By the time the Egg Tree came back into view, Celeste’s legs were aching.

Not badly. Not properly badly. Just enough that every step reminded her of the fight, the slip, the Dogorice, and the horrible second where her body had simply refused to move.

Ray hadn’t said much on the walk back.

Somehow, that was worse.

The Egg Tree rose from the ruined street like something out of a dream dropped into the apocalypse: candy-coated bark, warm sugar-light glowing in the branches, lanterns swaying gently from its boughs. 

Celeste slowed as they reached the base. “I think I might sit down for a moment.”

Ray kept walking.

Celeste blinked. “Ray?”

“Training yard.”

Celeste’s stomach gave a tiny, traitorous flop. “Oh. You meant tomorrow.”

“I lied.”

“That feels unfair.”

“Life’s unfair.”

“That is a very gloomy answer.”

Ray glanced back. “Then jog gloomily.”

Celeste made a small noise of protest, but followed.

The training yard sat behind the Egg Tree, fenced off with patched metal panels, broken shop shutters, and candy-cane poles driven into the syrup-hardened earth. It had once been an empty patch where everyone dumped broken equipment.

Then Bracer had got hold of it.

Now it was an obstacle course wearing a bad attitude.

A climbing wall leaned against one side of the fence, built from old planks and hardened gumdrop handholds. Low beams had been set up for jumping practice. Sandbags hung from chains. Wooden dummies stood in uneven rows, painted with crude candy zombie faces. One wore a little hat. Another had “MEZZO WAS HERE” carved into its chest.

Ray spat her lollipop stick into a cracked bucket by the fence, then pointed to the middle of the yard.

“Stand there.”

Celeste looked at the spot.

It was directly between several dummies.

“That feels suspiciously like where someone stands before being attacked.”

“Sharp girl.”

“Ray.”

“Centre.”

Celeste shuffled into place, ears flattening. “Most people say things like, ‘Well done surviving the horrible zombies, Celeste, perhaps have a biscuit.’”

Ray walked toward her. “Do the copy power thing.”

Celeste’s tail flicked. “I can only do it if I touch you.”

“So touch me.”

“That sounded ruder than I think you meant it.”

Ray stared.

Celeste quickly held up both paws. “Sorry. Nerves. Words fall out of my mouth wearing the wrong shoes.”

“Copy. My. Power.”

Celeste swallowed, then stepped closer and placed her paw lightly against Ray’s wrist.

Warmth sparked beneath her palm.

Not gentle warmth.

Ray’s magic hit like a forge door opening.

Super Strength

Celeste gasped softly as the copied power flickered through her own core, threading into her muscles with a strange, pulsing heat.

Ray moved.

Fast.

She struck the dummy beside Celeste with a savage kick, hard enough to snap its wooden head sideways.

Celeste froze.

Ray stopped, one hand still out from the strike.

“See?” she said sharply. “Again with the freezing. You were meant to dodge.”

Celeste’s face flushed. “I thought you were hitting the dummy.”

“I was.”

“Then technically I was correct.”

“No. You were dead.”

“That seems like a very harsh grading system.”

Ray held out her hand. Purple fire curled around her fingers.

Heartbreaker appeared in a rush of mana.

The hammer was enormous, brutal, and beautiful in the way weapons became beautiful when they clearly did not care whether you liked them. Violet phoenix fire licked along the metal, heart-shaped sparks cracking from the handle.

“Move.”

Ray swung.

Celeste yelped and summoned Starlight and Starbrite in a flash of shimmering light. The twin katanas appeared just in time for her to throw herself sideways as Heartbreaker smashed into the ground where she had been standing.

The fence rattled.

A dummy lost an arm.

Celeste landed badly, stumbled, and looked horrified. “Ray!”

“What?”

“You nearly hit me!”

“That was the idea.”

“That is not training! That is attempted bonking!”

From the fence came a slow, unimpressed clap.

Arcade leaned against the gate, arms folded, goggles pushed up on his head. Chip hovered beside him, little blue optics glowing.

“Oh good,” Arcade said. “I was worried this evening would be boring.”

Celeste glanced over, panting. “Arcade, help.”

“No, no, I’m learning a lot.” He tilted his head. “Mostly that you suck.”

“Arcade!”

Chip bobbed cheerfully. “Assessment confirmed! Combat efficiency: adorable but tragic.”

“That is worse!”

“Would you like a sticker for emotional damage?” Chip asked.

Ray pointed Heartbreaker at Celeste. “Ignore them.”

“I am trying, but the robot has wounded me.”

“Good. Get angry.”

“I don’t like getting angry.”

“Then get fast.”

Ray came in again.

Celeste raised both blades, expecting a clean attack.

Ray did not give her one.

The fox feinted left, kicked dust into Celeste’s path, hooked Heartbreaker low, then slammed her shoulder into Celeste’s guard just hard enough to knock her backward.

Celeste stumbled over a beam and nearly fell.

“That’s cheating!” she cried.

Ray advanced. “That’s fighting.”

“Bracer never taught me that.”

“Bracer taught you drills. I’m teaching you how not to die.”

Ray swung again.

Celeste ducked too late. The hammer passed close enough to ruffle her ears. She squeaked and scrambled back, trying to keep her blades up.

Ray did not stop.

Every attack came from the wrong angle.

A low sweep. A shove. A strike that stopped short only to turn into another from the opposite side. Ray used her tail, her elbows, her feet, the dirt, the fence, even the broken arm of a dummy she kicked into Celeste’s path.

Celeste blocked what she could.

Dodged what she couldn’t.

Flinched at the rest.

“You fight like you’re scared of hurting people,” Ray snapped, swinging again.

Celeste parried, the impact ringing through both blades. “Because I am!”

Ray drove her back. “That’ll get you killed.”

Celeste twisted away. “I don’t want to hurt anyone who doesn’t need hurting!”

“Or it’ll drag everyone else down with you.”

Celeste froze for half a second.

Ray saw it.

Her eyes narrowed.

She stepped in and swung.

Celeste barely crossed Starlight and Starbrite in time. Heartbreaker struck her guard with a burst of purple sparks, driving her boots through the dirt.

Ray leaned close, voice low and fierce.

“You need to fight like every swing is your last.”

Celeste’s arms trembled. “That sounds horrible.”

“It is.”

Ray shoved her back, then came again.

“With each hit,” Ray said, swinging hard, “you decide.”

Swing.

“Move.”

Swing.

“Strike.”

Swing.

“End it.”

Celeste ducked beneath Heartbreaker, eyes wide. “But what if they stop?”

Ray paused.

Celeste gripped her blades tighter. “What if they stop and I miss it? What if they weren’t going to hurt me anymore and I don’t realise in time? I’d feel awful.”

For one second, Ray looked almost tired.

Then she lifted Heartbreaker again.

“Life won’t give you second chances, Celeste.”

The hammer ignited.

“So you don’t either.”

Ray charged.

Celeste’s heart slammed against her ribs.

The copied phoenix mana burned in her veins. Her own light stirred beneath it, soft and golden at first, then brighter.

She stepped forward instead of back.

One blade lifted.

“Radiant Slice!”

Starlight flashed.

A clean arc of holy light swept from the katana.

It missed Ray completely.

It did, however, remove the little hat from one of the practice dummies.

The hat spun through the air and landed upside down on Chip.

Silence.

Chip looked down at the hat. “I have been chosen.”

Ray stared at Celeste.

“Why,” Ray asked slowly, “do you announce your spells like a cartoon villain?”

Celeste lowered her blade, cheeks pink. “I prefer anime protagonist, actually.”

Arcade wheezed.

Ray’s eyebrow twitched. “Of course you do.”

“It makes them easier to remember,” Celeste mumbled. Then she looked at her blade, where faint gold still clung to the edge. “But… I liked how that one felt.”

Ray studied her.

“You liked it?”

Celeste hesitated. “A little.”

Ray’s voice softened by one careful inch. “Sometimes fighting feels good, doesn’t it?”

Celeste looked guilty at once. “Only if I’m enjoying it.”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

Celeste swallowed. “I suppose… when it feels like a game. Or dancing. Or when I know I’m not being cruel.” She glanced at the sliced hat, then at Chip wearing it. “And when no one real is getting hurt.”

Ray’s ears flicked.

Something clicked behind her eyes.

“Fine,” she said.

Celeste blinked. “Fine?”

Ray swung Heartbreaker onto her shoulder. “Game rules.”

Arcade straightened. “Oh, this should be interesting.”

Chip’s hat tilted over one optic. “Initializing terrible idea protocol.”

Ray pointed around the yard. “Dummies are zombies. Fence is lava. Wall is safe zone. You get points for clean hits and dodges. Lose points if you freeze. Arcade can keep score since he’s standing there being useless.”

Arcade pressed a hand to his chest. “I am providing moral damage.”

“You’re scorekeeper now.”

“Fine. But I’m adding style points.”

Celeste’s ears lifted. “Style points?”

Ray gave her a sharp little grin. “You seem like the type.”

Celeste tried not to smile.

Failed.

“Round one,” Ray said. “Three zombies. One big scary fox. Go.”

She lunged.

Celeste moved.

Not perfectly.

Not even close.

But she moved.

Ray’s hammer came low, and Celeste jumped over it, landing with an undignified squeak. A dummy swung toward her on a chain. She sliced through its wooden arm, spun beneath it, and stumbled into a roll that was probably half accident and half miracle.

Arcade called out, “Two points for survival. Minus one for squeaking.”

“Squeaking is involuntary!” Celeste shouted.

Chip chimed, “Bonus point for squeak charm!”

Ray laughed once, sharp and surprised, then attacked again.

Celeste blocked the first hit.

Dodged the second.

The third clipped her guard and sent her sliding back, but she recovered faster this time.

“Radiant Slice!”

The golden arc flashed again.

This time it struck a dummy across the chest, leaving a glowing burn-mark through the painted candy zombie face.

A tiny shimmer appeared in Celeste’s vision.

Celeste gasped. “It worked!”

Ray came at her from the side. “Don’t celebrate mid-fight.”

Celeste yelped, ducked, then spun up with Starbrite in both paws.

“Radiant Slice!”

Ray twisted away, but the beam struck the ground beside her and kicked up dust and gold sparks.

Arcade’s brows rose.

“Huh,” he said. “That was almost competent.”

Celeste beamed. “Thank you!”

“That wasn’t praise.”

“I’m taking it anyway!”

Ray pressed harder.

And Celeste—sweet, trembling, overthinking Celeste—started treating the yard like a stage.

She named her attacks. She jumped over beams as if they were part of some ridiculous festival game. She spun around dummies, laughing breathlessly whenever she dodged Ray by inches. Her strikes were still clumsy, still too gentle sometimes, but they came brighter.

Less frozen.

Ray watched it happen with a knot forming in her chest.

Because Celeste was better when it did not feel real.

That was useful but heartbreaking.

Another swing.

Celeste ducked under Heartbreaker, slid between two dummies, and slashed upward.

“Radiant Slice!”

The dummy split from hip to shoulder in a burst of golden light.

Arcade clapped once. “There. See? Less tragic.”

Celeste, panting and glowing, gave him a tired but pleased look. “I am choosing to believe you’re proud of me.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I think he’s proud,” Chip whispered loudly.

“I will recycle you into a kettle,” Arcade told him.

Ray lowered Heartbreaker.

“Enough.”

Celeste stopped at once, shoulders rising and falling. The copied phoenix mana flickered around her, then faded. Her blades trembled in her hands before dissolving into starlight.

The moment they vanished, her knees wobbled.

Ray caught her by the arm.

Celeste blinked up at her. “Oh. That took rather a lot out of me.”

“Then don't hold it too long.”

Celeste gave a small, sheepish smile. “I was having fun.”

Ray’s expression shifted.

There it was.

The answer.

Celeste could fight when it became play. She could survive if she tricked her own fear into thinking the horror was a game.

But outside the fence, the zombies were not dummies.

The blood was not paint.

The second chances did not come.

Ray looked over at Arcade.

Arcade was not smiling now.

For once, neither was Chip.

A silent understanding passed between them.

Celeste was getting stronger.

Celeste was also not built for this.

And if she went down, all of them might go down with her.

Celeste, oblivious to the full weight of that look, hugged her knees and smiled tiredly.

“I think that went better,” she said softly. “Don’t you?”

Ray forced her face back into something casual. “Better than embarrassing.”

Celeste brightened. “That’s almost nice.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Arcade pushed off from the fence. “You still suck, by the way. Just less loudly.”

Chip bobbed after him. “Progress! From catastrophic kitten to moderately armed cinnamon roll!”

Celeste frowned. “I don’t know whether that’s good.”

“It’s Chip,” Arcade said. “Never assume.”

The two of them headed back toward the Egg Tree, bickering about whether Chip should keep the hat permanently.

Ray stayed beside Celeste a moment longer.

The yard felt quieter without them. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm light over the broken dummies, the scuffed dirt, and the little glowing cuts left by Celeste’s blade.

Ray leaned Heartbreaker against her shoulder.

“Listen,” she said.

Celeste looked up.

“When you’re scared, pretend it’s not real.”

Celeste’s ears twitched. “What?”

“Pretend it’s a game. A routine. A stupid anime fight. Whatever works.” Ray stared across the yard rather than at her. “You do better when your head isn’t stuck on what happens if you hurt someone.”

Celeste’s face softened. “You noticed?”

“Hard not to.”

“I thought you’d be cross.”

“I am cross.” Ray sighed. “But not about that.”

Celeste studied her, then gave a tiny, hopeful smile. “So… that means we made bonding progress?”

Ray’s mouth twitched.

“No.”

“A little?”

“No.”

“A crumb?”

Ray picked up her lollipop stick from the bucket, realised it was filthy, and threw it away again. “Go inside, Blondie.”

Celeste smiled properly then, tired and warm and pleased with herself in a way that made Ray’s chest hurt for reasons she didn’t want to inspect.

“All right,” Celeste said. “Goodnight, Ray.”

Ray gave a short nod. “Night.”

Celeste rose carefully, wobbled once, then headed back toward the Egg Tree. At the entrance, she paused and looked back.

“Thank you,” she said.

Ray did not answer straight away.

Then, quietly, “Don’t freeze next time.”

Celeste nodded. “I’ll try not to.”

She disappeared inside.

Ray stayed in the yard.

The lanterns swung.

The dummies creaked.

Somewhere above, the white dragon gave a low, rumbling purr, as though she knew exactly what Ray was thinking.

Ray stared at the sliced dummy, at the glowing scar left by Celeste’s Radiant Slice.

Then she looked at the place where Celeste had stood frozen.

Her jaw tightened.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Because Celeste thought they had made progress.

Maybe they had.

But Ray walked away from the training yard more worried than before.