Outside Galaxy Grub, the mall felt too quiet.
The old speakers still warbled somewhere overhead, playing a cheerful shopping jingle that had long since lost its battle with static. Water dripped from the ruined sprinkler system. Candy floss melted in sad pink and blue clumps along the floor, trailing syrup down the cracked peppermint tiles.
Everyone looked exhausted.
Except Mezzo.
Mezzo could not stop buzzing.
He paced in a half-circle near the broken restaurant sign, hands gesturing wildly as he spoke, eyes bright in a way that was both delighted and slightly unhinged.
“I had wings,” he said for what had to be the ninth time. “Actual wings. Did ye see them? Big ones. Proper dramatic. Like—like stage curtains, but on fire.”
Ray leaned against a wall, arms folded, still wet from the sprinklers. “We saw.”
“And talons.” Mezzo flexed his fingers, staring at them as if they might reappear through sheer enthusiasm. “I had talons. Talons, Ray.”
“Yes.”
“Do ye know how long I thought those were gone?” His grin widened, almost boyish for a second. “Removed. Cut out. Surgically taken. Never comin’ back. But they came back. Wings, talons, tail, mane—the whole mythical rockstar package.”
Pitch rubbed syrup off Lady Luck with a grimace. “You did look like a concert poster had a fight with a bird of prey.”
Mezzo pointed at him. “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m takin’ it as one.”
Hughes stood nearby, watching Mezzo with a thoughtful frown. “It was impressive.”
Mezzo beamed.
“But,” Hughes continued, “that does not normally happen.”
The beam dimmed slightly. “Ah. There’s always a but.”
“There usually is when someone has their suppression rune torn off and does not immediately rupture from mana overload.”
Pitch made a face. “That’s the polite way of saying explode, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Mezzo’s ears flicked. “Well, I didn’t explode.”
“No,” Hughes said. “You didn’t. Which means either the Council lied about what happens when suppression runes are removed…”
He looked toward the ruined restaurant doors.
“Or something interfered.”
Chip hovered beside Arcade’s shoulder, casing still scorched from big mode, optic blinking cheerfully.
“Correction: Celeste’s core stabilised Mezzo’s mana before he became decorative paste.”
Everyone turned to him.
Chip bobbed. “She absorbed and redistributed the volatile surge, allowing temporary reformation of dormant mythic traits via mana resonance. Wings. Talons. Leonine tail. Extremely flashy mane. Very inefficient hair placement.”
Mezzo touched his hair. “Oi.”
Chip continued brightly, “You are a lucky dog. Without her, your remains would have required a mop and possibly a priest.”
Mezzo’s gaze drifted.
Very slowly.
Toward the rune at the back of his neck.
His paw lifted.
Everyone saw it at once.
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Mezzo.”
Mezzo froze, paw hovering near his collar. “What?”
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
Mezzo looked offended. “I was merely… checking it was still there.”
Pitch tilted his head. “With your fingers curled like you were about to peel off a sticker?”
“It felt loose.”
Hughes’s face went very still. “It is not loose.”
Mezzo gave a tiny, guilty grin. “But hypothetically—”
“No,” Hughes said.
Ray pushed off the wall. “No.”
Celeste appeared from behind Bonbon’s plush just enough to squeak, “Please no.”
Lumina gasped, “Mezzo!”
Skye, clutching his new cards, said flatly, “Bad idea.”
Pitch lifted Lady Luck. “I will shoot your hand.”
Arcade pointed at him. “And I will help.”
Chip chirped, “Self-explosion speedrun strongly discouraged.”
Mezzo slowly lowered his paw.
There was a pause.
Then he muttered, “Ye’re all very unsupportive of personal growth.”
Ray stared at him. “Personal growth is not turning yourself into wall jam.”
“It was majestic wall jam.”
“It was almost dead wall jam.”
Mezzo sighed dramatically and folded his arms. “Fine. No unscheduled gryphon encore.”
Hughes pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you.”
Arcade grabbed Chip out of the air with both hands.
Slowly, very slowly, he brought the little robot close to his face.
“How. Do. You. Know?”
Chip’s optic blinked.
“Observation.”
“No.” Arcade’s voice sharpened. “Seriously. How do you keep knowing things we don’t?”
Ray pushed off the wall. “I want to know that too.”
Chip made a small whirring sound that could have been innocent if anyone in the group still believed in innocence.
Ray’s gaze flicked toward Celeste’s last known position.
“And while we’re asking questions, I want to know about your daddy issue too, Celeste, because—”
She stopped.
Celeste was not there.
Everyone turned.
The space where Celeste had been standing was empty.
For one long second, nobody spoke.
Then Ray closed her eyes.
“Please tell me she did not wander off again.”
A clatter came from inside Galaxy Grub.
Celeste came running out a moment later, Bonbon tucked at her side and a large multicoloured raccoon plush hugged tightly against her chest. It was almost as big as Bonbon, with a space helmet, glittery paws, and a stitched badge that read CAPTAIN COSMO.
Celeste’s ears were flattened.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Sorry, sorry, I really wanted the Captain Cosmo plush.”
Bonbon clutched one of the plush’s paws and nodded solemnly. “Capten Cosmo.”
Ray stared at them.
Pitch lifted one finger. “From now on, we stay together. No running off. No side quests. No plushie heists without at least two witnesses.”
Celeste hugged the plush higher. “It was just by the counter.”
“That is exactly how horror stories eat people,” Pitch said.
Ray’s stare had not moved from Celeste.
The frustration in her face had gone past anger into something colder. More frightened.
“Celeste.”
Celeste’s grip tightened around the plush.
Ray took one step closer. “Two zombie generals knew your dad.”
The others went quiet.
Celeste swallowed. “I know.”
“I think maybe we deserve to know why.”
Celeste shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.”
Ray’s eyes narrowed.
“Liar.”
Lumina stepped forward at once, small sword lowered but still in her paw. “Dad didn’t talk to us much.”
Ray didn’t look at her. “I don’t care.”
Lumina flinched.
Ray ran her fingers through her damp hair, pacing once, then turning back hard.
“Why did you touch Mezzo and suddenly he doesn’t explode when his rune comes out? Why does this zombie apocalypse keep circling around your dad? Why did those twins think you were Kenaz? And what the fuck is inside your chest that Chip keeps harping on about?”
Celeste lifted the Captain Cosmo plush higher until only her eyes and ears showed above it.
“I really don’t know.”
Ray’s jaw clenched.
“You’re a fucking liar, Celeste.”
The words hit harder than any sugar whip.
Celeste’s ears folded flat.
Bonbon pressed closer to her leg, hugging the raccoon plush’s paw.
Pitch shifted where he stood, Lady Luck resting against his shoulder. His usual lazy grin had gone thin, thoughtful.
“Well,” he said slowly, southern drawl curling around the words, “I don’t know much about magic cores and fancy council nonsense, but I know this much: that girl ain’t regular. She’s special as a silver coin in a mud puddle.”
Celeste sank slightly behind the plush.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Pitch glanced at her. “Depends who finds the coin first, sweetheart.”
Arcade’s eyes narrowed. He looked from Celeste, to Mezzo, to Chip.
“No. It’s not just that she’s special.” His voice sharpened, mind already racing. “Her core’s different to ours. Structurally different. That makes no sense. Hybrids are meant to have stabilised mana routed through runes, but hers is acting like—”
Chip bobbed eagerly beside him. “That's her core and rune operating like a centralised Relic-class mana hub capable of—”
Arcade grabbed Chip mid-hover.
“You know what?” Arcade said, staring into Chip’s optic. “I don’t want to know right now.”
Chip blinked. “But I have an alarming amount of exposition prepared.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
With a sharp flick of his wrist, Arcade desummoned him.
Chip vanished in a puff of blue sparks, his voice cutting off mid-protest.
“Technicallyyyyy—”
Silence.
Arcade rubbed both paws over his face. “Nope. Future Arcade can have that breakdown.”
Lumina stood very still beside Celeste.
Her gaze had dropped to Celeste’s chest, where the strange core-light had burned during the fight. Her small paws tightened around her star bell. She looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the little twist of jealousy in her face.
Not angry.
Not cruel.
Just small and hurt.
Everyone needed Celeste.
Everyone looked at Celeste.
Even her magic was different.
Lumina swallowed and said nothing.
Ray stopped herself, breathing hard.
Then her eyes sharpened.
“Mythics.”
Pitch raised an eyebrow. “Mythics?”
Ray nodded once, like the decision had snapped into place inside her. “They have cores. They know magic. They’re not Council.” Her gaze cut to Celeste’s chest. “Tomorrow, we go see the mythics and ask about whatever’s in there.”
Arcade lowered his hands from his face. “That is probably the first sensible thing anyone’s said all morning.”
Ray shot him a look.
He shrugged. “Don’t enjoy it. I’m as upset as you are.”
Ray turned back toward where Chip had vanished, then toward Celeste again. “I don’t care what it is. I want this craziness to stop.”
Then she turned back to Celeste.
Her voice dropped low.
“I swear, though, if you’re lying—hell, if you’re working with the zombies in secret—I will stomp you with my hammer like I nearly did with those two you conveniently saved.”
Celeste’s face crumpled.
She fought it hard, but her eyes filled anyway.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what this all is.”
For a moment, the only sound was the drip of sprinkler water and the distant warble of the mall music.
Then Skye spoke.
“She’s not lying.”
Everyone looked at him.
Arcade’s expression softened immediately. “How do you know, kiddo?”
Skye stared down at the cards in his paws.
His mouth opened.
For one second, it looked like he might actually answer.
Then he shut it again.
“I just know.”
Ray gave a sharp, humourless breath and turned away.
“Great. Very helpful.”
She stormed toward the mall exit, boots splashing through puddles of syrup and water.
No one followed at first.
Mezzo looked after her, then at Skye.
His excitement had finally drained into something quieter.
He crossed the space between them slowly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck near the restored rune.
“Skye.”
Skye looked up, guarded.
Mezzo swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For earlier. With the bow. And the name. I was bein’ an idiot.”
Skye said nothing.
Mezzo dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a slightly damp stack of limited-edition Galaxy Grub trading cards. The packets were bent, sticky at the corners, but mostly intact.
“I found these inside,” he said, holding them out. “For your birthday. Thought maybe… well. Thought ye might like them.”
Skye stared at the cards.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Mezzo’s voice softened. “But I wanted to.”
Skye hesitated, then took them carefully.
Mezzo rubbed the back of his neck again, eyes flicking away before coming back.
“And I see ye, alright? Not Skylar. Not anything else. Just Skye.”
Skye’s fingers tightened around the cards.
For a moment, his face did something small and vulnerable.
Then he smiled.
Not much.
But real.
“Thanks.”
Mezzo nodded, looking relieved enough to collapse. “Aye. Happy almost birthday, lad.”
Nearby, Carys watched the exchange with a tired expression, one arm around Bonbon’s shoulders while Celeste still clutched the Captain Cosmo plush like emotional armour.
Carys turned to Hughes.
“Should we try to reach out to the Council?”
Hughes looked across the broken mall.
Past Galaxy Grub.
Past the dead carousel.
Past the shattered windows and the sugar-glazed streets beyond.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then his shoulders lowered.
“Honestly?” he said quietly.
Carys waited.
Hughes’s gaze drifted toward Ray, already disappearing toward the van. Then to Celeste, crying silently behind a stolen plush. Then to the ruined restaurant where two zombie generals had known Kenaz Astallan by name.
“I don’t know who could help us now.”
Carys’s eyes lifted toward the cracked glass ceiling, where the dome’s candy-light shimmered faintly above them.
“Maybe it’s the Artist’s will,” she said softly.
Hughes gave her a tired look.
“If that is the case,” he said, looking back at the soaked, broken, traumatised mess of a mall, “then she made a disaster of this canvas.”
Carys’s mouth twitched despite herself.
Hughes sighed.
“Not even Motherlight could fix this.”
