Celeste dreamed of flowers.
Not ordinary flowers.
They were white as moonlight and soft as breath, growing in a field so wide it seemed to go on forever. The sky above was pale gold, streaked with pink cloud, and the air smelled of honey, rain, and something old Celeste could not name.
In the middle of the field stood an alicorn.
She was beautiful.
Not in the way paintings were beautiful, or noble ladies at functions with jewels in their hair. She was beautiful like a lullaby someone had forgotten the words to. White coat. Silver mane. Wings folded carefully against her sides. A horn that caught the light and split it into tiny rainbows.
The alicorn knelt in the flowers.
Before her grew five small white blooms.
She tended them with impossible gentleness, brushing dirt from their petals, sheltering them from the wind with one wing. Every now and then she lowered her head and touched her nose to them, as if counting them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Celeste watched from far away.
She wanted to call out, but the dream held her still.
Then the field changed.
The flowers beyond the alicorn bent.
Not from wind.
From pressure.
Something unseen moved through them.
The blossoms crushed flat beneath invisible weight. Stems snapped. Petals scattered. The field darkened in a widening path, as though an army with no bodies was marching straight toward her.
The alicorn rose.
Her wings spread.
She stepped in front of the five flowers and lowered her horn.
The unseen thing kept coming.
The first flower vanished.
Plucked clean from the earth.
The alicorn cried out.
The second followed.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
Each one gone with no hand to take it.
No shape to blame.
Only the empty place left behind.
The alicorn staggered, wings shaking, blood-bright light running down her horn. She folded herself over the final flower, shielding it with every part of her body.
The unseen force pressed closer.
The field screamed without sound.
Then shadow swallowed the sun.
A dragon fell from the sky.
Huge.
Blue-Crystal.
Wings wide enough to cover the field.
It struck the ground before the alicorn, claws gouging deep into the earth, tail curling around her and the last white flower like a wall. Its wings snapped open, vast and furious, and the unseen force recoiled.
For a moment, Celeste saw only the dragon’s eye.
Bright.
Terrible.
Protective.
Then the dream shattered.
Celeste woke on the floor of the Gwennan.
Her head pounded so badly the world came back in pieces.
Metal floor beneath her palms.
Blanket half-tangled around one ankle.
Cold forest air leaking through the van door.
Voices.
Arguing voices.
She sat upright too quickly and immediately regretted it.
Pain burst behind her eyes.
“Ow,” she whispered.
No one heard.
Ray’s voice cut through the van from somewhere near the front.
“Silver, sit down before you pace a hole through the floor.”
Silver did not sit.
He shook his head once.
Slowly.
Then again, sharper.
“You’re telling me,” he said, voice polished thin over panic, “that this thing in her chest is issuing instructions, building connections, speaking to ancient systems beneath the city, and all of you are sitting there as if it has merely asked for tea?”
Ray rubbed at her temple.
“Silver.”
“No, please, do correct me. I would hate to overreact to the glowing relic-organ apparently attempting to reconnect my—our—city to the Weave.”
“Chill,” Ray said. “Go shout at a tree.”
Silver stared at her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“I cannot believe you people.”
Mezzo looked up from Celeste.
“Careful.”
Silver ignored him.
“This is what the Church was after. This. The impossible old thing in her chest that none of us understand.”
“We know what it is,” Ray said.
Silver laughed once.
Cold and humourless.
“Oh, marvellous. Enlighten me.”
“It’s a Kymara core.”
“Yes, and that sentence is apparently supposed to soothe me.”
“It tells us what category of problem we’re dealing with.”
“It’s in her.”
Ray’s expression softened by half an inch.
Silver’s voice cracked, then sharpened to cover it.
“It is in her, Ray. She is feverish, speaking dead languages, remembering battles she never fought, and the helpful little floating machine just mentioned opening the Wells as if that is a normal afternoon errand.”
C.H.I.P. bobbed.
“It would ideally be scheduled.”
Silver pointed at him without looking away from Ray.
“Not now.”
Ray exhaled slowly.
“No one is acting normal.”
“You look remarkably close.”
“Because someone has to.”
“Then behave like someone with a plan.”
“My plan is to keep everyone alive long enough to form a better one.”
“How refreshingly vague.”
“Better than suicidal with perfume.”
Silver’s tail lashed.
“We need to go to the Council.”
Ray stared at him.
“No.”
“We need protection before the Church finds her again. Before anyone else finds her with that thing in her chest and decides they’d like to have a turn.”
“The Council is looking for us.”
“My mother is on that Council.”
“And the Church just split from the Council in the middle of the cathedral courtyard. We don’t know who controls what. We don’t know who has been compromised. We don’t even know if communications are being monitored.”
“So your plan is what? Sit in the forest and wait for a helpful bugsquirrel to bring us policy updates?”
Topsy, from somewhere near the data slates, said, “Rude. I would bring snacks too.”
Ray ignored her.
“My plan is still to keep everyone alive long enough to form a better one.”
Silver’s mouth curled.
“So the policy is panic, but with woodland scenery.”
“The policy is not walking into Council custody with a half-conscious commander, a stolen relic file, a rescued prisoner, and a city-wide religious schism chasing our backsides.”
“Cowardice sounds so practical when you say it.”
Ray’s eyes hardened.
“You first.”
Celeste blinked through the pounding in her skull.
“Hello?”
The van went silent.
Too silent.
Everyone looked at her.
That was how she knew something was wrong.
Mezzo was the first to move, but Topsy beat him by sheer squirrel velocity.
“Celeste!”
She launched herself across the van and wrapped both arms around Celeste in a hug so fierce it nearly knocked her backward again.
Celeste made a tiny sound of surprise.
Then, very slowly, hugged her back.
Topsy was warm.
Real.
Soft in the places the nightmare had not been.
Celeste closed her eyes for half a second and let herself have it.
Then Arcade snapped, “Topsy, get back.”
Topsy froze.
Celeste opened her eyes.
Arcade was standing near the rear door, one hand braced against the wall, face pale beneath his fur. He would not look directly at Celeste.
Not quite.
His eyes kept sliding away from her face.
Topsy turned slowly.
“Excuse you?”
Arcade’s jaw tightened.
“I said get back.”
“She just woke up.”
“I can see that.”
“Then maybe try saying, ‘Good morning, Celeste, sorry your day exploded.’”
“Topsy—”
“No, don’t Topsy me.” Topsy’s ears went up, furious and fluffy. “She has been tortured, cooked from the inside, kidnapped by a church, and now she has woken up on the floor like a sad sandwich. I am hugging her.”
Arcade’s voice cracked.
“She might not be safe.”
The words landed hard.
Celeste’s arms loosened around Topsy.
Arcade heard it.
His face changed, but he still did not look at her.
“I didn’t mean—”
Celeste’s ears dipped.
“Oh.”
Mezzo stepped in at once, kneeling beside her.
“Hey. Don’t listen to him right now. He’s scared and being a goblin about it.”
Arcade flinched.
Mezzo looked up.
“Yes, I said goblin. File a complaint.”
Celeste looked between them, confused and pale.
“What happened?”
No one answered fast enough.
So Mezzo softened his voice.
“How are you feeling, sunshine?”
Celeste thought about that.
Her brow creased.
“Fine.”
Ray gave her a look.
Celeste amended, “Not fine. Headache. Very big headache. Like someone put church bells in my skull and is ringing them with a hammer.”
“That sounds closer,” Ray said.
Celeste touched her temple.
“I can’t remember anything.”
Silver laughed once.
It was not kind.
“How convenient.”
Mezzo’s head snapped toward him.
“Don’t.”
Silver ignored him.
He stepped closer, every inch of him drawn tight with fear trying very hard to become cruelty before anyone noticed it was fear.
“What made the Church so upset?”
Celeste stared at him.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“No. I remember going in. There was a room. Maven was there. Tamsin. They asked questions and then...” She swallowed, trying to reach for it. “It goes strange.”
Silver’s eyes narrowed.
“Strange.”
Celeste flinched at the tone.
“Yes.”
Silver’s voice dropped.
Venomous.
“You had better think quickly.”
The van went very still again.
Silver’s scales began to show faintly along his cheek and throat, silver-bright beneath his fur.
“My mother was shot. The Church has declared a holy war. Council and paladins are tearing each other apart in the streets, and every road back to our base may now lead a firing squad directly to the people sheltering there.”
Celeste went pale.
“Umbranox was shot?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t—”
“No, of course not.” Silver’s smile was terrible. “You never do.”
Mezzo rose.
“That’s enough.”
Silver did not even look at him.
“If you did something in that cathedral, Celeste, I will find out.”
Her eyes widened.
“And if my mother dies because of whatever you are carrying, whatever you woke, whatever secret has apparently decided to crawl out of your chest and set fire to my life—”
“Silver,” Hughes said from the open door.
His voice was low.
Warning.
Silver’s eyes stayed on Celeste.
“You will not escape my wrath.”
Celeste looked as though he had struck her.
Hughes stepped fully into the van.
“Cut it out.”
Silver’s head turned.
“Do not tell me—”
“I will tell you whatever I like while you’re threatening a half-conscious girl on the floor.”
“She is not just a girl.”
“No,” Diana said quietly.
Everyone turned.
Diana sat beside Crystal, one arm still around her daughter’s shoulders. She looked exhausted enough to break and furious enough to keep standing anyway.
“We know why they want her,” Diana said. “We know the Church had orders prepared before she woke up confused on this floor. We know they have been sending dissenters to Godiad for years. So why all this hostility?”
Silver’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
His scales spread another fraction along his jaw.
He looked suddenly younger.
Terrified.
“I don’t want my mother to be dead,” he said.
The words cracked halfway through.
The whole van shifted around them.
Diana’s face softened.
“Oh, Silver.”
She moved as if to rise, or maybe simply to reach for him, but Silver stepped back before comfort could touch him.
“I don’t need pity.”
“It isn’t pity.”
He turned away.
To leave the van, he had to pass Celeste.
He did not look at her.
His shoulder clipped hers as he went.
Not hard enough to knock her over.
Hard enough to mean it.
The instant they touched, something reacted.
Silver’s scales flashed brighter across his skin.
Celeste’s answered.
A faint shimmer of pale blue and pearl-gold flickered over her arms, sudden and painful, like her body had mistaken contact for command.
Celeste gasped, clutching her head.
Silver spun on her.
“Stop doing that.”
“I didn’t—”
“Stop.”
Her eyes squeezed shut as the headache spiked.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Silver stared at her for one awful second.
Then he turned, shoved the van door open, and walked into the trees.
No one stopped him.
He went far enough to be alone, but not far enough to be gone, and sat beneath an old ash tree with his back to the van.
Inside, Celeste sat on the floor with Topsy still beside her, one hand pressed to her head.
Her voice came small.
“What happened?”
No one answered.
Not properly.
Because the truth was too large for the van.
Arcade looked at the open door where Silver had gone.
Then at Celeste.
For half a second, his eyes nearly met hers.
Then he turned away and stepped outside too, breathing hard.
Celeste watched him go.
Confusion folded into hurt.
Mezzo crouched beside her again, careful and steady.
“We’ll explain,” he said.
“When?”
He glanced at Ray.
Ray looked at Diana.
Diana looked at Crystal.
Hughes looked out into the trees.
No one had a good answer.
Celeste’s ears lowered.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Topsy hugged her again, gentler this time.
Outside, Silver sat among the roots with his head bowed and his claws dug into the earth.
Inside, Celeste held onto Topsy like she was the only thing in the world that had not turned sharp while she was asleep.
