Celeste stayed on the balcony long after Bonbon’s voice had faded from the hallway.

The morning air was cool against her face. Below, the candy-ruined city stretched beneath the dome in sticky golds and bruised pinks, roofs glittering with hardened sugar, streets veined with syrup, smoke curling from distant wreckage like the city itself was still breathing through pain.

She leaned on the candy-cane rail and tried very hard not to cry.

It was silly.

That was what she told herself.

Silly to feel hurt because Ray was worried. Silly to feel wounded because Hughes was cautious. Silly to feel like something inside her had curled up small and frightened because they had called her dangerous without quite saying the word.

They were only being practical.

They had to be.

The world had ended inside a dome made of candy death. People were allowed to be practical.

Still.

Celeste gripped the rail tighter, staring down at the ruined streets.

That cat is going to draw more attention than we can handle.

Her ears lowered.

She had thought Ray was beginning to like her.

Not much. Not in a soft way. Ray did not seem like someone who liked people softly. But perhaps in a rough, grumbling, lollipop-stick-chewing sort of way. A tiny way. A crumb.

Celeste had thought the crumb mattered.

Maybe she had misunderstood.

Maybe she was good at that.

Mistaking survival for friendship.

Mistaking usefulness for being wanted.

The Egg Tree creaked gently beneath her paws. Lanterns swung overhead, their little glass casings chiming in the breeze. Somewhere below, she could hear movement, voices, breakfast being sorted, life carrying on as if her chest didn’t feel like it had been hollowed out with a spoon.

Celeste wiped quickly beneath her glasses.

“Stars above, you look like you’re posin’ for a poster,” a voice drawled suddenly at her elbow.

Celeste yelped, tripped over her own boots, and landed squarely on her backside. “Aaah! Wh–where did you come from?!”

The peach-furred bunny with one crooked ear smirked, waving her arcbracer like a microphone.
“Told ya I’d be back for that interview.”

From the doorway, Lumina peeked out, her little paws clutching her wand. “She tried the front door. But it… didn’t let her.”

Skye nodded behind her, flat and blunt. “She bounced. Twice.”

Celeste’s ears flicked. “Bounced? You mean—it actually stopped her?”

Plum tugged at her ear dramatically. “That door’s got an attitude. Won’t let anyone in unless you’ve got the golden invite. Nearly broke my nose.”

Celeste tilted her head, half a smile tugging her lips. “That’s… rather handy, actually.”

“Handy for you, sweetheart,” Plum muttered, flicking her arcbracer alive. “But not for journalism. Right—name for the record?”

Celeste fidgeted, blushing as the lens blinked red. “Um… Celeste. Celeste Astallan. But… what’s the point? There’s no internet beyond the dome.”

Plum grinned, puffing her chest. “For when the barrier falls. For history. Future generations’ll know the truth—straight from the source.”

Celeste’s blush deepened. “Oh dear, oh dear, that’s—oh, I’m not really… interview material.”

Plum snorted. “You survived Mandibite, kitten. You’re prime material.”

Plum adjusted her crooked ear so it sat just right on the recording lens, her grin sly.
“Alright, Celeste Astallan—hybrid, hero, and resident sparkle-cat—lemme ask you somethin’ everyone’s dyin’ to know. Hybrids don’t use mana, not with those shiny council rune lockin’ you down. But you? You’re glowin’ like a festival lantern. How the hell’d you pull that off?”

Celeste fiddled with her sleeves, ears flattening a little. “Oh, well, um… it wasn’t—wasn’t on purpose. At the convention, I… I ate a gumball. One of the strange ones. And ever since then, things just… work.”

Plum’s eyes went wide, the recorder almost slipping from her paw. “You’re tellin’ me your powers come from snackin’ on cursed candy at Comic Con?”

Celeste flushed pink. “I mean… yes? I—I wouldn’t recommend it though. Really not the best snack choice.”

Plum barked out a laugh. “Kid, that’s one for the headlines—‘Local girl eats sweet, gets god-powers.’ You can’t make this stuff up.”

She flipped her omnitool, lens catching Celeste’s face again. “Alright, bigger one: You killed Mandibite. One of the first generals crawlin’ this city. How’d that feel?”

Celeste’s hands fidgeted together. She lowered her eyes. “…Sad. It’s… it’s a shame he had to die.”

Plum blinked, caught off guard. “Sad? C’mon, he was a monster! Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Kill monsters before they chew up the rest of us?”

Celeste shook her head gently, her voice soft. “He became a monster. But once, he was something else. Someone else. And I… I just hope, wherever he is now, he’s found some peace. That’s all.”

Plum tilted her head, expression softening for a heartbeat before she hid it behind her trademark smirk. “…Huh. Didn’t expect that answer.”

She leaned in, recording again. “Last question, for the survivors out there still listenin’. What would you say to ’em?”

Celeste froze, tail twitching nervously. She wrung her paws together, stammering. “Oh, um… I—I’d say… keep hoping for tomorrow. Do what you can today. And don’t forget what you learned yesterday.”

She looked down, cheeks burning, then glanced back at Plum with the smallest of smiles. “Me and my friends… we’ll do our best.”

Plum lowered the recorder slowly, her crooked ear twitching. For once, she didn’t have a quip ready. “…Not bad, kitten. Not bad at all.”

Plum leaned forward, crooked ear flicking, recorder humming softly.
“Alright, last one, promise. What would you say to hybrids fightin’ the council every day just for equal rights?”

Celeste’s ears shot back, her eyes wide. “Oh—um—wouldn’t that… get me in trouble if I say anything?”

Plum snorted, gesturing at the shattered skyline behind them. “Trouble? Look around, sparkle-cat. Who’s left to enforce it? Council’s not walkin’ through those doors. This is the perfect time to fight back. And let’s be real—soon enough, they’re gonna be beggin’ for your powers.”

Celeste fidgeted, tail curling tight. “…Really? Well, I—I suppose… I think things should be more fair for us. That’s… all I can ask.”

Plum grinned, sharp and knowing. “That’s great. Exactly what folk need to hear. Somethin’ tells me I’ll be keepin’ a very close eye on you, Astallan.”

Celeste tilted her head, cheeks warming. “Why are you doing this, anyway? It’s… very sweet of you.”

Plum hesitated. Just for a heartbeat, the smirk slipped. She stared down at the recorder in her paw, thumb brushing the cracked edge. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, less for the lens and more for Celeste.
“…’Cause someone’s gotta make sure our stories don’t get chewed up and spat out by the council again. If nobody remembers us, it’s like we never fought at all.”

The moment hung between them—awkward, a little raw. Then Plum flicked her crooked ear and shoved the recorder back up between them, grin snapping back into place.
“Right, that’s the take. You did good, kitten.

Her grin lingered, but something in her eyes shifted—quieter, harder. She lowered the bracer.

“…Truth is, I don’t do this just for stories. Hybrid sympathizers like me—we don’t get to exist openly. Council’d string me up if they knew.”

Celeste’s ears perked, surprised. “But… you’re a pureblood. Why—why risk that?”

Plum’s crooked ear twitched. Her tone softened, less show, more scar.
“My mum. She was hybrid. Sweetest woman you ever met. She died before she could get treatment for mana corruption. Purebloods could’ve helped her—should’ve helped her. But they didn’t lift a finger.”

Her voice cracked just faintly before sharpening again, fierce.
“So now I fight my little crusade. Only reason I’m still breathin’ is ‘cause my pedigree papers say I’m pure. That’s the only shield I’ve got.”

Celeste’s chest tightened. “…I’m so sorry, Plum.”

Plum gave a small, bitter laugh, forcing her smirk back on. “Don’t be sorry, kitten. Just give me a good headline to make it worth it.”

She raised her arcbracer again, lens flashing. “Now—tell me how it felt staring Mandibite in the teeth.”

Celeste fumbled, ears burning. “Oh stars, do I have to—? I was mostly worried about tripping over my own feet! And—and the Centerpied, he scared the crap out of me.”

Plum barked a laugh, crooked ear twitching. “Ha! You looked so bloody brave, though. Like you owned the whole fight.”

Celeste shook her head quickly, hands flapping in protest. “Trust me, I’m not. I—I hate fighting. I’d rather be drawing. Or… reading silly manga. Not swinging swords at monsters.”

From the doorway, Lumina piped up suddenly, her little voice bright. “I want to be interviewed next!”

Skye poked his head in after her, deadpan. “Me too.”

Plum grinned wide, leaning back against the balcony rail as she flicked her recorder on and off theatrically. “Alright, alright, one at a time, sugarplums. Don’t all mob me at once—I’m a small bunny with limited tape.”

Celeste groaned softly into her sleeve, but even through the embarrassment, a tiny smile tugged at her lips.

Plum spun the recorder dramatically toward Lumina, her crooked ear flopping with the motion. “Alright, sweetheart, step into the spotlight! Name, age, aspirations—make it snappy, the public demands answers.”

Lumina clasped her paws together nervously, rocking on her heels. “Um… I’m Lumina. I’m seven. I like bubble wands and, um… I wanna be… safe.”

Plum’s smirk softened. “Safe, huh? That’s a mighty brave dream in this mess.”

Lumina nodded, eyes glowing faintly as she whispered, “I… I can heal now. So I want everyone to feel safe too. Like… when Celeste pats my head, or when Skye reads me stories, or when Bonbon falls asleep on me. That kind of safe.”

Celeste’s ears went pink, and she rubbed at her arm awkwardly.

“Adorable,” Plum declared, swiping her paw across her face like she was dabbing at fake tears. “This headline writes itself—‘Tiny Angel Lights the Darkness.’” She leaned in closer, voice dropping playfully. “Now, important question. Do you think Celeste is a good leader?”

Lumina brightened. “Yes! She’s the best. She even says sorry when she trips, and she trips a lot, so… she’s really sorry all the time!”

Plum nearly dropped the recorder from laughing. “Oh, I like you.”

Celeste buried her face in her hands. “Luminaaa…” she groaned.

Before Plum could needle more, Skye raised a hand flatly. “My turn.”

Plum perked up instantly. “Well now, the mysterious fox speaks! Alright, sunshine, you’re up next.”

Plum swiveled the arcbracer toward Skye with a theatrical flourish. “And now—our dark horse contender! The fox with the cards. Name, age, hidden secrets—spill ‘em!”

Skye shuffled nervously, his little fingers fidgeting with the edge of his deck. “...Skye. Nine. I don’t like sweets.”

Plum blinked. “Wait—you live in a giant dessert nightmare and you don’t like sweets?”

Skye shrugged, matter-of-fact. “They make my teeth feel itchy.”

Plum squinted at him, then let out a laugh. “Alright, that’s goin’ in the transcript. What about hopes, dreams, all that jazz?”

Skye paused, eyes dropping to the floor. Then, flatly, almost too quiet:
“It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

The room froze.

Plum’s crooked ear twitched, her grin faltering into something gentler. “…Oh stars, really? Tomorrow?”

Skye gave the smallest nod. “Yeah.” He fiddled with a fire-sigil card, voice awkward. “Not expecting cake. Just… thought someone should know.”

Celeste gasped softly, paw pressed to her chest. “Oh, Skye…”

Lumina’s eyes lit up instantly. “We should make him a card! And a paper hat! With glitter!”

Plum raised her recorder again, her grin returning but softer this time. “Headline writes itself: ‘Fox Kit Turns Ten Inside Nightmare Dome.’ How’s that for immortalized history?”

For once, Skye smiled—a small, crooked thing, but real.

Celeste shifted on her paws, rubbing her arm nervously. “Um… y-you know, Plum… maybe instead of just interviews, you could… um, try a mana radio station? It’d reach everyone’s arcbracers and comm crystals under the dome. You could, you know… give them hope.” She fumbled, ears red. “Maybe call it… Radio Hope?”

Plum froze mid-scribble. Her jaw dropped.

Then she exploded. “OH. MY. STARS.” She hopped in place, crooked ear flopping wildly. “That’s BRILLIANT. That’s—no, that’s historic! Radio Hope—first hybrid station under a candy apocalypse dome! I’ll get the tech, the tuning stones, the whole shebang—I’ll make it happen, Astallan!”

She stopped just long enough to blink, ears twitching. “I have no idea where to put it or how to build it, but—I’ll figure it out. I’ll get back to you, Astallan.”

Celeste blushed, half-hiding her face in her sleeves. “I—I’m glad to help.”

Plum beamed, tapping her arcbracer one last time. “Thanks for the interview, kitten. You just gave me my next crusade.”

With that, she slung her satchel, winked, and began climbing back down the balcony with surprising grace for a bunny.

Celeste leaned against the railing, watching her go with a shy smile. “...Radio Hope,” she murmured to herself, the words warm in her chest.

Behind her, Lumina tugged at Skye’s sleeve, whispering with wide eyes, “She’s so loud.”

Skye nodded seriously. “Like… four radios in one rabbit.”