Hours passed and darkness had fallen, the house along with it—quiet and still.
Celeste stirred gently, careful not to wake the others. Lumina had dozed off on a beanbag made of marshmallows, a soft snore rising and falling as faint healing magic flickered in her palms even in sleep. Bonbon had curled up on the bed beside her, her oversized rainbow hoodie tangled around her, and her little beaker dripping slowly through the covers with soft plink, plink sounds.
Celeste eased herself up and quietly slipped outside, seeking the crispness of night air. The stars twinkled above the dome, brighter than she expected. Even trapped in this warped, sugar-glazed reality, the sky somehow remained real. Clouds moved lazily, untethered by whatever magic powered the barrier.
She hugged her arms around herself, breathing in deeply.
Was anyone else alive out there? Was the military coming? Would they break through this candy-coloured nightmare?
Or were they really… alone?
For a moment, she allowed herself the urge to cry. Just for a minute. To be weak. To admit how utterly afraid she was.
But behind her, there were footsteps.
Heavy. Measured. Not hurried.
Celeste turned sharply.
Hughes stood a few paces back, flat cap shadowing his eyes, his old army jacket hanging stiff around his shoulders. In the dark he looked even more weathered somehow, like he’d been carved out of hedgewood and war stories and left to dry in the wind. One paw rested on the head of his cane. The other hung loose by his side.
He looked at her for a long moment before speaking.
“You alright, lass?”
Celeste blinked, startled by how gentle it sounded coming from him. “Oh. Um. I—I think so.”
Hughes gave a low grunt that suggested he did not believe that for a second. He stepped up beside her, looking out over the park and the dead city beyond.
“You helped me and Bracer out there,” he said after a moment. “Didn’t have to. So… thanks.”
Celeste glanced at him. “Bracer? Is that the wolf’s name?”
Hughes nodded once. “Aye. Good lad.” His voice roughened, just a fraction. “We found each other with a few others. Thought we might make it out together.”
He stared ahead as he spoke, not at her.
“They got taken. Or turned. Or died.” A pause. “So now it’s just us.”
Celeste’s ears lowered. “I’m sorry.”
Hughes exhaled through his nose. “Don’t waste the breath.”
Then he turned and looked her up and down—bandages, tired eyes, the way she was still holding herself like she expected to be shouted at.
His expression hardened.
“You’re an idiot, by the way.”
Celeste made a small strangled noise of total horror.
“I’m—what?!”
She nearly tripped over her own feet trying to stand straighter. “I didn’t—I mean, I was trying to help, and the barrier was there, and I thought if I just—well—not just, but quickly, and everyone was in danger, and I thought if I could maybe break it then—”
Hughes raised one hand.
She stopped talking at once.
“You thought,” he said flatly, “that if you broke it quickly enough, you could save everyone without thinking of simply retreating and trying again another time.”
Celeste opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Hughes went on, tone sharper now but never rising.
“You’re not a martyr. You’ve got some weird ability the others depend on, whether you like it or not.”
Celeste instinctively covered her chest with both arms, cheeks burning. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
“Aye, I know,” Hughes said. “Arcade told me. About that. About the tree. About Marzipan.” He gave her a dry sideways look. “Honestly, I’m keeping up.”
That startled a weak laugh out of her.
He did not smile, but some of the edge left his voice.
“This lot,” he said, nodding back toward the base, “they’re looking at you because you’re useful. Because you matter. Doesn’t mean you throw yourself at the nearest impossible problem every time your heart starts shouting.”
Celeste looked down at the grass, ears drooping harder.
Hughes shifted his grip on the cane.
“You need to think bigger than the next five seconds. Surviving isn’t just bravery. It’s patience. Retreating when you must. Trying again when the ground suits you better.” He jerked his chin toward the base. “That place is shelter. Temporary, maybe. But temporary is better than dead. Until help comes, that’s what you’ve got.”
Celeste swallowed. “I just… I didn’t want anyone else hurt because of me.”
“And instead you nearly got yourself cooked alive,” Hughes said bluntly.
She winced.
He let the silence sit for a second, then added, not unkindly, “Don’t put your friends in danger on rash decisions.”
Celeste’s head lifted.
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise.
“They want to be my friend?”
The question came out so small and honest that Hughes actually turned fully toward her.
Something in his face changed then.
Not softness exactly. More like the abrupt, awkward caution of a man realising he’d been speaking to someone who’d learned survival before common sense. Someone all instinct and guilt and no one had ever properly steadied.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
“Yeah,” he said. “Looks that way.”
Celeste stared at him as though he’d told her the moon could sing.
“Oh.”
Hughes cleared his throat, suddenly looking faintly uncomfortable with the whole business of tenderness.
“Right,” he said. “So. Be careful. Practice with your swords more. You’re clumsy, but not hopeless.” He tapped the cane once against the ground. “And get some sleep before we leave. You look like death in ribbons.”
That got another little laugh out of her—wobbly, but real.
She rubbed at her eyes. “That’s… fair.”
Hughes gave one final nod and started to turn away.
Then, without looking back, he added, “And if you’re going to save people, lass… make sure you stay alive long enough to manage it.”
Celeste watched him go, standing there beneath the strange clear sky with her arms wrapped around herself and something warm and painful pressing behind her ribs.
No one had spoken to her like that before.
Not like she was useless.
Not like she was precious.
Just like she was someone who might survive, if she stopped trying to die for everybody else.
After a long moment, she looked back toward the glowing base and whispered to the stars above the dome—
“…Alright,” she whispered to no one, “let’s… let’s try again.”
She lifted her paws, focusing. A shimmer of light sparked between her fingers—fragile at first, then shaping into the faint outline of her twin katanas. Their forms flickered, unstable, like candle flames in the wind.
“Come on, please,” she begged softly. “Just… just work for me this once.”
The blades solidified—and immediately tipped her forward. Celeste squeaked as the weight pulled her off balance.
Whump.
She landed flat on her face in the sugar-dusted dirt.
“…Ow,” she muttered, ears burning red as she spat out a sprinkle of caramel grit. “Graceful as ever.”
She pushed herself up, tried again. This time the swords formed clean, humming faintly with borrowed light. Celeste steadied her breath, lifted one into a shaky guard stance—then toppled straight backward with a yelp, thudding onto her tail.
She lay there for a moment, staring up at the dome’s twinkling stars. “I’m… not very good at this, am I?” she sighed, voice small and rueful.
That’s when she heard it.
A faint buzz.
Celeste sat up, ears flicking. Across the sugar-field, something hovered just above the grass. Small, mechanical, wings whirring softly.
Her breath caught. It looked like a dragon—tiny, toy-like, its body sleek and metallic with glowing eyes. A drone.
“…What are you?” she whispered, rising carefully to her feet.
The dragon tilted its head at her, almost curious.
Then—whirr—it darted away, wings humming fast as it zipped across the field.
Celeste blinked, startled. “Wait—!”
Without thinking, she stumbled after it, swords vanishing back into sparks as she jogged across the darkened sugar-strewn grass.
Odd. Unnerving. Intriguing.
She had no idea where it was leading her.
But her paws carried her forward anyway.
The drone zipped further into the sugar fields, and Celeste followed, her steps crunching against crystallized grass. The hum of its wings drew her onward, until the warm glow of the base was only a faint spark behind her.
Then the moaning began.
Shapes shambled from the shadows—sticky forms, dripping syrup and gum. One. Then three. Then a dozen.
Celeste’s heart raced. “Oh stars—no, no, not now.”
She darted left, slipping past a jelly-limbed runner. She ducked under another, clumsy but quick, her swords flickering into her paws for balance more than fighting. At first, she managed to weave between them—her breath catching with every close call.
But they kept coming. More and more, oozing from alleys and sugar-coated ruins.
And she was too far from the base.
Celeste’s paws faltered. “I… I can’t—”
The ground trembled.
