Celeste sat alone in the cell with her arms wrapped around her knees.
The chamber was smaller than the one the others had been taken to. Quieter too. The walls were lined with dark copper sigils and anti-mana wards that hummed softly whenever her chest glowed too brightly. Every few breaths, the light beneath her hoodie flickered, and the wards answered with a dull pulse.
Like the cell was breathing around her.
Like it was waiting for her to do something wrong.
Celeste pressed her forehead against her knees and cried quietly.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just small, helpless little sobs that she kept trying to swallow before they escaped.
Her fingers drifted to the back of her neck.
The rune was hot.
Not burning hot. Not painful enough to make her pull away.
But warm.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
She touched the edge of it, feeling the old ridges beneath her fur. It sat there again, fixed back into place, holding her together or holding her down. She wasn’t sure anymore.
“Why is this happening to me?” she whispered.
The shadows answered.
Not with noise.
With presence.
Celeste went still.
The air in the cell seemed to thin. The hum of the wards dulled, as if the world had stepped back and decided not to interrupt. Across from her, leaning against the far wall where no one had been a moment before, stood the Lynx.
Tall. Still. Half-lit by the sickly glow of the anti-mana runes.
His eyes were dark and bright all at once.
Celeste gasped and scrambled backward until her shoulders hit the wall.
“How did you get in?”
The Lynx tilted his head.
His smile was almost kind.
Almost.
“Doors are for people who need permission.”
Celeste swallowed hard. “I saw you. In the crowd.” Her voice dropped quieter. “Were you watching me?”
“I’m always watching.”
A shiver crawled down her spine.
The Lynx looked around the cell, his gaze drifting over the wards, the bars, the copper sigils pressed into the stone. “How does it feel, Celeste Astallan? To be a legend one minute and a prisoner the next?”
Celeste hugged her knees tighter. “I don’t feel like a legend.”
“No,” he said. “Legends rarely do. They mostly feel confused, frightened, and badly treated by people who later build statues of them.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
His eyes moved to her neck.
Celeste’s paw rose instinctively to cover the rune.
The Lynx’s expression softened into something unreadable. “That little mark holds back something far too bright for your body to manage.”
Celeste’s ears flattened. “What do you mean?”
“It keeps the flood from drowning the village.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.”
Celeste’s breathing grew shallow. “Is something wrong with me?”
“There is something unfinished about you,” the Lynx said. “That is not the same thing.”
She stared at him.
He stepped closer, though his paws made no sound against the floor. “Your core woke before the rest of you was ready. Until your body catches up, be careful with that rune.”
Celeste’s fingers tightened against her neck. “My body is changing?”
The Lynx smiled again.
Small. Knowing. Infuriating.
“Bodies change. Hearts change. Even stories change, when enough people start believing in them.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he said. “But it is the truth.”
Celeste’s eyes stung again. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You will.”
She flinched.
The Lynx watched her carefully.
“And you will save them too. That is the difficulty with power. It does not ask whether you are ready. It only asks what you will become when everyone else decides what you are.”
Celeste shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to become.”
“You have followers now.”
Her head snapped up. “They’re not my followers.”
For the first time, the Lynx looked almost puzzled.
Then amused.
“Oh,” he said softly. “Of course they’re not.”
The way he said it made Celeste’s stomach twist.
As if he knew the ending of a joke she hadn’t heard yet.
Before she could ask what he meant, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
“Lass?” Kirrin’s voice called through the bars. “Are ye alright in there?”
Celeste turned quickly.
When she looked back, the Lynx was gone.
The cell was empty except for the low hum of the wards and the heat of the rune beneath her paw.
Kirrin stood outside the bars, feathers ruffled, one talon resting near the lock. Her sharp face softened when she saw Celeste’s red eyes.
Celeste wiped her cheeks quickly. “I’m alright.”
Kirrin gave her a look that said she didn’t believe that for a second.
“Aye,” she said. “An’ I’m a dainty little songbird.”
Celeste gave a weak, embarrassed laugh, then immediately looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to go postal. I didn’t even realise I was doing it. I just saw him, and then the Golem grabbed me, and my rune came loose, and then everything went hot and bright and I couldn’t—”
Kirrin stepped inside as the door creaked open, feathers ruffling, her braid swinging as she planted her fists on her hips. Her accent rang like steel on stone.
“Aye, enough yer bickerin’ with yerself!” she snapped.
Celeste blinked at her.
Kirrin pointed at her firmly. “I saw ye fight. Power like that? It’s nae somethin’ tae be ashamed of. It’s somethin’ tae understand. Ye ken what that trial was? A bloody crucible. An’ you came out burnin’ brighter than any o’ them.”
Celeste’s ears drooped. “I scared everyone.”
“Aye,” Kirrin said plainly. “Ye did.”
Celeste winced.
“But fear isnae always the same as hatred.” Kirrin’s gaze softened just a touch. “Ye dinnae need tae be ashamed, lass. Ye just need tae decide what tae do wi’ it.”
Before Celeste could reply, the door creaked again.
This time, it was Brassmane himself who entered the cell.
His lionlike form filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and wrapped in reinforced leather stitched with burn marks and old magical symbols. His golden mane caught the light of the flickering sconces behind him. Behind him, two guards waited at attention.
With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed them.
“I owe you an apology,” he began, voice low and deliberate. “These conditions… are not what you deserve. But after what happened, my people needed to feel safe. Containing you was not punishment. It was a measure. For their protection, and perhaps your own.”
His amber eyes scanned the room.
Then locked on Celeste.
“I saw the power you used. Unrefined. Fearsome. Beautiful in a way that frightens people.” He paused. “But I respect it.”
Celeste didn’t know what to do with that.
So she only nodded.
Brassmane took a step forward, lowering his voice. “I need to know, Celeste. What are your goals? Not just here. Long-term.”
Celeste glanced toward the corridor, toward where she knew the others were being held.
Her voice came quietly at first. “It’s not just my call. We’re a group. I think… I think we all just go with what everyone wants.”
Brassmane raised a brow, unconvinced.
“Bullshit.”
The word hung sharp in the air.
Celeste’s eyes widened.
Kirrin snorted softly behind him.
Brassmane did not smile. “You are their leader. I have seen the way they look to you. And I think your core is connected to them. I saw the way it flows through them. The way it guides them like a current.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “All Manaliaid can sense it.”
Celeste’s throat tightened.
“My question is this,” Brassmane continued. “What was your plan? Start a militia? Ask us to remove it? Hide until the council finds you? My clan needs answers.”
Celeste opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then exhaled.
“At first…” she began slowly, “my only goal was to get out. Just… escape this mess. Take my sister and leave. Find my dad and pretend none of this happened.”
She smiled faintly, bitter and sad.
“But I don’t think that’s possible anymore. Not with this thing in my chest. I don’t even know what it is. C.H.I.P. says it’s a mana core.”
Brassmane watched her silently.
Celeste rubbed her sleeve between her fingers. “But with the zombies… I think… um… maybe if we can reach other people—people like me, hybrids, anyone with mana—we might actually stand a chance. Together.”
Her voice steadied a little.
“My friends and I already stopped three of the candy generals. So if we had more hands, more hearts, we could stop the rest. We could give people hope. That’s why we came. For parts to build a tower. And maybe to understand what’s wrong with us.”
She looked up at him, nervous but sincere.
“If… if that’s alright. Please?”
Brassmane nodded slowly, his expression tightening. “Then let me ask: how did you come into your power?”
Celeste shifted uncomfortably. “Oh dear…”
Kirrin gave her an encouraging nod.
Celeste swallowed. “I ate something. At a comic convention. It looked harmless. Just a piece of candy, like a novelty thing at a merch booth.”
She paused, frowning at the memory.
“Tasted weird. Like sour frosting and metal.”
Brassmane’s eyes sharpened. “Did you hear anything? A sound? Something loud… that changed everything?”
Celeste’s gaze dropped. “Yeah. There was this noise. Sharp. Loud. Like feedback or a power surge. And then people started screaming. Changing. It was chaos. That’s when they turned into… whatever they are now.”
Brassmane’s voice dropped lower. “And you? Did you feel anything different?”
Celeste nodded slowly. “My heart felt weird. Like it skipped or surged. Then my skin started tingling. Almost buzzing.”
She looked down at her hands.
“After that, I could summon weapons. Swords, mostly. And when I was fighting, I could see my health. Right here.” She tapped her forearm. “Like I was in a game, but it was real.”
Brassmane was quiet for a moment, absorbing it all.
Then he nodded.
“You did not just eat candy,” he said. “Someone gave you a key. And now you are awake.”
Celeste stared at him.
“A key to what?”
Brassmane’s eyes darkened.
“I feared this.”
He turned toward the door. “Come. There is something you must see.”
The guards outside straightened at once, but he waved them off again.
“Just her.”
Kirrin moved as if to speak, but Brassmane raised a single commanding hand.
“She is not in trouble,” he said. “But she needs to understand what is at stake.”
Celeste rose slowly, still shaken, still wiping at her eyes.
Her boots echoed in the narrow corridor as she followed Brassmane through the old industrial passages. Pipes hummed overhead. Ancient glyphs glowed faintly along the walls, etched into rust and gold. The air grew colder the deeper they went.
They descended beneath the foundry.
Past storage rooms.
Past sealed doors.
Past wards so old they made the rune on Celeste’s neck tingle.
Eventually, they reached a vast chamber.
Arcane locks sealed the door, humming with power.
Brassmane stopped before it.
“This,” he said, “is why we fear the candy. Why my people walk a narrow line between faith and desperation.”
The door shuddered open.
A wave of cold air spilled out.
The chamber inside glowed faintly, magical wards pulsing along the walls.
Suspended in the centre, entangled in radiant spell-chains, was a nightmare.
