The interior was vast, far more expansive than the egg’s exterior could account for. Multiple floors spiralled upward, suspended on winding liquorice supports and candy-cane railings. It was like stepping into a dreamworld treehouse fused with a surreal palace—equal parts playful and impossible.
And outside the great sugar-glass windows, the white dragon remained close.
Her long, shimmering body coiled gently around the outer trunk of the impossible tree, moving now and then so that flashes of iridescent wrapping-paper scales drifted past the windows like moonlight through water. Every so often her yellow eyes would appear beyond the glass, watchful and bright, and a low purr would rumble through the walls as though she were checking that they were still safe inside.
At the heart of the first floor stood a massive, hardened rainbow lollipop, flat on top like a wide table. The colours swirled hypnotically beneath a glassy sheen.
Lumina pressed her little paws against it and gasped, giggling.
“It feels like stone, but it’s sweet! Like… like a castle you can lick!”
Bonbon tapped it with her wand, then scrambled up with all the determination of a cub half her size. Her pacifier bobbed as she squeaked around it:
“Cadair! Cadair!”
(Chair! Chair!)
Celeste hurried over and gently lifted her onto the gleaming surface. She smiled shyly, smoothing her skirt.
The walls were lined with hexagonal chambers, reminiscent of a beehive, each glowing faintly from within. Inside some, there were shimmering glass columns, each a different hue—blue, pink, violet, lemon-yellow. The light they emitted pulsed softly, almost like a heartbeat.
“Ohhh… it’s like… like a library, only sweeter. Or—or maybe an archive, keeping secrets safe.” Her voice caught in wonder, quiet but warm.
Arcade, still holding the Nommiepedia, had already stopped paying proper attention to the room in favour of the book in his hands. As his fingers grazed the blank encyclopedia, the golden trim lit up in a pulse of warm light. The book shuddered, and then—without warning—ink bled across the pages in swift, elegant script.
One by one, illustrations of the monsters they had encountered began to appear: the zombie cat made of wrappers, the marshmallow bunny, the sugar-cube mice.
Alongside the drawings were notes, sketches, even glowing glyphs. Each entry came with descriptions, attack styles, behavioural traits, and—most importantly—weaknesses. The zombie cat’s fear of reflective surfaces. The marshmallow bunny’s vulnerability to heat.
Some entries, though, were only partial. Blurred outlines. Scribbled lines of unknown script. Blank spaces waiting to be filled, as if the book itself was still learning.
Arcade’s eyes widened behind his glasses.
“It’s… it’s a bestiary,” he whispered, voice full of stunned awe. “A living one. It’s recording everything we face.”
He flipped faster through the pages, skimming rapidly as the others wandered the room.
“Real-time updates. Auto-filling knowledge. Some kind of collective magical database tied to our actions.”
He looked up at the others, still turning pages.
“This could help us survive.”
Celeste’s hands trembled as she peered over his shoulder, lips parting. “Oh stars… it’s helping us.”
Outside, beyond the crystal-paned windows, the white dragon gave a soft, pleased chirrup, followed by a deep purr that rolled through the tree with quiet approval.
Skye lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the walls. His ears twitched once.
“…Doesn’t feel right,” he muttered. “It’s too clean. Too… staged. Like a dream pretending.”
Lumina padded to him, tugging softly at his sleeve.
“It is scary… but we’re together. That makes it less scary.”
Skye’s gaze softened, if only slightly.
“Maybe. But I’m still watching.”
Bonbon plopped down on her “throne,” tail curling around her legs as she sucked her pacifier and mumbled sleepily in Welsh,
“Cartref bach…”
(Little home…)
The others glanced at her, their smiles faint but real.
Arcade, meanwhile, was already marking new entries with tabs he seemed to have produced from nowhere.
“This is going to be our most valuable asset. If the book is linked to the magic of this world, then we might be able to document every general. Every weakness.”
And somewhere, deep within the candy-coated walls of their impossible new sanctuary, the book quietly pulsed again, as if listening.
While the others clustered around the glowing bestiary, Celeste drifted away quietly, her steps light against the pastel tiles. She told herself she was just… exploring. Just curious. But really, she needed a breath. A moment.
Her paw brushed along the liquorice railing as she followed a side corridor that wound gently upward. At the end was a small, rounded doorway—hardly more than a crack in the candy wall.
Celeste tilted her head. “Oh—hello there,” she whispered softly to no one in particular. She pushed it open.
The space beyond was tiny at first—barely more than a broom cupboard. But the instant she stepped across the threshold, the air rippled.
The walls groaned.
The sugar shifted.
And in a blink, the room bloomed into a vast chamber.
Towering sugar-glass pillars stretched up into a high arched ceiling, refracting soft pastel light like cathedral windows. A huge pane of shimmering glass formed at the far end, tinted with pale pinks and blues. Through it she could see a balcony, where candyfloss blossoms drifted in a slow, impossible breeze.
Beyond that glass, the white dragon moved again—her great face rising into view just long enough for one golden eye to peer curiously inside. She gave a low, warm purr, then a bright little chirp, as if approving of what the tree had shown her.
Celeste pressed a paw to her mouth. “Ohh… oh stars. It’s… beautiful.” Her voice shook like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to speak.
The floor beneath her rippled as though freshly poured—tiles sliding and clicking into pastel patterns. She froze when she realised the design wasn’t random. From above, it would look like her own silhouette—ears, tail, even the fall of her hair.
Her cheeks heated. “This… this is—oh, this is far too much,” she whispered, half-flustered, half in awe.
Behind her, with another soft shimmer, a marshmallow bed unfolded against one wall, dusted with sugar-powder and wrapped in quilted blankets patterned like stars. Bonbon candies dotted the headboard like buttons. Beside it, impossibly, a door opened onto a full bathroom—candy-cane pipes glinting with running water that gurgled cheerfully, defying every known law of physics.
Celeste backed up a step, her hands clutching at her chest. She could feel the hum of magic—warm, steady, but heavy. Watching her.
“It’s like… it was made for me,” she murmured, voice small.
She touched one of the sugar-glass pillars and felt it pulse faintly beneath her fingers.
For the first time since the nightmare began, she felt… safe.
And yet the safety carried its own weight.
As if someone, somewhere, already knew who she was meant to be.
Her gaze drifted uncertainly over the huge room, the bed, the balcony, the soft glow in every corner.
“I wonder where maybe I can sleep…” she said quietly, almost embarrassed by the thought.
The tree listened.
The room gave a sudden, gentle shiver.
More star-shaped cushions burst into being across the bed. A gauzy canopy of spun sugar unfurled above it, drifting like cloud-silk. Shelves curled out from the walls in graceful loops, filling themselves with little jars, trinkets, plush figures, ribbons, and sketchbooks. A vanity bloomed from the floor in sugar-glass and gold. The balcony widened. Wind chimes made of crystal sweets appeared overhead and rang softly in the breeze.
Celeste stared, open-mouthed.
Outside the window, the dragon let out a delighted trill and purred louder, clearly pleased with herself—or with the tree, or perhaps both.
Celeste laughed then, small and disbelieving and a little watery all at once.
“Well,” she whispered to the room, to the tree, to the dragon beyond the glass, “I suppose that answers that.”
