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Chapter Text

The flames in Queen Cy’ra’s study flickered softly, casting long shadows over the towering stacks of parchment and bound scrolls. The scent of ink and aged paper mingled with the faint smoky undertones of the ever-burning lanterns that lined the walls, the scent of kindling as familiar to her as the color of the sky. Like every night since Cy’ra took the throne, she sat at her heavy wooden desk and allowed the silence of the night to envelope her, a comfortable quiet that eased the fire that burned within every magicat royal.

Leaning back into her leather bound chair, her sharp eyes scanned the trade agreements laid out before her. The coming winter would be a harsh one, and ensuring the kingdom’s stability was always her priority in order to protect the safety and wellbeing of her people. Bright Moon’s latest proposal lay beneath her fingertips, its seal freshly broken. It was the same agreements as very year with a few added notes like extra venison and furs requested by the neighbouring kingdom.

But the Queen felt herself distracted tonight as the sight of Angela’s flowing script stirred something deep within her—a warmth and longing she rarely indulged in the last few years.

Angela, Micah…

It had been so long since she had seen them, held council in the radiant halls of Bright Moon, basked in the sun with Angela and Micah by her side, and shared whispered jokes over their duties as young rulers with the other Queen or stole away into the night on the rare occasion Cy’ra could convice her best friend to take a break from their responsibilities. She also recalled how she'd exchange clever words with Micah when the young mage had visited the castle, back when the pair still competed for Angela's hand.

They had been the closest of friends, bonded in their youth by ambition, responsibility, and dreams of what Etheria could be and the future they would carve for their kingdoms. Or in Cy’ra's case, the legacy she dreamt she'd build, like in the old songs of her people. 

The last time she had seen them was just after Catra was born and when Angela had presentation her newly adopted daughter, Adora. Afterwards, she had been too busy, too consumed by the weight of ruling Halfmoon alone to visit her friends. And now, time had stolen so many years, making her wonder where it had gone.

A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision snapped Cy’ra back to the present. A shadow, barely there, moving along the edge of the study.

She didn’t react.

Her ears flickered subtlety, nose twitching to catch the intruders scent while her tail stilled so as to not let on her emotions.

Her grip on the parchment remained steady.

Her breathing even, just as her mother had taught her when she was a child.

"A calm mind in battle can be more deadly then any sword."

A predator stalked her from the darkness but

Cy’ra continued reading, pretending not to notice the tiny figure creeping ever closer or the soft clicking of young claws and the rustle of soft paws against the ancient stone floor was nearly imperceptible, yet she had trained her senses far too well.

Another inch closer.

3

2

1

Then—pounce!

A blur of fur and claws launched at her and with effortless grace, Cy’ra twisted, catching the small body mid-air.

Catra let out a squeaky yelp as she found herself dangling upside down, her mother’s firm but gentle grip holding her by the scruff of her tunic. The Queen smiled, watching a pair of blue and gold eyes blinked in surprise before narrowing into a pout.

“You’re too fast,” Catra huffed, crossing her arms, complaining in that whining way only a child could. She didn't struggle in her mothers grasp and merely dangled upside down. She knew there was no point in struggling if her mother was the one who caught her. 

“And you’re too loud,” Cy’ra teased, setting her daughter down on her lap to hug her kit close, her tail flickering and wrapping around Catras own little tail. “You need to learn to even your breathing, to walk as light as a feather, little one.”

Catra gasped, horrified. “I need to breathe! And I was being quiet!" The child retaliated, ignoring her mothers wisdom like most children her age. 

Cy’ra chuckled, tapping her daughter's nose. “Then at least breathe slower when you’re sneaking up on me.” She cuddled her daughter closer and peppered light kisses all over her kits head.

Catra giggled, "Momma!" She wiggled in Cy’ra's grasp but the older magicats hold was too strong. 

"What? Can't I shower my daughter with affection?" Cy'ra continued her onslaught of kisses and light tickling, the kitten giggling. When her child was breathless, fighting weakly against her grasp, Cy’ra ceased her attack and reclinded in her chair with her arms going loose around Catra. 

Her kitten caughted her breath, still laughing just a little. She curled up against her mother’s chest, all pretense of attack forgotten. Cy’ra stroked her daughter’s wild hair absentmindedly, feeling the steady drum of the child’s heartbeat against her own, as well as a small rumble of a purr that the queen couldnt help but echo, her own purr loud like thunder. She glanced outside to see the moon was set.  

"What are you doing up so late?" She glanced at Catra, a little concerned that she might have had a nightmare. 

Catra shrugged, "I don't know. I woke up, and now I can't sleep."

Her mother hummed, "Well you can stay here with me until you do, okay?" Scooping up her daughter, the queen moved to the more comfortable couch closest to the fire. Slumping into it, they both sighed, relaxing into the quiet that filled the room. The older magicat pressed her nose to her daughter's hair, closing her eys as she took in the scent that only belonged to her child.

“I want to be a warrior like the old Magicats,” Catra murmured, her voice above a whisper, as if she didn't want to disturb the silence of the night. “Like the ones from the Age of the First Ones.”

Cy’ra smiled, staring at the crackling firelight. “Do you?” The older magicat remembered herself saying those exact same words as a child. 

“Yeah," she beamed at her mother as she shifted in her lap to look up at her, "I want to fight monsters and protect the kingdom, like in the songs. And…” She trailed off, her ears drooping slightly, seeminglya little embarrassed. “And I want to be just like you.”

Cy’ra’s heart clenched, wondering if this is how her mother felt when she was around this age. 

"Fierce little thing." 

She kissed the top of her daughter's head, inhaling the scent of firewood and wild grass. “You will be, my heart,” she whispered. "Afterall, you are my daughter." Catra nuzzled into her. Cy’ra's purr cane back full force, somehow louder then before as if it were a manifestation of how she could barely contain her love for her youngest child. 

"Momma?"

"Mmh?"

"Tell me a story?"

Cy'ra couldn't help but chuckle. She should have expected that. "Alright, but just one. You have your lessons in the morning."

The kit groaned and fell against her mother dramatically. "But Ton'rak is so boring!"

"Oh, I know. He used to be my tutor too, little one. But it's important that we know our histories, and the world around us, so we may honor our ancestors, and lead our people the way our ancestors expect us to."

Despite her words, her daughter didn't seem all too impressed but resigned anyway. "I know."

Cy’ra couldn't help but smile, giving the younger magicat a squeeze before getting more comfortable. Grabbing the soft fur blanket that was drapped on the back rest of the chair, she wrapped it around both of them. "So, any requests?"

Catra hummed in thought, brows quirked downward. She contemplated hard for a moment before answering, "A story you haven't told me yet." 

C'yra hummed, thinking of a story she had yet to tell. When her eyes caught the stars just outside the window, a very old story came to mind, one her mother had told her once years ago. "Have I ever told you the story of The Star The Would Not Fall?" 

Her kitten shook her head, already enthralled by the story before it had even begun. C'yra adjusted her daughter, and took strands of her think hair in hand. She began to braid Catra’s hair, combing through the dark strands gently and creating simple patterns in the kits hair.

"Long ago, before the first queen, before the Goddess Sera'kai had gifted us with the fire, before even the name Magicat was spoken under the twin moons, the sky was not as we see it now.

There was a star—a star unlike any other—that burned brighter than all the rest.

It was called Va’Ruun, a star that was said to help guide lost Magicats home.

It hung low in the sky, so close that some said a great hunter might leap high enough to touch it. Others whispered that it watched over the Magicats, that it was a protector, a guide, a fire that would never die.

But the sky is vast, and not all stars burn forever.

One night, Va’Ruun began to fall.

The Magicats watched in fear as its light trembled, flickering like a dying ember. The elders warned that if the great star fell, it would be lost forever, and its warmth would never return. That the world would be plunged in darkness and their people would be forgotten. 

"What can be done?" the people cried. "How can we save a falling star?"

"Nothing," the elders answered. "Stars do not belong to us."

But among them was a single kit, no older than the first snowfall, with eyes bright as dawn and a heart full of fire. Her name was Zaya.

"If no one else will try," Zaya said, "then I will."

The elders laughed.

"You are too small, a mere child."

"Your claws are not yet sharp."

"Your paws are too soft to walk the path of the stars."

But Zaya did not listen.

She climbed the tallest tree, then the tallest mountain. She leapt from stone to stone, chasing the star as it wavered, refusing to let it vanish from the sky.

Higher and higher she climbed, until the wind roared in her ears, until the world below was nothing but small, like a colony of ants beneath the child feet.

And there, at the edge of the sky, she made took a deep breath, and made a choice far braver then anyone would expect from such a young child.

She leapt." 

Catra gasped, listening intently to the story with fascination. "Did she fall?" She couldn't help but ask. 

Cy’ra paused for dramatic affect.

"She soared.

And with her tiny paws, she caught hold of the star.

Va’Ruun flared, its fire surging to life once more. But it was still falling, too heavy for a single kit to hold but she did not give up. 

Zaya dug her claws in, refusing to let go.

"Rise," she whispered.

The wind howled.

"Rise," she growled.

The fire burned.

"RISE!"

And the star listened.

The sky answered.

Va’Ruun blazed back to its place among the heavens, burning brighter than ever before."

"And Zaya?" Catra interupted again. 

"Some say the star carried her with it, that she now runs across the sky as a streak of fire, watching over all Magicats who dare to reach for the impossible.

Others say she returned, paws singed with stardust, eyes filled with light, a whisper on her lips:

"A star only falls if it chooses to."

And from that night on, whenever a Magicat looked at Va’Ruun, they remembered that no matter how small, any magicat can do the impossible." 

Catra yawned, teeth flashing in the light of the flames burning in the hearth. "I like that story." 

"Me too," her mother agreed as she finished another braid. Letting go of Catra’s hair, C'yra wrapped the blanket a little tighter around them and pulled her child closer. "Now sleep, little one and dream of chasing the stars." 

The kitten didn't protest, snuggling into the older magicat and quickly feel asleep listening to her mothers soft purrs and steady heartbeat. 

10 YEARS LATER

Queen Cy’ra stood at the grand entrance of Halfmoon’s castle. She was dressed in ceremonial robes, red, bright yellow, and black. The colors of Halfmoon. Her intricately forged long sword was strapped to her hip, as custom decreed for a ruler of Halfmoon on a momentous day such as this. But the Queen looked less then pleased, grinding her jaw in barely contained patients. Her arms were crossed as her tail swept the ground in quick arcs with her ears slightly pinned back. 

Her youngest daughter was missing.

Again.

The Fire Festival was in full preparation as the castle was alive with almost endless activity. Castle staff and civilans alike where decorating the city, hanging various ornaments, flowers and lining the walls and streets with extra touches, and lanters in various colours. The cooks were working tirelessly since dawn preparing food for the fest that evening, enough to feed all of Halfmoon and it's visitors. The smells from the kitchens has filled the halls of Halfmoon, making C'yra's stomach grumble at the scent if spiced meats and roasted onions. She should've eaten breakfast that morning, she realised, but she'd been too excited to see her friends to really think about food that morning. 

Speaking of her friends, the royal family was expecting their closest allies: Queen Angela and King Micah of Bright Moon, along with their daughters, Glimmer and Adora. It was a momentous occasion for it had been far too long since Cy’ra had seen them. The Queen was excited. She felt like a child gain. She'd even gone so far as to count down the days, eager and joyful that she'd be seeing the faces of her childhood and formative years. 

But that didn't stop the growing frustration building inside her when she was told the castle guard couldn't find her daughter anywhere. Meaning she was likely off getting into ancestors know what kind of trouble.

Ly’ra, standing beside her, merely sighed. Afterall this had happened before. Many times, and was unlikely to be the last. “Are you surprised?” she asked dryly, adjusting the deep red fabric of her ceremonial attire. The firelight shimmered off the golden accents, making her every movement look effortless and graceful. “She’s never where she’s supposed to be.”

“Hmm,” Cy’ra grumbled, eyes fixed on the gates. Unfortunately reminded, not for the first time, how much she shared with her youngest. 

Ma’car barely seemed aware of the situation, his nose buried in a book. He was dressed in a simple black tunic and black dress pants, the emblem of the magicats stitched on his chest. Unlike his sister and mother, he held no sword at his side. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly,  still engrossed in an old tome that noted and explained oin great detail of some old researchers understanding of the royal families Fire. “I’m sure she’ll turn up,” he muttered, barely looking up as he rolled his shoulders in hopes of loosening the stiff muscles.

Cy’ra inhaled deeply through her nose before exhaling in resignation. There was no time to send guards after her daughter—not when their guests had just arrived at the gates, signalled by the guard on the wall as he was instructed to do by the Queen when the delegation arrived.

"I'll deal with you sister later. She should count herself lucky it's the Queen of Brightmoon at our gates and not the king of Salineas."

The massive gates to Halfmoon opened, revealing the royal family of Bright Moon. Almost instantly, Cy’raised eyes were drawn to

Angela, who was as radiant as ever. Her presence was warm and bright like the sun itself, and Cy’ra recalled why she had fell for the Queen all those years ago before those feelings of love turned into a deep respect and famile love. Even after all these years, she hadn't changed a bit since the last time Cy’ra had seen her. Micah, standing proudly beside her with his hand interlocked with his wifes, gave Cy’ra a grin as they caught each other's gaze. Trailing closely behind them, she assumed, were their daughters—Glimmer, looking mildly bored as she looked around, and Adora, who looked utterly captivated by everything around her.

When they arrived at the steps Cy’ra greeted them with an all too familiar smirk. The Queen and King bowed, Cy’ra following the gesture. 

"Queen C'yra."

"Queen Angela, King Micah."

A beat passed. Silence fell over them like a vale, the atmosphere almost awkward and stiff. The children shifted, unsure of the sudden silence. Until their parents burst into a fit of laughter, confusing them further as they watched the interaction with quirked brows.

C'yra engulfed the couple in a strong hug, beyond happy to have her friends within arms reach again after so many years.

"It's good to see you again, C'yra," giggled Angella, returning the hug full heartedly. The magicat beamed, her tail subconsciously wrapping around her and Micah.

"It's good to see you too," C'yra let them go, gold irises piercing into them, seemingly studying their appearance for moment. "You look just as young and vibrant as the day we met, Angella," she complimented. "And Micah," she turned her gaze to the King," you don't look a day over 50." His wife laughed behind her hand while Micah's cheeks flushed a deep red.

The King pouted, "I'm only 35." But he crossed his arms and shook his head, smiling despite himself. "It's good to see you're Fire still burns so brightly, Cy’ra. It burns brighter with every sunrise."

The magicat rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter me, Micah, you sound like a kiss ass," she commented, "but its good to see you still acting so young. Those of my court are often so stuffy and boring, I had almost forgotten what it means to have good company." She grasped his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze.The three of them shared a moment between them, taking a second to enjoy the warmth of the atmosphere.

"Queen Angella, King Micah, its good to see you again," pipped up Ly'ra, hand resting on the hilt of her ceremonial long sword as she stepped forward, the gold rings adorning the braids in her hair flashing in the sun. "The last we met I was no more then 10 and my brother 8."

Angella nodded and wrapped the magicat in a warm embrace that the young magicat wasn'texpecting. "You've grown into such a beautiful young woman, Ly'ra. I see you take well after your mother in that regard."

Ly'ra smiled and bowed, "Thank you, your Grace."

Glimmer and Adora watched from the sidelines. Adora wasn't sure what to look at, her eyes roaming the magicat family, from the jewls in their hair, to the swords at their sides. Save for Mac'ar, she noticed, who was without a weapon and was craddling a book as gently as a mother with a new born.

Glimmer on the other hand was merely watching the exchange, waiting for the moment to introduce herself.

"I hope you haven't inherited your mothers sarcasm and sense of humor," joked Micah, holding out his hand to shake, "I can hardly handle one of her, nevermind two."

"Oh trust me, your Grace," she took his forearm, as was traditon for her people to greet each other, though her grip much stronger than expected, "I am far worse." Her tail lashed, excited. The king almost fell over. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost considering how pale he became.

C'yra drapped an arm around her daughter, laughing along side her at the look of utter terror engraved on Micah's face. "You were saying, old man?"

Angella interupted, beginning to feel pitty for her husband. "And you must be, Mac'ar." The black magicat coughed awkwardly into his hand. Ears pinned back, he nodded. His tail curled and uncurled. "Just as shy as when he was a boy," thought Angella, taking his hand in a gentle handshake.

Mac'ar, the girls noticed, was far more timid compared to the rest of his family. Almost the same height as his mother and yet seemingly as harmless as a fly.

"It's nice to see you, Auntie Angella - I mean Queen Angella." He stuttered. Gribbing the strap of his satchel that rested across his chest, Mac'ar felt his face grow warm. He had never been more grateful that his fur was black.

Angella waved it off. "Please, call me whatever you feel comfortable with, Mac'ar. You're practically family after all."

He nodded sheepishly and turned to greet Micah. His ears twitched, his tail moving slightly higher when he shook hands woth him the way his sisted had done a moment earlier. Before even a word could transpire between them however, C'yra clasped her son by the shoulder and smiled proudly. "Micah, Mac'ar here has been studying magic since you saw him."

"Oh?"

Marc'ar's face grew even more red. He preyed no one could see it through his dark complexion but judging by his sister's teasing smirk and his mothers encouraging smile he doubted it. Letting go of the kings arm, he clutched at his satchel strap hard, claws digging into the leather.

"Yep!" C'yra added, "and he has some great theories on royal bloodlines and the inheritance of magic. I think you'd be interested."

Micah hummed. "Mac'ar I'd be more then interested to hear your theories. Your mother has told me time and time again through letters of your prowess in your studies. I'd like to hear about your generations perspective is on the whole thing."

"I," he gaped. Unsure of what to say so he simply nodded and his grip loosened, if only a little. Letting go iof her son, C'yra sent him a look of approval and turned her attention to Glimmer and Adora, who stood straighter when they noticed her gaze.

"Glimmer, Adora look how you've grown," Cy'ra pulled them into a sudden hug, the girls' squeaking in surprise. "The last I saw you, you were barely old enough to walk."

"Aunt Cy’ra! It's good to see you too!" Glimmer recovered faster then her sister, beaming brightly at the older woman, and made to grip her arm like she'd seen her father do. Cy’ra was happy to see the princess adhere to their traditions.

"I love your sword," Adora said the first thing that came to mind, unsure of what else to say.

Cy’ra was caught off guard for a moment, but shrugged it off. Letting go of Glimmer, she stepped back and pulled out her long sword. Turning the blade in her hand, the sharp edge pointed to the ground, she held it out for the blonde to see. "Care to take a closer look?"

Adora almost cried out in joy as she quickly but gently grabbed the hilt of the weapon to take a better look. Her eyes quickly caught the sight of beautiful, intricate engraving on the hilt and blade, the steel flashing a brilliant blue in the sunlight.

"Adora has a thing for weapons," Glimmer laughed, nudging her sister who smiled sheepishly.

"We should take you to see the smiths then. Have you been taught in sword play?" The magicat Queen asked, genuinely curious. Before the blonde could answer, her mother replied for her.

"As much as I'd prefer if neither of them even looked at one," interrupted Angela, "Micah convinced me to let them learn before they lost a limb trying to teach themselves," she smiled at her daughter's mirrored bashful smiles.

"Ignore your mother, there's nothing wrong with learning how to fight," rebuttled Cy’ra, Micah agreeing with her as he wrapped a arm around his wife.

"It's a good to know how to defend yourself. You never know when you'll need it." He added.

Angela rolled her eyes and ignored them. She looked around, confused. "Where's Catra?"

Cy’ra resisted the urge to groan. She had hoped Angela wouldn't notice. “She is… occupied elsewhere at the moment.” She hoped the excuse would be enough.

Micah laughed. “Sneaking away is she? She’s exactly like you at that age. I remember when you used to disappear from formal meetings just to avoid wearing ceremonial robes.”

Ly’ra snorted, but Cy’ra gave Micah a pointed look. “Careful Micah, or i might feel inclined to share your own blunders when you first came into your title.”

Micah glared, almost daring her. A moment past when they burst into laughter together, falling into easy conversation, teasing and reminiscing.

Meanwhile, Ma’car amd Ly'ra moved to greet the princesses. "It's nice to meet you both. Please, if you need anything, let us know," Ma'car offered, sounding as formal as any prince.

"And I'll be happy to show you around the castle." Ly'ra added with a polite grin. "With your permisson, Mother?" 

"I would love to take a look around!" Adora grinned like a child on Christmas as she looked up from the sword, gaze still fixed on the beautifully crafted weapon. 

Cy’ra paused her conversation with her friends, and nodded, pleased with her daughter. "That's alright with me, but take your brother along. Perhaps he could share some of The Old Stories," she turned her gaze to Ma’car who looked ready to protest but paused upon seeing his mothers expectant look, brow raised. 

"Of course, Mother," he tried and failed to hide his disappointment. He had planned to return to the library to continue his readings, but of course, fate had other plans. 

Ly’ra chuckled, "Come along, there's is much to see before the ceremony begins." 

MEANWHILE

Far from the ceremonial halls and royal greetings, Catra was running along the rooftops of Halfmoon.

Her bare feet barely made a sound as she leapt between the buildings, her heart pounding with exhilaration. The festival preparations below were beautiful—lanterns glowing in a hundred different colors, food stalls already bustling, the scent of spiced meats and roasted nuts filling the air. But Catra wasn’t interested in the festival right now as she continued to vault along the rooftops, getting lost in the feeling of the wind in her hair and blood rushing in her ears.

She completely forgot that the delegation from Brightmoon was meant to arrive today and ancestors have mercy on her when her mother finds out.

Chapter Text

"The kingdom of Halfmoon is one of the oldest on Etheria,” Ly’ra explained as they walked through the ancient halls. Massive stone-carved murals lined the walls, illuminated by enchanted lanterns, depicting warriors with flowing cloaks and eyes like fire. Adora trailed behind her, absorbing every detail as her fingers lightly traced the carvings. Glimmer stood off to the side, hiding her fascination behind a bored expression. 

This was the first stop on their tour. 

The First Halls, Ly’ra had informed them. 

Ma’car, stifling a yawn, added, “The first Queen of Halfmoon, a warrior as legendary as She-ra herself, united the clans and faught against the Great Enemy.”

Glimmer eyes snapped to him, interest suddenly piqued. “The Great Enemy?”

Mac'ar locked eyes with the princess for a moment before stepping aside to reveal a dark, sot covered carving of tall figures, unlike the other much smaller detailings, this one covered the entire wall. Glimmer had to stop herself from taking a step back, reminding herself that they were nothing more then old drawings.She noticed how their eyes seemed almost unseeing, unblinking despite being nothing but carvings. 

"A darkness unlike anything Etheria had ever seen. We know very little about them, our knowledge of the Great Enemy lost to time. But it is said that they consumed everything they touched, turning everything to ash even as the walked the plains of Etheira and talking all life with them." 

"But thankfully," Ly'ra interupted, "with the help of She-ra, we were able to stop them." She walked up to the intimidating depiction, brushing her hand along the dark, ash covered wall.

"She-ra?" Adora quirked a brow. She'd heard stories, of course she had, but she hadn't heard this particular one.

Ly’ra gave her a knowing glance. “Yes. The bond between Halfmoon and She-Ra is as ancient as even the oldest stone in Halfmoon. It is said that in the final battle, the first queen of Halfmoon stood beside She-Ra against the Great Enemy, and drove them off with fire and blood.” The princess turned her gaze to the top of the opposite wall. The group followed and stared at the intricate depiction of what looked like a magicat clasping arms with unnaturally tall woman, bright yellow paint surrounding them.

Adora fell silent, her hands curling slightly into fists, her gaze drawn to the carving like a moth to a flame. 

Ma'car continued, “She-Ra has always had allies, and Halfmoon has always stood among them." 

Adora’s expression was unreadable, but Ly’ra noticed the way she stood just a little straighter, her shoulders ridged and stiff. It piqued her interest.

“You’re really into this,” Glimmer said, nudging Adora and pulling her out of her trance. 

“I just think it’s… interesting,” Adora said, though her voice was quieter now, unable to make of the strange feeling of familiarity stirring in her gut. 

"There's more to see," Ly'ra gestured for them to follow. Adora hesitated but reluctantly trailed after them. 

The scent of warm spiced tea drifted through the open balcony, mingling with the crisp afternoon air. Below, the streets of Halfmoon were alive with festival preparations, laughter echoing as children dashed through the market stalls. Above it all, the three rulers sat together, bathed in golden sunlight, as their conversation drifted from politics to the far more entertaining topic of their children.

“Ly’ra has grown into quite the young lady,” Angella observed, resting her chin in her palm. “She certainly lacks a lot of your more... spirited nature at that age.”

Cy’ra huffed a quiet laugh, tracing the rim of her cup. “Something I often find myself grateful for. I gave my mother enough gray hairs before I even took the throne.” Her tail flicked lazily as she smirked. “Ly’ra’s far more disciplined. Her control over the Fire is exceptional. She even holds council in my stead from time to time.”

“An impressive feat,” Micah mused, raising his cup in acknowledgment. “I know how worried you were when you first became pregnant—afraid you wouldn’t be able to prepare her properly.”

Cy’ra’s smirk softened into something fonder. “She’ll be ready when the time comes. I don’t doubt that.”

Angella tilted her head, studying her old friend. “Has she exercised her right to Challenge yet?”

The question made Cy’ra chuckle, her shoulders easing. “I was a wild troublemaker who would do anything to win my independence. I don’t place as many restrictions on Ly’ra as my mother did on me. She’s free to roam, free to make her own choices, within reason of course.”

Micah chuckled into his tea. “You were more than just a troublemaker, Cy’ra. I still remember the day you first arrived in Brightmoon the day we met—how you'd drunkenly setting a tavern ablaze and knocking half the royal guard on their asses.”

Cy’ra nearly choked on her drink, spluttering. “That—! That was an accident!”

Angella smirked. “Oh? I seem to recall you shouting, ‘Let it burn!’”

Micah grinned at his friends pain, the magicat queen groaned, rubbing her temples. “I was eighteen and extremely stupid. And I paid to have the tavern rebuilt! I don’t see why you both insist on remembering that one particular moment of my youth.” 

“Because it was hilarious,” Angella quipped, and Micah nodded in agreement.

Cy’ra rolled her eyes but smirked anyway. “Well, if we’re going to relive my most humbling moments, what about yours, dear Angella? If I recall, someone once tried to arrest me under the assumption that I was a bandit.”

Angella groaned, shaking her head. “You were drunk in an alley threatening a merchant with a sword, Cy’ra! What was I supposed to think?”

Micah snorted into his cup, and Cy’ra raised her hands in mock innocence. “I was haggling! And I won that argument, mind you.”

Angella shot her a knowing look. “Only because the poor man was terrified.”

The three of them laughed, the warmth of shared history settling comfortably between them.

As the laughter faded, Micah leaned forward, shifting the conversation. “And what of your other children? Do they share your independent streak?”

Cy’ra’s expression softened slightly. “Mac’ar favors knowledge over the sword. He’s becoming a great scholar, much like his father.”

Micah nodded approvingly. “Nothing wrong with that. The world needs more scholars.” 

“And Catra?” Angella asked.

The humor in Cy’ra’s eyes dimmed just slightly. “Catra... she takes after me in many ways. Stubborn, sharp-tongued, quick-witted.” She hesitated before adding, “But she has yet to manifest her Fire.”

Angella and Micah exchanged a glance.

“That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Micah asked carefully. "Shouldn't it have manifested by her thirteenth year, at least?"

“It should have,” Cy’ra admitted. “All my children should be able to call upon it by now. Ly’ra had full control by her twelfth year, and even Ma'car is able to bend the flames to his will. But Catra—nothing.” Her tail flicked once against the stone floor. “She compensates well enough in other ways. She's fierce, fast, a natural fighter.” She exhaled through her nose. “But without Fire, she will never hold claim to the throne, as the Elders love to remind me every chance they get.”

Angella furrowed her brows in worry. “Does she want it?”

“I don’t know,” Cy’ra admitted. “And I think that frightens me more than anything else.”

A moment of silence settled between them before Micah cleared his throat. “And Hakon? Does he have any presence in their lives?”

The magicat queen let out a sharp laugh. “You remember how awkward he was, surely? The man practically stammers at his own shadow.”

Angella and Micah chuckled knowingly, a little grateful that their friend has pulled herself out of her somber thoughts. 

Cy’ra leaned back against her chair. “The deal was that he didn’t need to play a role in their lives if he didn’t want to.” She swirled the remnants of her tea. “But he’s around. Watches them from afar. I think it’s his way of caring.”

Micah hummed. “He’ll come around. Perhaps he’s just unsure of how to approach them.”

“Perhaps,” Cy’ra allowed, though she didn’t sound convinced. She shook off the thought and set down her cup. “But enough about my children—what of Glimmer and Adora? Glimmer must be coming into her magic by now.”

Angella let out a long sigh. “She’s... impatient.”

Cy’ra smirked knowingly. “Like her mother?”

Micah grinned as Angella shot Cy’ra a mild glare before relenting. “She does show promise. She’s determined, so I doubt it will take her long to gain full control.”

Cy’ra nodded. “With a mother as old as half a century and a father who was the youngest prodigy in Mystacore history, I’d say she’ll be just fine.” Angella rolled her eyes at the age comment but smirked. 

“Glimmer mentioned that Adora has a fondness for weapons,” she added, smoothly shifting the conversation.

Micah beamed. “She’s relentless in training. A dreamer, but determined. She and Glimmer ride out to the Whispering Woods with Bow often.”

That caught Cy’ra off guard. Her ears pricked forward, eyes sharp. “The Whispering Woods? I’m surprised you let them anywhere near that place, Angella.”

Angella sighed. “I’d rather they go with my knowledge than sneak off. They haven’t run into trouble—yet. And Bow knows the Woods as well as the back of his hand."

Cy’ra hummed, tapping a claw idly against the table. “Speaking Adora, I heard an odd story about her once.” Micah and Angella both went still, but Cy’ra continued as though she hadn’t noticed. “Something about how she was found.” She tilted her head slightly. “It’s not every day that a newborn appears in the middle of a field.”

Angella’s fingers curled slightly around her cup. “She was a child abandoned in the wake of an accident. It happens.”

“A large accident,” Cy’ra mused, watching them closely now. “An explosion, wasn’t it?”

Micah hesitated, then exhaled. “The guards found her at the center of the blast site.”

“Unharmed?”

“Yes.”

Cy’ra sat back in her chair, tail flicking thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

Angella narrowed her eyes slightly. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” Cy’ra smiled, but there was something sharp behind it. “It’s just a strange set of circumstances, that’s all. A babe, appearing from nowhere, standing in the wreckage of something powerful enough to leave a crater.”

Angella’s expression remained unreadable.

Cy’ra tapped a claw against the table again, thoughtful. “And no sign of magic?”

“None,” Micah confirmed, though there was a flicker of something hesitant in his voice.

Cy’ra studied them both, then hummed, picking up her cup once more.

“If you say so.”

On the otherside of the city Catra was running along the rooftops of Halfmoon, her bare feet silent against the cool stone as she took in a breathe of fresh air. It was mid-afternoon, and the sky was coloured in gorgeous oranges and bright blue skies. Coming to a stop at the edge of building, just below the central bell tower, the princess panted as she overlooked the kingdom. 

The festival would be starting soon. 

Instead of returning home however, Catra look a moment to take it all in. The streets were alive, children running about, playing with wooden swords while their parents rushed to finish the final touches before opening ceremony. Music was already beginning to fill the streets, a sound that Catra couldn't help but melt into. A gust of wind tussled her hair, the silver and gold rings decorating her braids clicking against each other. 

“BOO!" 

Catra barely stopped herself from hissing as someone dropped down beside her, landing with feline ease despite not being a feline at all. 

Lonnie grinned, arms crossed. “You’re slacking, princess.”

Catra rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to drop in, Lonnie," the magicat gritted through her teeth, smoothing down the fluff of her tail. 

“Don't pretend like you aren't happy to see me," Lonnie grinned, leaning against the wall of the bell tower.

Catra clicked her tongue, "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be out in the wastes with Huntara?" 

The other woman laughed, "Oh please, I've come to every Fire Festival since we were like, thirteen. I'm not about to miss out on free food and beer." 

The magicat chuckled, "Funny you say that but you always manage to get kicked out every year before the festival even ends." 

"Hey it's not my fault your mother has a stick up her ass," Lonnie pulled a rolled paper from where it was tucked behind her hair, "Managed to learn how to sprout flames yet?" She wiggled the joint for emphasis but Catra didn't find it the least bit funny as she glared at her oldest friend. "Okay, okay," the other woman held up her hands in surrender before resting the joint between her lips lazily. "Genuine question though." 

Catra sighed and smiled despite the small sting of anguish in her stomach. Using her tail, she reached for one of the nearby touchs and plucked it from the wall. Taking it in hand, she held to out to Lonnie who leaned forward, letting the torch’s flame catch the tip of her joint before taking a slow inhale. 

“You know, if I had magic like your family, I’d be lighting my own joints by now, make it a cool trick, you know?” Lonnie tried to make light of the conversation.

Catra huffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah? Well, if I had magic like them, I’d be doing a whole lot more than that.”

Lonnie exhaled a slow ring of smoke, watching it drift into the warm festival air. “Still nothing then?”

Catra didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced down at the flickering torch in her hand, her tail swaying behind her with her ears slightly pricked back. She hated talking about it. Hated the way people—her mother—looked at her whenever the topic came up. Like she was some injured animal begging for help from anyone who offer it. Catra had the Fire of the goddess running through her viens, the descendant of the first queen, and daughter of one of the most legendary warriors of magicat history, goddammit!

And yet, she couldn’t summon so much as a spark.

She clicked her tongue and smothered the torch against the stone, watching it distinguish. “Not your problem." 

Lonnie held up her hands. “Fair enough.” Despite her words, the woman looked at her friend with a look of slight pitty before hiding it behind a grin and offering the lit joint to the magicat. Catra didn't hesitate before plucking it from her fingers. Down below the people were beginning to make their way to the main stage at the center of the Kingdom.

"I was wondering when you were gonna share that." She quickly took a long breathe, feeling her shoulders settle as the weed invaded her lungs.

They sat in easy silence, the golden glow of the festival stretching out before them. They simply watched everything unfold below them. 

Lonnie broke the quiet. “So, why aren’t you back at the castle with your family?”

Catra scoffed. “What, you think I’m gonna spend the afternoon listening to Ly'ra recite festival history for the third time this week?” She pitched her voice into a dramatic, high-pitched lilt. “‘Actually, Catra, the Eternal Fire symbolized the unbreakable spirit of our people—’”

Lonnie snorted, choking on a laugh. “‘—And as future ruler, you must respect our sacred traditions, lest you bring great dishonor upon the royal bloodline—’”

They both dissolved into laughter.

“Stars, she’s unbearable,” Catra wheezed.

“She really is,” Lonnie agreed, wiping at her eyes. “I dont know how you deal with it because if I had to hear the same lecture as many times as you have I would have gone out of my way to find the Eternal Flame and thrown myself in head first."

Catra smirked. “What makes you think I haven't tried?.” 

Lonnie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head. “Honestly, though, I figured you’d be locked in the palace getting ready for the opening ceremony. Not sneaking around on rooftops like some street rat, that's more my thing."

Catra shrugged. “They can start without me.” She took another breathe of the joint, holding it and passing it to Lonnie as she slowly exhaled. 

Lonnie arched a brow, accepting it and taking her own pull. “And your mom’s okay with that?”

Catra’s tail flicked, but she kept her expression neutral. “She doesn’t exactly have a choice.”

Lonnie let out a low whistle. “Damn. Must be nice to be a princess.”

Catra didn’t answer.

The silence stretched between them, but before Lonnie could pry any further, something moved.

Catra tensed. At first, she thought it was a trick of the firelight, a flickering shadow between the stalls. But then it moved against the light, shifting unnaturally, like a smear of darkness bleeding through the flames. It irrly reminded her of the depiction of the Great Enemy on the castle walls, like black smoke.

She narrowed her eyes, ears pricked forward and eyes dilalated. She sat on her hunches, leaning over the side as she watched closely. Part of her wondered if the weed was making her hallucinate. 

Lonnie caught the change in her expression, the way the feline looked ready to dive into a fight “What?” She sat up straighter and snuffed the joint of the roof. 

Catra didn’t answer, her gaze locked on the rooftops below. There. A figure, barely visible, slipping between the warm glow of festival lanterns. It didn’t walk—it drifted, its form twisting like smoke, unraveling and reforming in the flickering light.

Her breath hitched.

Without thinking, she stood up.

Lonnie blinked. “Catra?”

“Stay here.”

“Like hell I will.” Lonnie's hand quickly settled on the staff strapped to her back, eyes roaming the streets still unsure of what Catra was seeing but ready to follower her. 

Catra ignored her. With one final glance at the dark figure, she bolted, launching herself across the rooftops in pursuit. Lonnie followed closely behind her. 

Both women barely registered the distant rhythm of drumming, or the sun beginning to set on the horizon. 

Chapter Text

Adora and Glimmer followed closely behind Ly'ra and Mac'ar as they walked through the winding halls of the Halfmoon palace. Ly'ra moved with quiet authority, her hands folded behind her back, tail flicking idly just above the ground. Mac’ar, more relaxed, kept pace with their guests, the old tome he carried tucked securely under one arm.

"So, is this the first time you've been invited to the Fire Festival?" he asked, his tone light with curiosity.

Glimmer shrugged. "We’ve been invited a few times. Mom and Dad went when they were younger, apparently."

"And this is the first one you’ve attended because…?"

Adora and Glimmer shared a glance before shrugging. "Not sure," Adora admitted. "Last year, we were in Plumeria for Perfuma’s birthday." She trailed her fingers over the carvings along the walls as she spoke, the intricate details capturing her attention.

"And the year before that, we were dealing with a flooding issue in the lower valley," Glimmer added. Her brows furrowed as she counted on her fingers. "And the year before that—"

"In other words, something always comes up," Ly’ra cut in, throwing a glance over her shoulder, her brow raised in amusement.

"Pretty much," Glimmer laughed.

Mac’ar smirked. "Well, you’re in for a treat. The Fire Festival is the event of the year. Singing, dancing—"

"And enough wine to keep an entire kingdom entertained," Mac’ar continued with a grin before his sister could finish.

Ly’ra sighed, shaking her head. "You make us sound like drunks."

Mac’ar chuckled. "I make us sound like people who know how to enjoy themselves."

"A little too much, if you ask me," Ly’ra muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She led them through an archway into another corridor, this one lined with striking carvings of half-moons, clawed hands, and flames. The stone seemed almost alive in the flickering lantern light, shadows shifting as though the figures were moving.

Adora reached out, running her fingers along the depiction of a warrior raising their sword to a blazing sun. "You weren’t kidding," she murmured, eyes tracing the details. "Your people take this festival seriously."

Mac’ar stepped beside her, nodding. "It’s more than just a celebration. The Fire Festival began as a way to honor our ancestors, those who fought to build and protect Halfmoon. It’s a reminder of where we came from and what we stand for."

"And it’s held on the longest night of the year because—"

Before Mac’ar could finish, Adora turned to him, eyes bright with excitement. "Because when the sun finally rises, it symbolizes resilience! A tradition that reminds the people of Halfmoon that no matter how long the darkness lasts, light will always return!"

She smiled, clearly proud of herself for remembering the detail from her studies, but the moment was short-lived. She quickly noticed the way Mac’ar, Ly’ra, and Glimmer were all staring at her.

Mac’ar blinked. Ly’ra raised a brow. Glimmer, smirking, leaned in. "You studied for this, didn’t you?"

Adora flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I just—well, yeah. I didn’t want to mess anything up. I figured it was better to know the customs instead of—" She groaned. "Instead of stepping on a sacred flower again."

Glimmer outright laughed. "I knew you were still embarrassed about that!"

Mac’ar tilted his head. "Sacred flower?"

Glimmer was all to ready to answer that question, grinning like wolf while Adora groaned in defeat."Okay, so picture this: Perfuma invites us to this super fancy sweet sixteen, all ‘peace and harmony,’ flowers everywhere—

"Glimmer—"

"—and Adora, in all her Golden Girl glory, sits down right in the middle of a sacred garden. Right on top of their sacred flower." Even as Glimmer recalls the mishap she struggles to hold in a laugh, giggling in between her words.

Ly'ra blinked. "She what?"

"I didn’t know!" Adora cried, her face burning as she gestured her hands wildly.  "Perfuma told me to sit! I thought it was just grass!"

Glimmer cackled. "It glowed when you sat on it!" She fell into a fit of laughter, struggling to breathe.

"Yeah, because it was dying!"

That sent her sister into a louder fit of laughter, holding her sides in pain from the comedic image that appeared. "You're butt glowed like a fireflies for the rest of the day!"

Ly’ra hid her smile behind her hand while Mac’ar tried—and failed—to hold back laughter. "Okay, that’s actually impressive."

"It was humiliating," Adora muttered. She turned back to Mac’ar. "So, yeah, I was not about to let that happen here, especially something as important as the Fire Festival so I read about your customs, your traditions—I even looked up the proper greeting so I wouldn’t, I don’t know, disrespect your ancestors or something."

Ly’ra huffed humouredly, folding her arms as her tail flickered, "Well, that’s more effort than most visitors put in." She smiled at the blonde to ease her nerves.

Mac’ar gave Adora a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Relax. You’d have to try really hard to mess up worse than that. The Fire Festival isn't as strict as it sounds. A lot of people use it as s good excuse to let loose and have fun," he reassured her.

Adora felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders, comforted by Mac’ar’s reassurance. But when she glanced at Glimmer, she found her grinning like she knew something Adora didn’t.

"What?" Adora asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, nothing," Glimmer said, all too innocently. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she added, "I just can’t wait to see how you manage to mess this up—no matter what they say."

Adora shot her a glare before shoving her playfully. "Oh, ha-ha, very funny."

Glimmer laughed but didn’t deny it.

Ly’ra smiled and rolled her eyes, already walking ahead. "Come on, you two. We have two more stops before we wrap up the tour."

They followed her into a new corridor, this one different from the rest. Unlike the enclosed halls they had seen so far, this one was lined with stained glass windows that let in streams of golden sunlight. The warmth of it spilled over the smooth stone floors, casting soft, colourful patterns of light against the walls.

Adora exhaled, letting the warmth settle over her like a second skin. It wasn’t just the sun—it was comforting in a way she couldn’t quite explain, sending a pleasant tingle down her spine like when you feel the sun for the first time after winter.

Ly’ra led them down a set of stairs and into an open yard where weapons of all kinds lined the walls—swords, spears, axes, and even a few exotic-looking blades that Adora had never seen before. The training grounds were scattered with practice dummies, some looking far worse for wear than others, their straw stuffing spilling out from deep gashes.

Adora's eyes lit up the moment she took it all in. "Whoa," she breathed, immediately beelining for the nearest rack of weapons. She reached out before catching herself, hesitating just before touching the hilt of a curved sword. "Can I—can I hold this? Please?"
Mac’ar smirked. "Go for it."

"But don't play with it if you haven't been trained to use it. Your mother and mine will skin us alive if you get hurt," Ly'ra warned.

Adora quickly saluted in understanding, "Yes ma'am!" Before eagerly grabbing the blade as fast as a child who had just been told they can grab as many sweets as they want. Ly'ra rolled her eyes, deciding it would be best to stand closer to make sure the younger girl didn't accidently cut off a finger.


The blonde tested the weight, almost mesmerised by the way the metal glittered in the sun. "This is amazing," she gushed, giving it an experimental swing. "What is this, a crescent blade? The balance is so good—do you guys train with these regularly? Are they more for ceremonial purposes, or actual combat?"

"For combat mostly but they're sometimes used in ceremonial combat like The Proving-" Mac’ar began to go on a tangent with Adora hanging on to his every word as if it were gospel.

Glimmer, meanwhile, had her arms crossed, watching her sister with amusement before turning to Ly’ra. "So… where are all the guards?"

Ly’ra chuckled at the contrast between the two sisters, their dynamic remind her of Catras and Mac’ar. "Everyone who lives in the castle has been given leave to join their families until the festival is over," she explained. "That way, they can celebrate the way our ancestors intended—surrounded by loved ones."

"But doesn’t that leave the castle completely unprotected? My mom told me that the crowd can get a little… rowdy after a few drinks."

Ly'ra waved her off. "Don’t worry, the guards are still expected to be on alert while they enjoy the festival. Most of them have a drink limit, and honestly, our mother handles most of the fights herself so the guards actually get to enjoy the celebration."

"Wait," Glimmer said, narrowing her eyes. "You're telling me your mom is the festival’s bouncer?"

Ly’ra smirked. "It gives people a lot less reason to start trouble when they know the legendary Cy’ra will be the one dragging them out. That woman scares the hell out of most people."

"And I honestly I don't blame them," added Mac’ar, seemingly finished telling Adora the uses of a cresent blade. Behind him, the blonde was experimentally swinging the blade in slow arcs, already forgetting what Ly'ra told her earlier.

Noticing this Mac’ar clapped his hands, the sound drawing Adora’s attention away from the blade before she could get too carried away. “Alright, before you decide to run off with our weapons, how about we finish the tour? There’s just one last stop—the Sun Tower.” He gestured to the tallest tower in the entirety of Halfmoon. It was taller then the entire castle and from what they could tell, was likely the oldest structure to boot.

The weathered stone reached so high it nearly seemed to touch the sky from where they stood near the base. It was built from pale gold limestone, though time and nature had crept in, weaving veins of moss and flowering vines through the cracks in the stone.

Adora noticed the base of the tower was broad, lined with great carved pillars with each etched with swirling Magicat script that had faded in some places. Despite its worn state, the tower seemed unshakable.

"You guys aren't scared of heights are you?" Joked Ly'ra upon noticing Adora and Glimmer's gaped mouths. She walked ahead of the group again, gesturing for them to follow.

The blonde shook her head and reluctantly set the crescent blade back onto the rack with a sigh. “Fine, fine. But I will be coming back here later.”

Mac’ar chuckled. “I figured as much.” He turned and started following after his sister.
The were lead through another stone archway, this one opening up into wide stone steps that spiraled toward the top in dizzing circles. Unlike the rest of the castle, which was warm and lively, this part was quieter, the air cooler as they began their ascent.

“So,” Glimmer started, trailing a few steps behind. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how many people live here? I mean, I know it’s a royal palace, but you two make it sound more… lived in than most castles I’ve visited.”

Ly’ra hummed in thought. “Well, it’s not just us and the guards," her voice echoed, filling the almost hallowed out tower. "There are a handful of council members, healers, artisans, and some of the best warriors in Halfmoon, even some scholars from Mystacore. And, of course, there’s—”

“—Catra,” Mac’ar finished, smirking. "We apologize that our younger sister wasn't here to greet you. She tends to..."

"Avoid responsibility like the plague?" Ly'ra cut him off with an unamused look. She looked over her shoulder at the younger girls, "Don't take it personally. You're not the first princesses she's done this too, and I can bet my favourite dress that it won't be the last."

Mac’ar sighed but smiled at their guests. "She'll likely show up just before the festival starts."

~10 minutes later~

Glimmer let out an exaggerated sigh. “How many more steps are there? I can barely feel my legs anymore!” They stopped to take a break. Ly’ra leaned against the wall while Mac’ar and Adora were looking out one of the windows. They're were pretty high up at that point but when Glimmer placed upward she couldn't help but groan when she realised they still had a while to go before they reached the top.

Adora, who had been enjoying the climb so far, glanced at her. “You could just teleport, you know.”

Glimmer shot her a look, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “It’s not that simple, Adora. Teleporting takes more than just waving a hand around. It’s tricky, especially without a clear visual of where I’m going.” She stretched her legs, feeling the strain of the climb on her lower body.

“Plus, my connection to the Runestone is still... inconsistent.”

Ly’ra raised an eyebrow at that. “The Brightmoon Runestone, right? I’ve heard of it. You’re still learning to connect with it?”

Glimmer nodded, looking a little sheepish as she scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah. My dad was a prodigy when it came to magic. He studied at Mystacore and could practically bend magic to his will so he’s been trying to train me when he can, but...” She trailed off, a touch of frustration creeping into her voice. “I don’t know, it’s hard to forge a steady connection to the runestone. It’s like... it’s there, but not quite. I can feel the magic, but it’s unpredictable. Sometimes I can teleport just fine, and other times, I end up halfway across the room, or worse, in some random place in the castle."

Mac’ar, who had been listening intently, turned away from the view from the window. "The Brightmoon Runestone is a powerful artifact. If you’re still trying to form that connection, I imagine it requires a deep understanding of the stone itself, as well as the magic you’re drawing from it."

Glimmer nodded, relieved to find someone understand what she means. "Exactly. It’s not like I’m not trying, but there’s a lot more to it than just thinking and imagining myself suddenly spawn somewhere. The runestone’s power is tied to the history of Etheira itself, and connecting with that—well, it’s a long process," she shrugged, a little defeated.

"Hey, you'll get the hang of it. Remember you only just got your powers," reassured Adora with an encouraging smile as she rested a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder. Her sister smiled, appreciating her words.

"Have you tried focusing more on the history of the stone itself?" Mac’ar asked, scratching thoughtfully at the thick fur around his neck. "Understanding its origins might help. Often, with ancient magic, the connection goes beyond just the physical act—it’s about understanding the significance of the source, the intentions behind it."

Ly’ra hummed, "Sounds like something you’d study for years at Mystacore. But then again, with your father’s background, I’m sure you’ve got a solid foundation to build on. The challenge is likely more about unlocking that deeper connection."

Glimmer sighed, "I hope so. Dad’s been pushing me to really work with the runestone, but... sometimes it feels like I’m not getting anywhere. Like, I’m trying to forge a bond with something that’s too big for me to grasp."

Mac’ar nodded, his expression growing more serious as he tought back on all the books he'd read. "The runestones are ancient, and their magic is older than most of Etheria. But with time, patience, and proper study, I think you’ll find the key to unlocking its full potential."

Glimmer couldn’t help but beam, the weight of her father’s expectations and her own self-doubt lightening just a little under their encouragement. "I hope so. Thanks for the advice."

Ly’ra pointed ahead, interrupting the conversation. "Alright, enough about runestones. We’re almost there. One last push to the top."

The group continued up the final stretch of stairs, the air growing thinner as they climbed higher. When they finally reached the top, the view unfolded before them in a way that left both Adora and Glimmer momentarily speechless. The Sun Tower stood proudly above the city, offering an unparalleled panoramic view of Halfmoon.
The golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm, amber glow, making the giant gold brazier atop the tower shine as if it were a beacon for all to see.

The city below stretched out in all directions, a sprawling maze of rooftops, market squares, and narrow streets. The towering stone buildings were dotted with vibrant gardens, their colors muted by the distance. Far beyond the city, rolling hills met the horizon, the landscape dotted with wild forests and ancient ruins.

Adora felt a rush in her chest, as if the world had opened up before her in a way she’d never seen before. It was dizzying and exhilarating all at once, and she couldn’t help but lean over the edge, her heart racing at the sheer height.

"Welcome to the Sun Tower," Ly’ra said, her voice soft but filled with pride as she gestured to the vast expanse before them. "The highest point in Halfmoon. I think the view makes all those stairs worth it, don’t you?"

The blonde's eyes were wide, the awe on her face unmistakable as she took in the city beneath her. The sprawling kingdom looked so much larger from this height, the people now little more than moving specks. Their lives playing out like a distant memory. She could see the whole of Halfmoon stretching into the distance, the river winding through the valley like a ribbon of silver.
"Wow... this is amazing," she whispered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet majesty of it all.

Glimmer, her earlier exhaustion seemingly forgotten, stood beside her, gazing at the view. The lines of fatigue around her eyes faded as the breathtaking sight captured her attention. "Okay, I’ll admit, this is worth the climb," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Ly’ra chuckled softly, clearly pleased with their reactions. She had seen this view countless times, but she never tired of it. "There's nothing on Etheria quite like this," she remarked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. The sky, the landscape, the city—it all felt so alive up here.

To Adora, it almost felt like she was flying, suspended in the air with nothing between her and the world below. She could only imagine what it would be like to soar through the sky, to feel the wind in her hair and the earth far beneath her.

For a moment, everything else faded away, and Adora was lost in the beauty of it all.

They stayed there for a while as they tried to commit the view to memory. But as the sun began to further set on the horizon they knew it was time to join the rest of the kingdom for the festivities to come.

MEANWHILE

Catra lunged forward, barely touching the rooftops as she pursued the strange, shadowed figure. It was fast, but she was faster, her tail flicking sharply behind her as the figure suddenly veered around a corner. The wind howled past her ears, and in the distance, the rhythmic beats of festival drums echoed, though she barely registered them in her focus.

Behind her, Lonnie struggled to keep up. She was a decent distance away but determined not to fall behind. When she squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of their target, she couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Catra, what the hell are we chasing?” she called out, her voice barely cutting through the noise of the bustling market below and the growing drumbeat in the distance.

But Catra didn’t answer. Her eyes remained locked on the figure ahead, and without hesitation, she leapt across the gap between rooftops, her tail lashing behind her to maintain balance.

“Catra!” Lonnie called out again, her voice strained as she struggled to keep up. But once again, there was no response. Catra’s focus was absolute, her entire attention fixated on the strange figure ahead.

Catra narrowed her eyes, her senses tingling. The figure twisted and slipped between buildings with movements that were far too fluid, too unnatural. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. As her gaze followed it, she noticed the shadows around it seemed to writhe, curling in on themselves, almost as if alive. Something about it felt... wrong. But Catra wasn’t going to stop now.

Not when it was moving through the heart of the kingdom, unnoticed by anyone else. Not when it might pose a threat to her family or her people.

Then, the figure dropped suddenly, vanishing from view. Without a second thought, Catra pushed harder, her legs burning as she tried to close the distance. She couldn’t let it get away.

When she reached the edge of the building, Catra wasted no time. With one powerful leap, she dropped down into the market street below, landing in a low crouch. For a moment, she stayed still, her eyes scanning her surroundings. A few festivalgoers glanced at her in surprise, but once they recognized her as the princess, they quickly went back to their preparations.

Catra’s focus sharpened. She sank back on her haunches and allowed her body instinctively fall into the stance her mother had taught her. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs and steadying her heart. As she exhaled, the adrenaline settled, leaving her with a controlled, steady thrum in her veins.

Her ears flicked, swiveling as she listened for the faintest sound of movement. She could hear the rustling of the wind, the shuffle of footsteps around her, but there—faint, almost hidden—was the smell of ash.

Her eyes snapped to the direction of the scent and just caught sight of a swirl of black smoke curled like a wisp of shadow against the warm festival lights. Without thinking she tensed her muscles and surged forward before she could even register it. Weaving through the crowded streets, she barely missed trays of food, sidestepping startled festival-goers, and knocking over a stand of silk scarves in her haste.

She was ganning tracktion, the space between her and the figure getting smaller.

Lonnie’s curses followed close behind. She barely managed to scramble off the roof, dangling from the ledge before dropping down with a grunt. “Dammit, Catra!—”

Catra ignored her, her focus locked on the shadowed figure slipping between lantern-lit alleys. The once distant beat of drums now pounded in her ears, a steady, urgent rhythm. She was gaining on it. Just a little more. She could almost reach it.

Then, without warning, the figure veered toward a two-story house, scaling the side in one fluid motion.

Catra jamp and dug her claws into the wooden beams, and hauled herself up, arms straining as she propelled herself higher. Climbing as fast as she could, she pulled herself over the ledge, and broke into a sprint along the length of the roof after the figure.
It's scent was stronger now—pungent and distinct. Parchment oil and smoke. Burned paper and ash.

The figure was mere inches from her grasp. Close enough that she could make out every flicker of soot and ember swirling within it.
“Catra, wait!” Lonnie’s voice rang out behind her.

But Catra didn’t wait. She lunged, arms outstretched, leaping off the roof without thinking about the long drop below—

And grasped at nothing.

The shadow scattered. It slipped between her fingers like thick ink, sending a strange, horrible sensation crawling down her spine. For a moment, she was frozen, suspended in midair. And that was when she noticed the scene below.

The fire dancers twirling across the stage.

The pounding drums, vibrating through the air.

The warm red glow of a thousand lanterns.

And in the very center of it all—her sister.

One thought came to mind as she plummeted.

"Oh fuck-"

And then she was falling.

The heat of the fire dance hit her first, scorching the ends of her mane as she scrambled uselessly in the air. Twisting mid-fall, her reflexes barely saved her from colliding headfirst into a torchbearer.

Instead, she crashed straight into someone else.

The impact knocked the breath from Catra’s lungs as she and the unfortunate stranger tumbled across the stage in a tangled mess of limbs. The once-thunderous drums cut off in an instant, the only sound left was the collective gasp of the crowd.

Shouts erupted then. The fire dancers stumbled back, their performance forgotten as the entire festival came to a screeching halt.

Dizzy and disoriented, Catra groaned, her ears flicking as she forced herself to focus. Blinking hard, she finally took in the person beneath her.

"…Ly’ra?”

Her sister groaned in response, fingers pressing into her temple as she tried to sit up.
“What the fuck did you do?” The words came out sharper than usual, and something about them made Catra’s ears fold instinctively. Ly’ra never cursed. Not even when drunk.

But there was no time to dwell on it. A wave of blistering heat crashed over her, sending her instincts into overdrive. Her fur bristled as she twisted around, eyes widening at the sight before her as she stumbled to her feet in a haste.

The fire was spreading.

Bright, licking flames devoured the stage’s wooden beams, climbing higher, reaching for the lanterns strung above. Vibrant banners of deep red and gold curled and blackened as the flames consumed them, their ashes drifting into the festival night. The acrid scent of burning cloth stung Catra’s nose.

Somewhere in the chaos, Lonnie finally caught up. She skidded to a halt at the edge of the platform, eyes scanning the smoldering wreckage before dragging her hand down her face.

“I knew following you was a bad idea.”
Catra barely had time to process before the fire surged again, a wall of heat rolling toward her, making her skin prickle.

“Oh, fuck—” She stumbled back, her tail lashing.

Lonnie was already moving, yanking a heavy cloth from one of the beams and swinging it wildly at the nearest flames.“What—the hell—were you even chasing?!”

Catra snatched up a discarded cloak, smacking it against the fire. “I saw something! Didn’t you see it? It was right there!”

“Great! Fantastic!” Lonnie grit her teeth, still fighting the flames. “Because all I saw was you yeeting yourself into a festival stage and setting it on fire!”

“I did not yeet—”

“You totally yeeted!”

Before Catra could snap back, the fire moved.
Not the erratic, destructive way flames usually spread—but something deliberate, controlled.

Catra and Lonnie both froze.

The fire pulled back as if yanked by unseen hands, lifting from the stage in elegant ribbons of gold and red. It twisted and curled, forming glowing figures in the air—warriors of legend, mythical beasts, and symbols from Halfmoon’s oldest stories. Each image flared brilliantly before unraveling into embers, only to take shape again in a new form.

The once-panicked crowd stood motionless, eyes wide with awe.

And then Catra’s gaze found her.
Ly’ra.

She stood at the center of it all, her body moving with the fire, directing its dance with sweeping motions of her arms. Her brows were furrowed in deep concentration, her jaw clenched, fingers tense as if grasping something unseen.
To the crowd, it looked effortless—a mesmerizing performance of grace and power.

But Catra knew better.

She knew the strain it took to command the fire like that. The control. The sheer mental and physical strength required.
And as she watched her sister—watched the way she wielded power so seamlessly, so flawlessly—Catra couldn’t ignore the bitter feeling rising in her chest.

Even here.

Even now.

Ly’ra was still the perfect one.

She watched Ly’ra's arms tremble as  she lifted the flames higher, guiding the last remnants of the flame into a swirling mass above her head. The ambers coiled and twisted like a living thing, stretching toward the sky before launching upward in a breathtaking arc that reminded Catra of a shooting star.

The golden brazier atop the Sun Tower—Halfmoon’s sacred beacon—stood waiting, dark and unlit. As the fire reached its peak, it split into brilliant streams, cascading down into the massive bowl. The brazier roared to life, golden flames bursting skyward, and casting a warm glow over the entire city. The moment the sacred fire caught, the tension in the crowd gave way to exhilaration.

But Ly’ra swayed and all the feelings of bitterness that burned in Catra’s gut disappeared just as fast as it came.
She noticed her sister’s breathing hitched while her fingers twitched and spasmed from the exertion as the toll of the performance caught up with her.

Catra’s ears flattened as she noticed too late when Ly’ra’s knees buckled—

But thankfully one of the fire dancers seemed to notice in time as she caught Ly’ra just before she could hit the ground.

The dancer steadied her carefully, making the movement look effortless, as though it had been planned all along. And then, from the grand balcony overlooking the square, Queen Cyra stepped forward, her voice ringing out like a bell.

“The Fire Festival has begun!”

The people of Halfmoon roared in celebration, the music swelling once more as dancers twirled back into motion. Any tension from the near disaster was swept away. The spectacle now seamlessly woven into the ceremony.

But Catra could barely focus. She was still staring at Ly’ra, watching the way her older sister swayed, exhaustion clear in every inch of her posture even with the help of the other woman.

Lonnie, meanwhile, groaned loudly before flopping onto the stage with a graceless thud.
She sprawled on her back, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Oh, we are so dead when your mother finds us.”

Catra sucked in a sharp breath, dragging both hands down her face when she realised the full gravityof the situation.

"Dead is putting it lightly. We’re going to be obliterated."

She flung an arm toward the still-smoldering wreckage of what had once been a perfectly respectable stage. "And here lies the tragic remains of Lonnie and Catra—reduced to ashes by the sheer rage of Queen Cyra, mourned by none, and quite possibly fed to the palace crows as a lesson to others.”

Lonnie groaned. “At least you’ll go first. I’ll get a ten-second head start.”

“Oh, screw you,” Catra muttered, as she lightly kicked at Lonnie's leg.