in the dusk.
