Celeste stood just inside the base’s entrance, the heavy biscuit door still shut.
The Egg Tree’s great doorway—carved from thick, honey-brown biscuit slabs reinforced with metal bands—loomed before her like the gate of a small fortress. Through the cracks in the door, she could hear the muffled noise of the crowd outside.
Outside, the storm had started to brew.
Through a small sugar-glass pane in the upper wall, she could see what was happening.
Purebloods stood in tight circles, barking orders, trying to build makeshift barricades and shouting over anyone who dared challenge their authority.
Mythics, mostly worn and bitter, yelled back—tired of being told where to stand by ghosts in broken uniforms.
And in the middle, a large cluster of Hybrids stood quiet and uncertain.
Heads down.
Hands clenched.
Waiting for someone—anyone—to tell them who they were supposed to be now.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Bracer.
“Things are getting rough out there,” he said, his voice low and even, but edged with tension. He crossed his arms, glancing toward the sugar-glass window. “Crowd’s getting restless. Purebloods are demanding shelter, and some of the Mythics are throwing sparks. The Hybrids don’t know which way to lean.”
He looked at her.
“We need someone visible.”
A pause.
“Calm.”
Another.
“You.”
Hundreds of voices.
Arguing.
Shouting.
Her tail—soft, pale, and ragdoll-fluffy—twitched nervously behind her.
On the nearby table sat the strange collection of items from their ridiculous coronation.
The plastic tiara.
The rainbow throw that had served as her cape.
The lollipop sceptre leaning against the wall like some absurd royal weapon.
Celeste had removed all of it.
Now she stood in her Knight uniform, boots dusty from the arena, sleeves still slightly scorched from mana burn.
She pulled on her lucky blue newsboy hat, the one with two stitched stars and little wings on the sides, and adjusted her glasses with a slow breath.
The familiar weight of them grounded her.
Just enough to move.
Just enough to move forward.
“Alright…” she whispered softly to herself.
She pushed the door open.
The moment the biscuit gate swung wide—
the noise hit her like a wave.
The park outside the Egg Tree had transformed overnight.
Where there had once been quiet grass and winding paths, now there were tents made from blankets, broken wagons turned into shelters, and hundreds of small campfires scattered across the field.
Hybrids.
Purebloods.
Mythics.
Refugees from the arena and the surrounding districts.
All packed together in one tense, desperate mass.
And they were arguing.
Celeste stepped forward into the chaos.
Voices rose over one another in angry waves.
“You can’t expect us to stand in line with them!”
“We have families!”
“Hybrids always get first access to mana supplies!”
“That’s not how this works!”
Several Pureblood citizens stood near one of the supply carts, their clothes still clean compared to the refugees around them.
They pointed angrily toward the food crates.
“We go first.”
“That’s how the system works.”
“Always has.”
A group of Hybrids stood opposite them.
Some looked terrified.
Some looked furious.
One young fox Hybrid stepped forward shakily.
“…No.”
The word seemed to surprise even him.
“We all almost died in there.”
His voice trembled.
“But we’re not letting you shove us aside again.”
Behind him, a few others nodded.
Not loudly.
But firmly.
Nearby, a group of Mythics stood caught awkwardly between the two sides, trying half-heartedly to calm the argument.
“Everyone just breathe—”
“Let’s not make this worse—”
Celeste looked around at the scene.
The tension.
The fear.
The years of resentment bubbling up now that the rules had cracked.
She exhaled slowly.
Then climbed onto a nearby wooden crate so she could see over the crowd.
“Um—hello!”
No one noticed.
Celeste cleared her throat.
“Excuse me—!”
Still nothing.
A pair of Pureblood merchants were now shouting at a pair of wolf Hybrids.
One of the Mythics was trying unsuccessfully to pull them apart.
Celeste tried again.
“Everyone, please—!”
The noise only grew louder.
Arguments spread like sparks across the crowd.
She stood on the crate, waving her arms slightly.
“…Hello?”
Still nothing.
Above the park—
the Egg Tree’s upper branches stretched out like a balcony over the scene.
And standing there—
Silver watched.
He leaned against the carved wooden railing, arms folded across his chest.
His expression was unreadable.
Cool.
Detached.
Below him, the crowd argued.
Below him, Celeste struggled to get anyone’s attention.
Silver said nothing.
Did nothing.
From where he stood, the entire scene looked like a carefully arranged test.
And he watched Celeste the way a noble might watch a new commander on their first battlefield.
Quiet.
Indifferent.
Waiting to see if she would fail.
Then—
BANG.
One of the perimeter gates slammed open.
The heavy barricade doors that guarded the park swung inward hard enough to rattle the iron hinges.
Five figures marched through.
Council officers.
Tall.
Pureblood.
Their uniforms were scorched and torn from the arena battle, medals dulled with ash and dust. But they still walked with the stiff authority of men who believed the world owed them obedience.
The one leading them had slicked-back fur and a cracked command medallion hanging crooked on his shoulder.
They marched straight into the camp.
“This is a breach of protocol,” the lead officer barked.
His voice carried like a whip.
“As the senior-ranking Council officers still alive, we are hereby reinstating order.”
The crowd froze.
Arguments died instantly.
Ray groaned.
“Oh great.”
She rubbed her temples.
“Bureaucratic undead.”
Mezzo didn’t even look up from the chords he was lazily strumming.
“Someone tell ’em the empire fell.”
He plucked another note.
“We’re busy not dying.”
The officer’s lip curled.
“You are Hybrids.”
His eyes swept across the crowd like he was looking at something unpleasant stuck to his boots.
“You were created to serve.”
He gestured toward Arcade.
“The idea that you could lead anything is—frankly—insulting.”
Arcade didn’t look up from his datapad.
“Sir,” he muttered flatly, “there’s a door behind you.”
He tapped the screen.
“Please use it.”
The officer ignored him.
Instead, he turned directly toward Celeste.
“And you.”
His voice dripped contempt.
“You think just because these creatures follow you that you are important?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You are a mistake.”
“A Hybrid wrapped in delusion.”
Celeste stepped down from the crate.
She didn’t raise her voice.
Her tone stayed calm.
Firm.
“We are the Knights of Clawdiff,” she said steadily. “Operating under Church authority and Council protection.”
“We are tasked with destroying the candy plague and protecting the people.”
Her eyes met his.
“I know things are confusing right now.”
“But that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies.”
“You will submit,” he snapped immediately.
“You will comply with protocol—”
He stepped toward her.
“—or we will enforce it.”
Behind him, the other officers spread out.
Ray tensed.
Mezzo stopped strumming.
Hughes’s eyes narrowed.
He recognised them now.
The same Pureblood officers they had pulled from the arena.
The ones they had rescued from the Minotaur’s prison.
Except now—
looking at their uniforms…
their broken insignias…
the way they moved…
Hughes’s stomach sank.
Deserters.
Umbranox hadn’t sent them.
These were the officers who had abandoned the fight.
And now they were trying to reclaim authority.
Hughes stepped forward.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Don’t play dumb.”
The lead officer’s eyes flicked toward him.
Hughes folded his arms.
“You know exactly who she is.”
The park went still.
“You saw her in the arena.”
His gaze moved from one officer to the next.
“You saw her fight while you ran.”
A few Hybrids in the crowd lifted their heads.
Hughes’s voice hardened.
“You know she is Knight-Commander.”
The officer’s mouth tightened.
“You overstep.”
“No,” Hughes said. “You deserted.”
The word landed with brutal simplicity.
A ripple passed through the crowd.
Purebloods looked at one another.
Mythics went quiet.
Hybrids stared.
Hughes didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“You abandoned the field. You left children and civilians to die. You left the Knights to cover your retreat. And now you’ve walked into their shelter acting as if old rank still means something.”
His eyes narrowed.
“So do not stand there pretending you don’t know who she is.”
Celeste lifted a hand slightly.
“Hughes—”
But the officer’s face had flushed with rage.
“Enough.”
He turned back to Celeste.
“You will learn your place.”
Celeste began, “Sir, I think we should—”
The officer lunged.
His hand shot forward and grabbed her arm.
Celeste jerked back in surprise.
The scuffle was brief—
but his fist drove hard into her shoulder.
Celeste staggered.
Above the park—
Silver moved.
A single arrow screamed downward from the balcony.
THUNK.
The arrow buried itself in the ground directly between the officer’s boots.
The man froze.
Silver watched him.
Then his gaze flicked to Celeste.
To the officer’s hand still near her arm.
Something sharp and draconic curled beneath his ribs.
His mouth barely moved.
“Mine.”
No one heard it.
Only Silver heard the word leave him.
And for a fraction of a second, even he looked faintly disturbed by it.
Then his expression cooled again.
His voice followed, cold and precise.
“As Heir of Sight,” he called down, bow already raised again, “I order you to stand down.”
The officer looked up.
His expression twisted.
“You.”
“You’re a traitor.”
“You side with Hybrids?”
Silver pulled the bowstring halfway back.
The arrow gleamed.
“Make another move like that,” he said calmly, “and it will be the last thing you see.”
The officer hesitated.
That was enough.
Mezzo moved.
In a blur, he zipped behind two of the officers and tackled them both at once.
Ray launched herself forward at another.
Hughes stepped into the last one like a brick wall.
Within seconds, the officers were pinned to the ground.
Topsy appeared beside them holding a massive dictionary.
“Throw the book at them!”
She wound up—
and literally threw it.
THUD.
The dictionary bounced off one officer’s helmet.
Lumina blinked.
“…Maybe a jail would be better.”
Topsy froze.
“…Do we have a jail?”
Skye raised a nervous hand.
“…No.”
He thought for a second.
“…We’ll have to make one.”
Meanwhile—
Pitch had reached Celeste.
He helped her back to her feet.
“You okay?”
Celeste winced slightly, rubbing her shoulder where the officer had struck her.
“…Yeah.”
She looked out at the stunned crowd.
Then back at the restrained officers.
The park had gone silent again.
Behind her, the sound of hammering echoed from one of the back rooms. Topsy and Lumina were hard at work finishing their “jail.” It was mostly peppermint sticks and graham cracker slabs—more decorative than secure—but they’d made a little barred gate and proudly taped a bright cardboard sign to it that read:
TIME OUT ZONE: THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU DID
There were even glitter stars on it.
Celeste managed a small, tired smile, then turned to face the others.
“We need to decide what to do with the officers,” she said, voice level but worn. “And more importantly—what we do about them.”
She nodded toward the door, where the growing noise of the crowd outside filtered in like a rising tide.
Ray was the first to speak. She pushed off the table, eyes sharp.
“Kick the officers out. All of them. Send ’em back to the Council. If we start bending for them, we’ll snap.”
“They’re scared,” Hughes said softly from where he leaned near the sugar bowl, arms crossed. “They lost everything. Like us.”
“They made everything that broke,” Ray snapped. “Don’t get soft now.”
“They’re still people,” Skye said gently, clutching his card deck. “Even if they’re clinging to old scripts.”
Arcade muttered, “They’re running obsolete programming and don’t know it yet.”
“I vote we toss ’em in Time Out,” Mezzo added cheerfully, sipping from a cracked juice pouch. “Then tell them the commander will see them when the snack schedule permits.”
Lumina piped up from her “jail,” where she was sticking gummy seals on the bars.
“We even made pillows! No back injuries for meanies!”
Celeste breathed in deeply.
And turned back to her friends.
“We have a moment. Maybe the only one,” she said. “To change how this works. No more discrimination. No more bullying. Just people who listen to each other.”
Pitch looked at her, then nodded once—his shades still on.
“Then let’s make them listen.”
Celeste’s ears flicked back, her tail giving a nervous twitch.
Bracer softened his tone. “Start simple. Set boundaries. Promise safety—but make it clear they’re not walking into the old world. You don’t have to yell, Celeste. Just show them you’re steady.”
She nodded slowly.
Her fingers curled briefly around the brim of her hat.
“Okay,” she said, voice small but sure. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
As she turned to head for the door, Ray caught her by the shoulder and gave her a hearty pat on the back—nearly knocking her off balance.
“If anyone mouths off,” Ray grinned, hoisting her hammer to her shoulder, “I’ll knock ’em outta the park like a baseball. You just give the signal.”
Celeste burst out laughing.
Nervous.
Grateful.
Real.
Ray’s smile lingered, a little softer now.
“There she is.”
Celeste turned back toward the biscuit doors.
Outside, hundreds of frightened people were waiting for an answer.
Hybrids.
Purebloods.
Mythics.
People who had every reason not to trust one another.
People who had every reason not to trust her.
Her shoulder still ached where the officer had struck her.
Her hands still trembled faintly.
But this decision was hers now.
Not the Council’s.
Not the deserters’.
Not anyone else’s.
Celeste straightened.
Adjusted her hat.
Lifted her chin.
And stepped toward the door, determined to make it right.
