Lumina walked alone through the Egg Tree.
The base was still alive with noise behind her—voices, laughter, arguments, the clatter of dishes, C.H.I.P. complaining about something, Arcade complaining louder, Ray retelling the arena battle as if it had personally offended her.
Celeste was somewhere in the middle of it all.
Of course she was.
Everyone needed Celeste.
Everyone always needed Celeste.
Lumina kept walking.
After their last talk, she had thought things would be different. She had thought Celeste would finally have time for her. Not much. She didn’t need much. Just a few minutes where Celeste looked at her properly and didn’t have three people calling her name, a report in her hand, and a crisis waiting outside the door.
But Lumina had tried.
She had tried in little ways.
Big ways.
Quiet ways.
A million different ways.
She had stood beside Celeste.
Waited for her.
Followed her.
Helped her.
Asked questions.
Started sentences she never finished because someone else always needed something more urgent.
And now she was done.
Absolutely done.
Celeste wasn’t going to have time anymore.
Lumina needed to accept that.
No matter how good Celeste was.
No matter how kind.
No matter how much she cared.
It wasn’t going to be the same.
It couldn’t be.
At the mansion, Lumina had been the one who pushed Celeste away.
Every time Celeste tried to hug her.
Every time Celeste tried to sit with her.
Every time Celeste tried to spend time with her.
Lumina had turned away.
Hidden.
Gone stiff.
Pretended not to need her.
She had thought she wanted space.
Now Celeste was surrounded by people who needed her, people who loved her, people who shouted her name across rooms and dragged her from one emergency to the next.
And Lumina was just noise.
One more voice.
One more problem.
One more person asking for something.
The thought hurt more than she wanted it to.
So she quietly stepped away.
She walked toward a quieter corner of the base, where the lantern light flickered softly through the autumn branches and caramel leaves drifted lazily past the windows.
The warm cinnamon scent of Whispershade filled the air.
Lumina lifted her arcbracer.
The screen glowed gently against her face.
She opened a message channel.
Vale.
Her fingers hovered above the interface for a moment.
Then she began to type.
A few seconds later, the screen lit up.
Vale:
Lumina. I was wondering when you’d reach out again.
Lumina hesitated before typing.
Lumina:
Do you know how to get someone’s attention? My sister is very busy. Everyone talks to her all the time.
The reply came quickly.
Vale:
The commander? That sounds difficult.
But you deserve to be heard too.
Lumina’s ears perked slightly.
Vale:
Try asking when she’s alone. Or interrupt. Sometimes important people need reminding you exist.
You shouldn’t have to wait quietly forever.
Lumina leaned back against the tree trunk.
That…
made sense.
Lumina:
She is very important.
Vale:
So are you.
Lumina smiled faintly.
Vale continued typing.
Vale:
You’re different from the others. Your core fascinates me.
What exactly does it do?
Lumina tilted her head, thinking.
Lumina:
It absorbs excess mana.
When Celeste gets too powerful, it pulls it away.
Sometimes I can heal people too, but it is different from Skye.
She paused.
Lumina:
It feels warm.
The typing bubble appeared again.
Vale:
Remarkable.
You stabilise her. Without you, she might destroy herself.
Lumina’s ears lifted proudly.
Vale:
You might be the most important one there.
Lumina leaned into the compliment without realising it.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor.
Lumina quickly lowered her arcbracer.
Arcade came stomping down the passage, muttering under his breath while carrying three supply ledgers, two cracked mana relays, and what appeared to be half a toaster.
“Responsibilities,” he grumbled. “Horrible things. Should be illegal. I survived a death maze and now I’m being punished with inventory.”
C.H.I.P. floated beside him.
ADMINISTRATIVE TASKS ARE A NATURAL CONSEQUENCE OF CIVILISATION.
“Then civilisation was a mistake.”
Lumina stepped back before Arcade could notice her.
Then slipped outside.
Whispershade had fully settled over the Egg Tree.
The pumpkin-shaped lanterns glowed warmly among the branches, their amber light spilling across the roots and walkways. Caramel leaves drifted lazily through the air like falling embers, sweetening the breeze with cinnamon and baked apple.
Below the branches—
Marzipan was very carefully arranging fallen pumpkin sweets on the grass.
One by one.
With enormous concentration.
Her great white claws nudged the little sweets into place, each one glowing faintly orange beneath the lantern light.
A group of children in costumes ran past her.
Tiny witches.
Paper-winged dragons.
A child dressed as a very lopsided knight.
All of them carried pumpkin baskets full of sweets.
None of them screamed.
None of them ran away from her.
One little boy even paused beside her massive paw and offered her a sweet.
Marzipan lowered her huge head.
Sniffed it.
Then gently took it between her teeth.
The boy beamed and ran after the others.
Marzipan’s tail swished once.
Pleased.
When she finally stepped back, the fallen pumpkin sweets spelled out crookedly across the grass—
HAPPY WHISPERSHADE
The letters were uneven.
Several sweets had rolled out of place.
The S was backwards.
But the children cheered anyway.
Marzipan lifted her head proudly beneath the glowing autumn branches.
Tonight, no one was afraid of her.
Tonight, she was the star of the show.
Lumina watched from the shadow of the doorway.
For a moment, something twisted inside her chest.
Marzipan had been terrifying once.
A monster.
A dragon.
A thing everyone ran from.
Now children ran past her with pumpkin baskets, laughing.
They had made room for Marzipan.
They had found a place for her.
Lumina looked down at her arcbracer.
Vale’s last message still glowed on the screen.
You might be the most important one there.
Lumina stood between both worlds, small and quiet, wondering where she was supposed to fit.
Beyond the glowing pumpkin lanterns, the Bracer squad were training in the lower clearing.
They moved in messy lines between the roots of the Egg Tree, wooden practice weapons flashing beneath the amber light. Some wore scraps of costume over their armour—witch hats, paper horns, crooked masks—because apparently Whispershade did not stop for military discipline.
Hughes would probably have an opinion about that later.
Lumina watched from near the doorway, arms wrapped around herself.
Plum stood away from the main group, speaking quietly with Bracer near one of the lantern posts. Dotty hovered beside her shoulder, its little lens dimmed for once.
Arch was nearby.
But not with them.
He stood apart, shifting from foot to foot, fingers flexing at his sides. His eyes kept darting toward the mana crates. Then away. Then back again.
His jaw tightened.
His shoulders twitched.
Like he was hungry.
No.
Not hungry.
Craving something he didn’t understand.
Lumina frowned.
Bracer noticed too.
He left Plum and walked toward Arch, his expression careful.
Lumina was too far away to hear what he said.
Arch answered sharply.
Bracer spoke again.
Arch shook his head.
Plum stepped closer, worry crossing her face.
Arch’s hands curled into fists.
Whatever Bracer said next made Arch snap.
“You don’t understand!”
The shout tore through the clearing.
Everything went quiet.
The Bracer squad stopped mid-drill.
Children paused with sweets half-raised to their mouths.
Even Marzipan lifted her huge head from the pumpkin letters.
Arch stood frozen in the silence, breathing hard.
Then his face crumpled.
Plum reached him first.
She wrapped her arms around him without saying anything.
Arch folded into her, shaking like he hated himself for it.
From where Lumina stood, it looked almost like he was crying.
Bracer placed one hand gently on Arch’s shoulder.
His voice was low.
Lumina only caught the end of it.
“We’ll fix it.”
Arch didn’t answer.
Plum held him tighter.
Lumina stared.
She didn’t understand.
Not properly.
Something had happened to Arch in the arena. Something the others knew about. Something Plum and Bracer understood enough to be afraid of.
Something no one had explained to her.
Again.
A voice spoke behind her.
“Who are you talking to?”
Lumina jumped.
She spun around.
Silver stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, his coat still immaculate despite the fact he had somehow survived a death maze, a flood, and being thrown around by a Minotaur.
Lumina clutched her arcbracer to her chest.
“No one.”
Silver’s gaze flicked to the screen.
Lumina snapped the display off hard.
Too hard.
The tiny click sounded guilty.
Silver’s eyebrow climbed higher.
“No one,” Lumina repeated.
“I see.”
He clearly did not see.
Or worse—
he did.
Lumina tucked the arcbracer behind her back.
Silver studied her for one long, uncomfortable second.
Then, instead of asking another question, he held out a neatly organised task list.
Lumina blinked at it.
“What’s that?”
“Your assignments.”
Her ears dropped.
“My what?”
“Assignments,” Silver repeated calmly. “Simple ones. Nothing dangerous.”
Lumina stared at the list as though he had handed her a live spider.
“But it’s Whispershade.”
“Yes.”
“And I was outside.”
“Yes.”
“And Celeste might need me.”
Silver’s expression softened by the smallest degree.
“Celeste needs fewer things needing her.”
Lumina frowned.
Silver lowered the tablet slightly.
“Do not add to your sister’s growing list of responsibilities.”
Lumina’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
Silver continued, voice even.
“If you want her to have time for you, help remove the things distracting her.”
Lumina looked away.
Her ears folded back.
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” Silver said quietly. “It usually isn’t.”
He placed the task list into her hands.
“Start with the lantern inventory. Then help Skye sort the practice cards before Topsy turns them into festival decorations.”
Lumina pouted.
Silver looked unimpressed.
She pouted harder.
Still nothing.
Finally, Lumina hugged the tablet to her chest and marched away down the walkway.
“I was going to do something important,” she muttered.
Silver watched her go.
His gaze flicked once toward her darkened arcbracer.
Then toward the clearing, where Plum still held Arch beneath the pumpkin lanterns.
His expression turned thoughtful.
Uncomfortable.
Then he looked back into the noisy warmth of the Egg Tree.
Inside, Celeste was still answering calls.
Still smiling.
Still trying to be everywhere at once.
Silver exhaled quietly.
“Stars preserve us from people who are too loved to rest.”
