Back at the base, the tension had finally broken like a brittle shell. Laughter echoed through the hall as the team gathered around the cookie table—now affectionately dubbed “The Nommie Table” by Skye, a name that stuck like melted cheese on crust.

Pizza plates were strewn everywhere, the scent of melted cheese, sizzling dough, and victory floating through the room like sacred incense. Somehow, Mezzo had convinced everyone—especially Celeste—to let him create a pizza oven using one of Marzipan’s capsules.

Well.

“Convinced” was generous.

They had asked Marzipan very nicely. There had been clasped paws, polite smiles, and at least one promise not to explode anything important. Marzipan had stared at them for a long, suspicious moment before reluctantly nodding.

She then proceeded to eat an impressive amount of pizza topped with barbecue sauce, pineapple, and chicken, as though this was a perfectly normal decision and not a crime against several culinary councils.

Mezzo watched her from across the table, halfway through a slice of pepperoni pizza loaded with extra cheese and tomato sauce.

“I’m not judging,” he said, absolutely judging. “But barbecue sauce, pineapple, and chicken? On the same pizza? That’s either genius or a cry for help.”

Marzipan took another bite and looked deeply unbothered.

“You laugh,” Mezzo declared proudly, tossing a dough disk in the air with a dramatic spin, “but this oven has witnessed war. This oven is family.”

Celeste actually smiled—a genuine, weary one—and shook her head. “Just make sure the base doesn’t explode, Maestro Mozzarella.”

The group burst out laughing.

It was a strange comfort, finding peace in the smell of pizza and sarcasm after nearly being crushed, torn, and devoured.

Arcade, ever the techie, had been fiddling with the base’s fridge unit, and with a few proud beeps and hums, unveiled his latest discovery.

“It’s not just a fridge,” he explained, standing triumphantly beside the humming monolith. “This baby replicates food and dismantles it down to raw ingredients. Meaning—” he turned to Mezzo, “—yes, you can now have unlimited dough.”

Mezzo gasped. “It’s a miracle. I take back every bad thing I ever said about you. Almost.”

Skye, perched on the back of a couch, held up his deck of custom cards and grinned. “We’ve got gear, grub, and game. Knights of the Nommie Table, assemble!”

Ray rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her grin. “That’s actually… not the worst name we’ve had.”

But amid the humor and warmth, there was something else—growth. They could all feel it. Their bonds had strengthened, their skills had evolved, and with that came new power. Resting on the sugar biscuit plinth, the old magical book— affectionately named The Nommipedia —pulsed faintly with light.

The Nommipedia had started as a mysterious artifact, but now it acted as a living record of their journey. It updated itself with their thoughts and experiences, documenting everything from the types of candy-twisted zombies they’d faced to the names and stats of each team member.

Pitch leaned over, brow arched. “Well, would you look at that. Our eight-legged friend just made the front page.”

The book’s script shimmered:

Boss Entry: The Centerpied. Mandibite
Weakness: Fire-imbued strikes and crippling joint damage.
Status: Defeated.

But just beneath, the letters rearranged again—revealing something none of them expected.

Original Name: Huw Perrin.

The room fell quiet.

Celeste’s ears folded back. “Huw Perrin… he was a person?”

Hughes rested both hands on his crook, his voice low and steady. “They all were. Every one of these creatures. Remember that. Respect it. One day we may find answers, but until then—each time we kill a zombie, we do it mindful of what they used to be.”

Mezzo frowned, tail flicking. “That’s… heavy.”

Pitch shut the book with a snap, though his usual smirk was gone. “Heavy or not, it needed doing. Bug’s down. End of story.”

The Nommipedia pulsed again, pages fluttering as more entries appeared—sketches and notes, almost like it had pulled the team’s collective memories into ink.

Glutonnes.
Huge pig-like donut zombies. Weak point: the exposed frosting core.

Cat-o-Wraps.
Lollipop cats without mouths. Weak point: disrupt their mimicry song before it puts you to sleep.

Hippogums.
Massive gum beasts. Weak point: strike their swollen bellies before they can absorb you whole.

Skye gave a low whistle. “Guess it’s official—our monster-hunting encyclopedia’s alive. Updating itself off our brains, no less.”

Arcade rolled his eyes. “It’s not alive, it’s just… highly adaptive code wrapped in spell-form.”

“Sure,” Skye teased, “and I’m the Solarn of Caerfaen.”

Laughter rippled through the group, the warmth cutting through the lingering shadows of battle. But under the humor, they could all feel it—that shift inside themselves. Their bonds had strengthened. Their skills had sharpened. With each fight, they weren’t just surviving. They were evolving.

The Nommipedia pulsed once more, as if to agree.

As Celeste opened it, a page turned on its own. Ink flowed across the parchment like liquid magic, forming words and diagrams summoned by their progress.

She read aloud:
“Power Unbound – The warrior’s soul expands like a ripple in water. Proximity increased.”

Ray stretched, cracking her knuckles. “Finally. No more synchronized sprints under fire.”

Even C.H.I.P., the little robot, gave an enthusiastic beep and saluted.

The Nommipedia pulsed again. New ink bled across the pages, rearranging into neat lists—weapon combinations, stats, and something new: weaknesses.

Mezzo leaned over her shoulder. “Whoa, check it out—new combo: Inferno Waltz. If I sync my speed with Celeste’s slashes, we can double-hit with fire and steel.”

Celeste’s face lit. “That’s Griffin Blitz—upgraded.”

Pitch smirked. “And here—Shadow Circuit. Me and Arcade. Cards redirect through his drones for a chain lightning crit.”

Arcade’s glasses flashed as he adjusted them. “Finally. Someone acknowledging my genius.”

Skye fanned his deck, ears twitching. “Says here I can weave Ray’s fire into a Radiant Draw for a burning glyph trap.”

Ray’s grin widened. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

But then the glow shifted again.

Team Member Traits:

Mezzo Swift: Impulsive. Rushes ahead without planning.

Celeste Astallan: Hesitant. Second-guesses critical decisions.

Ray: Wrathful. Anger boosts strength but clouds judgment.

Pitch: Cynical. Distrust can strain bonds.

Arcade: Detached. Overthinks, underfeels.

Skye: Anxious. Hesitation when plans go awry.

Lumina: Shadowed. Struggles to define herself outside her sister’s light.

Bonbon: Innocent. Too young for the weight of war, yet eager to belong.

Hughes: Rigid. Bound by tradition, slow to change.

The room went uncomfortably quiet

Ray scowled, slamming Heartbreaker’s butt against the floor. “Wrathful? Really? That book’s got some nerve.”

Pitch snorted, flicking a card through his fingers. “Better than mine. At least your rage hits things. Mine just makes me an ass.”

Mezzo scratched his neck, ears low. “Impulsive’s not that bad… right?”

Celeste shut the book gently, her voice soft. “It’s not wrong. But it doesn’t mean that’s all we are.”

Hughes’ voice cut through, calm but firm. “The Nommipedia doesn’t mock you. It reflects you. Weaknesses can be tempered, just as strengths can be honed. What matters is that you’re aware.”

Ray huffed, crossing her arms, but her ears tipped downward in reluctant agreement.

The book glowed again, ink sketching their newest abilities, weapon arcs, and shining icons of their combos. Despite the sting of honesty, there was a weight of progress in the air—growth they could feel in their bones.

The cookie-table map flickered, sugar runes glowing as Bracer dragged his claw across the projection. One by one, new icons flared into view—larger, darker than the others.

“Generals,” he said simply.

The sugar light painted their shapes in eerie detail. A hulking candy-minotaur stitched with licorice sinew. A phoenix dripping molten caramel. A wisp-like beast with gum-thread wings. And at the very center, coiled around the Gumball like a crown of terror—

The Dragon.

Its name burned crimson across the display. Level 50.

Mezzo choked on his pizza crust. “F-fifty?! We just hit level four! Four! That thing could sneeze and we’d be candy paste!”

Arcade adjusted his glasses with one claw, deadpan. “Correct. Statistically, our survival rate against a level fifty is… nonexistent. Unless we grind. A lot.”

“Grinding?” Ray groaned, crossing her arms. “We’d need an army, not a few late-night training sessions. We crushed Mandibite, sure, but that was one general. This? This is suicide.”

Pitch shuffled his cards with a bitter smirk. “And what makes you think the Council or the mythics would fight for us? We’re nobodies. Pawns. Disposable.”

Celeste bit her lip, then softly shook her head. “That’s true… but maybe—maybe if we try? If we show them we’re serious, that we can stand, maybe someone will listen. We won’t know unless we try.”

Her words lingered. Not conviction, exactly, but the kind of fragile hope that wouldn’t quite die.

Bracer leaned forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as he met hers. “I owe you an apology, Celeste. For what happened on the balcony. I wanted to push you… but not break you.”

Celeste blinked, her cheeks warming. “It’s fine. Really. I’m sorry too—for running off without telling you. I just… I needed answers.”

Pitch arched a brow. “And you found any?”

Celeste hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie. “…I met a lynx. Strange one. Gave me books to read.”

Arcade groaned. “Of course you did. Never a dull day with you, Anime.”

The cookie-table glowed with eerie red icons, the generals’ shapes looming in sugar-light. The room was tense, weighed down by the revelations. Celeste’s eyes lingered on Bonbon, who was curled at the edge of the map with her beaker hat tipped sideways.

Celeste crouched down, voice softening. “And… some books in Welsh. Now I can finally talk to you properly.”

Bonbon’s eyes widened, then she let out a giggle, muffled behind her paw. “Diolch,” she chirped shyly, the Welsh word for thank you warming the air.

Celeste’s smile softened, ears dipping in relief. “See? I understood that one.”

For a moment, something gentle passed through the room.

Then Ray leaned back in her chair, arms folded.

“Celeste.”

Celeste looked up. “Mm?”

Ray’s expression had changed. Not angry, exactly. Sharper than that. Worried, but hiding it badly.

“Is there anything you want to tell the group about your dad?”

The softness drained out of the room at once.

Mezzo groaned, dropping his head back. “Ah, Ray, come on. Let it go.”

“No.” Ray’s eyes didn’t leave Celeste. “I’m serious.”

Mezzo sat up straighter, ears twitching. “We just got five minutes of peace.”

“And we might not get another five if we walk into something blind.” Ray’s voice hardened. “The general knew your dad, Celeste. So I’m asking. If we’re putting our lives in danger, do you know anything? Because I’d be stupid not to ask.”

Celeste’s paws curled into her hoodie.

“I… not really,” she said quietly. “I knew he was in special forces. He was very protective of me and Lumina. That’s all. He was away a lot. Weeks at a time sometimes.”

Ray’s mouth tightened. “And you never had a conversation with him about his job? Not once?”

Celeste looked down.

“No. Not properly.” Her ears sank. “He didn’t like talking about it. Or maybe he wasn’t allowed. I don’t know. He mentioned the Council a lot, and… something called Glyndŵr. That’s all I know.”

The word landed strangely.

Hughes’s eyes gave the faintest flicker.

Pitch’s gaze shifted, just slightly, toward Hughes.

Neither of them said a word.

Ray noticed.

Of course she did.

Her eyes narrowed, but she kept them on Celeste. “Glyndŵr.”

Celeste nodded, small and uncertain. “I think so. I only heard it a few times. I thought it was a place, or a person, or… I don’t know, maybe I misheard. I was little.”

Ray stared at her for another breath, then exhaled through her nose.

“If you remember something, you tell us. Both you and your sister.”

Celeste nodded quickly. “I will. I promise.”

Ray’s face twitched.

“Don’t promise anything you can’t keep,” she muttered. “Heard too much of that bullshit.”

Celeste flinched, but she didn’t argue.

Mezzo looked between them, his usual grin nowhere to be found. Arcade’s fingers hovered near the table controls, but he didn’t touch them. Skye stared at the red icons as if they might suddenly explain everything.

Bonbon reached out and gently patted Celeste’s sleeve.

That tiny touch seemed to hold the room together.

And for the first time in a long while, the team didn’t feel like survivors on the run.

They felt like people standing at the edge of a truth none of them were ready to hear.