By evening, the Rustrows had changed.
The hot orange glow of the day had faded into copper dusk, and the whole factory settlement seemed to breathe differently beneath the lantern light. Fires burned in oil drums. Runes flickered along gantries and scaffold bridges. Somewhere above, wind rattled loose sheets of metal like distant applause.
The group were escorted through the heart of the factory by Brassmane, Saff, and a handful of elders. None of them had been put back in chains, but the message was clear enough.
They were being watched.
The vault lay beneath the oldest part of the Rustrows, hidden under reinforced flooring and layers of ancient wards. Brassmane led them to a wide industrial lift, its iron doors scarred with old claw marks and painted protective symbols.
The doors creaked open.
Inside, the lift was large enough to carry a wagon—or a war machine. Brassmane stepped in first, his antlers nearly brushing the ceiling. The elders followed, robes whispering, charms clinking softly at their throats. Saff stayed close to Brassmane’s side, her expression sharp and restless.
The group filed in after them.
The doors groaned shut.
Then the lift began to descend.
Chains rattled overhead. Steam hissed through pipes. The walls shuddered around them as they sank deeper under the factory.
Arcade glanced at the metal cage around them. “Wonderful. Nothing says trust like being lowered into a murder basement.”
Pitch leaned against the wall. “Could be worse.”
The lift gave a violent jolt.
Pitch paused. “Could be better.”
C.H.I.P. whirred, his lenses flickering like anxious blinks as Arcade scrubbed a streak of grime off his casing.
“Note to self,” Arcade muttered, deadpan. “Next time we redesign you, lava-proof plating. Maybe a snack dispenser. Survival and style.”
C.H.I.P. beeped indignantly. “I don’t melt. I sizzle.”
The lift clanged to a stop.
The doors dragged open, revealing a bunker-like chamber beneath the factory. Thick black stone walls stretched ahead, layered with copper wards and old glyphs. Beyond them, through a long pane of reinforced glass and magic, the faint glow of the containment vault pulsed like a heartbeat.
Dim.
Alive.
Waiting.
Brassmane and the elders moved beneath a raised barrier platform overlooking the vault chamber. Saff remained beside him, arms folded, eyes fixed on the sealed doors below.
Lumina and Skye were guided to the side platform under guard, close enough to watch but safely behind the ward line. Lumina gripped the rail with both paws, trying to look brave. Skye stood beside her, quiet and stiff, his bracer held protectively against his chest.
Saff’s gaze drifted toward them.
On Lumina.
It lingered too long.
Too sharply.
Not the idle look of someone glancing past a child, but the measuring stare of someone noticing something she very much meant to remember.
Ray caught it first and narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything, Saff turned away as though nothing had happened.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Saff leaned toward Brassmane, voice low but urgent. “You need to reconsider what we discussed earlier.”
Brassmane did not look at her. “Drop it.”
Saff’s jaw tightened. “You need to. Now would be a good time.”
Brassmane turned sharply.
The air seemed to still around him.
“I will not ask again,” he said.
Saff backed down, but her expression twisted with barely restrained fury. Her eyes flicked toward Celeste—then briefly, almost imperceptibly, back toward Lumina.
Brassmane turned to the group.
“Remember this,” he said, his voice carrying through the bunker. “Complete this task, and you grant us access to the vault. The artifacts within will help us help you. This is an equivalent exchange.”
His gaze moved across each of them.
“If you succeed, we shall consider you welcome to the clan. Complete your trials with us, and you shall be full members—embraced as brothers and sisters of Llwyth Drain Grwydryn. Our protection will come with that bond.”
Ray’s eyes flickered, though she said nothing.
Celeste swallowed.
The idea of belonging somewhere should have felt comforting.
Instead, it felt heavy.
A gust of stale underground air stirred grit through the chamber. Then, with a thump that rattled the rusted railings above, a lithe shape dropped into view.
Kirrin.
Her silver plumage caught the low amber light, feathers plaited with copper wire and strips of leather that shimmered as she moved. She spotted C.H.I.P. instantly—and her eyes lit like a child finding a miracle in the sand.
“Oh!” She swept forward, talons flexing in delight. “You never said you had a synthetic child.”
Arcade blinked, halfway through polishing his goggles. “Synthetic—? He’s not a toaster with legs, he’s my partner.”
Kirrin crouched gracefully, feathers brushing the floor as she leaned close to C.H.I.P. Her voice carried awe, reverent and bright. “That housing… twin-core energy? And the voice grid—stable, clear, no distortion. By the stars, you’re… beautiful.”
C.H.I.P. tilted his head shyly. “...Hi. I’m adorable. Nice to meet you.”
Ray leaned toward Pitch, her voice a dry rasp of humour. “Is this a crush, or am I watching someone propose to a blender?”
Pitch huffed a low laugh, folding his arms. “Hey, let her have her moment. Everyone’s into somebody.”
Kirrin rose, brushing her talons together, her expression shifting to solemnity. She turned to Celeste, her gaze soft but hawk-sharp.
“I didn’t come empty-taloned,” she said. “I bring a message. And a gift.”
Her voice lowered. “The creature bound below—once named Mynavon—is no hollow husk. Its fury is not aimless. It remembers. Pain. Betrayal. That is what moves it still.”
Celeste shifted on her feet, her voice quiet and nervous. “That’s… awful. Do you think we can reach what’s left of them?”
Kirrin’s eyes softened. “I think you can reach anything, star-child. But remember: mercy does not always mean sparing. Sometimes it means release.”
Kirrin drew a small shape from her pouch—a medallion, no larger than a palm, bronze on one face and silver on the other. She pressed it gently into Celeste’s hands.
“An elder o’ mine dreamt o’ ye,” she said, voice carrying that rolling Highland softness. “Said this was meant for the star-child. One face is the dragon—fire, ruin, but awakening too. The other, the alicorn—keeper o’ balance, guard o’ the stars. Both sides are yers, lass. Keep it close.”
Celeste turned the charm carefully, her thumbs brushing over the engravings: a dragon curled around a blazing sun, and an alicorn beneath a crescent moon scattered with stars.
Her voice wavered, half-nervous, half-playful. “Um… d-does it help us win?”
Kirrin gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “No, hen. But it might help ye ken yerself a wee bit better.”
She stepped back, feathers ruffling as she glanced toward the sealed chamber below. “Listen—near the western gate, there’s a pulse in the stone. The beast guards it close. That’s its tether, its anchor. Strike there, an’ ye’ll have a chance.”
Arcade lifted his brows, arms folding. “Finally. Actual intel. Beats wandering in blind and praying to the candy gods.”
C.H.I.P. beeped brightly. “Permission to smite anchor: granted.”
Kirrin lowered her voice, eyes meeting Celeste’s. “An’ one more thing. Some o’ my folk—they believe in what ye’re tryin’ tae do. If this all goes to ruin… ken this: not every door will be closed tae ye.”
Celeste hugged the medallion close, her ears low but her voice soft. “Th-thank you. I… I’ll keep it safe.”
Kirrin smiled faintly, then leapt upward with a sweep of her wings, vanishing into the amber haze above the platform.
The group stood quiet for a beat.
C.H.I.P. let out a little whirr. “...I like her.”
Arcade smirked, tapping his chassis. “I think she likes you too, buddy. Don’t let it go to your processor.”
Pitch rolled his shoulders, calm but firm. “Still—anchor gives us a target. That’s something.”
Celeste tucked the charm into the inside pocket of her hoodie-dress. She breathed in, then out, steadying herself.
“O-okay,” she said softly. “Let’s… let’s go. Time to meet what’s waiting in the dark.”
The lower blast doors opened.
The team stepped into the Vault.
It was a cavernous chamber of rusted catwalks, molten troughs, and blistering heat. Relic cabinets lined the outer walls behind thick warded glass, filled with strange shapes wrapped in cloth, sealed in jars, or suspended in glowing rune-cages. The bunker was less a storage room and more a tomb for things too useful to destroy and too dangerous to trust.
In the molten gloom stood the corrupted mythic.
Mynavon.
A hulking nightmare of fused candy-glass, scorched metal, and warped flesh. A unicorn’s skull jutted from its head, stretched and twisted into a mocking carnival mask. Licorice-red antlers curled from its crown. Steam hissed from its throat with every breath.
The doors slammed shut.
The monster’s eyes ignited.
And it thundered forward.
Ray darted in first, hammer already swinging. “Alright, big guy—let’s dance!”
Her blow cracked its shoulder plating with a clang that rattled the chamber.
The beast bellowed and backhanded at her, but she rolled out of reach, spitting, “Too slow, candy-ass!”
She slammed her hammer down left, then right.
“Heatwave Drive!”
Fire streaked outward in a circle, leaving molten scorch marks that sizzled under the monster’s feet. The burning patch clung to its limbs, forcing it to stagger.
Pitch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck even as the thing lumbered toward him. “Do we really have to do this?”
Arcade ducked behind a molten pillar, snapping open a jury-rigged jammer. “Unless you’ve got a ‘skip boss fight’ button in your pocket, yeah, we do.”
High-pitched pulses screeched through the air.
Mynavon reeled, momentarily stunned.
From a ledge off to the side, Plum braced one boot against a rusted support beam and raised her gun. Her ears flattened with focus.
“Opening on the right shoulder,” she called.
She fired.
The shot punched into a glowing seam where the warped plating had already begun to split. Mynavon lurched, one arm dipping a fraction lower.
Plum fired again.
Then again.
Each bullet struck not at random, but with maddening precision—weak joints, fractured runes, exposed channels where the corrupted body was struggling to hold itself together.
No mana.
No flashy power.
Just ruthless aim.
Mezzo gave a low whistle. “Remind me never to be on bunny-girl’s bad side.”
Celeste bit her lip, then rushed in, twin katanas flashing. “S-sorry!”
Her blades bit deep into its knee joint. Molten sugar hissed from the wound. The monster swiped wildly, but Celeste planted a paw on its chest and sprang upward.
“Ascension Kick!”
She backflipped off its bulk, a burst of radiant light flaring from her heel as she launched the beast backward. The air shimmered where her strike landed, leaving a crack of brilliance hanging in the chamber.
Then it turned on Pitch.
The molten arm swept toward him—too fast, too heavy.
Pitch’s grin vanished. “Oh, shi—”
And then he was gone, swallowed straight into his own shadow.
Pitch hit the ground hard in a place of rippling darkness.
“...Well, this is new.” His voice echoed through the void. “Shadow dimension? Neat. Wish it had a minibar.”
Outside, Celeste froze. “He—he fell! The shadow, it just… it swallowed him!”
Ray gritted her teeth, knuckles tight on her hammer. “He’s not dead. I don’t care what that thing throws at us—he’s not.”
Celeste’s gaze trembled, then sharpened.
“M-maybe… maybe I can reach him.”
She pressed her palm to the floor. Shadows curled around her wrist. Indigo light flared in her eyes for a heartbeat.
“I-I’ve got it!”
With a gasp, she slipped through the dark.
Gone.
A moment later, she burst out from another patch of shadow, blade-first. Her crescent slash carved under the zombie’s arm, molten candy spraying like shrapnel.
Arcade blinked. “Well… that’s terrifyingly effective.”
The monster roared, raising its other arm to crush her.
“Oi!”
Hughes slammed his crook into the floor. Runes flared. A wave of warped gravity rippled outward, dragging the beast’s limbs like lead weights. He darted forward, crook lancing in a precise jab.
“Chrono Jab!”
The tip struck true, but the creature didn’t react—until a split second later, when the delayed shock hit all at once. Its head jerked back, motion staggering out of sync, as though time itself had betrayed it.
“Steel, sugar, or soddin’ moon rock,” Hughes barked, “everything bows to weight!”
Mezzo charged in from the flank with his guitar-axe already humming. “Right then, ugly—your turn for the encore.”
He struck a brutal chord.
“Blazing Chord Slash!”
A wide flaming arc tore from the axe-head and slammed across Mynavon’s ribs, sending a wave of heat through the chamber. The corrupted mythic reeled, smoke hissing from its side as the burning cut spread.
Before it could recover, Mezzo dragged his paw across the strings again and slammed the whammy bar down.
“Whammy Barrage!”
Discordant sound blasts ripped forward in a cone, rattling catwalks and shaking sparks loose from the ceiling. The corrupted creature’s head jerked wildly, stunned by the shivering sonic assault.
Lumina gasped from the side platform. “Mezzo!”
Skye gripped the rail tighter, eyes wide. “He’s actually helping.”
Lumina gave him a look. “He always helps.”
Though her voice was brave, her ears stayed low.
And just above them, Saff glanced their way again.
Her gaze lingered on Lumina—on the little shield, the tiny trembling paws, the way she leaned toward the battle despite her fear.
Too close.
Too intent.
Interested.
Ray noticed that this time and her lip curled, but there was no opening to say anything.
“Ray!” Celeste cried, voice trembling but clear.
Ray’s smirk cut like firelight. “On it!”
She sprinted in, shoulder-checking the monster hard enough to send it toppling. Before it could rise, she planted her boot against its chest, pinning it with sheer force.
Heartbreaker’s head gleamed violet as she raised it overhead.
Leaning down, she whispered, low and deadly, “Nothing personal.”
“Emberlock.”
The chamber seared white for a heartbeat as violet fire erupted in a nova. The blast swallowed the monster’s core in an incandescent burst, leaving molten cracks spiderwebbing across its shell.
The beast spasmed, bellowing through smoke and flame.
Plum fired twice more into those cracks.
“Core’s destabilising!” she shouted.
Arcade pointed. “Everyone heard the rabbit! Kill it!”
Celeste surged in with twin katanas blazing, eyes alight. “Together—finish it!”
Ray wrenched her hammer free with a howl. “Gladly!”
She swung with all her weight, smashing through the weakened plating. The core splintered, shards of crystallised sugar scattering like glass under a storm.
But Mynavon still staggered forward.
Rage coiled in its chest.
It cornered Celeste against a wall of shattered crystal, a final, blinding light gathering in its core. The glow swelled dangerously, angling toward the civilians and elders watching behind the upper barrier.
Celeste’s heart lurched.
