Rooms were still appearing around them.

Not building in the ordinary sense—no hammering, no measured construction, no visible mechanism—but growing, as if the tree-house base had decided it was not finished yet. Walls of pastel chocolate folded outward from smooth candy panels with a soft, almost thoughtful creak. Shelves curled from the walls in elegant spirals, dark and glossy as tempered cocoa, sturdy enough to hold books, jars, and little trinkets that seemed to materialise one by one as if the place were decorating itself.

Above them, jelly lights bloomed from the ceiling in strings and clusters, glowing warm pink, lemon, and pale blue. They swayed gently with no visible wire, no bulbs, no power source at all—just hanging there like sugared lantern-fruit, filling the room with a soft, impossible glow.

Then came the vents.

Arcade noticed those immediately.

Slim silver grilles opened in the walls between the candy-cane supports, and a cool stream of air poured out in a steady, perfectly regulated breeze.

He stared at them.

Because that should not have been possible.

Not in a giant sweet egg inside a magical tree grown by a dragon that coughed up books.

He was trying very hard not to look nervous.

Very hard.

But every few seconds his eyes flicked toward C.H.I.P., who was currently perched on Bonbon’s oversized rainbow-lollipop chair with his little metal legs kicked out, swinging them idly while singing a tiny tuneless song to himself in a bright mechanical voice.

“Doom and gloom and jellybean skies,
Probability of survival: a pleasant surprise…”

Arcade looked away quickly.

Then glanced toward Skye.

Skye, crouched near the edge of the room with his duel device in his lap, looked equally uneasy. His ears twitched at every shift of the walls. He caught Arcade looking and gave the smallest possible expression of shared concern—the silent, miserable sort of look that said: yes, this is deeply wrong, thank you for noticing.

But Celeste was completely oblivious.

Or maybe not oblivious exactly—just trying so hard to make sense of everything else that the impossible architecture had become background noise.

She sat with the Nommiepedia hugged close against her chest, brow pinched in concentration, flipping back and forth through glowing pages that refused to tell her what she wanted to know. The light from the jelly lanterns softened her face, but there was strain in her eyes now, and the longer she stared, the more she rubbed at one temple with the heel of her paw.

She was getting a headache.

Still, she tried again.

Celeste hugged the encyclopedia closer, her voice small, threaded with nerves.

“Mirror…?” she whispered, staring at the strange word etched above her name. “Why don’t I—I don’t even know what that means.” Her ears drooped. She looked back down at the page, then frowned. “And why doesn’t my species come up? Everyone else gets one.”

Arcade glanced over. “What are you, exactly?”

Celeste blinked at him. “I know I’m a hybrid. My dad is a cat… dragon thing?”

Arcade nodded slowly. “Ah. A mythic, then. So that makes your mother a pureblood.”

Celeste pointed at him at once. “Exactly. See? That’s what I thought. But nothing comes up on the page.”

Mezzo leaned over the book, squinting dramatically at it as if personally offended. Then he slapped the edge of the cover and declared, “It’s broken.”

Despite herself, Celeste laughed—small and surprised.

Then her smile faltered as she looked back at the glowing word.

“Why don’t I know what I am?” she asked more quietly.

Arcade hesitated, then gave a small shrug, his voice softer but still dry. “Not just you. Lumina and Bonbon’s entries are blank too. If we had access to archives—birth registries, family records—maybe we’d find answers. But…”

Celeste’s ears perked anxiously. “But…?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “But right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is figuring out whether we’re trapped in this candied nightmare, or if there’s even a way out of Clawdiff at all.”

Celeste nodded slowly, wringing her hands. “I never wanted to fight. I just want Lumina safe. Home. That’s all.”

For once, Arcade’s voice softened without sarcasm. “Yeah. I get it. But this—” he gestured at the weapons, the glowing book, the orb, the impossible tree around them “—this feels too neat. Too… designed. Like someone’s watching us play out their twisted little game.”

The orb pulsed faintly in reply, as though mocking them.

Arcade’s gaze flicked toward the window, toward the white dragon curled outside the tree. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“And that thing,” he added, lower now, “is suspicious.”

Mezzo, who had clearly stopped paying attention halfway through, suddenly clutched his stomach.

“Grand speeches aside, lads,” he groaned, “I’m starvin’.”

Right on cue, the dragon outside lifted its head.

Its ribboned mane stirred.

Then it coughed.

Something flew through the open balcony arch in a neat glittering arc and landed directly in Mezzo’s hands with a soft plop.

He stared down.

“A present?” he said hopefully.

It was another capsule—smooth, oval, and softly glowing. He clicked it open.

The thing burst apart in a spray of shimmering light, reshaping in midair—panels unfolding, chrome stretching, shelves snapping into place—until, with a flash, it solidified into…

a full-sized fridge.

The group went silent.

Skye blinked at it, deadpan. “…That’s a fridge.”

Mezzo’s jaw dropped. Then his whole face lit with pure awe.

“…That’s my fridge.” He ran a paw reverently along the chrome, whispering, “A sacred artefact, born of hunger.”

Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was already scribbling furiously in the margins of the Nommiepedia with one of his pens. “So the capsules it spits out respond to subconscious intent. Not just needs—desires. He thought about food, it gave him storage. Honestly? Almost impressive. If it wasn’t him.”

Mezzo flung open the door—only to find it empty.

He sagged in betrayal. “Well that’s tragic. Still magic, though. Doesn’t even need power.”

Lumina padded up, solemn as only a seven-year-old could be. She opened her pouch and tucked a handful of strawberry bonbons inside.

“For later,” she said simply.

Mezzo closed the door with a flourish, smirking. “Keeping sweets cold in a sugar apocalypse. Now that’s irony.”

Lumina giggled and popped the fridge open again just to check.

Inside, her bonbons were now nestled among fresh strawberries—real ones. Bright, ripe, and cold.

The group froze.

Celeste’s ears twitched, her voice hushed with awe. “Oh… stars above. That’s not just magic, is it? That’s—something else entirely.”

Arcade’s eyes narrowed, arcbracer already recording. “The fridge adapted. It didn’t just follow her intent—it improved it. That’s not conjuration, that’s… refinement. Like the scale read her subconscious.”

Everyone’s gaze drifted to the empty capsule, suddenly aware of just how dangerous—and valuable—they might be.

Celeste hugged her arms close, voice trembling but steady. “We’ll have to be careful. They only give us what we truly… truly need.”

Mezzo waved a paw dramatically, already clutching another strawberry. “Then clearly the universe knows I need a pizza oven. Don’t judge me, lads, survival requires carbs.”

Arcade sighed. “Yes, by all means, let’s squander reality-bending artefacts on snacks. Maybe next you can manifest a five-star hotel so we can all die in comfort.”

Celeste sank onto the cracked balcony just outside the candy-slicked safehouse, staring at the warped skyline of Clawdiff. The air reeked of sugar and burnt plastic, her breath catching as she spoke softly:

“We… can’t stay here. We’ll need supplies. Food, water, bandages—anything that’ll help us keep going.”

Arcade adjusted the glowing strap of his arcbracer, tone brisk again. “And information. If we can’t map this city, we’re blind. If we can’t decode these abilities, we’re liabilities. Data is survival.”

Mezzo leaned back, yawning loud enough to echo. “And practical clothes, maybe? Because my uniform smells like wet jellybeans and bad decisions.”

Celeste gave him a helpless little look, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile—

but Lumina’s small, wavering voice broke the moment.

“Maybe… maybe there’s a phone. A real one. We could call home.”

Celeste froze, her chest aching. She pulled her own coms crystal out, screen glowing weakly:

No Signal.

She showed it to Lumina, voice soft as a crack. “There isn’t, sweetheart. Nothing’s reaching outside the dome.”

Lumina’s eyes filled with tears. Her small fists balled up. “I want to go home!” she cried, voice cracking.

Celeste knelt down quickly. “I know. I want that too. But if we stick together, we’ll be safer. I promise I’ll try my best, okay?”

Lumina sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

Skye shuffled closer, ears twitching. Without a word, he pulled a lollipop from his pocket and held it out.

“…It’s strawberry,” he said shyly.

Lumina blinked, then gave a faint, tearful smile as she took it.

Outside, the white dragon suddenly went still.

Its head lifted sharply.

The soft purring stopped.

Every ribbon along its mane seemed to tense at once.

Arcade looked up immediately. “That’s new.”

The dragon turned toward the city beyond Beauty Park, yellow eyes narrowing on something none of them could yet see. A low, warning growl rumbled in its chest.

Then, without another sound, it spread its vast pastel wings.

Celeste took a half-step forward. “Wait—”

But the dragon had already leapt.

With one great beat of its wings, it launched into the pink-lit sky and vanished above the twisted treeline, leaving the branches of the impossible tree swaying in its wake.

And just like that, the little sanctuary felt a lot less safe.

Outside, the white dragon vanished beyond the treeline, its wings beating once, twice, before the sound disappeared entirely into the warped sky.

There was a beat.

Arcade froze.

Then all at once he whirled around, eyes huge behind his lenses.

“Right,” he said much too quickly, voice shooting up an octave. “Now that the dragon is out of earshot, let’s run.”

Mezzo stared at him. “Dude. You were so chill just now.”

Arcade rounded on him with both paws thrown in the air. “Are you insane? We were just grown a tree house and this dragon has given us a book that’s updating on paper. Paper! Do you know how weird that is?!” He jabbed a finger wildly at the Nommiepedia. “I say we get out of here, find a police station or something, and be somewhere normal before it comes back!”

Mezzo, with absolutely impeccable timing, popped a strawberry into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

Then he wandered over, swallowed, and grabbed Arcade gently by the shoulders.

“Dude,” he said, in the tone one might use with a very stressed pigeon. “Chill. Let’s get to the mall, look for people, supplies, whatever, then help deal with… all this. Or maybe find information.”

Celeste looked between them, still holding Bonbon and trying not to look as rattled as she felt.
“Maybe if we keep calm, it’s not so bad?”

Arcade whipped toward her so fast his glasses nearly slipped off.
“I am calm!”

He was not calm.

He took one long, forced breath through his nose, snatched off his glasses, wiped them furiously with a cloth from his pocket, then jammed them back on.

“Fine,” he said tightly. “Other people. Help. Yes. Grand. Maybe the Council has a heart and is helping people right now.”

The way he said it made it very clear he did not believe the Council had a heart.

He thrust the cleaning cloth at Celeste like it had personally betrayed him.

Celeste adjusted her skewed glasses, pushing them back up her nose with a sigh.

Mezzo tilted his head, grinning.
“That must be brutal, wearin’ those all the time.”

Celeste gave a tiny shrug. “A little. One of my eyes is stronger than the other. Without them, I just… bump into things. Quite a lot, actually.”

Arcade glanced up from his notes, voice flat but tinged with sincerity.
“Same. Can’t make sense of half a screen without mine. Wish I didn’t need them.”

Mezzo blinked, then slapped his paws together.
“Right then! Glasses Gang! We’ll get matching jackets, aye?”

Celeste tilted her head, unimpressed but fond.
“You don’t even wear glasses.”

Arcade smirked, dry as stone.
“He doesn’t even read.”

Mezzo raised both paws like a guilty saint.
“Okay, okay, fine! No gang. Just tryin’ to keep spirits up before the next sugar-monster eats us alive.”

Before she could answer, Bonbon suddenly bolted down the sugar path, laughing wildly.

“Bonbon, no—wait!” Celeste called out, already sprinting after her.

The little panda girl didn’t stop. When Celeste finally caught up and scooped her up, Bonbon went stiff as a board in her arms, face scrunched in defiance.

And then… she erupted into a full toddler tantrum.

She kicked, wailed, and let out an ear-splitting shriek that made Mezzo cover his ears.

“Can we put her on mute?” he grumbled.

Arcade winced. “My nerves are already shot and it’s not even noon.”

Celeste turned slowly, clutching the squirming panda with one arm. Her voice was tight with exhaustion.

“I’m trying, okay?” she snapped. “I know nobody here. I don’t have the answers. But if we go to the mall, we might find security. Or shelter. Or maybe even Bonbon’s mother.”

She looked around at all of them, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“But if everyone could just chill out for five minutes, that would be great—because I am officially freaking out right now!”

A long silence followed.

Even Bonbon quieted down, blinking.

Mezzo raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.
“Whatever. Mall’s still a good idea.”

No one argued. Slowly, the group gathered themselves and began moving again.

Lumina walked silently with arms crossed, still upset but following closely behind.

Celeste took a deep breath.

She didn’t feel ready to lead anyone.

But for now—

she had to.