The valley had gone silent after Lumina fled.
Only the hum of unstable runes lingered in the air—like a wound that refused to close.
Celeste stood at the centre of the Trial ground once more, shoulders tense, her tail flicking with nervous energy. The faint shimmer of her sister’s magic still clung to the earth, fragile as frost in sunlight.
The Elders moved quickly, forming a wide circle around her.
Every chant was doubled.
Every rune reinforced.
Even Elder Arlo—usually calm as moonlight—looked strained as he oversaw the pattern of containment.
Celeste’s ears flicked back. “All this just for me?”
Arlo nodded solemnly. “To help you contain yourself.”
Skye stepped forward from the others. “What about Lumina?”
“We’ll attend to her after,” he said, though his gaze lingered briefly toward the path she had taken. “For now, we must ensure the seal holds.”
Celeste’s heart clenched. “Someone has to find her.”
Skye met her eyes, steady but gentle. “I’ll talk to her. She’ll listen to me.”
Celeste gave a shaky smile. “Thanks, Skye.”
Then, quieter, “She’ll need you.”
Skye nodded once.
No fuss.
No speech.
He simply slipped away from the circle, his small paws silent against the glowing grass as he followed the fading trail of sakura-light Lumina had left behind.
Celeste exhaled sharply. “You’re all acting like I’m going to explode.”
Arlo’s expression didn’t change. “We hope you don’t.”
That did not help.
She rubbed her arms, trying to ease the tremor building under her fur. “Last time I went berserk—my rune just loosened, not even came off.”
Kirrin, standing on the ridge above with Cosmo and Solas, called down, “We reinforced every ring with Mythic alloy and Kymara sigils. Even a wild flare shouldn’t breach the valley.”
“Shouldn’t?” Mezzo muttered. “Love that confidence.”
Ray elbowed him. “Shh. She can hear you.”
Elder Arlo lifted his gaze to Celeste again.
“You carry four bloodlines, Celeste Astallan. And something beyond them. No being was ever meant to hold so much. But you have—again and again.”
Celeste’s throat felt dry. “And what if I can’t stop it this time?”
He smiled faintly.
“You will.”
The words should have comforted her.
But every Elder’s posture said otherwise—the tightness in their shoulders, the way their hands hovered near defensive charms.
The group—her friends, her family—watched from the edge of the circle.
Bonbon clung to Ray’s arm, eyes wide. Arcade fidgeted with his Arcbracer, muttering equations to calm himself. Pitch and Mezzo stood side by side, nervous energy pulsing between them.
“You got this, Celeste,” Mezzo called, forcing a grin. “Show ’em the light show.”
Ray nodded firmly. “You’ve done harder things than this.”
Arcade looked up from his bracer, sparks flickering faintly at the tips of his quills. “Statistically, you’ve survived worse odds.”
Celeste gave him a look.
He cleared his throat. “That was meant to be comforting.”
“It almost was,” Celeste said, smiling weakly.
But she wasn’t thinking about odds.
Or belief.
Or barriers.
She was thinking about Lumina—about the hurt in her eyes, the words that still echoed.
Everybody needs you, don’t they?
Celeste closed her eyes, whispering to herself.
“I just want her to need me too.”
Outside the Trial valley, Rustrows felt strangely ordinary.
The distant market still murmured. Wind rattled loose sheets of old metal on abandoned factory roofs. Somewhere, a Mythic caravan bell chimed softly, bright and harmless against the weight of everything that had just happened.
Skye found Lumina near the river.
She sat on the bank with her knees drawn up, staring into the water. The current caught the last traces of her magic and carried them away in little pink-gold sparks. Her reflection wavered beneath the surface, breaking apart every time the water moved.
Skye sat down beside her.
For a while, he said nothing.
Lumina did not look at him.
The river spoke for both of them, whispering over stones.
At last, Lumina’s voice came small and flat.
“When the car crash happened… I woke up in a bed in a mansion.”
Skye’s ears tilted toward her, but he stayed quiet.
Lumina’s fingers tightened around the grass.
“I didn’t know Celeste was in the other bed. We were both hooked up to a machine. Both damp. Both confused.” Her brow furrowed, as if the memory still didn’t sit properly in her head. “I didn’t know who she was.”
Her voice cracked.
“But she knew me.”
Skye looked down at the river.
Lumina swallowed.
“Dad told us there had been a car crash, and that was that. Nothing else. Just… accident. You were hurt. Don’t ask too much.”
A bitter little laugh slipped out of her.
“And I didn’t. Because Celeste told me everything. She told me Dad was my dad. She told me Orbal and Noodles were our teachers. She told me Mum wasn’t around.”
Lumina’s eyes shone, but she didn’t cry yet.
“I believed her because she always had time for me.”
The river carried another spark away.
“We spent all our time with each other. We couldn’t use mana, no matter how hard we tried. She told me it was probably the crash.”
Lumina’s mouth trembled.
“I believed her.”
Skye’s tail curled around his own leg.
“She told me I could grow up and be anything.”
Her voice grew thinner.
“I believed her.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“She told me she would always be there.”
The first tear slipped down Lumina’s cheek.
“I believed her.”
Skye said nothing.
He did not know what words were safe enough for something that hurt that much.
Lumina rubbed at her face angrily, as if the tear had betrayed her.
“Then one day, she was gone. Just a note. No goodbye. No warning. No Celeste.”
Her ears flattened.
“I hated her.”
The words came sharp, but they fell apart quickly.
“But when she sent a letter on my bed, I felt…” Lumina’s hands twisted in her lap. “I felt like I had no one else.”
She gave a tiny, ashamed laugh.
“I’m so stupid. I snuck out. The train station wasn’t far. No one stopped me. Nobody even noticed.”
Skye’s eyes softened.
“When I got there,” Lumina continued, “she claimed I asked to meet her.”
Her voice dropped.
“That was the first time I didn’t believe her.”
The river kept moving.
Lumina stared at her reflection, eyes wet and furious.
“And now everything else? The core, the chain, the Trial, what they made me for—how could she not know, Skye?”
Her breath hitched.
“How could she not know?”
Skye looked at her, quiet and worried.
Lumina finally turned to him.
“I don’t believe her.”
Then she broke.
Not prettily.
Not softly.
She folded forward, hands over her face, and sobbed like something inside her had finally given up pretending it was fine.
Skye froze.
For a second, he looked utterly panicked.
Then, very carefully, he lifted one paw and patted the top of her head.
It was awkward.
Terribly awkward.
But gentle.
Lumina cried harder.
Skye kept patting her head anyway, because stopping felt worse.
“Arcade protects me a lot,” he said after a while.
Lumina sniffed, not looking up.
“He was hurt before. Badly, I think. He tries to lie about it too.” Skye’s ears dipped. “He acts like he knows everything so no one asks what scared him.”
Lumina wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Arcade is terrible at lying.”
“Most adults are,” Skye said quietly. “They just think they’re good at it.”
That earned the tiniest sound from Lumina.
Not a laugh.
Almost.
Skye looked out over the river.
“Sometimes adults lie to protect you.”
Lumina’s head lifted, eyes red. “So you think she is lying.”
Skye shook his head.
“No.”
Lumina stared at him.
Skye’s voice stayed soft. “I don’t think Celeste is lying.”
Lumina’s expression hardened. “So you’re on her side.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side.”
“That sounds like something people say when they’re on someone’s side.”
Skye glanced at her, fennec ears flicking nervously. “Maybe. But I just know.”
“Know what?”
He looked back toward the Trial valley.
“She’s scared.”
Lumina’s anger faltered.
Skye continued, “And I think she’s just as confused as you.”
Lumina stood abruptly, brushing grass from her dress. “I don’t want to talk about Celeste.”
Skye rose too, but did not follow when she took a few steps away.
“You know how your special mana is to heal?” he said.
Lumina stopped.
Skye looked down at his paws. “Mine is… well…”
He trailed off.
For a moment, the only sound was the river.
Lumina’s shoulders lowered.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Don’t tell me. I get it.”
Skye looked relieved, but also a little sad.
Lumina turned her head toward the distant glow of the Trial tent. From here, the reinforced barrier looked like a pale shell of light rising over the ruins.
“Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“Is being different going to be bad?”
He thought about lying.
A kind lie.
The sort adults used when the truth had teeth.
But Lumina had already had enough of those.
“Yes,” he said.
Lumina looked at him.
Skye’s ears drooped. “Because the adults are scared.”
Lumina’s face tightened.
She looked back down at the river, watching her reflection bend and break with the current.
“I think Dad lied,” she said.
Skye went still.
Lumina swallowed, her voice quieter now. “Not just about the car crash. About the zombies. The cores. The Council. Everything.” Her fingers curled into the grass at her sides. “He knew something. He had to. Nobody hides two girls in a mansion with machines and teachers and locked doors unless they’re hiding something big.”
Skye didn’t answer straight away.
Lumina glanced at him, searching his face. “Do you think my dad is bad?”
Skye’s ears twitched.
He looked genuinely troubled by the question, as if it was too big to hold in his small paws.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
Lumina’s face fell a little.
“But,” Skye added, “I think he’d be in trouble with the Council.”
Lumina blinked. “What?”
Skye picked at a blade of grass, thinking very hard. “When I was little, I once tried to lie to my grandma because I ate a whole pie.”
Lumina stared at him.
Skye nodded solemnly. “A whole one.”
Despite herself, Lumina’s mouth twitched.
“I told her I didn’t do it,” Skye continued. “But then I got a tummy ache and couldn’t move properly, so she knew.”
Lumina let out a tiny, unwilling laugh. “Skye.”
“I’m just saying,” he said, very serious, “maybe your dad’s like that.”
“My dad ate a pie?”
“No. Maybe he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and now he has a big tummy ache.”
Lumina pressed both hands over her mouth.
The laugh escaped anyway.
Small at first.
Then real.
It broke through the heaviness like sunlight through cloud, surprising both of them. Skye smiled, relieved, and Lumina wiped at her eyes even while she laughed.
“That is the worst explanation anyone has ever given me,” she said.
“But you understood it.”
“I did,” she admitted, still smiling faintly. “That’s the annoying part.”
The smile faded after a moment, but not completely.
Skye looked toward the distant tent again. “I don’t know if he’s bad. But I think something happened. Something adults are scared of.”
Lumina followed his gaze.
The reinforced barrier glowed pale against the ruins.
