Celeste tucked the note into her coat pocket, fingers lingering on the paper as her mind spun with the weight of the word Tempest. But just as she turned, a cold prickle danced down her spine—the unmistakable feeling of eyes locked on her back.

Something wet splattered on her nose.

She blinked and looked up—

—and immediately screamed.

The centipede general loomed above her, coiled around the ceiling beams like a grotesque chandelier. His eyes glinted with cruel glee, slime dripping from his mandibles. Before Celeste could react, he pounced, launching down from above with terrifying speed.

She bolted, scrambling toward the stairwell she’d climbed earlier. Her foot caught, her balance slipped—

then a clawed hand snatched her ankle.

In an instant, she was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like prey in a trap. Panic surged. She flailed, kicking, but the grip was like iron. The centipede drew close, his grotesque, rat-like face inches from hers.

His long whiskers brushed her cheek, twitching as he leaned in.

The grin was too wide.

Too knowing.

Then his expression shifted.

Not delight.

Recognition.

His many eyes widened, and his mandibles clicked in sudden fury.

“No,” he rasped.

Celeste went perfectly still.

“It’s you. Kenaz.”

Her breath caught.

“I should have eaten you,” he hissed, voice swelling with old hatred. “Stars, you let this happen.”

Celeste said nothing.

She couldn’t.

She was too terrified to even deny it.

The general’s grip tightened until pain shot through her ankle. He hauled her closer, studying her face with a kind of ravenous disbelief, as if the past itself had come back wearing a softer shape.

His breath was hot and foul against her skin.

“Look at you,” he snarled. “Still crawling. Still wearing his face. Still pretending you can stop what’s coming.”

Celeste’s ears flattened. Her whole body trembled.

The centipede gave a low, shuddering laugh.

“The sewers,” he purred, almost lovingly. “That’s where you’ll run, isn’t it? Holes in the ground. Dark little tunnels. So bring them with you, Kenaz. Bring your new trainees. Bring every pathetic little hopeful thing hiding behind your shadow.”

His mandibles scraped together with hungry delight.

“They won’t stand a chance.”

He leaned so close she could see her own terrified reflection in the wet black of his clustered eyes.

“I’ll eat them all,” he whispered. “One by one. Slowly. And you’ll watch.”

His voice dropped lower, crueler.

“You always were too late.”

He laughed again, sharp and chittering.

“When you crawl back into my sewers, face me like a man. No walls. No tricks. No noble little speeches. Just you, your trainees, and the dark.”

His whiskers twitched against her cheek.

“I’ll tear through them first. I’ll crack them open. I’ll hear them scream. And when there’s nothing left but scraps and bones, I’ll let you live just long enough to understand that this city drowned because of you.”

His many eyes glowed faintly red, all fixed on her trembling form.

“Zombies don’t die,” he whispered, venom dripping from every syllable. “They just scream… forever.”

Then—

he dropped her.

Celeste slammed into the floor, breath tearing from her lungs. She curled in on herself, gasping, as the hulking body of the general recoiled into the shadows.

The last thing she heard was the echo of his laughter—wet, inhuman, dragging down the corridor like the sound of bones breaking underwater.

Celeste lay on the floor, chest heaving, her palms pressed flat against the cold stone. The giant centipede’s armored body scraped and rattled as it scurried away down the corridor, vanishing into shadow.

She pushed herself up on shaking elbows, head throbbing, only to glance sideways and freeze.

A door stood slightly ajar, and from behind it—Ray.

She was frozen, arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes wide—not from surprise but from fear, hidden poorly beneath her brittle scowl.

Celeste’s breaths came quick, hands still trembling. “How… how much did you hear?” she asked, voice soft, almost apologetic.

Ray didn’t answer at first. Her eyes flicked up toward the stairs, then back at Celeste, jaw clenched.

“…Enough,” she muttered, her voice lower than usual, stripped of her usual sarcasm. “Enough to know we’re not going through the sewers.”

Celeste lowered her blades a little. “He said… he’s waiting for us down there. That he wants to hunt us.”
Her voice shook as she added, “I think he meant it.”

Ray shifted uncomfortably, scowl deepening. “Then we find another way. I’m not dying in some gummy hellhole under the streets.”

Celeste hesitated, watching her closely. Then, gently:
“You froze.”

Ray stiffened, but didn’t deny it.

“I… I wanted to move, alright?” Ray snapped, though her voice cracked. “But I couldn’t. Not ‘cause I didn’t care. I just—” She looked away, her fists tight at her sides. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Ever.”

Celeste tilted her head slightly, her tone quiet, earnest. “None of us have.”

For a moment, silence stretched—thick and awkward, but not hostile.

Ray exhaled hard through her nose, forcing her shoulders to relax. “Fine. Whatever. We tell the others. Sewers are off the table. We’ll find something else before that thing finds us.”

She turned to leave, but Celeste called softly, “Ray… are you alright?”

Ray froze mid-step, ears twitching. She threw a glance over her shoulder.
“Why are you asking me that? I should be asking you. Besides—” she shrugged dismissively, “—it’s not like I care.”

Celeste’s reply was quiet, but unwavering. “I do.”

Ray blinked, caught off guard. Her mask slipped for just a heartbeat. “…Even after I tried to drag you out of here?”

Celeste met her eyes, shy but steady. “Yes.”

Ray scoffed, brushing her hair back with forced nonchalance. “Tch. Idiot.”

But the bite was gone. And beneath the scoff… her eyes glimmered with something dangerously close to gratitude.

Celeste just gave her a small, warm smile. “I mean it.”

Ray didn’t answer, but she didn’t storm off either. She just walked—slower this time.

Celeste glanced back toward the stairwell, shivering at the memory of the centipede’s voice still echoing in her ears. She swallowed hard.

“How did that thing even get in here?” she asked quietly. “There aren’t any doors big enough.”

Ray folded her arms, her scowl deepening. “Maybe it doesn’t need doors. Maybe it can change its size.”

Celeste’s fur prickled. “…That’s a terrifying thought.”

Ray’s gaze dropped to her own hands, curling into fists. For a second, her hammer flickered into being, its faint violet glow pulsing. She stared at it, jaw set. “I could crush it.”

Celeste shook her head, her voice trembling but steady. “We don’t know what these weapons can do yet. But I know one thing—” she hugged her arms close to herself, ears twitching, “—I’m terrified of finding out.”

Ray didn’t answer. But her expression didn’t change either—hard, sharp, unwilling to show weakness.

Celeste gave a small, shaky sigh. “Maybe… maybe we do need help. Those things are too big for us.”

Ray’s ears flicked back. “We’re not fighting them. Not head-on. Better to find a way out of Clawdiff. Somewhere that isn’t the sewers.”

Celeste nodded slowly. “I agree.”

The two of them stood in the dim hallway, the silence heavy between them. For the first time, it wasn’t hostile—it was wary. A fragile truce born out of shared fear.

Back in the archive’s main room, the others hadn’t noticed the commotion. C.H.I.P. was still humming away beside Arcade, who was furiously scanning through data. Skye had curled up near Lumina, both of them thumbing through a half-crushed children’s encyclopedia. Mezzo was… somehow balancing on top of a filing cabinet, eating sour laces he definitely hadn’t found under sanitary conditions.

Ray and Celeste reentered the room quietly. Celeste’s face was pale, her eyes tired, but she didn’t speak right away. She walked to the table and dropped the paper with the coordinates onto the center.

Arcade looked up. “What’s this?”

Celeste sat heavily beside him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “A lead. Might be nothing, might be… something. Tempest. That’s all the file said.”

Ray leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her eyes still sharp from what they’d just escaped. “Doesn’t matter. Sewer’s a death trap. That centipede general? He owns it. Said he’d turn us into chew toys and hunt us forever.”

Celeste’s ears flattened slightly. “I went upstairs to look at the files you gave me… and I saw that lynx from ClawdiffCon. I thought he was you anyway.” Her voice faltered. “He left this folder and then—then that… I don’t even know what to call it. The centipede monster. It attacked me.”

Arcade’s glasses slid slightly down his nose as he stared at her. “It attacked you? I didn’t hear a thing.”

Ray pushed off the wall. “I followed her. You’d be surprised how quiet that thing is.” Her tone was flat, but her tail flicked with unease. “Which worries me more—that something that size can sneak right up on us.”

Celeste shivered at the memory. “Like it was waiting.”

The room fell quiet, the others finally glancing up from their distractions—sensing the heaviness in Celeste’s voice.

Arcade frowned, visor catching the glow of the terminals. “So he knew. Damn it… that means we’ve been under surveillance this whole time.”

Celeste’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “Then… then we need a new plan,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “The sewers are too dangerous. What if we… what if we went up instead?”

Mezzo cocked his head, mid-chew on sour laces. “Up? You mean, like—strap wings on and flap our way out? ’Cause I’m game, but I doubt physics is.”

Arcade sighed, rubbing his temples. “Not the sky, genius—the dome. The barrier itself. Breaking through might be more realistic than digging under it.”

Skye shifted, quiet but blunt. “But it’s… huge. Feels wrong. Not built by us. Could be alien. Could be magic. Could be both.”

Celeste nodded, slipping her glasses off and polishing them nervously on her sleeve. “I know it sounds silly. But we’ve all seen what the capsules the dragon gave us can do. And this… this Tempest lead—it might be connected. To the city. To the dome.”

Arcade tapped the coordinates on the folder, his brow furrowed. “Lab, node, vault—whatever it is, it’s not worth investigating.”

Then he paused, ears twitching faintly.

“I downloaded everything in the archives before you left,” he added, voice flattening into that clipped, practical tone he used when trying very hard not to sound bothered. “And I found some things on Astallan. Some of it’s locked behind military clearance—old files, restricted records, that sort of thing. Odd, honestly.” He glanced at Celeste. “You can look at them later, if you like.”

Celeste blinked. “On… my family?”

Arcade gave a small shrug. “Apparently.”

Mezzo cut in at once, pointing at himself. “Anything on me?”

Arcade glanced down at the screen in his hand. “Just some death records.”

Mezzo’s colour drained so fast it was almost impressive.

“Oh,” he said, much smaller. “Right. Don’t… don’t show me that.”

That killed the air in the room stone dead.

Ray folded her arms tighter. “I don’t want to know about me.”

Arcade looked over at her. “Your mother is still looking for you.”

Ray’s face hardened instantly.

“I said,” she repeated, each word edged with venom, “I don’t want to know.”

The group fell into a heavy silence.

Celeste glanced down at her trembling hands, then looked up again. “I think we should… um… practice. With our weapons, I mean. Properly. Because if we’re honest—” she bit her lip— “we’re really not very good. And maybe we’ve only been lucky so far.”

Ray leaned against a crate, her voice dry but sharp. “Finally, some honesty. Hate to break it to you, princess, but luck runs out fast. If you weren’t so shy about swinging those blades, you’d be pulling more weight.”

Celeste’s ears drooped. She looked at the floor. “I’m trying,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t like hurting people. Or killing. It feels… wrong.”

Ray’s tone softened only by degrees—still hard, but not cruel. “The dead don’t care what you like. They’ll rip you apart whether you’re crying or not.”

Mezzo raised his paws. “She’s not wrong, lass. We need drills, coordination. ’Cause right now? We fight like a drunk pub band.”

Arcade’s voice was cool, cutting. “And don’t forget—our power link traces back to you. If you collapse, Celeste, we all collapse. Try not to forget that.”

Celeste flinched, her hands curling into fists. “Then I’ll… I’ll try harder,” she said, voice trembling but clear. “I don’t want to be the reason any of you get hurt.”

The silence wasn’t hostile—it was sobering.

Ray finally exhaled, rolling her shoulders and letting her hammer vanish. “Good. Then tomorrow, we stop surviving by accident. We start surviving on purpose.”

By now, exhaustion was setting in—Skye had slumped sideways against Lumina, who was barely propping her eyes open. Bonbon was curled up around her plushie, drooling sugar-stained dreams.

“Then we head back to base,” Arcade said firmly. “Rest. Regroup. Maybe even find out what else those capsules can do besides… look shiny.”

Mezzo hopped down from the filing cabinet with a grin. “Any chance they make pizza?”

Ray groaned, dragging a paw down her face. “Stars above… if that’s what you dream of, Swift, then maybe.”

She paused. Her ears twitched. “Wait—hold up. You guys have a base?”

Mezzo puffed up proudly. “Yep. It’s in a giant egg tree. Please don’t judge. Unless it’s been taken over by squatters with bad hairstyles. I swear, apocalypse hits and suddenly—bam!—everyone’s a barber with a grudge.”

Ray stared at him. “…Stars give me strength. Your hideout is a treehouse? What are you, five?”

Arcade adjusted his visor, calm but smug. “Normally, I’d agree with you, but it’s more sophisticated than it sounds. Adaptive structure, shifting architecture—you’d be impressed.”

Skye piped up quietly, “We have a magic fridge.”

Celeste perked up, smiling softly. “It even made a bedroom for me… all sugar glass. So pretty. Like… like sleeping inside a star.”

Ray muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die surrounded by children.”

Celeste smiled faintly at the banter, though her eyes lingered on the glowing terminals.

Tempest… who are you? And what is CA-72?

Outside, the candy-slick streets glistened in the moonlight. Somewhere out there, seven generals waited in their sugar-soaked domains.

And above them all, the dome pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat. Waiting.