The balcony was breathtaking.
Arches twisted with shimmering vines of candy flowers, their petals glinting like sugar crystals in the soft morning light. The air smelled faintly of mint and caramel, and beyond the balcony rails, the artificial sky glowed a gentle peach hue, the dome above allowing hints of weather and stars to seep through. It was a strange mix of beauty and dread.
There, standing with his arms folded behind his back, was Bracer—tall, still, proud. His eyes stayed fixed on the dome’s edge, unblinking.
He didn’t turn at the sound of Celeste’s steps.
“Are you ready to learn?” His voice cut like steel—sharp, even, deliberate.
Celeste crossed her arms, trying to keep steady. “Wouldn’t—um—wouldn’t proper warm-ups come first?”
At that, Bracer turned. His expression was a mask—calm, unreadable. “You have to earn it.” He paused. “But I’ll ask again. Are you ready?”
Celeste shifted on her paws, tail curling nervously. “Ready for… what, exactly? A lecture? A test?” She bit her lip, then nodded, voice small. “Alright. Yes.”
Bracer moved without warning. A single step, and his paw seized her wrist—firm, not cruel—twisting jusst enough to jolt the shard in her arm. Her blades materialized in a shimmer of fractured light, gleaming sharp against the morning glow.
“Wait—what? You want to fight? I don’t think—”
Thud.
The blow landed fast and precise, driving into her stomach. Celeste doubled over, gasping as air fled her lungs. Her knees hit the floor.
She coughed, eyes stinging, pain radiating from her core.
Bracer didn’t follow up. He crossed his arms again, watching her with calm detachment.
“No more talking,” he said flatly. “No more hesitation. You’ve survived by chance. That won’t last.” His chin tilted faintly toward the horizon, the world outside the dome. “Out there, luck runs out fast. And when it does—you won’t get back up.”
Celeste groaned softly, bracing on her swords to pull herself upright. Her arms trembled, her breath ragged, but she managed to stand.
Bracer neither encouraged nor mocked. He simply waited.
Then: “Again.”
Celeste grit her teeth. Her stomach still throbbed, but she hauled herself upright, one paw clutching the railing. The cool, sugar-coated metal pulsed with warmth beneath her palm.
The ache in her core dulled. The sharp burn behind her eyes softened.
She turned back toward him, blades trembling in her grip. “…Hey, I’m trying. And didn’t you say no more talking?”
Bracer’s eyes narrowed. “I did.”
He rushed her again.
His leg swept low—faster than she could track. Her feet vanished from under her. She hit the floor with a sharp crack, pain flaring through her ribs and elbow.
This time, she didn’t waste her breath gasping. She scrambled for the railing, pulling herself up. The warmth surged again, stronger, flooding through her body.
Celeste stayed still a moment longer, watching. Really watching. The way his weight shifted before he struck, the rhythm in his movements. This wasn’t brute strength—it was a pattern.
He closed in, elbow raised.
Wait.
Instinct took hold. Celeste moved without thinking—jerking back the way he had, her own elbow raised in a mirrored guard.
Steel rang. Her blade clashed against his strike, sparks skittering across the balcony floor.
For the first time, he stepped back. His expression didn’t change much—but his tone did. “Interesting,” he murmured. “You’re learning.”
Celeste, bruised and shaking, still smiled. “I think… I’m starting to pick things up.”
He lunged again. Faster now. A spin. A backstep. A feint.
Celeste followed—not perfectly, not clean, but close enough. Sloppy, a beat behind, but she matched him.
He knocked her down again. She hit the railing hard. The glow flared almost instantly now, knitting pain into strength.
“You’re still slow,” Bracer said flatly. “Still clumsy.”
Celeste wiped sugar-dust from her cheek, breathing hard. “Yeah?” She straightened, eyes sparking. “I’ll try harder.”
She crouched low—copying his exact stance, blade angled just as he’d shown her.
When he came at her this time, they met in a full clash. The blades screeched, sparks flying.
And this time—Celeste didn’t fall.
Sweat dripped from her brow. Her arms trembled. But something clicked.
She wasn’t winning—but she wasn’t helpless anymore either.
Hours passed. The sun arced overhead, painting gold across the candy-slick balcony. Below, the others had started to gather—drawn by the clash of steel and the rhythmic thuds of combat.
Hughes stood off to one side with his arms folded, watching with the kind of grave patience that suggested he’d seen too many recruits get flattened before breakfast. Ray lounged beside him, lollipop in her mouth, one brow raised as Celeste barely dodged another sweep.
Hughes grunted. “Ten minutes.”
Ray snorted. “Six.”
Celeste’s head snapped toward them mid-guard. “Excuse me?!”
Mezzo immediately perked up. “Oho, are we betting now?”
Arcade, who had been trying to look like he was above this sort of thing, adjusted his glasses and said, “Eight. Conservatively.”
Mezzo slapped a paw against the rail. “Fifteen. She’s scrappy.”
Celeste stared at all of them in open betrayal. “This isn’t fair! I’m not a fighter! I hate this so much!”
Ray deadpanned around the lollipop, “We know.”
Then she took the stick from her mouth and added, perfectly flat, “Try to last longer than ten minutes.”
Celeste’s lip wobbled.
“None of you have any faith in me at all,” she said, horrified.
“Correct,” said Ray.
Hughes gave a low grunt that might have been amusement. “Stop whining and keep your feet under you.”
Bracer didn’t even blink. “Suck it up. If you don’t want to get eaten, learn.”
Celeste made a deeply offended little sound and nearly got knocked backward for it.
“Rude!”
Mezzo cupped his paws around his mouth. “C’mon, princess! Prove them wrong!”
Arcade, without looking up from his notes, muttered, “Preferably before she loses another tooth.”
Celeste’s ears flattened. “I hate every single one of you.”
“Good,” said Bracer, driving in again. “Use that.”
She gave him a scandalized look.
Then met his blade properly for the first time.
The clash rang out across the balcony. Sparks burst between them. Hughes’s brow lifted a fraction. Ray quietly removed the lollipop from her mouth. Mezzo and Arcade both leaned in at once.
And despite herself, Celeste bared her teeth.
Not in fear this time. In effort.
In very personal determination to outlive everyone’s stupid little betting pool.
The kids—Skye, Lumina, even Bonbon—cheered from the sidelines, clapping and shouting, their voices mixing with the sharp clang of blade-on-blade.
Celeste was barely standing now.
Her body was black and blue, her face slick with blood and sweat. Bones cracked with every move. Her legs trembled. And still, she fought.
Every time she staggered back to that railing, the healing pulse of cover surged through her. Her copycat abilities learned faster, absorbed quicker. Movements that once took minutes now clicked in seconds.
But Bracer wasn’t slowing.
His blows were getting harder, faster, crueler.
One strike sent her tumbling across the balcony. She rolled, caught herself on one arm, shoulder dislocated—but she didn’t cry out. She shoved it back into place with a grunt and stood.
Bracer’s movements were still clean, surgical. But something burned behind his eyes now—a test sharpened into fear.
He launched his final move, pinning her with terrifying speed. In a flash, she was lifted from the ground, scruff gripped in his clawed hand, her back slammed into the railing.
He brought his muzzle close.
“You know, cats…” he growled, voice low and primal, “they walk the line between predator and prey. But if you corner them enough…”
His claws tightened.
“…they become something else.”
As he leaned in close to her ear, his grip shifted.
One claw caught at the base of her neck.
There was a tiny metallic click.
Celeste’s suppression rune slipped loose.
Neither of them realized it for one awful heartbeat.
Then—
something broke inside her.
Not a rib. Not her spirit.
The restraint.
Her pupils slit, elongating—no longer catlike, but draconic. Blue flames licked at her lips, fangs elongating, her skin blazing with radiant heat. Her back arched as her entire body convulsed. The loosened rune sparked wildly, no longer seated properly, searing like molten wire as burning glyphs flared alive down her arms—jagged, corrupted, forbidden.
Bracer’s expression finally changed.
Fear.
He dropped her like she burned, stumbling back. “What—?”
Celeste collapsed to all fours, panting, flames erupting from her mouth. Her healing aura spiraled around her—no longer a trickle but a storm, wings of glowing data-like energy unfurling behind her like something divine and monstrous.
She was losing herself. The pain was gone—but so was the restraint.
Everyone below froze. Silence swept the base.
Bonbon clutched Lumina’s hand. Ray stood, lollipop forgotten. Mezzo and Arcade stopped breathing.
Bracer braced himself, voice sharp now, urgent. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
He fought back anyway. Every step, every strike, every lesson in his body unleashed at once. Blades, sweeps, precision.
But Celeste—no, the thing she was becoming—was beyond reason. Beyond training.
“Celeste!” he shouted, narrowly dodging a claw of searing flame. “This isn’t you!”
But his voice was lost, buried under the roar of burning air and the crack of stone. Celeste’s corrupted glyphs pulsed with every heartbeat, her eyes glowing brighter, her aura warping into something divine and monstrous.
This was why the Mana Suppression Runes existed.
This was what they had been designed to suppress.
Raw power. Uncontrolled.
The others felt it. Deep in their chests, like an ancient drumbeat. One by one, their weapons shimmered back into being—not summoned, but wrenched out of them.
And then the burning began.
Their runes flared like brands. Skin seared. Each of them staggered, clutching their arms, their skulls, their hearts, as the hunger clawed at them. Rage. Power. Need.
Ray screamed, voice cracked with fury. “Make it stop!”
Arcade hammered at his holopad, eyes wild. “Override—override, come on! C.H.I.P., suppress! Suppress!” He cursed through his teeth. “It’s not working! The rune’s out of place—it’s linked!”
Bonbon wailed, face buried in Lumina’s leg, hiccuping sobs shaking her tiny shoulders.
Skye knelt, grabbing her paw with trembling hands. His voice shook, but his eyes stayed steady.
“Bonbon… sing. Please. You have to.”
She looked up at him, wide-eyed and terrified. “W-wha?”
His ears twitched. Then his face fell. “…Right. Welsh.”
Skye hesitated, then drew a shaky breath. And softly—almost shyly—he began to hum.
“Ar lan y môr, mae’r blodau’n tyfu…”
Bonbon sniffled, uncertain.
Skye kept going. His voice trembled, but it carried.
“Yn eu plith mae’r lili wen…”
Bonbon’s little body shook, but something in her stirred. She pushed herself up, tears still wet on her cheeks.
And then she sang.
At first, it was fragile—a broken little hum, thin as a cracked music box. But her voice rose, high and pure, trembling but growing, the kind of sound that made the monsters feel small and the night a little warmer.
“Byddech chwi’n cofio’m annwyl gariad…”
“Tra fo’i wedd yn siriol grin…”
Their voices twined together. Skye’s steady, Bonbon’s fragile but luminous.
The effect was instant.
Celeste froze mid-swing.
Her draconic eyes flicked toward the sound. Her ears twitched. Her shoulders loosened, just a little.
The storm inside her faltered.
That was all Bracer needed.
He saw it then—the rune at the base of her neck, sitting wrong, half-displaced, flickering with unstable light.
He lunged in.
One hand caught her shoulder. The other slammed the suppression rune back into place.
It clicked home with a violent spark.
Celeste cried out.
The corrupted aura snapped inward. The flames stuttered. The glyphs along her arms glitched, dimmed, then collapsed into dull embers.
Bonbon’s voice cracked, but she pushed through, fists clenched at her sides. Her silly beaker hat slipped over one eye. Still she sang.
Celeste’s claws lowered. The burning around her body ebbed like a tide. Her whole frame shook violently, then collapsed forward, gasping. Sweat poured down her fur as her eyes flickered back to blue, wide and terrified.
“…What did I do?” she whispered, voice breaking.
Bracer limped back a step, blood matting his fur, chest heaving. He stared at the rune, then at her, then at his own shaking hand.
His voice, when it came, was low with dread.
“…That wasn’t all you.”
Silence.
No one answered.
Celeste stared at the cracked stone, the singed candy flowers, the scorched arches. Her hands trembled, still faintly glowing, and the fear in the others’ eyes haunted her more than any monster could.
She turned without a word and ran—ashamed, confused, desperate to be alone.
The kids were silent. Lumina hugged Bonbon tighter. Even Ray faltered, her sharpness blunted.
Only Skye stepped forward, eyes soft.
“She wasn’t trying to hurt us,” he whispered. “She just… didn’t want to lose control.”
Mezzo stretched with a loud groan, trying—and failing—to play off the tension.
“Well, that was grand, wasn’t it? Fire, screaming, nearly dying—top marks all ’round! So anyway… about our little wager, Arcade. Forty quid. I bet she’d last more than five minutes, remember?”
Arcade, still pale and shaken, shot him a look over his glasses. “I don’t think we should gamble on trauma.”
Mezzo grinned, wagging a finger. “Yeah, well—trauma owes me money.”
Before he could revel in his victory, Bracer turned. His fur was singed, blood still on his lip, but his voice came low and steady.
“You’re next.”
Mezzo froze mid-pose.
“…Next for what? A cookie? A nap?”
Bracer rolled his shoulder, the motion deliberate, his eyes sharp as a blade. “You’ve awakened. Speed. Power. Tomorrow, we see if you can actually control it.”
Mezzo’s smirk faltered. “Ah… y’know, I, uh—respectfully decline.”
Bracer smirked faintly. “I didn’t ask.”
Mezzo let out a theatrical groan, flopping against the half-melted railing like a dying swan. “This base is actual hell. Why couldn’t we have found, I dunno, a spa dome? Or a pizza dome?”
Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose. “You get speed powers, and you’re still the slowest learner in the room.”
