Morning came wrapped in warm sugar-light.

For a few peaceful seconds, Celeste existed in the soft place between dreams and waking, curled beneath a blanket that smelled faintly of vanilla, smoke, and old fabric. Somewhere above her, the Egg Tree creaked gently in the wind. Lanterns chimed outside the sugar-glass windows. The white dragon’s slow breathing rumbled through the walls like distant thunder.

Celeste sighed into her pillow.

Then something small, determined, and very awake climbed onto her stomach.

“Celeste,” Bonbon whispered.

Celeste did not move.

“Celeste.”

“Mmm.”

“Celeste.”

The whisper became far more urgent.

Celeste cracked one eye open.

Bonbon’s round panda face hovered inches from hers, her little ears perked, her tiny paws planted on Celeste’s blanket like she had conquered a mountain and now expected tribute.

“Brecwast,” Bonbon said solemnly.

Celeste blinked, still half-asleep. “Mm?”

Bonbon leaned closer. “Dw i eisiau brecwast. Rŵan.”

Celeste groaned softly and pulled the blanket over her head. “Dim… zombies cyn te…”

Bonbon frowned at the blanket lump. “Brecwast.”

Celeste’s voice came muffled through the fabric, warm and drowsy. “Ydw… bydd fi… lan… mewn… minit…”

There was a pause.

Then Bonbon burst into giggles.

Celeste peeked out, hair wild, one ear folded wrong. “What?”

Bonbon sat back on her knees, delighted. “Na, na, na.” She wagged one tiny paw with all the authority of a two-year-old professor. “Bydda i lan mewn munud.”

Celeste squinted at her. “That is what I said.”

Bonbon shook her head, still giggling. “Na. Swnio’n wirion.”

“It was close.”

“Na.”

“My Caerfaenic is trying its best. It has tiny legs.”

Bonbon leaned forward and grabbed both of Celeste’s wrists.

Celeste’s eyes widened. “Bonbon—”

“Brecwast!” Bonbon declared.

Then she pulled.

For someone barely two years old, Bonbon had the strength of a tiny determined bear with breakfast-based motivation. Celeste slid halfway out of bed in a tangle of blanket and limbs.

“Bonbon, darling, I am much bigger than—”

Thump.

Celeste hit the floor.

Bonbon climbed down after her, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Celeste lay there for a moment, face pressed to the wooden floorboards.

“…Ow.”

Bonbon patted her head. “Brecwast.”

Celeste lifted one paw weakly. “Yes. I have understood the mission.”

Bonbon gave a satisfied nod.

Celeste pushed herself upright, found her glasses on the little table beside the bed, and put them on crookedly. The room sharpened around her: borrowed blankets, candy-wood shelves, the soft gold glow of morning through the sugar-glass window.

Bonbon grabbed her hand again and tugged.

“I’m coming,” Celeste said, standing with a wobble. “Goodness. You are very strong for someone who still thinks socks are optional.”

Bonbon looked down at her bare paws, then back up at Celeste.

“Sanau drwg.”

“Socks are not bad. Socks are foot jumpers.”

Bonbon considered this with grave suspicion.

“Sanau cosi.”

Celeste nodded. “That is a stronger argument.”

They stepped into the hallway together.

The Egg Tree was already waking. Somewhere below, dishes clattered. Someone had left a mug on the floor beside the wall, and a tiny sugar-ant was attempting to drag away a crumb twice its size. Warm lanterns glowed along the corridor, casting honey-coloured light over the curved walls.

Bonbon skipped ahead, still holding Celeste’s hand.

Celeste smiled faintly despite her aching limbs. Her arms and shoulders still remembered Ray’s training. Every muscle complained in small, rude whispers.

But when they passed the branch leading toward Ray’s room, Celeste slowed.

The door was open.

Only a crack, but enough.

Celeste’s heart gave a hopeful little lift before she could stop it.

Maybe Ray was awake.

Maybe they could talk.

Maybe yesterday really had been a crumb of bonding progress after all. A small crumb, admittedly. A crumb Ray might deny existed. But still a crumb. A friendship biscuit had to begin somewhere.

Celeste gently freed her hand from Bonbon’s. “Go on ahead, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Bonbon frowned suspiciously. “Brecwast?”

“I won’t run away from breakfast.”

Bonbon pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then at Celeste.

Celeste blinked. “Did you learn that from Pitch?”

Bonbon nodded proudly, then scampered down the hall.

Celeste smiled after her, then turned back toward Ray’s room.

She was just about to knock when she heard Ray’s voice.

“…I’m telling you, it’s a problem.”

Celeste froze.

Ray sounded tense. Not loud. In fact, she was clearly trying to keep her voice down.

That was what made Celeste stop.

Inside the room, someone shifted. Pitch, by the sound of his lazy drawl.

“Everything’s a problem before breakfast,” he said. “Especially you.”

“I trained with her,” Ray snapped. “Properly. Last night. And the only way I could get her not to freeze was by making her treat it like a game.”

Celeste’s ears twitched.

A cold, uncomfortable feeling crawled under her ribs.

Hughes spoke next, quiet and measured. “That is… not ideal.”

“No,” Ray said. “It’s ridiculous. She’s like an overgrown child half the time. Where on earth is she even from? And why are all our powers linked to her?” Her voice sharpened. “Does no one else find this situation stupid?”

There was a short silence.

Then Hughes answered.

“Kenaz Astallan is meant to be her father.”

Celeste’s paw drifted back from the door.

Her throat tightened.

“I find that difficult to believe,” Hughes continued, his voice low. “A man like Kenaz should have drilled some survival instinct into her before she could walk. Yet Celeste behaves as if she is learning everything on the fly.”

Bracer’s reply came after a moment, calmer but not dismissive. “Perhaps he never anticipated she would need this kind of training. He may have been overprotective.”

“Kenaz Astallan?” Hughes asked. “Overprotective enough to leave his daughter helpless in a world like this?”

“He was a father,” Bracer said. “People behave strangely where their children are concerned.”

Ray gave a sharp, humourless breath. “That doesn’t explain our powers being tied to her.”

“No,” Hughes admitted. “It doesn’t.”

Celeste’s ears folded lower.

Hughes continued, more carefully now. “And the data Arcade dug up is suspicious. Either Celeste is a very good liar, or Kenaz was dabbling in something he should not have been.”

Celeste stopped breathing for a second.

“And that,” Hughes said, “makes me treat Celeste with caution.”

The words landed softly.

That somehow made them worse.

Pitch’s voice cut through the silence, lower than usual. “We all have a past, Hughes. Maybe hers is buried for a reason.”

Ray snapped, “That’s not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to help you. Shocking, I know.”

“This is serious.”

“I know it is.”

Celeste’s paw drifted back from the door.

Her throat tightened.

Bracer answered, his tone low. “Of course we find it strange.”

Hughes sighed. “I find it frightening, if I’m honest.”

Celeste swallowed.

Ray gave a short, humourless laugh. “Good. Glad someone’s awake.”

“But frightening Celeste won’t help,” Hughes added. “If she runs off again, we’re defenceless.”

There was a pause.

Then Pitch spoke, less playful now. “We can’t coddle her either. What happens if the Council comes knocking? We’re screwed by association.”

The word landed hard.

Association.

Like Celeste was a dangerous object they had all accidentally stood too close to.

Celeste took half a step back.

Bracer’s voice remained calm, but there was strain beneath it. “Not necessarily. If we can show that Celeste and our abilities are controlled—useful, even—the Council may hesitate. They need the zombies dealt with. That’s why I suggested renting out our services. It makes Celeste look less threatening.”

Ray scoffed. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Bracer.”

“What’s the alternative?” Hughes asked.

Ray was quiet for a moment.

When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its anger and gained something more desperate.

“The mythics might be better. They may know what kind of mana this is. They might shield us from the Council. They take in hybrids all the time.”

Bracer’s answer came sharper. “They take in hybrids because hybrids help with their numbers.”

Another silence.

Celeste held her breath.

Bracer continued, “Most mythic families struggle to have more than one or two per litter. Hybrids can have seven, sometimes ten. Without hybrids, the purebloods would have wiped many of them out during the Mana Wars.”

Ray growled softly. “They don’t all think that way.”

Pitch’s voice cut in. “And yet you don’t deny it.”

A chair scraped.

Ray must have stood, because her next words came from closer to the door.

“Look. We can’t stay in this tree forever. Not without protection. And like it or not, that cat is going to draw more attention than we can handle.” Her voice dropped lower, rougher. “I say we play it smart. Get ahead of this before either she or the Council gets us killed.”

Celeste’s ears folded flat.

That cat.

Not Celeste.

That cat.

Something small and stupid inside her cracked.

Pitch exhaled. “We can deal with this later. Come on. Let’s clear the perimeter and kill some zombies. That’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Ray muttered.

“I would never. I patronise everyone equally.”

The door opened wider.

Celeste moved before she knew she was moving.

She ducked behind the curve of the hallway just as Ray stormed out, boots striking hard against the wooden floor. Pitch followed after her, giving a low whistle under his breath. Neither of them saw Celeste pressed against the wall, one paw clamped over her mouth.

A moment later, Hughes stepped into the doorway. He glanced after Ray, then turned back toward Bracer.

“She isn’t wrong,” Hughes said softly.

Celeste didn’t wait to hear the rest.

She slipped away.

Down the hall.

Past the warm lanterns.

Past the little table where someone had left a bowl of fruit slices for Bonbon.

Past the doorway that led to breakfast and voices and people who, until a moment ago, she had thought might be her friends.

Her paws carried her upward instead.

Toward the balcony.

The morning air hit her face as she stepped outside.

The balcony curved around one of the Egg Tree’s upper branches, fenced with candy-cane railing and little strings of lanterns that had gone dim in the daylight. Below, the ruined city stretched in every direction, all broken rooftops, sugar-slicked roads, and distant smoke. The white dragon’s tail curled around the lower trunk like a protective wall.

Celeste walked to the railing and gripped it.

For a moment, she just stood there.

Breathing.

Trying not to cry.

Trying not to be silly.

Trying not to be exactly what Ray had said she was.

An overgrown child.

A problem.

A thing that would get them killed.

The worst part was that Ray had not sounded cruel.

Not really.

She had sounded scared.

And somehow that hurt more.

Celeste stared out at the ruined city, her glasses slipping down her nose.

She had thought they were making progress.

She had thought Ray’s almost-smile, the game, the advice—it had meant something. A tiny opening. A beginning.

Maybe it had.

Maybe Ray could worry about her and resent her at the same time.

Maybe people were complicated like that.

But Celeste’s chest still ached.

“I thought…” she whispered.

The words were too small for the wind.

She pressed her forehead against the cool candy-cane rail.

“I thought we were friends.”

Below, somewhere inside the Egg Tree, Bonbon called for her again.

“Celeste! Brecwast!”

Celeste closed her eyes.

She wiped her cheek quickly with the heel of her paw, then straightened before anyone could see.

“Coming,” she called, voice a little too bright.

But she did not move yet.

Not for another moment.

She stayed on the balcony, looking out over the candy-ruined city, wondering whether she had mistaken survival for friendship.

And whether everyone else had known that except her.