The alley was alive with secrets.

  Moonhaven’s *Starlit Veil Alley* wasn’t just a path—it was a living, breathing thing. Cobblestones, glittering like crushed stars underfoot, wound lazily between leaning buildings draped in storm-silk awnings that flapped like moth-eaten flags. Faded murals of the Twin Moons watched from cracked plaster walls, their celestial faces peeling at the edges. Lunira’s silver smile had lost an eye to time. Nyxara’s crimson glare bled rust down the brick.

  But the alley’s heartbeat was the café.

  *The Rusted Lantern* sat tucked between a butcher’s shop that reeked of yesterday’s lamb and a tailor’s draped in bolts of storm-blue silk. Its oak door, painted the color of a midsummer sky, groaned like an old man’s bones when it opened. Inside, the air smelled of burnt sugar, lightning-struck coffee beans, and the faintest whiff of lavender from the fields beyond.

  Behind the counter stood a man who looked like he’d been carved from a mountain and polished rough. Silas Ward—though no one here knew that name anymore. To the monks sipping starblossom tea and the merchants nursing stormbrew, he was just *Si*, the quiet giant who made the best honey-drizzled scones in Celestria. His hands, scarred and thick-knuckled, moved with a precision that betrayed his past, grinding beans while a static-charged scone hovered absently over a plate.

  On his shoulder, legs swinging like a pendulum, sat Stella.

  The girl was a spark in a world of shadows. Five years old, with curls like spun gold and a laugh that made the café’s lanterns flicker. She’d claimed Silas’s shoulder as her throne the moment she could walk, and he’d never had the heart—or the energy—to evict her.

  “Uncle Si,” she said, tugging his earlobe, “tell me about the *world* again.”

  He sighed. “You’ll turn into a dusty old book, kid.”

  “But I *like* dusty!”

  Elara, the sharp-tongued barista with ink-stained fingers, snorted as she wiped down a table. “Don’t feed her your doom-and-gloom tales, boss. She’ll start drawing skulls in her alphabet scrolls.”

  Silas ignored her. Stella’s pout was a weapon.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Arcanthos. Seven realms. Each one’s got a Tower run by lunatics who think magic’s a toy. Pyralis burns, Aquaros drowns, Verdantis… grows too many plants. Happy?”

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  Stella kicked her heels against his chest. “Why’s *our* moon silver?”

  “Because Lunira’s the nice one.”

  “And the red one?”

  “Nyxara’s the *not* nice one.”

  Elara slammed a mug down. “Gods, you’re terrible at this. Stella, sweetheart, Lunira’s light heals. Nyxara’s… complicated.”

  “Cranky and complicated!” Stella crowed, scribbling a lopsided star in the air. It glowed faintly before dissolving into sparkles.

  The door banged open, and Jarek stumbled in, his shirt torn and hair full of twigs. “Sorry! The Glowmurk mushrooms revolted. One tried to *marry* my boot.”

  Silas didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

  “It was a whole *thing*! There were vows!”

  Elara snatched the basket of glowing fungi from his arms. “Your boot’s uglier than a gravel golem’s backside. And you smell like swamp.”

  Stella gasped. “Swamp *won*!”

  “Truce,” Jarek said, winking. He tossed her a bioluminescent berry. It bounced off her nose and rolled under a table, where Smudge the void lynx pounced on it.

  As dusk bled into the alley, the café emptied. Monks drifted back to their star-lit prayers. Merchants vanished into the lavender haze. Only the clink of Elara’s dishrag and Stella’s hum remained.

  Then the moons rose.

  Lunira first, her silver light softening the shadows. Nyxara followed, her crimson glow staining the horizon like spilled wine.

  The door creaked.

  Kael Drakon filled the frame, his storm-gray cloak dusted with starlight. A scar split his cheek—a souvenir from the day Silas had ended the Eclipse Wars. His gaze landed on Stella, and the hard lines of his face melted.

  “There’s my stardust. Time for bed.”

  “No!” She clung to Silas’s collar. “I’m sleeping *here*! Uncle Si’s teaching me to make… lightning cookies!”

  Silas choked on a laugh. “Nice try, squirt.” He slid Kael a chipped mug of Thunderbrew, its surface crackling with caramelized sugar. “How’s life with Her Serene Pain-in-the—”

  “*Silas*.”

  “—Her Serene *Highness*?”

  Kael groaned. “Liora’s got a list of ‘diplomatic priorities’ longer than the Shattered Expanse. But… it’s good. Weird. *Good* weird.” He sipped, then smirked. “Still pretending you’re not the Storm Sovereign?”

  The rag in Silas’s hand stilled. “That name’s dead.”

  Before Kael could retort, the door flew open.

  Veyra Kaelis stormed in, her crimson braids smoldering. Thalia Raine followed, shedding leaves from her ivy-cloak. Rurik Gorunn lumbered behind, his magma-cracked skin hissing as rain dripped from the eaves. Last came Nyx, shadows clinging to her like a second skin.

  “Look what the tides coughed up,” Silas drawled.

  Veyra collapsed into a chair. “Your scones need less cinnamon.”

  “Says the woman who drinks lava,” Thalia muttered, rescuing a fern from her sleeve.

  Rurik thunked a molten rock onto the counter. “Magnus made you a paperweight.”

  Nyx said nothing. Smudge the lynx leapt into her arms, berry-stained and purring.

  Stella scrambled down, chasing the creature’s flicking tail. “Faster, Smudge! *Faster*!”

  Kael watched, bemused. “Still their leader, huh?”

  Silas crossed his arms. “Retired.”

  “Retired?” Nyx’s voice cut like a blade. “Tell that to the Void Spire.”

  The room froze.

  Silas’s jaw tightened. “Not. Here.”

  Stella, oblivious, tugged Rurik’s thumb. “Tell the lava story! The one with the *exploding mountain*!”

  The others exchanged glances—uneasy, but loyal. Always loyal.

  Outside, the Twin Moons climbed higher, their light threading through the café’s dusty windows. Somewhere beyond the lavender fields, thunder rumbled.

  But for now, there was coffee. There was laughter.

  And there was peace—fragile, fleeting, and fiercely guarded—in the glow of a rusted lantern.