The sun melted into the horizon, turning the sea bronze and the sky lilac. The last rays flickered like gold threads between the tent flaps and cooler lids. Someone—probably Skye—had dragged driftwood into a tidy pile, and now a gentle fire crackled between a circle of mismatched camping chairs, blankets, and sandy shoes.
The gang clustered around it, glowing in the flickering amber light. Bonbon handed out sticks threaded with marshmallows, while Arcade carefully rotated his over the flames, obsessing over the perfect golden toast. Pitch, naturally, had already burnt his into molten ash and proudly popped it into his mouth with a crunch.
Celeste sat nestled between Ray and Lumina, a fleece blanket draped over her shoulders. Her hair was still damp from earlier, a curl stuck to her cheek.
Skye poked the fire with a long stick. “So, anyone got a beach ghost story?”
Ray didn’t even look up. “No ghost stories. Too soon after the sea monster fiasco.”
Celeste nodded quickly, tail twitching. “Oh yes, please, no more ghost things. My nerves are still twitchy.”
There was a pause, then Skye piped up, “Alright… something nicer, then. Like… home. What was it like for everyone?”
Mezzo leaned back, arms behind his head. “Ah, here we go—group therapy round the campfire. Love it.”
Carys sipped a drink from a sand-speckled can. “Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad. I’d quite like that, too.”
The group slowly quieted. The fire popped.
“Grew up in the valleys,” Mezzo said at last, voice low. “Lotta fog. Lotta noise. I’ve got six siblings—maybe seven, depending who’s still talkin’ to who.”
He smirked faintly. “Everyone fought over dinner, and the shower was a warzone. Loved ‘em once, but stars above… I don’t miss the racket.”
Skye nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I’m an only child, but I’ve got tons of cousins. Big family in spirit, y’know?”
Arcade smirked faintly. “Then you’re my favourite cousin.”
Skye smiled, soft and sure. “Nope. You’re my brother. If that’s okay.”
Arcade froze, his usual snark short-circuiting for once. He blinked, eyes softening. “…Yeah. Yeah, that’s more than okay.”
The others smiled quietly, pretending not to notice how much that simple moment meant.
Plum spoke next. “I’ve got a younger sister. Couple older brothers. Used to work in a law firm—hated every second. Too many rules, not enough truth. Journalism’s better. You get to dig, find the story, even when people really don’t want you to.”
She shrugged. “Suppose that’s my version of home. Chasin’ truth till it bites back.”
Kirrin stretched her wings near the fire, the light shimmering across her feathers. “I was adopted,” she said simply. “Don’t ken much about my real folks. My ma was a summoner—tried the Shadow Trial and… didn’t make it. My da tried to pull her back. Died tryin’.”
The group went still. Even the waves seemed to hush for her.
Kirrin exhaled, tail flicking embers. “My brothers were older. Had their own lives. So Brassmane took me in. Made me his apprentice. Says I’ve got too much fire in me.”
Arcade grinned faintly. “He’s not wrong.”
Kirrin smirked. “Aye, maybe not. But at least I’m burnin’ the right way these days.”
The laughter that followed was easy, real—the kind that came from people who had lost too much but still found warmth in what remained.
Celeste spoke next. “I, um… I grew up in Swansea,” she said softly.
Mezzo turned his head. “Wait, you? Swansea? Whereabouts?”
She hesitated. “In a… uh… secluded mansion,” she admitted, already wincing.
There was a pause—then Mezzo snorted. “A mansion? Oh, you’re actually posh!”
Celeste gasped. “I’m not posh!”
Mezzo grinned wickedly. “What’s next—did ye have a butler named Reginald who spoon-fed ye caviar?”
“No,” Celeste said indignantly. “His name was Bennett. And he only served caviar on Fridays!”
The group burst into laughter, even Ray cracking a grin. Celeste’s face flushed, and then she laughed too, shaking her head. “You’re all awful!”
“Your Highness,” Mezzo bowed dramatically, brandishing his marshmallow like a scepter. “Do pardon our peasantry.”
“Honestly,” Celeste sighed, placing a mock-regal hand to her heart, “you lot are barely fit to shine my silver.”
More laughter. Bonbon clapped.
Pitch stared into the fire for a moment before speaking. “I had a little brother. Jett. He’s… sick. Hybrid condition.” His voice was calm, but heavy. “I was saving to get him treatment abroad. I’ve been trying to send money back.”
A hush fell over the group.
“Is he…?”
“I don’t know,” Pitch admitted. “Last I heard, he was in hospital. But that was before Clawdiff... before it all fell.”
Ray’s tail flicked. Her voice came out quieter than usual. “I ran away,” she admitted. “Left a lot behind—friends, family. Thought I could outrun it all. But it… always catches up.”
Celeste tilted her head toward her, voice soft. “Hey, Ray… why were you working at that comic con, anyway? You don’t really seem like a crowds person.”
Ray stiffened slightly.
Before she could answer, Pitch grinned. “Oh, you didn’t tell her?”
Ray shot him a sharp look, but Mezzo was already leaning in.
“Oh no,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me that was community service.”
“It wasn’t—” Ray started, then sighed. “Okay, technically yes, it was.”
Lumina raised a brow. “For what?”
Ray crossed her arms and looked away. “…That’s classified.”
Mezzo laughed. “C’mon, I’m beggin’ here.”
“It involved a stolen car,” Pitch said helpfully, “and a trailer full of cattle bugs.”
“What?” Celeste turned fully around, staring.
“It wasn’t in any news report,” Ray muttered. “Which is why it’s staying that way.”
Plum peeked up from her tablet, barely hiding a grin. “Wait, was it like, on purpose? Or did the bugs just... happen?”
Ray gave her a deadpan stare. “Both.”
The group broke into chuckles. Even Skye allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch.
Mezzo wiped a fake tear. “This is why I love our downtime.”
Ray just smirked, leaning back. “Laugh it up. I still have a lifetime ban from the Trunk Road Network.”
The fire cracked.
Carys tucked her knees under her chin. “This reminds me of home. How I miss my sisters,” she said softly. “They used to braid my hair while I read to them. Dumb stuff. Fairytales. I wonder if they’re still out there…”
Arcade rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once.
“Mine wasn’t bad,” Mezzo said. “Mum was brilliant. Tough as nails. My sister too. Just the old man…” He threw a stick into the fire. “Left to get milk. Never came back.”
The words were so casual, so flatly spoken, that the group went quiet.
Then Celeste blinked. “You’re serious?”
“Oh aye,” Mezzo replied. “Turns out the milk was in the next country. Possibly orbiting the planet.”
Lumina, unsure if it was a joke, gave a quiet, “Oh no.”
“No need to feel bad,” Mezzo said with a shrug. “The three of us did fine without him. Family’s what you make, not what you’re born into.”
He leaned back a little, eyes tracing the flickering lantern light. “My mom and sister—they’re… intense. Big plans. Bigger opinions. I couldn’t breathe without someone planning my next ten steps for me.”
Celeste raised a brow. “So you ran away too?”
He smirked. “Close. I ran away and became a street musician. Busking in metro stations, park corners, ferry docks—anywhere people would toss a coin and not lecture me about my ‘potential.’”
She tilted her head. “That explains the sad songs.”
“Oh, those are premium-grade guilt songs. You should hear the one about leaving a birthday party halfway through.”
She chuckled, but he looked just sheepish enough that it was clear the memory still tugged at him.
“Anyway,” he continued, “eventually the coins stopped coming. Turns out, passion doesn’t pay for rent or new strings. So I started working small gigs. Weddings. Weird parties. And then—Comic Con.”
“That’s where we found you?”
He gave her a mock salute. “Yup. A dashing security guard. Singing theme songs for discounted tacos and posing for selfies with sweaty teenagers.”
Celeste snorted. “Heroic.”
“Hey, I had a name badge. It counts.”
Bonbon had fallen half-asleep in Celeste’s lap, the flickering firelight making her fur glow like spun caramel. Celeste absently stroked her hair, gentle and rhythmic, her gaze soft.
“I wish we knew who her parents were,” Celeste murmured softly, almost to herself. “I’d… love to find them for her someday.”
Plum, seated across the fire with her notebook open, sighed. “We don’t know much about her. Council records were useless—again. Everything’s redacted, like they’re allergic to transparency.”
Kirrin, crouched by the flames, tilted her head and smiled kindly at the little bunny hybrid. “Bonbon,” she said softly, switching to Welsh, her accent lilting and warm. “Pwy yw dy rieni di, cariad?” (Who are your parents, sweetheart?)
Bonbon blinked sleepily, rubbing her eyes, and replied just as softly in Welsh, “Mam.” (Mum.)
Kirrin’s expression softened further. “A dy dad?” (And your dad?)
Bonbon just tilted her head in confusion, ears drooping slightly, as if she didn’t quite understand the question.
Kirrin exhaled slowly. “She’s a hybrid,” she murmured, glancing toward Celeste. “So she’s got a mythic father somewhere. Maybe one of the clans. If we knew her species, it’d be easier to trace.” She paused, her tone growing more thoughtful. “When ye go through yer trial, Celeste, you’ll learn the rest of your own lineage. The Elders’ll see your full mana signature—your bloodlines, ancestry, all of it. Sometimes, that knowledge opens doors.”
Pitch, sprawled out by the fire with a stick of half-burnt marshmallows, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, speaking of that—why do we have to do this trial, anyway? Brassmane hasn’t told us jack except that it’s ‘mandatory.’”
Kirrin smirked over her shoulder, wings catching the light. “And spoil the surprise? Never. You’re going to love it. Think of it as a little… mythic adventure.”
Mezzo snorted. “So… chaos with extra steps, then?”
Kirrin winked. “Exactly. But this time, ye get to let loose instead of holdin’ back.”
Celeste smiled faintly, stroking Bonbon’s ears as the child drifted back to sleep. “Maybe that’s what we all need,” she whispered. “Just… a chance to find who we really are.”
Silence settled again—not uncomfortable now, but warm. They stared into the fire together, letting the stories settle like ash and embers.
In that moment—beneath stars, beside the sea—they weren’t soldiers, hybrids, or fugitives.
They were just people.
Tired. Broken. Healing.
Together.
