Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light of the setting sun filters through the canopy, draping the woods in a mix of golden hues and shadows. Adora knows it’s time to head back to Brightmoon.

Back to the safety of the castle walls.

Back to the comfort of her friends.

Back to the warmth of her bed.

And back to the inevitable disappointment of her teacher, Light Spinner.

She sighs, crouching lower in the underbrush, her hands braced against the earth. She squints up through the leaves, trying to judge how much time she has left. Maybe an hour, if she’s lucky. Maybe less. She knows it’s foolish, knows the trek back is dangerous enough as it is, but the thought of returning empty-handed gnaws at her pride.

The snap of a twig cuts through her thoughts.

The Etherian Deer she’s been tracking all afternoon is moving again. Her pulse quickens, her hand instinctively brushing the hilt of the saber at her hip. The deer’s antlers glint faintly through the trees as it shifts to leave, and for a moment, her patience shifts with it.

She sprints forward… and the world tilts.

Her foot twists on an uneven patch of ground, and pain shoots up her leg with an intensity that pulls the breath from her lungs.

She hits the ground hard, clutching her ankle as a yelp tears free from her throat. “Aaugh!” The sound echoes into the woods and startles the deer that now bounds away, its light footsteps fading into the distance.

“No, no, no!” she shouts after it, her voice breaking with frustration. She tries to push herself up, first to her knees, then to her feet, but her injured ankle gives way beneath her. She collapses again, the pain like a dagger twisting with every movement.

Adora grits her teeth, her breathing shallow. The forest looms around her, darker now, the maze of trees stretching endlessly in every direction. Her heart pounds as a worrying thought sets in. If she can’t stand, she can’t walk. If she can’t walk, she can’t get back to the castle. She noticed early into her journey that she forgot her communicator device back in her room.

How long before anyone even realizes she’s missing?

The Whispering Woods are vast. People have gotten lost in them before, never to be seen again.

It would be hard enough to find her during the day. How would they find her during the night?

The thought claws at her mind and she lets out a frustrated groan, wanting to expel her pent-up worry in some way.

“I almost thought you had him,” a voice says.

Adora freezes, her head snapping up.

“Until you ran out the bushes like a dummy,” the voice continues, a sound that is somehow smooth yet gravelly at the same time. There’s a hint of amusement in the tone. “What happened? Got pinched by a scorpion or something?”

“Who’s there?” Adora’s voice wavers between command and plea as she frantically twists her head from left to right, searching for the source of the voice. “Show yourself! Please? I—I need help!”

There’s a pregnant pause.

The silence stretches long enough to make Adora think she imagined the voice as she strains to listen, her ragged breathing blending with the chirruping of the woods.

 And then—

“Umph.”

A small figure drops from the treetops with a rustle of leaves, landing not far from where Adora lies crumpled on the ground.

Adora’s breath catches as she takes in the beautiful stranger in front of her, a stranger who can’t actually exist because people like her are just illustrations in history books. “You’re…” she starts, wide eyed, “You’re a magicat.”

The magicat girl stands small and defiant in front of her, her silhouette catching the fading light like something out a storybook. Wild, untamed hair frames her sharp face, and her mismatched eyes—one vivid blue, the other deep amber—lock onto Adora with an unnerving intensity. She's dressed in a sleek body suit, a style that feels completely foreign to anything Adora's seen in Brightmoon and a far cry from the jacket and layers of practical compression clothing Adora threw on before venturing into the woods.

The girl wrinkles her nose, tilting her head as she studies Adora critically. “Great observation, Captain Obvious.”

“But… you can’t be.” Adora rubs her eyes, half expecting the vision to vanish. When she looks again, the girl is still there, just as much of a magicat as she was one second ago. “You’re extinct. All the magicats are dead.”

This statement causes the other girl’s eyebrows to shoot up. She lifts her hands and slowly turns them in front her face, inspecting them as if for the first time. Her mouth forms an exaggerated ‘o’ and she even looks over her shoulder at her swishing tail. “Then I must be a ghost,” she says dryly, before rolling her eyes. “Dumbass, if I’m standing here, obviously not all magicats are dead.”

Adora’s cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean—” She stammers, flustered, but the girl shushes her off with a dismissive wave.

“Relax, I’m not here to haunt you.” The girl leans forward to stare closely at the blonde. “I’ve never seen one of you up close either.” Her eyes search Adora’s face before taking in the rest of her. “But our educational system isn’t so jacked we’re calling you dead. I’ve seen photos but I never expected you to be so…” She pauses, racking her brain for the right word. “Bald.”

“I’m not bald!” Adora quickly retorts, touching her ponytail as if to underscore the point. “And I’m not a dumbass!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” The girl circles her now, slow and deliberate, her mismatched eyes scanning Adora as if she’s the strange one here.

Adora squirms under the scrutiny. “So… you go to school around here?” she latches on to the tidbit of information the magicat has given her. As she studies the other girl who is concurrently studying her, she surmises they’re close in age – both still considered youth but on the cusp tipping into adulthood. “Like, in Elberon or Plumeria?”

“Halfmoon.”

“Halfmoon? But Halfmoon—”

“Please don’t say dead.” Adora feels fingers flick at her ponytail from behind. “Just because you don’t see us doesn’t mean we’re gone. We avoid you because your wizards are dicks.”

“Huh?” Adora’s head is swimming as the girl comes back into view in front of her. “So Halfmoon still exists? Or I guess… some version of it somewhere?”

The girl doesn’t answer. Instead, she crouches, her attention shifting to Adora’s injured ankle.

Adora once again finds herself floundering for words, but something about this exchange doesn’t fit. “If you like to stay hidden… why are you here? Telling me about it?”

The girl shrugs. “Feels harmless spilling secrets to a dead girl.”

Adora’s chest tightens. “I’m not dead.”

“My bad. Soon to be dead girl,” the magicat counters, her tone indifferent but her eyes shine with something almost akin to sympathy.

Before Adora can respond, the forest shudders.

A deep, guttural roar echoes through the trees, shaking the ground beneath them.

Adora’s stomach drops as she twists toward the sound. She can’t see what’s coming, but she knows it’s big. And close.

“’Cos that thing’s gonna kill you.”

Adora’s eyes widen.

“Like I said, I’d never seen one of you up close before,” the magicat continues, turning around and looking upward. She approaches a thick tree and Adora watches as black claws extend from her fingertips. The girl calmly reaches up and places a hand on the tree, sinking her claws in. “Thought now would be a good chance before that thing mangles you.”

“Wait!” Adora’s voice cracks as she calls. She takes a moment to compose herself, although she feels herself shaking. The next words tumble from her mouth, sad and desperate. “Help me.”

The magicat pauses but doesn’t turn around. “I just told you my people’s biggest secret. Why would I do that?”

“I know,” Adora agrees sadly, realizing how bad of a predicament she’s in. But the magicat girl did leave the safety of the treetops to speak to her. Surely she didn’t mean to engage with someone who she soon expected to be a corpse. “But I’m a princess. I can help keep your secret. If I go missing, they’ll raze the woods looking for me, and they might find you and Halfmoon instead.”

The magicat lets out a soft scoff, but there’s a sense of hesitation there.

“I’m serious,” Adora presses. “If Halfmoon wants to stay hidden, I can make it easier. I can’t control what happens if I’m dead. I promise… I—please.”

The girl glances over her shoulder, her mismatched eyes narrowing. “Promises are cheap.”

Adora’s entire body feels like it’s shuddering, but her voice remains firm. “Not mine.” Her gaze locks on the other girl’s, and she swallows hard before adding, “I know I’m just some stranger… and you don’t owe me anything, but I… I think we were meant to meet. You wouldn’t have come down from that tree otherwise.”

The girl’s expression wavers, a flicker of something—doubt, curiosity, or maybe even understanding—crossing her face. “You really think you can help us?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost as if she’s testing Adora. The weight of her gaze is heavy. Slowly, she straightens, stepping away from the tree. “You promise?”

Hope flares in Adora’s chest. “I’ll do everything I can. I promise.”

The girl sighs, dragging a clawed hand through her wild hair. “Fine,” she mutters, as if the decision annoys her more than anything. She points a sharp finger at Adora. “If you tell anyone about us, I’ll find you and kill you myself. That’s MY promise.”

Adora nods frantically, her heart pounding with relief. “Thank you. I swear. I won’t let you down.”

The magicat doesn’t reply at first. She instead bends down, slinging Adora’s arm over her shoulders with a quiet grumble. “You’re heavier than you look,” she mumbles. Despite her complaints, her movements are careful, her grip steady as she helps Adora to her feet. Small droplets of rain begin to fall from the sky. Adora hadn’t even noticed the clouds.

Adora leans into her as they hobble toward the tree the other girl had been clawing at earlier. “Now how are we going to do this…” she murmurs to herself, her gaze trailing up the length of the trunk. She clicks her tongue. “Hold tight.”

Adora blinks. “What?”

“I said hold tight,” the magicat repeats, her tone exasperated but her hands patient as she guides Adora’s arms around her neck. “When I get high enough, lock your legs around me. And don’t fall.”

Adora hesitates. “I—okay,” she nods. Considering their height difference, she isn’t confident in this plan at all, but despite her small frame, the magicat is stronger than she looks. She scales the tree with surprising ease, her claws anchoring them both as she climbs higher into the canopy. Adora tries to keep her injured ankle out of the way, but the jostling sends spikes of pain up her leg. She grits her teeth, willing herself not to cry out.

A low rumble echoes from the underbrush below, vibrating through the ground and into the tree. The trunk trembles, shaking them both. Adora glances down and catches the faintest glimpse of movement—a dark, hulking shape breaking through the undergrowth.

“What is that?” she whispers.

The magicat doesn’t look down. “Don’t think about it,” she mutters through gritted teeth. “Focus on holding on.”

“Yeah… yeah. Okay,” Adora breathes, though her eyes are still trained on the thing moving below them, her grip tightening around the magicat’s neck with every faint noise from the forest floor.

“Bald girl,” the magicat says suddenly, breaking the heavy silence as she pulls them higher. Her voice is strained, but there’s a thread of dry humor woven through it. “What do they feed you in that fancy castle of yours, by the way? Bricks?”

Adora’s vice grip slightly loosens, the unexpected rib cutting through her anxiety. It’s deliberate, she realizes—a distraction, a way to steer her mind away from whatever is lurking below. Her nerves ease, just slightly, as she grumbles back, “I feel like you don’t understand the definition of bald…” She pauses before continuing, “And I’ll have you know, they’re the finest golden bricks in Etheria. A delicacy. You should try them sometime.”

The other girl snorts. Adora can feel it in her chest, pressed to the girl’s back. “I’ll pass. I like being able to climb without breaking things. Or sneak through bushes with more grace than a wrecking ball. Why were you even tracking that deer?”

“It’s part of a test,” Adora replies. “My teacher sent me to get the antler of an Etherian Deer.”

“One of those glowy antlers? Why?” the magicat huffs, her shoulders tightening as her pace slows, fatigue beginning to creep into her movements.

“I dunno. For some type of spell or something.”

Adora can feel the magicat girl stiffening beneath her arms from more than the exertion. “Of course.” Bitterness ekes from the words. “A wizard teacher. Makes sense why your education is so messed up.”

“She’s… not a dick like you said,” Adora feels the need to defend, although the statement feels like a lie the moment it leaves her lips. “Not all the time. Or most of the time. Well.. not sometimes.”

“Only a wizard,” the magicat girl growls, “would think sending you into the woods after a magical deer is a good idea. Bet he’s at home right now with his feet up, drinking some fancy tea while you’re out here about to get mauled.”

Adora adjusts her grip as the magicat inches onto a wide branch before carefully setting her down. “For your information, SHE is incapable of joy so NO she is not somewhere relaxing with her feet up.” Adora’s voice is sharp despite the ache in her ankle. “Plus, this was a test of skill, not a death sentence.”

The magicat girl snorts agian. “Sure, because nothing says ‘test of skill’ like sending you after a mythical creature in a forest full of predators.” She drops onto the branch beside Adora, her tail flicking with irritation. Her chest rises and falls heavily, betraying how much she actually exerted herself during the climb. Rain starts to seep through the tree cover above. “Makes sense though. Wizards are the worst.”

Adora narrows her eyes. “You don’t even know Light Spinner.”

“Don’t need to. She’s a wizard. That’s enough.” The magicat narrows her eyes at Adora. “And she’s your teacher. You training to be a wizard?”

“No, I’m training to be a soldier.”

The magicat’s brow furrows in confusion. It’s annoyingly cute.

“Each royal family oversees a different part of the government. Mine handles the military. Magic flows through my family line though, so I still need to understand how to use it.”

The magicat opens her mouth to question further, but Adora cuts her off. “What about you? What do magicats study? How to be insufferable?”

The magicat pauses, momentarily caught off guard, then grins. “Why? Have some notes you wanna share? I bet if you studied with us, we’d have to create an honors track—along with one for being ungrateful.”

“Sounds like your system’s broken,” Adora quips, but her voice lightens at the end. “And I am.” She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the magicat’s before dropping. “I mean, I’m not—I’m not ungrateful. I am. Grateful. Really grateful.” Her smile falters, turning shy as she fidgets with the hilt of her saber, her thoughts skirting around the unlikely events of the day. She was grateful. Grateful that the magicat saved her life. Grateful she was out of harm’s way with her ankle being injured. Grateful for… more than she felt she could properly put into words to a stranger that seemed distrustful of her from the start.

“Well,” the magicat half murmurs, half chuckles, “maybe there’s hope for you yet.” She pauses, her gaze lingering on Adora for a moment before adding, “You’re a pretty good tracker. Most people would’ve lost that deer a kilometer back.”

Adora’s eyebrow lifts at that. Had this girl been following her through the woods? She shifts slightly on the branch, trying to get more comfortable before following up to ask, but the movement sends a jolt of pain shooting up her ankle. She hisses, her fingers instinctively gripping the bark to steady herself.

The magicat glances at her sharply, a faint crease appearing in her brow. “Here.” She reaches into a small pouch at her hip and pulls out a sprig of something green and herbal-smelling. “Chew on this. It’ll help with the pain.”

“What is it?” Adora asks, eyeing it suspiciously.

“A plant,” the magicat replies flatly. “Chew or don’t, but don’t cry to me if your ankle keeps screaming.”

Adora takes the plant, hesitating for only a moment before popping it into her mouth. Bitterness spreads across her tongue, and she winces at the taste. But after a few moments of chewing, the sharp edge of the pain dulls, enough to make her sigh in relief. “That’s… impressive,” she says, eyes wide as she looks up at the other girl.

“Of course it is,” the magicat says smugly, her tail flicking behind her. “I’m good at what I do.”

“And what is it you do, exactly?” Adora asks, a teasing lilt creeping into her voice. “Skulk in the woods and watch girls chase deer? I’m sure most people would’ve lost interest ‘about a kilometer back’.” She gives the magicat a pointed look, daring her to explain.

The magicat’s ears twitch, and Adora swears she catches the faintest blush cross her cheeks. “I wasn’t watching you,” she says quickly, glancing away. “I was watching the deer. You just happened to be there.”

“Uh-huh,” Adora says, coyly looking down to try and hide the smirk forming on her face. “How long were you watching the deer, then?”

The magicat huffs, her claws flexing against the bark of the tree. “Long enough to see you almost catch it. Like I said, you’re not bad at tracking. For a bald-headed, brick-eating, princess.”

There’s something in her tone—lightly teasing, but with a subtle undercurrent of worry—that Adora doesn’t miss. The compliment feels genuine, but the way the other girl’s gaze shifts, how her ears flatten slightly, makes Adora wonder if she’s worried about something more. Maybe about someone from Brightmoon being too good at tracking.

She decides not to press, but remembers she promised that she’d keep whatever she learned here today a secret. So instead, she tilts her head playfully. “So you were watching me. Sounds like you like me, brick-eating baldness and all.” She pauses to consider her next words then smiles. “How embarrassing for you.”

The magicat stops abruptly, turning to face Adora with a look of exasperation. “You’re a dumbass,” she says, but the words lack the bite they carried earlier. After a beat, she sighs, the faintest twinge of guilt creeping into her expression. “Sorry. That was… harsh. I’m sure you’re not a dumbass. You just… run out of bushes like one sometimes.”

Adora snorts out a laugh, despite herself. “I’ll take that as an apology.”

“Take it however you want, Bald Girl,” the magicat replies, her cheeks still faintly pink as she helps Adora shift into a more comfortable position. Her handling is careful, almost delicate, as she adjusts Adora’s weight on the branch.

“You know, at this point I think you know you’re misusing the word,” Adora says, smile in her voice and eyes tracking the magicat’s movements. “You could just call me by my name.”

The magicat pauses, tilting her head slightly to glance up at Adora. Their faces are close now, closer than Adora realizes until she meets her gaze—their noses nearly touching and the magicat's eyes glowing faintly in the dim light filtering through the leaves. “Adora,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, as if her name isn’t something she’s speaking but something drawn from her by the intensity of that gaze. “I’m Adora.”

The magicat blinks. Something unguarded flits across her face—a crack in her carefully held composure that catches Adora by surprise. Her gaze lingers, holding on Adora as though she’s searching for something hidden, before she shifts slightly, her lips curving into the barest hint of a smile.

“Catra,” she says, her voice low and measured, carrying the weight of a decision. “My name is Catra.”

Catra.

The name lingers in the space between them, delicate but electric, as if it’s tethered them together in a way that neither of them fully understands but neither wants to break.

“Well, Catra,” Adora says finally, her lips curving into a wry smile, “it's nice to meet you. Officially. And for the record, I’m not bald.”

Catra chuckles, the sound soft and warm like the brush of fur against skin. “Whatever you say,” she murmurs, eyes still holding Adora’s. For a heartbeat, neither of them moves, the air between them still charged with something neither can name.

The rain intensifies, droplets leaking more persistently through the canopy. The branch grows slick beneath them.

Then Catra breaks the moment. “Come on, Princess,” she says, her tone slipping back into its usual teasing cadence. “Let’s get you somewhere dry before you melt.”

“You know a place better than this?” Adora asks sarcastically, holding her hand out to catch raindrops against her palm.

“Yep. There’s a cavern not far from here.” Catra rises, offering her hand to Adora. “But you’re not going to like this next part.”

The rain picks up as Catra shifts Adora’s arm over her shoulders again. Her claws press lightly into Adora’s side to anchor them together, and her tail flicks with an air of impatience as she scans the sodden woods. “We’re almost there,” she murmurs, though it sounds more like she’s reassuring herself than Adora.

Adora tries to nod, but the effort feels monumental. Her limbs are heavy, her vision unfocused, and her head floats somewhere between here and some weird ethereal haze. Her feet drag clumsily, her weight a burden Catra carries without complaint.

Catra.

Adora turns her head to study the side profile of this stranger who is so willingly carrying her along through the rain. The determined look in her eyes, the strong set of her jaw, the elegant crane of her neck, the wild hair that is matted down from the rain.

“You’re pretty,” Adora mumbles suddenly, the words spilling out before she can catch them.

Catra freezes mid-step, her ears swiveling toward Adora before she tilts her head, multi-colored eyes narrowing. “Huh?”

“You’re pretty,” Adora repeats, her voice soft and drowsy, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Like... really pretty.”

Catra lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “The plant’s making you loopy,” she informs, though there’s now a bashful smile on her face. “Should’ve warned you about that part.”

“It’s nice,” Adora slurs, leaning more heavily against Catra. “You’re nice. And soft. Like a nice… pretty pillow.”

“Please stop talking,” Catra says, though her cheeks are visibly pink beneath the rain streaking her fur.

By the time they reach the cavern, Adora is barely coherent, her legs dragging and her head lolling against Catra’s shoulder.

“Here we are,” Catra mutters, propping Adora against the damp stone wall near the entrance. The cavern is small and narrow, with jagged walls that glisten in the dim light. “Not much, but it’ll do. The big monsters can’t get in through here without impaling themselves.”

Adora blinks slowly, her vision swimming as Catra kneels to block the craggy entrance with branches and leaves. The rain beats against the makeshift barrier, a steady rhythm that feels like a lullaby. Time moves disjointedly for Adora, each heavy blink fast forwarding her into the future. First Catra is near the entrance. Then she is at the back of the cavern gathering things. Now she is bent over near the wall of the cavern with branches and kindling.

“You’re worried,” Adora murmurs, her words slurring as she watches Catra’s tail flick anxiously.

Catra glances at her, ears twitching. “About the rain?”

“About me,” Adora says, a dopey grin tugging at her lips.

Catra huffs, busying herself with the fire she’s coaxing to life. “There’s nothing to worry about, Princess,” she says, though the way she moves away from the fire to adjust Adora’s weight against the wall says otherwise.

The evening blurs after that.

Adora remembers the warmth of the fire spreading across her chilled skin, the sharp scent of woodsmoke mixing with the faint aroma of something roasting.

“Fish,” Catra says simply when Adora mutters a groggy question. “At least one of us caught something of value today.”

Adora laughs softly but it turns into an uncomfortable groan as she shivers against the cold seeping through her damp clothes.

Catra’s eyes flick toward her, softening as she leans closer. “See?” she teases, her voice light but warm. “Baldies like you get cold too easily.”

“Not bald,” Adora murmurs, her eyelids fluttering as she drifts further into the haze.

“Sure you’re not,” Catra says, pulling Adora close to her. “Mind if I get this off? It’s soaked through.” The magicat is lightly tugging at the sleeve of Adora’s jacket. Adora nods and a moment later, her wet jacket is off. And the magicat’s body radiates heat, her arms wrapping securely around Adora’s shoulders. “You’re lucky I’m a sweetheart.”

Adora snorts faintly, her head resting against Catra’s chest. The last thing she feels is the gentle rake of claws through her scalp, soothing and rhythmic, before sleep pulls her under…

Adora wakes to the faint glow of morning light filtering into the cavern. The fire has burned down to embers, its warmth barely lingering in the cool air. Her jacket is now dry and bundled beneath her head like a pillow.

She sits up slowly, her head still fuzzy, the events of the previous night swirling like a half-remembered dream.

Her ankle throbs…

…and the cavern is empty.

Next to her, propped carefully against the wall, is a pair of crude, makeshift crutches, fashioned from thick branches tied with wooded roots. Next to them rests the glistening antler of an Etherian Deer, its glow casting faint patterns on the side of the cavern wall.

Adora stares at the antler. Her fingers brush against it lightly, as if to confirm it’s real.

She looks toward the cavern’s entrance, her mind racing.

She met a magicat yesterday.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Magicats are extinct. But even if Adora had actually retrieved the antler before somehow hallucinating, it doesn’t explain the crutches… or what she swears are real albeit fuzzy memories…

The warmth of Catra’s arms. The sound of her teasing voice. The gentle rake of claws through her hair—it couldn’t have been a dream.

Adora closes her eyes, the faintest smile curving her lips as she leans back against the wall. “Thank you, Catra,” she murmurs softly to the empty cavern, her heart warm despite the cool air.

Chapter Text

“Have we ever gone this far before? I don’t think we’ve ever gone this far before.” Bow is anxious. He adjusts the strap of the bow slung across his back with one hand while the First One’s detector in his other hums faintly. “Glim, you’re still marking the trees right? In case we need help finding our way back?”

“Yep!” Glimmer pulls a stick of white chalk from her satchel and gives it a playful wave. “We don’t need another situation like the last time someone got lost in the woods overnight, right Adora?”

Adora hums noncommittally, her attention already elsewhere. Her gaze drifts upward, lingering on the treetops.

It’s been a little over two years since the day she tracked an Etherian deer into the deeper parts of the Whispering Woods. Two years since she swore an extinct magicat saved her from one of the many monsters that lurk in these shadows. She’s kept her promise to Catra, guarding both her and Halfmoon’s existence as a closely held secret – though with each passing day, she questions whether the interaction was just a figment of her imagination. Still, whenever she steps into the woods, her eyes are drawn to the canopy, scanning the branches for any sign of the mysterious girl – probably now a young woman – she hasn't seen since. Each rustle of leaves above makes her heart skip, each shadow between branches holds the possibility of mismatched eyes looking back at her.

“Got something.” Bow’s voice pulls her back to the present.

A metallic glint in the dirt is making his detector buzz. He crouches, brushing away the soil to reveal a shard of something with a smooth, half-dome shape. Holding it up, he tilts it in the light, and its surface gleams faintly.

It’s a First One’s artifact, what they’ve been sent to the woods to gather over the past year. They aren’t always successful in their searches, but a few of the uncovered pieces they’ve brought back to Entrapta have led to some cool technological breakthroughs in both Brightmoon and Dryl.

“Is it legit?” Glimmer asks, leaning over for a closer look.

It’s a fair question. Their early expeditions yielded plenty of artifacts closer to the edge of the woods, but those discoveries had become increasingly rare as those areas became picked clean. Their advisors warned them that there’s already enough First One’s tech to study and fulfill their trade obligations with Dryl for years, despite Entrapta’s objections, and the deep woods are too dangerous to justify such frequent searches. But Adora feels it every time—something pulling her deeper in with each trip, urging her to keep going… searching for someone she promised not to name.

“Should be good enough for this month’s haul,” Bow says, rising to his feet and handing the artifact to Glimmer, who tucks it in her satchel. “Shall we?” He offers his arm to Glimmer with a content smile.

“Thank the gods!” Glimmer hooks her arm around his. “There’s a bath waiting for me back at the castle. All these mosquitos are making my ass itch. Literally.”

Bow chuckles as they fall into step, skipping like children in their own little world. Adora smiles faintly, following a few paces behind. She wonders, not for the first time, what it must feel like—to have someone and know they accept you for all you are. To feel completely seen. Completely understood. Completely loved.

To her right, a sound catches her attention—a faint rustling, followed by a low whistle.

Adora slows. “Did you hear that?”

Bow and Glimmer continue marching ahead. Caught up in their banter, they don’t seem to hear the noise—or her question.

Adora watches them disappear further down the trail. The noise tugs at her curiosity, pulling at her in the same way the woods pull at her every time she enters them. She adjusts the sword at her hip, casting one last glance at her friends before silently veering off into the bushes.

Her steps are quick but cautious, carrying her through denser foliage. Glimmer’s chalk marks will guide her back to them. She just needs a few moments to investigate.

The sound leads her to a small, shaded clearing, where the trees give way to open space. An overturned log sits near the center, beside the dark mouth of a burrow. The earth around it looks disturbed.

The rustling from before is gone. In its place, loud chirps and whistles sound from some of the surrounding trees. The whistling was from some baby birds. There must be a nest nearby. Adora releases a pent-up breath, her shoulders sagging with familiar disappointment. Another false lead, another moment where she thought maybe—just maybe—she'd find what she's been searching for this time.

Twigs snap ahead.

Adora barely has time to process the sound when the first boar charges.

It comes out of nowhere, tusks gleaming as it barrels toward her. Adora draws her sword just in time, sidestepping the beast and slicing down in a clean arc. The boar lets out a pained squeal before retreating, but before she can catch her breath, another appears, larger and angrier.

She shifts her stance, blocking its charge with her blade and slamming the hilt into its side. The boar stumbles, then flees into the underbrush.

Adora exhales shakily, her grip on her sword tightening. The woods feel alive now, every rustle a threat, every shadow a potential attacker.

She doesn’t see the third boar until it’s too late.

It comes from her blindside, its guttural snort the only warning before it lunges.

Adora freezes, her breath catching as she realizes there’s no time to react—

—when a blur drops from above.

The boar lets out a startled grunt as a lithe figure lands on its back, claws digging into its hide. A sharp growl accompanies a swift kick to the boar’s side. The creature stumbles, then scrambles into the bushes, crashing through the undergrowth in its desperation to escape.

Adora stares wide-eyed as the figure straightens, brushing dirt from her hands with an ease that feels almost dismissive.

“What is it with you and your determination to get yourself killed?” Catra’s voice is exasperated as she swivels around, a deep crease in her brow as her multi-colored eyes find Adora’s. “You’re too deep in the woods. You shouldn’t be here.”

Adora’s grip on her sword slackens, the tip dragging along the ground as she instinctively rushes forward to close the distance between them. She catches herself at the last second, stopping just short. “Catra?” she breathes, disbelief mingling with awe. “You’re real.”

Catra arches an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “What, you thought I wasn’t?” Those beautiful eyes study Adora curiously. “I thought you hurt your foot, not your head.”

Adora’s voice trembles – from both nerves and excitement—as her words tumble out in a breathless stream. “Perfuma—an, uh, expert of agriculture—said the plant I chewed was some powerful hallucinogen. That I had too much for someone without a tolerance. She said everything I thought I saw that day might’ve been—”

“You told her about me?” Catra’s posture stiffens. 

“No,” Adora says quickly, shaking her head fiercely, her gaze fixed on Catra like she’s afraid she’ll disappear if she blinks. “Never. I promised I wouldn’t, and I’ve kept that promise. More than you realize.” She hesitates before continuing in a calm, steady tone. “I’ve done everything I can to keep soldiers out of the woods. I mean… no one’s coming out this far anyway, but I’ve made sure patrols even avoid some of the areas closer to the Brightmoon. No one’s looking for you—or your people. I just…” Her voice falters. “You’re real.”

Her gaze lingers on Catra, absorbing the subtle yet striking differences from her memory. The deceptive scrawniness of her youth has been replaced with a lean muscle, her sharp features settling into something undeniably, frustratingly beautiful. Her mane of wild hair remains untamed, only slightly held out of her face by a maroon headpiece with two jeweled slits in the spaces above her eyebrows. However, it’s her presence that feels most changed—grounded, steady, with a quiet confidence that somehow feels louder than her boisterousness during their last meeting.

Catra looks back at her just as intently, openly studying Adora’s face. Whatever she finds seems to ease something in her shoulders. The shift is small, but perceptible. “Good.” A faint, introspective smile graces her lips as she breaks their gaze to survey the area around them, double checking that all the danger is indeed gone. “So you thought I was some drug-induced dream you had one night?”

“Not one night.” Adora’s response is automatic. Honesty tinges her voice with wonder. “Ever since that day, a recurring one.”

Catra’s eyes snap back up to meet hers, and for a moment, the space between them shifts—charged, like when they first exchanged names, as if an invisible thread pulls between them, taut with a tension neither is ready to address.

Adora steps closer without thinking. She reaches out. Her fingers graze Catra’s cheek before she even realizes what she’s doing. “Freckles…” The word escapes on an exhale. “I don’t remember those.”

Catra flushes, her tail flicking sharply. She lets out a nervous laugh. “First, you doubt I was real. Now, you don’t even remember what I look like?” Her tone is light, but there’s a slight waver to it, like she’s grasping for deflection. “Guess nothing from our time together stuck with you, huh, Princess?”

“Not true.” Adora’s brow furrows. Her voice is thoughtful, but certain. “Your eyes. They… stuck with me.”

Those very eyes widen briefly, shock flashing across Catra’s face before she clears her throat and takes a quick step back to create space between them again, her movements abrupt but not unkind. “Why are you in this part of the woods, again?” she asks, her voice hurried as though trying to regain control of the moment.

Adora’s hand lingers in the air where Catra had stood. Her fingers curl slightly before she lets her hand drop to her side.

“Looking for artifacts.” Her fingers find the the hilt of her sword to fidget with it, and she anxiously bounces on her heels, realizing she might have overstepped. “They’ve been leading to some discoveries—advancements that could help a lot of people.”

“And it’s bringing you deeper into the woods?” It’s a question laced with a hidden meaning. A hidden warning.

“We’re… getting closer to Halfmoon, aren’t we?” Adora asks cautiously. She doesn’t expect a direct answer and isn’t surprised when Catra’s eyes flick away, her jaw tightening.

“That’s not the point. The point is, you shouldn’t be here. The deeper you go, the more dangerous it gets. And not just because of the woods.”

“Not just the woods?” she echoes.

Catra exhales sharply, looking back at her, eyes hard. “My people don’t take kindly to outsiders wandering too close. If they find you or your friends, it won’t end well.”

Adora swallows, the warning sinking in. The stories of people disappearing in the forest suddenly feel less like campfire tales and more like a stark reality. However, something else nags at her.

“My… friends?” Her voice catches. “You know I’m not alone. You were watching me again. Watching us.” It’s as much realization as it is accusation.  ”Wait, have you done that before? Since we met? Watched me?” Each question carries more weight than the last. Years of wondering, of searching, of hoping compressed into simple questions that barely contain the hurt beneath them. How many times had Catra watched from above while Adora searched the canopy, hoping for just a glimpse? The thought winds around her heart like a thorny vine, each point a reminder of moments that could have been but weren't.

Catra doesn’t answer right away. A quick succession of expressions cross her face—surprise, then something harder to pin down. Guilt? Pity? Whatever it is, it’s gone before Adora can place it. “We had a deal.” Catra finally says, slow and careful, as if the words themselves are tiptoeing over eggshells. “I help you then vanish without a trace. Magicats go back to 'being extinct'.” She uses air quotes to accentuate the point.

“But you did leave a trace.” Adora ignores the quizzical look Catra gives her as her own thoughts race back to those traces—to the crutches. To the antler. To that hazy, half-remembered night she’s held onto like a keepsake, returning to it again and again, making sure the edges don’t blur, that it doesn’t slip away completely. “So—so you just get to show up then disappear whenever you feel like it?” Adora knows she shouldn’t be upset. Knows they only met once. It wasn’t like they ever agreed to meet again. Catra had joked that day about not being a ghost sent to haunt her, but isn’t that exactly what she had ended up doing? “So why not just stay vanished? Why even come down from the trees at all then?”

Catra’s tail lashes. Then—frustration. “Because you’re harder to keep alive than a damned goldfish!”

“What?!” The offense of the comparison hits Adora like a splash of cold water. She blinks rapidly, momentarily thrown off balance. “That boar wouldn't have killed me! And goldfish aren’t even that hard to keep alive!”

“They’re a popular delicacy of Halfmoon! People fight over them all the time!”

“How the hell would I know– ughh. No. I’m not a goldfish, and you’re still insufferable!”

“And you’re. Still. BALD.”

Silence.

Adora stares at Catra, mouth agape, while Catra's tail twitches nervously despite her defiant stance. The air between them is thick enough to choke on.

Then something in Adora's chest cracks. Maybe it's the sheer absurdity of their argument, or the way Catra's ears keep flicking uncertainly, or how inexplicably familiar this push-and-pull between them feels. A laugh bubbles up from deep in her chest, starting as a snort before bursting into an all out fit.

“You're ridiculous,” she says, the words carried on the tail end of her laughter. The anger from moments before melts away, leaving behind something that feels dangerously close to fondness.

Catra watches her carefully, shoulders still tense, as if unsure if the laughter is a trap, but as Adora's giggles continue to fill the space between them, something in Catra's expression softens. The corner of her mouth twitches upward, fighting against her attempt to maintain her aloof facade. Her tail's agitated lashing slowly eases into a gentler swaying motion.

Running a hand self-consciously over her very-much-not-bald head, Adora takes a steadying breath. “But you're also right.” She meets Catra's gaze. “It is safer if we stay closer to Brightmoon.”

Catra's brows lift, obviously not expecting Adora to agree so easily. She shifts her weight, trying to mask what might be relief in her voice. “Great.” But there's an undertone of something else there—a note of disappointment that makes Adora's heart skip.

“But I can't stop people from coming out here to search for more First One's tech if the well runs dry.”

Catra's head tilts, curiosity overtaking caution. “Hm?”

Adora pauses, thinking over her next words carefully. The truth is, Brightmoon doesn't need more artifacts. She could easily convince everyone to stop searching these woods. But that would mean there’d be no real reason for her to come back. No more chances for her to see Catra again. No more chances to pick up on the way Catra's eyes catch the sunlight or how her tail moves in certain ways to mirror her feelings.

And that thought twists something inside her.

“It’ll be easier to keep people out the woods if they don’t think there’s anything worth finding in them.”

Catra crosses her arms, tail curling thoughtfully behind her. “What are you saying, exactly?” Her ears perk forward, betraying her interest despite the skeptical narrowing of her eyes.

Adora's fingers pick at the hem of her jacket as she chooses her next words. “I'm saying... if there's a way to keep supplying artifacts—pieces of First Ones' tech—without anyone having to come this far, I can control who enters the woods.” She takes a half-step closer, her voice growing more confident. “I can make sure patrols stay far from here, and no one pushes further in.”

“You're suggesting another quid pro quo.” Catra's voice carries a hint of appreciation, like she's discovering something unexpected about Adora.

“Yes.”

The forest settles into an expectant hush around them. Somewhere high above, leaves rustle in a breeze they can't feel down here. Catra's looks up toward the canopy as she considers the proposal. Her tail sways slowly, methodically, like a pendulum keeping time with her thoughts.

Adora rocks on her heels, the movement crackling the leaves beneath her feet. A sense of unease coils tighter in her stomach with each passing moment, but she forces herself to wait, to let Catra work through whatever internal debate is playing across her features.

Finally, Catra's eyes drop back to meet hers, something having settled behind them. “Artifacts,” she says. “I’ll bring you enough to keep your people busy. But you and your friends stay out of this part of the woods. You don’t come back this far. Ever.”

Relief floods through Adora, though guilt gnaws at the edge of her conscience for the half-truths she’s told. “Deal,” she says, perhaps too quickly.

Catra's gaze lingers on her face, scanning for any hint of deception. Something flickers in their depths—doubt, perhaps, or hope—before she gives a short nod. “Deal.” 

Adora runs a hand along the back of her neck, not entirely sure if she should be using it to reach out and seal the deal with a handshake instead. “How will I know where to meet you?”

“You won't. I'll find you.”

The answer is as frustrating as it is reassuring. Adora doesn’t doubt it—Catra has clearly kept track of her before—but before she can reply, the sound of her friends’ voices cuts through the trees. She sees Catra's ears swivel in the direction. 

“You should go.” The magicat’s voice has gone soft. The reluctance in her tone mirrors the way her claws flex unconsciously against her palms. “Your friends are looking for you.”

Adora nods, glancing toward the voices before turning back to Catra. The sunlight playing across her face makes her look almost celestial. “Thank you,” she murmurs, trying to pour everything she can't say into those two words. “Again.”

Catra shrugs, but the casual gesture is betrayed by the way her tail curls around her ankles, almost shy. “Don’t make me regret it,” she replies, though the words hold no real edge, her tone almost teasing.

She starts to leave but hesitates, turning back. “Adora?”

Their eyes meet across the small clearing, and something crackles in the space between them. Catra draws in a breath, her voice dropping to something intimate, almost vulnerable. “You said my eyes stuck with you.” The corner of her lips twitch upward. “Yours... aren't so forgettable either.”

The admission pulls a soft, breathless laugh from Adora.

Catra watches her for a moment longer, drinking in the sight as if storing it away for later. Then she huffs softly, her ears twitching with what might be embarrassment at her own candor. “See you soon, Princess.” She dips into an exaggerated bow before she slips into the trees, her figure disappearing as though the woods itself swallowed her.

Adora remains rooted in place, her heart drumming an unsteady rhythm against her ribs. Her thoughts tangle together, each one wrapped around the memory of Catra's smile, the softness in her raspy voice, the promise in her eyes. She's still staring at the spot where Catra vanished when Bow and Glimmer burst through the underbrush, bringing with them the crash of broken twigs and worried voices.

“Adora!” Bow’s hands land on her shoulders, turning her around to scan her for injuries. “What happened? We heard voices. Yelling voices. You okay?”

Glimmer eyes her closely. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“No reason,” she says, though the warmth in her voice betrays her. She casts one final glance toward the trees before turning back to her friends. “Let’s head home.”

Chapter Text

"Not those ones." Catra slaps the berries out of Adora’s hand before she can put them into her mouth. The bright red fruit scatters to the ground. "They’re poisonous."

Adora blinks, staring at her now empty hand and then at Catra, who stands with her arms crossed, trying to fight back a satisfied grin. "You couldn’t have mentioned that, I dunno… maybe before I almost ate them?"

"Last time we met up, you said you wanted a hands-on learning experience." Catra crouches to pluck a safer cluster of berries from a nearby bush. She straightens and holds them out. "These ones are fine. Sweet, even."

Adora narrows her eyes but accepts the berries. “I didn’t mean ‘hands-on’ to be that literal,” she mutters through a mouthful of fruit. “Is that how you got so good at knowing this stuff? A magicat smacking things out your hands?”

Catra shrugs, her expression settling into the careful neutrality she always wears when Adora asks her about magicats or Halfmoon or her life in general. “If you’re gonna spend a lot of time in the woods, you gotta learn to use the woods,” she says matter-of-factly. “Either the woods work for you, or they work against you.”

Adora pops another berry in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you ever worry, though? About getting hurt out here? Or that something bad might happen…” Her voice drops slightly, not wanting to put the thought of Catra getting hurt out into world but also from memories of her own near-death experience resurfacing. “Not even about people wanting to search for more magicats if they find your body?”

Catra hesitates, her tail flicking sharply behind her. Her expression is stuck between deciding whether to tell Adora something or not before she shakes her head. When she finally speaks, her tone is flat. "Worry doesn’t do much good."

Adora frowns. “But… your family. Or someone. Don’t they worry about you?”

The question lands heavily between them. Catra’s ears twitch, and her tail flicks again, this time slower but no less agitated. Her eyes remain fixed on the trees beyond Adora’s head. There’s an invisible barrier that comes with their conversations, and Adora is learning that Catra will shut her out if she pushes too hard against it.

Adora lets out a deep breath and looks at the berries in her palm. “Well, I’m impressed you learned all this in practical way,” she says in an attempt to re-lighten the mood. “Honestly, I just assumed you were putting random things in your mouth and hoping for the best.”

A small twitch at the corner of Catra’s mouth betrays her thoughts, a faint smile breaking through her solemn demeanor. “Good assumption. Wrong subject matter.”

Adora tilts her head, confused, until the insinuation clicks. “Oh. OH.” Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re the worst. An absolute perv.”

Catra’s smile grows. Her tail swishes behind her in delight. “And yet, you keep coming back,” she says, a playful gleam eyes.

“And yet, I do,” Adora agrees, smiling back.

Only one cloud floats – or more like sits – in the sky. It’s a gorgeous day. Too gorgeous for its own good in that the temperature is perfectly warm, wind perfectly mild, and only one cloud is in the sky on the day Catra offers to take Adora to rare glade where it's possible to 'cloud watch'. They lie shoulder to shoulder on a clean patch of grass that’s mottled with purple flowers, directly under the small window of sky from a break in the tree branches.

Adora squints. “It looks like a cloud.”

Catra releases a breath of air. Adora feels the hike of Catra’s shoulders just as much as she hears the air being pushed out of Catra’s nose. She smiles just a little at the theatrics of it, aware of how she’s getting under the other woman’s skin. “I know it’s a cloud, but like, what does the cloud remind you of? Like do you think it looks like something other than a cloud?”

Adora considers the cloud again. “Hmmm. You go first. What do you think it looks like?”

“A goldfish.”

“You really are obsessed with goldfish…”

“So now I’m a stereotype?”

Adora chuckles in response. “I refuse to believe you fit any type of generalization, Catra.” She turns her head from the sky to watch the woman next to her instead. She knows Catra can tell she’s staring and is quietly pretending not to notice. The sun shining into the glade highlights Catra’s eyes at an angle that makes them shine brilliantly, giving them a depth Adora has never seen before. You’re beautiful she wants to say… She finds herself wanting to say it often, and more often than not trying not to let the words accidentally slip whenever she first lands eyes on the magicat during these meetings in the woods. “Your headpiece,” she says in its place, eyes having danced along Catra’s face until they reached her hairline, “For someone who makes so much fun of me being a princess, it sorta resembles a crown. Are you secretly a princess yourself?”

Catra lifts a slender eyebrow but doesn’t turn her head. “You think Halfmoon would let their princess muck it out in these woods all day like some other pink-obsessed, third-world territory nearby?”

“I think you wouldn’t listen if anyone told you not to.”

“Part of me not fitting a generalization?” Catra sounds amused.

“Part of you being you,” Adora replies, not hiding the admiration in her tone.

Catra’s mouth quirks into a crooked grin. “Sweet talker.”

Warmth fills Adora’s chest.

“And you still never answered the question. What do you think the cloud looks like?”

Adora looks up to analyze the cloud again. If she could put the shape to a meaning, right now she’d say it looks like happiness. She doesn’t know if it’d be weird to say though, so she gives a more literal answer instead.

“It looks like a slug with wings.”

“You are quite literally describing the shape of a goldfish.”

Adora turns the artifact over in her hands, trying to make sense of its odd shape. It’s hollow, with grooves along the sides and a small indent in its round base as if something was meant to be inserted. The material is some kind of smooth, polished alloy, similar-looking to the material of Catra’s headpiece, and despite its age, it looks surprisingly well-preserved. Unlike the other artifacts Catra has brought her, this one has obviously been used, and cared for, recently. Adora had wondered whether the magicats were also interested in First One’s technology – especially with how easily Catra seemed to be able to find and deliver small artifacts to her. The artifact in her hand seems to prove that not only are they interested, but they’re possibly further along than Brightmoon in their utilization of them.

“Huh.”

Catra watches Adora silently from where she’s seated on a fallen log. There’s been a slight tension in the air since she first handed the artifact to Adora. Between the item’s condition and its similarities to Catra’s headpiece, Adora knows there’s a hidden meaning behind Catra giving it to her, just as she knows she’ll be keeping this item for herself instead of giving it to Entrapta or anyone else in Brightmoon.

“So, let me guess,” she muses, tilting her head in mock contemplation. “This was some kind of weirdly complicated hair curler? Like, you shove your tail through it and boom, instant waves.”

Catra lifts an eyebrow.

“No, that doesn’t explain the shape. This was clearly some kind of ancient battle horn.” Adora lifts the artifact to her lips and pretends to blow. Nothing happens. She turns it over in her hands again. “Or maybe a flute? A really badly designed flute?”

The corner of Catra’s mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile, but she says nothing, maintaining an air of silence that Adora is now determined to crack.

Adora flips the artifact over, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Alright, fine. Let’s see… maybe some kind of storage tube? A secret message carrier?”

Catra’s expression remains constrained, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

Adora hums, squinting at the grooves on the side. The shape, the size, the weird little indentation near the bottom. She pauses.

Slowly, a grin spreads across her face.

“I see...” she says, letting the artifact rest on her open palms as she holds it out in wonder. “It’s a bong.”

That does it.

Catra barks out an incredulous laugh before she can stop herself. “What?!”

Adora waves the tube in her direction. “No, think about it! It’s got the perfect shape, the right airflow—this was totally someone’s ancient smoking device.”

Catra groans, rubbing a hand down her face as if the action can physically wipe the conversation from existence. “It’s not used for—”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Adora interrupts. “I know your people are super enlightened and definitely weren’t lounging around getting absolutely wrecked off a First Ones’ magic bong.”

Catra shakes her head, but she’s still chuckling. “I regret everything.”

Adora beams. Victory. “I take it that means I’m right.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But a correct idiot?”

Catra rises from the log and strides over, giving Adora a playful shove on the shoulder, the last traces of laughter still on her lips. The tension from earlier has melted into something lighter.

“See this groove here?”

Adora’s breath hitches as Catra steps in close. She pulls the blonde’s wrists out so she can slide into the space between Adora’s chest and wrist, then lightly pulls Adora’s arm back in place to cage her in. Her hair brushes against Adora’s chin as she tilts her head down, her hands wrapping around Adora’s, guiding her fingers along the indent in the artifact’s side.

“Placing the right gemstone here completes its energy circuit. You could still try blowing into it, or whatever gets your rocks off—but with it powered on? Maybe someone might even blow back.”

Adora blinks. It takes her a second to register that Catra has just told her something—an actual piece of information, freely given. Catra, who never shares anything about Halfmoon, who deflects every question, who only ever answers in silence or scowls, just gave her a hint – or what she thinks is a hint – about Halfmoon society. She cranes her neck to get a better glimpse of Catra’s face. Her eyes briefly flit to Catra’s headpiece, to the two shiny slits that she now assumes are gemstones completing a circuit in those spaces above her eyebrows.

The moment feels important in a way she can’t quite name, a quiet yet monumental shift in the unspoken social contract between them.

She doesn’t push for more even though she wants to know so much more. She wants to know everything about this woman and everything about what makes her who she is, but she’s willing to find out on Catra’s timeline.

So instead, she lets a small, appreciative smile curve her lips as she turns the artifact over with newfound reverence, Catra’s hands still resting over hers.

“Well,” she says, her voice teasing but warm, “that just confirms this wasn’t just some ordinary bong. This was a high-ranking bong. Probably reserved for kings.”

Catra huffs out a breath that might be a laugh, but it’s hard to tell. She pulls away from Adora and their quasi-embrace to pluck a twig off the ground and fling it at Adora’s head.

Adora dodges, cackling, and just like that, they fall into their usual rhythm of trading playful jabs and ridiculous accusations that they’ve created over the past months. The rest of the afternoon passes easily, but that single act—Catra giving her something—sticks. Adora holds onto it, knowing that whatever this is, whatever trust is building between them, it’s growing stronger.

“So,” Catra asks, her tone casual, “what does your military even do?”

They're perched on the broad, sturdy branch of an ancient tree, its limbs stretching low enough to the ground that they barely require any climbing to reach. The branch is wide enough to serve as a comfortable seat for both of them. Their backs press against the rough bark, still warm from the day’s heat, while below, a group of squirrels scurry through the fallen leaves, their rustling a soft, steady backdrop to their conversation.

Adora quirks an eyebrow. "Trying to learn government secrets, huh?"

"Maybe." Catra stretches dramatically, her spine arching like a bow before she settles back against the trunk. "Or maybe I'm just bored." Her tail swishes idly in the space between them, occasionally brushing against Adora's leg.

Adora lets out an amused snort, shaking her head. "Some declassified info for you... My big sister leads our army."

"There's two of you on the other side of those walls?" Catra's eyes widen with exaggerated shock, her ears perking forward. "Never a dull moment in Brightmoon, I bet."

"Heh." Adora's smile dims slightly, her eyes growing distant as she stares through the canopy above. "We're not that alike. She's... disciplined. Serious. I guess everything you'd expect from a commander." Her fingers find a loose piece of bark and start to pick at it absently. "Me? I'm, uh, not on her level. I'm supposed to handle more of the domestic security eventually. Once I've earned my place."

“Earned? Isn’t the whole point of a monarchy that you just kinda get it? Or wait. There’s a lot of you over there, isn’t there. Diarchy?”

Adora continues worrying at the bark beneath her fingers. A small smile plays at her lips as she listens to Catra work through her train of thought.

“Triarchy? No… Polyarchy? Ahhh, pollllyyyarcchhhyyyy.”

Catra smiles triumphant and rolls her head against the trunk to catch Adora’s gaze. Adora can't help but mirror it. Affection washes over her as she observes the other woman's obvious delight in her vocabularic victory.

“So, princess, in your polyarchy,” Catra puts proud emphasis on the new word, “you still have to earn rank? Like… If you flunk out or whatever, they’d allow someone else to take your place?”

“Yeah and no. I’m training right now to actually hold the position in action. Proving my worth or whatever.” She puts the last sentence in air quotes, trying her best to emulate Catra’s voice as she does it. “If I fail, I still get the title and take general ownership the responsibility, but others would be placed under me to actually do the work then report it all up. But it feels like… I don’t know. Maybe what I’m doing’s not enough? My sister was leading squadrons at my age. And I’m still…” She trails off, a look of discomfort on her face.

“Still what?” Catra prods, her voice carrying a protective edge now.

Adora hesitates, her fingers stilling on the bark. “Still me?” The words come out small, almost lost in the rustle of leaves. "Too goofy. Too distracted. Too... not her."

Catra's tail stops its lazy swaying, her ears flattening slightly as she tilts her head. Her eyes narrow. “Who cares that you’re not her? You’re you.”

Adora huffs a quiet breath through her nose, the sound heavy with years of accumulated doubt. “Being me leaves a lot to be desired.”

The sudden warmth of Catra's hand on her knee startles her, the gentle pressure of claws through fabric grounding her to the moment. Adora looks up to find Catra watching her with such fierce conviction that it steals her breath.

“There’s a lot about you to be desired.” The words rumble from deep in Catra's chest, almost like a growl. She then catches herself, ears twitching as she considers her next statement. “And if your sister doesn’t believe that, she’s a bigger dumbass than you are.” Another pause, her nose scrunching slightly. They had talked about her being ‘more sensitive’ about her word choices during one of their previous meetups. “I mean – a dummy.”

The correction pulls a quiet laugh from Adora and Catra's expression softens as she watches her.

“Maybe you two have more in common than you think.”

“I’m not walking into your joke about me and my sister both being dumbasses, Catra.” But there's fondness in Adora's voice now, warming the words.

“Noooo, I mean about the seriousness and stuff. I mean, yeah, maybe a little bit about being dumbasses, but the mainly serious stuff!” Her ears perk forward earnestly. “You’re committed about the stuff that matters. Super committed. Annoyingly comm—”

“Catra.”

“All I’m saying,” Catra pushes on, her hand squeezing Adora's knee for emphasis, “Is you’re dedicated to being the best for your people. Who cares if you sometimes treat straws like walrus tusks when you eat if you’re also putting in all this work to earn your rank and risking your life all the time to farm weird shit from the woods for their development.” A mischievous glint sparks in her eyes. “Unless you’re actually some secret dictator on the other side of that wall, your people are lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Adora mutters with a smile. She places her hand over Catra's, their fingers overlapping on her knee. Her gaze drops, her voice quieter now. “But it’s not just her. Brightmoon has these old customs and traditions that the princesses are sometimes expected to follow.” The breeze stirs the leaves above them, creating shifting patterns of light and shadow across their faces as Adora continues. “She doesn’t even question them. She just… accepts them. I think it sometimes upsets her—upsets a couple people—when I push back.” Her fingers unconsciously tighten over Catra's. “It feels like I’m letting her down just by being me but if I don’t push back, I feel like I’m giving up a part of myself. I don’t know how to be the sister she thinks would make the memory of our parents proud… the sister that she wants.”

“What do you want?” Catra asks softly.

The question hangs between them, the squirrels' rustling below fading into distant white noise. Adora turns to Catra, her lips parting as if to answer, but the words don’t come. Instead, her gaze lingers on Catra’s face—the way her mismatched eyes catch the afternoon light, the elegant line of her jaw, how the breeze plays through her wild mane of hair...

The silence stretches, filled with the soft sounds of the forest and their shared breathing. Adora looks away first, her fingers slowly slipping free from Catra's as she clears her throat. The loss of contact feels significant. “I guess… I just want to do the right thing.”

Catra doesn’t respond, but her gaze remains steady on her.

Adora isn’t sure, but although her answer was silent… in that moment it felt loud.

The clearing is quiet save for the sound of their labored breathing. Adora plants her feet, wielding her practice stick like a sword. Catra circles her, claws flexing.

“Come on, Princess,” Catra taunts. “I’ve fought practice dummies quicker than you.”

Adora lunges forward. Her next strike is quick… but predictable. Catra dances to the side spinning close enough that Adora catches her scent—earth and spice—before feeling the quick tap on her arm.

“Too slow,” Catra quips, already moving out of reach.

“Too slippery,” Adora grumbles, adjusting her stance.

They trade taps across the clearing, their styles a study in contrasts. Adora stays grounded, each movement precise and measured. Catra flows like water, unpredictable and swift. When Adora spots her opening, she doesn't hesitate. She catches Catra's wrist, using the other woman's momentum to spin her around and pin her against a tree trunk. The makeshift stick-sword hovers just above Catra's chest. “Gotcha,” Adora breathes.

“Not for long,” Catra retorts, twisting beneath her and sweeping Adora’s legs out from under her.

Adora hits the ground with a thud. “Ughh, foul play! I already won!”

“My moral victory still counts.” Catra flops down beside her, their shoulders rubbing as they both try to catch their breath.

Catra props herself up on an elbow to study Adora. “I’m still surprised Brightmoon lets its princesses fight. I know your family leads the military and all, but I didn’t think you’d be allowed to risk yourselves in a battle.” She pauses, then, too casually, adds, “You, uh… have any other weird customs? For princesses?”

“We have a TON of weird customs,” Adora snorts good-naturedly. “On Sundays, no princess is allowed in a yellow house if the residents are poaching seaweed and playing a live saxophone. Very niche. Don’t ask me why.”

“That, uh, that is weird.” Catra’s laugh comes out strained. Something in her expression is unsatisfied. “Any others?”

“I dunno…” Adora says slowly, trying to suss out what it is Catra is trying to pull from her. “What kind of customs are you thinking?”

“Like regular life stuff? Like where you can live or like…” Catra’s ears flick. Her gaze shifts to the trees, feigning nonchalance.  “…for mating?”

Adora blinks, absorbing the question. “Mating?” she echoes, letting the word hang between them. The corner of her mouth slowly starts to pull upwards.

Catra’s ears flick again, cheeks darkening. “You know. Finding a lifelong partner.”

“Ahhhh,” Adora draws out the sound. She shifts to mirror Catra's position, propped on one elbow. “We call that marriage.”  She watches Catra carefully, delighting in this moment of seeing the usually aloof woman flustered. “What do you want to know?”

Catra exhales sharply. “You’re a princess. Do you have rules? Like, you have to marriage a prince or something?”

“Ohhh, we’re a bit more progressive than that,” Adora lilts in a soft, playful way, a gentle smile on her face as she continues to watch Catra squirm.

“And that’s it? You’re just allowed to do what you want? No rules?”

“There’s some rules.” Adora keeps her face perfectly composed aside from the calm smile she can’t hold in.

Catra stares at her.

Adora stares back, offering nothing but a slow, amused blink.

A low growl rumbles in Catra's chest. "Like?”

“You know, this may be the most I’ve ever seen you interested in Brightmoon’s customs.” Adora traces a pattern in the grass between them.

Catra’s jaw works as she grinds her teeth. “I’m just curious. That’s all.”

"What might've sparked this curiosity?" Adora bats her lashes with exaggerated innocence. 

Catra mutters something under her breath, ears pinned back. The sound of Adora’s laugh makes them swivel forward again.

"I'm just saying," Adora chuckles, "If you ever want to know anything specific about our romantic customs, you're always welcome to ask directly."

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Catra's voice cracks with frustration.

Adora softens, just slightly. "Well, there are some general things I can tell you." She pauses, letting Catra settle before continuing. "There are old traditions some loyalists stick to, but the decision comes down to the family. Some families just marry whoever they want, like my friend Glimmer’s."

"The sparkly one who called the compass I gave you janky?"

"Uhh, I… I guess yeah?"

"Not fond of her."

“Anyway,” Adora continues. “Glimmer’s family has always gone the way of following their hearts. She’s engaged to Bow, the son of two librarians. No royal blood. Her parents are different—her mom's practically a deity and her dad's a wizard—"

"Wizard dad. Explains it."

"—who's Brightmoon royalty."

Catra's expression opens up. "And your family?"

“My parents were an arranged marriage,” Adora admits. “They used to tell us, ‘luck turned into love’ because they were lucky they got paired with someone they could be friends with, but immediately fell for each other.” There’s a distant note in Adora’s voice as she speaks of her late parents. “My sister agreed to an arranged marriage too. She says it was to honor them and the family tradition, but I think she only said that for my benefit. We were both relatively young when my parents passed. I think she was scared about all the responsibility that was getting put on her and having to do it alone… So she reached out to another kingdom and they arranged the wedding between her and her wife.”

"And... how's that working out?"

“Honestly?” Adora lets out a soft a laugh. “Really well. Her wife, Light Hope, is basically one of us. Her lineage traces directly back to the First Ones. She thinks we're descended from them too, based on our magic. She's been teaching me how to use my powers for healing.” A smile tugs at her lips. “And their kingdom’s a solid ally, so no one's thinking about military coup. Always a plus.”

Catra hums, taking it all in. “So… it’s a tradition, but not a rule?”

“You seem pretty invested in what is or isn't a rule." Adora fingers a fallen leaf, twirling the stem a bit before looking back up at Catra. "Any particular reason? I could give you a better answer."

Catra makes a face, followed by a low grumble. “Sowhataboutyou.”

“Hmm? I didn’t catch that?”

“What. About. You?”

“What about me?”

Catra’s glare could melt stone. “Are you promised to someone?”

“Like verbally? On paper? By law? Prophesy?”

“Forget it.” Catra starts to turn away.

Adora laughs and reaches out to catch her wrist. Her thumb brushes over Catra's pulse point, immediately drawing the magicat’s attention back. “I’m not promised to anyone.” She meets Catra’s gaze, letting her playfulness fade into a more genuine expression. "There’s no set law." She allows her thumb to caress the soft skin on the inside of Catra’s wrist again. She maintains strong eye contact as she says in a resolute voice, "I plan to choose."

The tension drains from Catra’s shoulders.

“Good. That’s… progressive. As you say.” Adora can’t explain it, but Catra’s face seems to brighten. It’s sweet.

Adora watches her, warmth curling in her chest. She nudges Catra's foot with her own, not ready to let the moment end. "And what about your culture? What does 'mating' involve? It sounds serious."

"It is." Catra's voice has lost its edge from earlier. "You make a declaration in front of witnesses. Trade heirlooms. There's a feast to celebrate." She pauses, her next words careful. "It's for life. Like, permanently."

“Sounds beautiful,” Adora’s smile carries in her voice. “When you say permanently... I mean, technically marriage should be too. With mating, there's no divorce?" At Catra's confused look, she clarifies, "No breaking up afterwards? No takesies-backsies at any point?”

“No.” Catra stretches an arm out across the ground and lowers her head into the crook of it while keeping her attention on Adora. Her ears bend in an adorable way from how she lies in the grass, which makes Adora’s smile widen even more. “There’s no takesies-backsies.”

“Huh.” Adora tilts her head, intrigued. “How do you know it’s the right person? That it’s not just a crush? Or a person who just fits that stage of your life?”

Something vulnerable crosses Catra’s face. “You just… know. Then you bond. It’s hard to explain, but it’s a bit physiological with us. There are signs. My mom calls it ‘evolution-based stress.’ Your body loses its mind until your love loves you back. Or lets you go. Then everything eventually settles.” She looks at Adora sheepishly and shrugs. “Pheromones.”

Adora watches her, her heart softening. It’s the first time Catra has mentioned family, and she doesn’t want to call attention to it. Just listens. It does comfort her to know that whenever they part ways from these rendezvous, she’s returning to people who care about her. “That sounds…” She trails off, leaning back in the grass and folding her hands behind her head, “Intimidating. But nice. To just know without the guessing.”

Catra’s expression dims, just slightly. Her voice is barely a whisper. “They still have to love you back.”

Adora sits on her bed in Brightmoon Castle as she works a polishing cloth against her sword. Each stroke reveals deeper layers of shine in the metal as a melody rises unbidden from her throat—the tune of an old lullaby her mother used to sing to her as a child that she's woven her own flourishes into over time. The notes drift through the quiet room as she concentrates on her polishing.

Mara materializes silently in the doorway. She leans against the frame with her arms crossed as she watches her sister with quiet amusement. "Someone's been in a good mood lately," she observes aloud, finally pushing away from the frame to enter the room.

"Hmm?" Adora maintains the rhythm of her polishing without looking up. She’s used to Mara inviting herself in when the door is open. 

"Humming. Skipping… Playing with flowers." Mara's voice takes on a teasing note at the last sentence. "You know, the kind of froo froo behavior I'd expect from the Plumerians – which by the way, Light Spinner tells me you've been spending a lot of time with their princess."

“Perfuma? Yeah, she’s been in Brightmoon more than usual lately.” The cloth pauses over a stubborn spot, and Adora leans closer, her breath fogging the metal.  "Did you notice the new medicinal herbs she helped me plant in the royal garden? The ones with the purple flowers? They grow in the woods, but just in patches where enough sunlight can break through the trees. They should thrive with the constant sun they’ll get in the gardens.”

Catra had originally pointed the flowers out. Just as Catra supplied Adora with artifacts to send to Entrapta in Dryl, she also supplied her with whatever knowledge she could share about the flora of the woods in case it could be useful in Brightmoon. Perfuma, of course, was an avid listener. Whenever Perfuma was visiting from Plumeria, which seemed to be very often recently, they would meet in the garden and trade notes. Perfuma developed a sudden interest in whatever Adora learned about arthropodal species from her ‘scavenges’ in the woods, while Adora soaked in any information Perfuma shared about local vegetation, as to try and impress Catra with it later.

The mattress dips as Mara settles onto the edge of Adora's bed, her smile growing more pointed. She scoops up one of Adora's pillows and hugs it to her chest like a schoolgirl at a slumber party. "Light Spinner also informed me you’ve been spending quite a bit of time in those gardens." Her eyebrows lift suggestively. "Developing an interest in plants now, are we?"

"Among other things." Adora holds her sword up to the light, admiring how it catches the sun. Her humming resumes, softer now, almost unconscious.

"You remind me of myself, you know. Humming. Smiling. Learning more about things I couldn’t care less about before..." Mara's voice carries a hint of nostalgia. "When I first started falling for Light Hope—” She stops, her smile turning playful. "Well, you remind myself of me when I was your age..." Mara reconsiders her words again. “…and I realized how much I cared for someone.”

The humming stops. Adora's hands still on the sword. She still doesn’t look at her sister but instead fixes her stare on some distant point through the bedroom window. “You… think I’ve met someone?”

Mara smiles encouragingly. “If even Light Spinner can notice it, it’s obvious you’ve met someone.”

Adora's brow creases. She sets the sword aside with careful hands, her voice dropping. "Can I ask you something? How did you... when did you realize it was more than..." The words stick in her throat.

"How did I realize what was more that than what?" Mara leans closer.

"Well, with you and Light Hope. That you were more than just..." Adora finally meets her sister's eyes, vulnerability raw in her expression. "I think this might be different. Special. But I don't know if she sees it the same way. When we're together, I'm pretty sure she does -- it feels impossible that she wouldn’t. But she can be..." Her fingers twist in her lap as she searches for the right word. "Enigmatic."

“Oof.” Mara smiles. "She's got you using words like enigmatic? You're down bad, sis." She nudges Adora with her elbow, but Adora's expression remains serious. "If you’re so sure she feels the same way, why are you so afraid to ask?"

"I dunno. I guess..." Adora's voice catches. "That I'll ruin it and she'll run away?" The fear in her voice is real. The fragility of her connection to Catra weighs heavy on her mind—how easily the magicat could one day decide to vanish into the deeper, darker parts of the woods and there would be nothing Adora could do to stop it. The thought of never seeing her again sits like ice in her stomach. It's a risk Adora isn't ready to take.

“And you want there to be more with her? Than what you have now?”

“I want anything she’s willing to give me,” Adora says, barely above a whisper. She glances at the discarded sword as if it might hold some answers. “I don’t think the logistics of it could ever work, though. Location-wise.”

Mara's face falls into one of sympathy. She opens her mouth to respond, but the clearing of a throat interrupts her. Light Spinner appears in the doorway, her maroon scarf pulled across her face like a mask. In her hands, she holds a First One’s artifact—the one Catra gave Adora—with its distinctive indent in the bulbous base.

"An interesting piece." Light Spinner’s green eyes are intense above her scarf. "I found it while organizing the training equipment." She turns it over in her hands, studying it with an unsettling focus. "Where did you acquire this, Adora?"

Adora is not sure why, but she bristles at seeing Light Spinner with the artifact. Catra has made her disdain for wizards very clear, even if she’s never explained why, and seeing Light Spinner focused on that particular artifact feels like a violation somehow. Adora pushes the feeling down and forces a casual shrug. "Oh, that thing? Found it in the Whispering Woods. I'm holding it for Entrapta. If you could just leave it—"

“Where in the woods, my dear?”

Adora feels Mara shift beside her, her sister's body angling toward Light Spinner with newfound interest.

“The woods are a big place and we find a lot of artifacts.” Adora keeps her tone balanced somewhere between indifference and annoyance. “I can’t remember where we found that one exactly, but I do remember Entrapta needs it specifically for something. Thank you for finding it. So if you can please—"

"We?" Light Spinner draws the word out curiously. "From my recent knowledge, you've been traveling into the woods alone ever since you returned with that vizor artifact."

"What?" Mara's head whips back toward her sister. "Adora, what?! We talked about this."

“I’m not going to hurt my ankle again.”

“I don’t care! It’s too dangerous for you to be going out there alone.”

“I’m careful,” Adora insists. “I make sure I have my communicator with me before I leave. I don’t go out too far, and I’m going to be captain of the guard soon. Our training bots are harder to fight than most of the creatures that live near Brightmoon.”

Mara isn’t appeased. She’s still giving Adora a disbelieving look when Light Spinner asks, “Do you know what this is?”

Irritation flashes across Adora's face as she meets Light Spinner's – her snitch’s –gaze, jaw set.

“A bong.”

Light Spinner's eyes narrow. The skin around them crinkles in a way that suggests she's not smiling under her scarf. "A bong," she repeats. Her finger taps purposefully against the indent where the power circuit lies. "How novel."

“Okay, if I hear any more of this, my eye's gonna start twitching.” Mara rises from the bed in one smooth motion, placing herself between them like a shield. "Light Spinner, we should let Adora prepare for her final test. She's probably tired enough from all her solo trips into the woods." She shoots an aggravated look at her sister over her shoulder. "But she's got a big day coming up. She needs space to focus." She gestures Light Spinner toward the door. "Shall we?"

Light Spinner's gaze lingers on Adora for a long moment before she allows Mara to guide her out.

“Wait!” Adora springs to her feet. “The artifact.”

"Oh, don't worry, Adora." Light Spinner's voice carries both ice and honey. "You should continue preparing for your assessment. I'll make sure this gets to Dryl, since Entrapta is expecting it specifically."

As their footsteps fade down the hall, Adora mutters a curse under her breath. She picks up her sword again and resumes her polishing with more force than necessary. It takes several minutes before her humming fills the room once more, but it now carries an edge of uncertainty beneath its cheerful notes.

Catra crouches near the creek's edge, her feet finding purchase on the smooth stones as she maintains a carefully measured distance from the water. "Really though, fishing is just patience and knowing where to look." She points to where the water moves in lazy swirls. "See how the water’s moving differently there? That's where they’re hiding. You don’t wanna be all loud and scare the fish away, but you also can’t be too scared to get close and pounce.”

Adora stands knee-deep in the middle of the creek, her rolled-up pants already showing dark spots from errant splashes. The makeshift spear in her hands – really just a stick she spent the better part of an hour whittling to a point – feels awkward and unwieldy. She furrows her brow as she scans the water, trying to spot the telltale flash of scales beneath the surface. "You say that, but I notice you're staying awfully far away from the action."

"It’s called supervising."

"Of course it is." Adora glances back, a familiar teasing smile playing at her lips. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re scared of getting wet."

Catra’s ears flatten against her head and the fur along her tail bristles. The warning look she shoots Adora goes deliberately ignored.

"No way..." Adora's eyes widen. "The first day we met, you literally waded through a thunderstorm!"

"Drastic measures – now focus!" Catra urges, jabbing her finger toward the creek with renewed intensity. "There's one right by your left foot."

Adora thrusts the stick down with more enthusiasm than accuracy, missing spectacularly and losing her balance in the process. Her arms windmill as she stumbles backward. "Whoa—"

"Don't you dare—" Catra lunges forward to catch her. Adora’s flailing hand catches her wrist before gravity takes over, pulling them both down with a tremendous splash

They surface spluttering. Catra pushes her soaked hair back from her face with an indignant huff. "You did that on purpose!"

"Did not!" Adora protests through her laughter, sending a spray of water in Catra's direction. Her eyes are sparkling, cheeks flushed from the cool water and barely contained glee. "Seriously, is this gonna be the one time you don't blame me for being ‘naturally clumsy’?!"

"Because I know collusion!" Catra's already launching her counter-attack, flinging her arms out to send mini waves crashing up into Adora for the first strike in the ensuing water war.

Shrieks bounce from the stones to the trees as they chase each other through the shallows. Adora ducks under Catra's next splash and barrels forward. She catches Catra around the waist, but her foot slides on a moss-covered stone. Adora tightens her grip around Catra as they tumble forward, pulling the other woman close and trying to use her arms as a buffer to break her fall as they awkwardly land on a slightly submerged sandbank along the side of the creek.

“Ouchhh,” Catra half laughs-half groans, but the noise dies in her throat as she turns her head to look up at Adora, their noses nearly brushing in the motion. The air stills between them. Water droplets sparkle on Catra's eyelashes, catching the sunlight like tiny prisms. Adora’s tempted to reach out and gently wipe them away, but her hand is still curved around Catra's waist, her thumb brushing against a strip of exposed fuzzy skin where Catra's shirt has ridden up.

Their faces hover inches apart, close enough for their breaths to mingle. Adora’s world feels like it narrows to just this moment – the gentle burble of the creek, the warmth of Catra beneath her despite the cool water, the way Catra's pupils expand as Adora's gaze drops to her lips…

Adora finds herself leaning in, drawn by some invisible force, but a splash of cold water against her arm breaks her trance. The damned fish she’d been trying to catch uses this moment to breach the water nearby and mock her.

"I should—" Adora lets her hands slide away from Catra’s waist, cheeks flaming. She pushes herself up to stand and water streams down her clothes. "We should probably dry off."

"Right." Catra's voice comes out hoarse. She has to clear her throat before speaking again. "Yeah. Good idea."

They make their way up the bank, careful not to look at each other while still being hyperaware of every movement, every splash, every breath the other makes. Catra moves further from the bank to bend at the waist and wring out her hair. Adora turns away and undoes her ponytail, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulls at her hair tie. Next, she reaches for the hem of her soaked shirt and pulls up, the fabric clinging stubbornly to her skin. She keeps her back to Catra as she wrings it out, trying to ignore the weight of the silence between them.

After pulling the shirt back on, still cold but nowhere near as heavy, she glances over her shoulder to find Catra openly staring at her. The magicat's ears are perked forward, eyes wide and dark. The moment their gazes meet, Catra whips around so fast she nearly loses her balance again, her tail lashing through the air.

"Sorry! I wasn't—I mean—I'll just..." Catra's tail continues its agitated dance as she studies the trees with a sudden, intense focus.

Adora just stares back, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach caused by the look Catra was giving her. "No worries. All clear."

Catra continues to keep her distance as she goes through what seems to be a vigorous drying regimen. Adora spends that time worrying her fingernails, pacing, and rocking on her heels while trying to process what almost just happened—what weirdly felt like it was still happening. The sun is starting its decent by the time they've mostly dried off, casting long shadows through the trees. They walk slowly back in the direction of Brightmoon. At the edge of the clearing where they usually part ways, they both stop.

"So..." Adora turns to face Catra, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. Her heart is pounding so hard she wonders if Catra can hear it.

“So…” Catra parrots, swinging a foot lazily between them. Even now, with both of them older and more mature, Catra standing here – still more wet than dry– gives Adora a sense of déjà vu. She's transported back to the night they first met, when they'd been caught in that rainstorm. Her heart reaches out to the woman in front of her just as surely as it must have then, recognizing something vital and precious even if she hadn't known what to call it at the time.

“Cat—"

“I—”

They both stop.

“You go first,” Adora nods. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her damp shirt.

“No,” Catra shakes her head, ears twitching. “You. Mine can wait.” Her eyes dart off to the side before they quickly shift back up to meet Adora’s again.

"Uh… yeah." Adora tries to gather her thoughts, somewhat rattled by their synchronized attempt to speak. "Oh, uh. I meant to tell you – I passed my final assessment yesterday. They're swearing me in as head of city guard next week."

Catra smiles lightly at that. The look on her face is still a bit distant, but there’s obvious hints of both pride and affection in her expression. "Of course you did. Brightmoon's lucky to have you." She hesitates, then adds more quietly, "Halfmoon is too."

“They’re going to have an induction in the city square for me. Apparently everyone of note will be there… but that’s not exactly true, is it?” She looks to Catra. “Save you a seat in the front row?”

Catra gives her a wry smile. It still feels as if something else is on her mind, weighing in the background.

“But uh, while we do the preparations and everything, I won’t be able squeeze in any trips out here. So it might be another week, maybe even a few days more, before Fishing Lessons 2.0.”

“Hmph,” Catra pushes air out her nose. The smile on her face has turned reluctant. “As if I haven’t mentally and emotionally banned you from the creek already.”

“Yeah… I guess. Um.” Adora shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, acutely aware of how the evening shadows are lengthening around them. “There was something you wanted to say?”

Catra’s eyebrows lift in surprise, as if she'd already forgotten her earlier attempted words. “Oh. Just... be careful. It gets more dangerous out here when it’s dark.”

“Of course. You too.”

They remain frozen, caught in the space between leaving and staying. Crickets begin their evening chorus and fireflies brgin to emerge, their gentle lights dotting the growing dusk. As much as Adora wants to address this palpable feeling lingering between them, now is not the safest time. No time ever seems to be a good time.

Finally, Catra lifts her hand in a stiff wave, her smile tight at the corners, and turns away. Her tail holds unnaturally still as she strides toward the thicker brush lining the clearing and the trees gradually swallow her form.

Only when Catra is out of sight does Adora press her cool hands to her burning cheeks, exhaling slowly. Her mind replays their moments in the creek, the feeling of Catra's skin beneath her fingers, the way their breaths had mingled in the small space between them, the look in Catra’s eyes as she leaned in closer. She turns to leave as well when—

"Wait!”

Twigs snap and leaves rustle behind her. Fingers wrap around her forearm, sending a jolt of electricity through her skin. As she turns, Catra pulls, the action propelling her into Adora more than Adora into her, bringing their bodies flush together. They're just as close as they were earlier today, on top of each other in the creek, but there’s no creek water between them now – nothing to cool the heat rising wherever they touch.

Catra's eyes catch in the fading light, luminescent and searching as she gazes up through dark lashes. Her grip on Adora's arm loosens, offering an escape. Adora could step back. Could pull away. Could restore that careful distance they've maintained for so long – a distance where the air doesn’t feel so thick, or Adora's cheeks so hot, or the time so slow.

Their hearts thunder in tandem. Catra's tail brushes against Adora’s calf. Her free hand traces up Adora's neck, fingertips threading through the hair at her nape before cradling the back of her head. She rises onto her toes with deliberate slowness. Her head tilts, and her gaze drops to Adora's mouth just as Adora’s had done to hers earlier.

Adora's eyes widen briefly as Catra guides her head down and rises up on her toes. She hovers there, a breath away, offering Adora one last chance to step back.

"Adora..." Her name floats between them, softer than a whisper...

...before Catra's mouth finds hers.

The kiss is soft at first. Testing. As if Catra still expects Adora might pull away. But Adora doesn’t. Instead, her hands drop to Catra's waist, squeeze, lock her in closer, and something in Catra seems to break loose. Her grip tightens in Adora’s hair as she deepens the kiss, and a quiet, breathy sound escapes her. The noise sends something molten rushing through Adora’s veins, spurring her to reciprocate with just as much enthusiasm.

Their lips slide apart only to surge together again, each new kiss bolder than the last. Sharp canines graze Adora's bottom lip, pulling a gasp from her throat. Every touch blazes through her—the press of Catra's body, the softness of her lips, the scratch of her claws against Adora's scalp.

They break apart, breathless. Catra's ears are pinned back, her expression dazed, her lips slightly swollen. Before Adora can speak, Catra steals one more kiss—swift and tender—then spins away toward the denser gathering of trees.

"Good luck next week!" she calls over her shoulder, her voice carrying a note of joy that makes Adora's heart skip.

The crickets continue their serenade and the fireflies continue their dance through the growing darkness, playing their role as nature's quiet witnesses. Adora's fingers drift to her lips. They're curled in a smile that she knows won't fade anytime soon. She doesn't know how she's going to survive over a week without returning to the woods now.

The downtown square outside of Brightmoon Castle pulses with excitement. Hundreds of faces tilt upward toward the grand platform where Adora stands. Pink royal banners snap and flutter in the breeze. It’s a perfect day for a celebration. Adora’s captain of the guard uniform makes her feel extra clean, extra official. The tailored outfit mirrors Mara's She-Ra regalia, though subtle alterations speak to Adora's own spirit. Light Hope says that magic will tailor it even more over time, as Adora masters her powers just as Mara did, and the prospect of it all excites her.

In the front row, Bow and Glimmer wave with enough excitement to make up for the whole crowd. Adora holds back a grin, but allows her fingers to twitch in a small answering wave. Glimmer's presence in the crows is just for show – as the legislative princess of Brightmoon, she'll need to join the formal procession on stage soon enough – but the gesture warms Adora's heart all the same.

Her eyes can't help but search the crowd, even knowing the futility of it. They trace each shadow, each gap between bodies, hunting for a particular silhouette she knows won't be there. Can't be there.

When a third figure breaks free from the mass to squeeze in beside Bow and Glimmer, Adora's heart leaps – then settles heavily as Perfuma emerges. The princess of Plumeria offers an enthusiastic thumbs up, and Adora schools her features to hide the way her smile falters at its edges to give a congenial smile in return.

She continues to maintain her composure through the ceremony, speaking the oath of office with clarity and pride. Her voice carries across the square, strong and sure, even as her mind drifts to the dusky clearing from three days ago. To the music of crickets. To velvety skin beneath her fingers. To the cute chirp Catra made when Adora started returning the kiss, followed by a purr so deep Adora could feel it in her own chest.

A swell of cheers yanks her back to the present as the ceremonial sword is presented. Adora raises it skyward, sunlight blazing along its length. The crowd's approval crashes over her like a wave, and her smile widens –caught up in the moment's magnificence. She can’t wait to get back to the woods to tell Catra about this. She can’t wait to get back to the woods to do many things. Her gaze sweeps across the gathered faces, hundreds of people she's sworn to protect. For a moment, she imagines a particular set of mismatched eyes watching from the shadows, but she knows better.

Mara steps forward, the gold in her She-Ra uniform catching the light like captured stars, flashing with each confident stride. Her smile carries layers - pride, legacy, and a curious hint of mischief. When she raises her hands, the crowd's energy shifts like a compass finding true north.

"Citizens of Brightmoon," Mara's voice rings out, "I’d like to deeply thank each and every one of you who has come out to congratulate my sister today and each and every one of you who still puts your trust in us to defend this beautiful territory.” She glances over her shoulder at Adora, giving her a playful wink. Adora hasn’t seen her sister this giddy in a long while and winks back, wondering if Mara is feeling just as moved by the crowd as she is. “Today, we celebrate not only my sister's dedication to our safety, but another joyous milestone." She turns fully to face Adora now, her eyes sparkling. "It brings me great pleasure to announce the engagement of our beloved Adora to Princess Perfuma of Plumeria. "

The crowd explodes with joy.

Flowers rain onto the platform.

Someone releases doves.

And Adora… Adora stands frozen, her ceremonial sword suddenly leaden in her grip.

“Our magic advisor, Light Spinner, is to thank for facilitating the union. She noticed these two lovebirds pining after each other and nudged the King of Plumeria and myself to investigate further. It turns out that both our proteges were harboring deep feelings they weren’t sure the other returned.” Mara flashes a comforting smile to Adora. “After we were able to confirm for ourselves, it took no time for Light Spinner to finalize the match with a trade of weapons to Plumeria in exchange for crops and medicines to Brightmoon.”

The cheers become distant to Adora’s ears, muffled as though she was sinking beneath dark water. Her smile remains fixed in place — years of royal training taking control — while her mind shatters around a single, devastating thought: Catra.

Through the roaring in her ears, she registers Perfuma’s name being chanted. She watches as if in a dream as the other princess ascends the platform steps. Her usually tanned face looks ashen behind her diplomatic smile and Adora has the feeling she may be feeling equally as blindsided. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, sharing a moment of mutual panic beneath their perfect masks.

Near the stage's edge, Glimmer's jaw has dropped, her eyes wide as saucers. She mouths a single word: "WHAT?"

The sword nearly slips from Adora's nerveless fingers as the world tilts beneath her feet. Above, the celebratory doves trace patterns that blur and swim before her eyes, their white wings catching the sun like shards of broken dreams. The crowd continues to cheer, none of them seeing the way their new guard captain's heart is splintering behind her perfect smile, none of them knowing about the woman in the woods whose heart is potentially about to break too.

Chapter Text

"Because you had no right!"

Mara strides through the doorway of the tactical affairs room with Adora tight on her heels. 

Light Hope and Light Spinner freeze mid-conversation, their heads turning in unison toward the sisters. “I don’t understand why you’re so worked up about this,” Mara says, exasperated. “You got what you wanted. Maybe a bit sooner than expected, but if you were going down that road anyway and it benefits Brightmoon—”

“Who said this is what I wanted?!” Adora's hands fly up in frustration.

"You did." Mara whirls on her, emphasizing the 'you' with a pointed finger. "You said it yourself. You wanted anything she was willing to give. You kept going on and on about the distance, wondering if she felt the same and according to everyone in Plumeria's court, Princess Perfuma is absolutely smitten. So,” she crosses her arms, "Congrats, Casanova. Mission accomplished."

“There’s NO way that’s with me.”

“Don’t be so modest, Adora,” Light Hope interjects softly from across the room. "You’re a lovely young woman."

But Adora barely registers the compliment. "There's nothing going on between me and Perfuma!"

Mara's eyes dart questioningly toward Light Spinner before snapping back to Adora.

“And even if there was, I’m your sister! Not some tax write-off! How could you not ask me before-before,” she sputters, searching for the words, her hands gesturing wildly, “—before trading me off like I’m a piece of livestock!”

“Livestock would be less of a headache.”

“What?!”

“I thought,” Mara grinds out, her voice dropping dangerously low, "this was what you wanted. I thought 'what an amazing way to honor the family tradition.' I thought it was perfect."

“You THOUGHT wrong,” Adora fires back. “You need to undo it. Now.”

Mara tilts her head, studying Adora as if she’s the one who’s lost her mind.

“Who’s the girl?” Light Spinner's smooth voice cuts through the sisters' standoff.

“Huh?” The interjection catches Adora off-guard. She spares a glance in Light Spinner’s direction and the woman’s pale green eyes are assessing her with an intense sort of curiosity.

“Then who. Is. The girl?” She repeats the question, slowly punching out each word.

Adora clenches her jaw. "A villager."

"Which villager?" Mara latches onto Light Spinner's inquiry, her tone controlled in that particular way that always puts Adora on edge during their arguments.

“That’s… not your business.”

“It is my business if you’re asking me to dissolve an alliance over her.”

“I’m not asking you to dissolve an alliance!” Adora can’t help her voice from rising as she strides closer to Mara. "I'm begging you please..." her voice drops to a more vulnerable tone, "Don't do this to me."

“I haven’t observed you with any other girls in the village.” Light Spinner continues to muse aloud as if this is a puzzle to solve. “Besides Princess Glimmer, the only girl I’ve seen you dally with is Princess Perfuma.”

“I haven’t been ‘dallying’ with—wait.” Adora's attention shoots back to Light Spinner, eyes widening. “You’ve been watching me?”

Light Spinner doesn’t even blink at the accusation. "As your family's counselor and guardian, oversight is part of my duty. Excluding your excursions in the woods and the late-night hours, I generally maintain awareness of your activities. Which this would all make sense if..." Her eyebrow arches. "Your companion is one relegated to midnight encounters?"

Light Hope stifles a gasp from the corner of the room.

Confusion clouds Adora's features at both the question and the reaction. “What do you mean?”

“Gods above.” Mara pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “Is the girl you’ve been seeing from the pleasure district, Adora? DT and the gossip rags are going to be insufferable if they catch wind of this…”

“What?! NO!” Adora blurts, her head whipping between Mara and Light Spinner. “She’s not! She just doesn’t want attention.”

Mara’s eyes narrow. “So this mystery woman courts a princess yet hates attention? This is my explanation for Plumeria?”

“Your explanation is you shouldn’t have assumed I wanted marriage in the first place! I know you and our parents were forced into it, but I thought we’d moved to be better than that by now!”

"Oh."

That single, soft syllable from Light Hope stops the argument cold. The word hangs in the air, fragile and wounded.

Adora turns toward her sister-in-law, stomach dropping as she sees the hurt in her eyes. "Light Hope," she begins, voice gentler, "I didn't mean it like that. I just—"

“Mm.” Mara raises her hand, cutting Adora off. Her eyes close briefly, lips pressed into a tight line. When she opens them again, steel fills her gaze. "Adora, I hear you," she grinds out. "I made a mistake. I'll try to fix it." She pauses, considering something before continuing, "But it may take time. Plumeria’s still pissed at us for bringing in Scorpia after her family sided with the Horde, and to my knowledge, Perfuma has had nothing but positive things to say about how right we got it with this match. This would’ve been a perfect solution.” She lets out a deep breath. “But I won’t force you into a marriage you don’t want.”

Adora’s shoulders sag with relief. A smile begins to creep to her lips but falters under Mara's stern look.

"This needs to be handled delicately," Mara continues. "Our relationship with Plumeria is fragile enough as it is. Announcing an engagement and then retracting it the next day while Perfuma celebrates could damage it even further."

“Princess Mara,” Light Spinner warns in a low voice, “If we call off the engagement, Plumeria won’t allow us access to the Black Garnet. Not as long as we continue to house Princess Scorpia.”

“I think Princess Scorpia will survive just fine without it.” Exhaustion weighs heavy in Mara's voice. Though she speaks to Light Spinner, her eyes are fixed on Light Hope. "I'll arrange a trip to Plumeria to speak with Perfuma directly, see if I can get a good read on if she’s as happy about this as she says she is before we discuss an out." She straightens her shoulders. "Now, I need a moment with my wife."

It was not a request, but an order.

Adora bows her head and mutters a quick thanks before leaving the hall.

Adora’s feet feel leaden as she trudges deeper into the woods. The familiar sound of leaves crunching under her boots only provide a slight comfort as she reaches the area where Catra usually finds her. A little over a week has passed since the induction-ceremony-slash-betrothal. She hesitates as she makes her way further. Not because she’s afraid of the woods, but because she’s afraid of what she has to say. What it might do.

She takes another step forward and a streak of motion cuts through the trees.

Before Adora can brace herself, a warm weight crashes into her.

Legs lock around her waist and arms wind around her neck as momentum spins both her and her assailant. The familiar scent of spice and autumn earth envelope Adora as her arms instinctively come up, catching hold of the body that fits against hers like a puzzle piece finally returned.

“Heyyy, Adora.” The words vibrate against her skin as Catra nuzzles into her neck. “You’re back.”

Adora tightens her grip, swaying slightly as she holds Catra against her. She drinks in every sensation—the warmth radiating between them, the steady thrum of Catra's heart against her chest, the casual intimacy of Catra's tail curling loosely around her arm. 

“How was the ceremony?” Catra pulls back just enough to meet Adora’s gaze. Her forearms rest comfortably on Adora’s shoulders while her fingertips absentmindedly stroke the hairs at the nape of the blonde’s neck. “Didn’t think it’d take you this long to get back out here.”

Adora tries to swallow but her throat feels dry. “It was… eventful, to say the least.” She slowly, reluctantly, lowers Catra to the ground and takes a step backward. Catra tilts her head, ears perking forward in curiosity at the sudden space. “Catra, we need to talk.”

Catra stills. Her ears twitch once, brows knitting together before smoothing into forced neutrality. She reaches out, but Adora steps further back.

Catra stares as if she’s been struck.

“You regret it.”

The words sound broken.

“No.” Adora shakes her head so hard her vision blurs. “Believe me, NO. I’ve felt a lot of regret over the past week which has just been…” she lets out a deep breath, “Absolute chaos. But through it all though—through every single moment—all I’ve wanted is to come back here to see you." She weakly smiles as the confession tumbles out. "To talk to you. To be with you."

She sighs as the memory of the induction ceremony flashes through her mind. Who did she want to embrace after her proudest moment on that stage? Catra. Who did she long to recount the bizarre turn of events to? Catra. Whose comfort did she crave during the stressful aftermath? Catra. The cruel irony isn't lost on her that the person she’s wanted to confide in the most is the person whose reaction she most fears.

“And ever since that kiss,” Adora continues, “It feels like I never left these woods. Even though I was back in Brightmoon, I was still here. In that spot. Every moment, still here. Still holding you. Still breathing you in. That… us… is the only thing that’s made sense to me these past few days. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s that we didn’t do it sooner—didn’t do it more. That I ever left that spot in the first place.”

Adora's heartbeat hammers against her ribcage as Catra stares, unflinching, unreadable.

Adora doesn't know who moves first.

All she knows is that in one moment, there is distance between them. In the next, there is none.

She just knows they’re suddenly pressed together, mouths meeting with desperate hunger. Catra kisses her as if she’s trying to steal the very air from her lungs, as if she’s felt every second apart with the same aching intensity as Adora has – and Adora melts into it. Savors it. Finds reassurance in this moment that Catra is here and that they feel right togehter. Adora grips Catra’s backside with one hand, allows her other hand to travel up her spine, relishing the low rumble of a purr she feels against her chest until she has a hand tangled in Catra’s thick hair. Adora pulls up for air and Catra seizes the opportunity to explore. Her mouth slides from Adora's lips to her chin, then down to her collarbone, before finding purchase along the curve of her neck. It’s tortuous the way she explores with a mix of soft presses, sharp nips, and tender licks.

Catra’s hands, which were splayed against Adora’s chest, initially trapped between their bodies, maneuvers down between them. Adora feels fingers fiddling with button of her pants and she breathes raggedly. If they don’t stop now, Adora isn’t sure if they’ll stop at all.

“Catra,” she manages, but the name comes out more like a plea than a protest.

"Again," Catra growls against her throat, the harsh timbre sending heat coursing through Adora's veins as she lets her fangs lightly drag against Adora’s neck in another hot, open mouthed kiss.

It takes every ounce of willpower Adora possesses to pull away, her hands trembling as she places them on Catra's shoulders. "Wait."

Catra's pupils are blown wide when she looks up at her, breath coming out in quick pants. “I—” she seems flustered. “I’m sorry. I figured when you, well…” Her eyes drop down to Adora’s roving hands, still on her body. “…that you wanted to?” The look on her face is hopeful, borderline self-conscious.

“Oh, I want to,” Adora inadvertently lets slip, the truth escaping before she can catch it. Catra's expression brightens at that, and Adora's stomach twists with guilt. Adora doesn’t want to lie but she also doesn’t want to tell the truth, especially when they have moments like this. Especially if the truth might not even matter once Mara gets the chance to clear things up with Perfuma. She just wants to prolong this for as long as she can… so she stalls. "But you deserve a proper bed."

Catra stares at Adora with the bewilderment of someone who might as well have been asked to pull up nudes of their mom. "I deserve a king-sized suite with champagne and roses. Doesn’t mean I still can’t get some against a tree.” She freezes, her expression softening as a thought occurs to her. "Do you want a bed?" she asks gently. “We’re not really in a place where we can bring each other back to our spots but,” she pauses, considers. “I’ll find the materials for a bed. I can find the perfect hollow, too. Bigger than the cavern from the night we first met but—"

“Catra,” Adora finally relents with a sigh. “That’s too much. I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s no biggie. Might take some days to build but—”

“No,” Adora groans. Her last hope of avoiding this conversation evaporates. Catra is being too accommodating, and she deserves the truth. “I'm trying to find a way out of this," she finally says, "and believe me, I want nothing more than to do this with you but I'm a woman of honor, and I—"

"Out of what?”

Adora sighs. Here it was. "I'm engaged."

Catra's expression remains curious. "Engaged in what?"

Adora swallows hard, remembering that magicats have different terms for their unions. "Remember when we talked about marriage?" Her voice drops. "And mating?"

Understanding doesn't dawn immediately. For a moment, Catra stares blankly. Then comprehension cracks across her face like ice breaking on a frozen lake. Her features crumble briefly before a defensive mask slams into place, but her eyes betray her, raw with such profound betrayal that Adora feels physically ill.

"You said you weren’t." Catra's voice is hard.

"I didn't know. They just announced it at the ceremony, I never—" Adora reaches for her, but now it’s Catra turn to quickly backstep out of reach. Her eyes on Adora are severe.

"Don't touch me." The words come out as a hiss.

“Catra, please,” Adora presses. “It’s just a misunderstanding. My sister is visiting their kingdom to fix it. All their princess has to do is admit she doesn’t feel the same—”

“There’s a same for her to feel?!”

“No! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

“I can’t believe you!” Catra’s temper is on full display as she yells. “Did you think you’d just be able to have your cake and eat it too?!”

“If it was like that, I’d be halfway through eating my cake against that tree right now!”

Catra gapes at her, equally incredulous and furious.

"I'm trying to get out of this, but you know what makes it harder?" Adora steps forward, emboldened by Catra's shocked silence. "That I can't tell anyone where my heart really is." Her voice softens. "That I can't tell them about you."

Catra's ears flatten against her head. “So what are you saying?” Her tail lashes behind her.

"I'm saying I promised to keep you a secret. To keep Halfmoon hidden." Adora searches Catra's face. "And I've kept that promise, but how is this supposed to work long-term? Are we just going to meet in the woods forever? Never be seen together outside these trees?" Her voice hardens. "I want more than stolen moments, Catra."

"You want to expose my people."

"No, I just—" Adora takes a deep breath. "I'm trying to figure out how to honor my promise to you and still have a future with you that isn't just... this." She gestures to the woods surrounding them.

The corner of Catra’s lip slightly curls up in a snarl. “And you’re going to keep that promise? About not telling anyone about Halfmoon?”

Adora looks taken aback. “Of course.”

“Good.” Catra stares at Adora, long and hard. “Bye, Adora.”

Catra spins on her heel, and in a blink takes off into the trees. Adora stands frozen in surprise for only a split second before breaking into a sprint after her, an exhaled, “No,” slipping from her lips as she does so. “Catra, wait!”

Branches slap against her face as she barrels through the brush. Catra is faster than she is, and easily seems to move through the trees with a grace Adora totally lacks, but by sheer willpower Adora keeps the magicat within her sights. She can’t lose her. If she loses her, she’s not sure if she’ll ever see her again, and that thought breaks her. They can’t end like this. On a misunderstanding two weeks after one of the best days of her life.

There's a small break in the trees. Catra slows, muscles coiling to spring as she approaches a massive trunk at the clearing's edge. Adora anticipates the movement as she gains ground on her. As Catra leaps for a nearby branch, Adora's fingers close around her ankle, pulling her back down.

"Just let me explain!"

“Let me go!”

“Please!” Adora gasps as she pins Catra down. Their chests heave from the chase, the heat of exertion pressing between them. Catra glowers up at her and Adora braces herself for another struggle, but instead, Catra’s whole body goes still. “Catra—” Adora begins, but Catra’s hand shoots up, silencing her. Her ears twitch forward.

Her eyes aren’t on Adora anymore. They scan the canopy overhead. The anger in her face has all but dissipated to caution. She’s searching for something.

“Do you hear that?” she breathes.

Adora strains to listen. Besides her own heavy breathing, she hears… nothing.

Not nothing as in no unusual sounds.

Nothing as in no sounds at all.

The forest has gone silent. No birds. No insects. Not even the rustle of leaves. Just an eerie, suffocating silence.

"We need to move,” Catra whispers. "Slowly. Quietly."

“Please don’t—”

“Adora.” Catra’s eyes are pleading. “Now.”

Adora hesitates, but the serious look on Catra’s face just makes her nod. She shifts back just enough for Catra to slip free. Adora expects her to bolt. Instead, Catra reaches an open hand out to Adora and wiggles her fingers, a sign for Adora to take it. Her eyes are still fixed upwards at the canopy. Adora exhales through her nose and grasps it, letting Catra guide them in the direction of denser trees. Step by careful step.

They've only moved a few steps forward when an acrid smell fills the air, burning their nostrils. Something massive crashes down from above, some sort of nightmare fusion of a scorpion and spider, its chitinous armor gleaming with a slick, oily sheen. It emits a shrill, chittering noise that scrapes against their ears like metal scratching against metal. Eight legs ending in cruel points scatter fallen leaves as it advances, a barbed tail arching high over its back.

Adora’s sword is in her hand before she even registers drawing it. Catra's fingers slip from hers as the creature lunges.

They dive in opposite directions.

The monster's tail spears the ground where they stood half a second earlier, bark and soil melting into a smoking crater.

Adora barely has time to process before Catra is moving quick and low, claws raking across the creature's exposed leg joints. It screeches, spinning toward her, creating an opening Adora doesn't waste. She lunges, blade slicing across its armored flank, drawing a viscous fluid that sizzles when it hits the ground.

The creature retaliates viciously—limbs lashing, tail whipping wildly through the small clearing. Catra and Adora adapt to each other’s movements without speaking, shifting seamlessly between offense and defense like dancers who've rehearsed for years. When Catra ducks, Adora strikes high. When Adora deflects a blow, Catra finds the gap to land a hit.

Adora parries an outshot limb, gritting her teeth as the impact rattles up her arm. She sidesteps just as the tail swings for her ribs, barely avoiding a blow.

Catra moves in again, feinting left, baiting the creature into following her. It rears up, preparing to lunge, and Adora sees her chance.

With everything she has, she drives her sword up, slipping it between the armored plates at its shoulder. The beast screeches, a hideous, keening wail, and thrashes back. It stumbles, limbs scraping against the earth before it scuttles away into the underbrush, crashing through the trees as it flees.

Adora exhales, chest heaving. Relief floods through her. “What was that?” she asks, through gulps of air.

“We need… leave.” Catra’s voice is breathy and garbled behind her. “Will… back.”

Adora turns at the sound, relief dying in an instant.

Catra sways.

Her top is shredded along her side, the fabric soaked with blood. Beneath it, something thicker oozes from the wound, nearly purplish in color.

Catra blinks at her. Then her legs buckle.

“Catra!”

Before Adora can reach her, Catra collapses.

"No, no, no—" Adora drops to her knees beside her, pressing her hands against the wound. Catra’s body is rigid, muscles locking unnaturally, her breathing shallow and irregular.

Adora curses. She's trained for this. Both Light Hope and Light Spinner have taught her to channel her internal magic for healing, not just battle transformation, but she's never mastered it like Mara has. She’s only been able to transform into her She-Ra form a handful of times and it's always harder under pressure. She closes her eyes, trying to direct her magic into Catra's body, but her mind fixates on all the wrong things—the warm wetness beneath her fingers, the pained noises escaping Catra's throat, the way her body trembles. She needs another solution.  

"Herbs! Do you have any herbs that can help?" Adora’s voice pitches high, frantic. She fumbles for Catra’s hip sack, but it’s torn open, its contents lost in the underbrush. Her stomach twists. She doesn’t know what to look for, what to use.

“Get ow…” Catra slurs, her hand lifting to weakly toward her headpiece. “Savee teee.” 

Chittering echoes through the trees. 

Adora’s head snaps up. The monster isn’t close, but it’s not far either. 

“Doe-wah… Leaf.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” Adora says sharply, cupping Catra's face with one trembling hand while the other maintains pressure on the wound. “Hey. Hey. No. Eyes open. Stay with me.” 

Catra's eyes flutter, rolling back before struggling to focus again.

Fear claws at Adora's chest. She needs to act now. A desperate thought surfaces.

"Catra, you have to tell me where Halfmoon is.”

Catra's eyelids droop further. She's not responding to Adora's voice anymore. 

“I need to get help, and I don't know where to take you!" Adora pleads, voice cracking. “Catra, please!”

Shw whips her head to the trees, remembering how Catra used to watch her from the branches. Maybe—just maybe—more magicats are out there. Listening.

“SOMEBODY!” Adora’s voice rips through the woods. "WE NEED HELP!" 

The woods breathe around them. No answer comes. 

Catra makes a sharp, pained noise in her arms. Her body convulses, fingers twitching violently.

Adora curses, pulling her closer, holding her as if sheer will alone can keep her together. 

"Please forgive me," she whispers into Catra’s hair, pressing their foreheads together for the briefest moment. Then she yanks out her communicator, her hands shaking so badly she nearly drops it. 

"Glimmer," she chokes out. "I need help. It’s an emergency. Meet me at these coordinates. NOW." 

She doesn’t wait for a response. 

She gathers Catra’s seizing form into her arms and runs. 

The darkened woods blur around her, shadows racing past, branches whipping against her skin, the ground uneven beneath her feet and roots threatening to trip her with every step. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. Every staggered breath Catra takes drives her faster, harder, until the only thing that exists is the weight in her arms and the desperate prayer that she isn’t too late.

The tree line breaks, and suddenly she's at their crossroads point—the place where she and Catra usually part ways.

Glimmer is already there, arms crossed impatiently. 

The moment she sees Adora, her brows knit in confusion, then widen in alarm as she takes in the blood smeared across her arms and clothes. “Adora, are you alrigh—” Her words die in her throat as her eyes drop to the limp figure cradled in Adora’s arms. “Wha—holy shit, wait. Is… Is that a magicat?! That can’t—how did you find a magicat?!”

“How much energy do you have left?” Adora gasps, words tumbling over each other. “She needs a magic healer. I’m fine, but she needs a magic healer. Now. Like right now.” She doesn't pause to breathe between sentences. “We need to get her to the castle.”

Glimmer’s alarm deepens as she fully registers Adora’s state. “I have enough for all of us,” she says, reaching out a hand in a calming motion. “It’s okay, Adora. I’ll get all of us to the medical wing—”

“No!” Adora quickly interjects. “To my room. We need Light Hope. She can help me heal her.”

Glimmer hesitates, glancing between Adora and the unconscious woman in her arms. “Adora, what’s—” 

“NOW, GLIM!”

Glimmer doesn’t ask again. She reaches out, placing one hand on Adora’s shoulder and the other against Catra’s upper arm. 

The world dissolves around them in a pop.

The next breath Adora takes is filled with castle air instead of the damp, earthy air of the woods. Glimmer transported them directly to Adora’s chambers. “We need to find Light Hope—”

“On it,” Glimmer says before Adora can even finish. With another quick pop, her friend teleports away.

Adora strides to her bed and carefully lowers Catra onto the mattress. Her eyes are closed and sweat glistens on her forehead. Her lips are barely parted, but a soft noise mumbles out of them, too low and too incoherent for Adora to catch.

Another pop from behind her.

Adora spins around, expecting Light Hope, but it's Light Spinner who stands next to Glimmer in the middle of the room, robes fluttering with the sudden displacement of air. She stiffens, a beat of surprise flickering across her usually unreadable face as she takes in Adora’s state of dishevelment. “Adora,” she says slowly. “Princess Glimmer said you were in hysterics. Is everything—oh.” Light Spinner stops short as she steps next to Adora and sees Catra on the bed. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Light Hope is with Mara on the way to Plumeria,” Glimmer explains from behind her. “I didn’t have time to explain and figured Light Spinner was—"

“We need to heal her,” Adora blurts. “She got cut by something in the woods, and now she’s—” Her voice trips over itself, rising fast, frantic. “She started shaking and her breathing’s wrong and I couldn’t leave her and no one can know she’s here and we need magical healing because it’s the quickest and I didn’t know where else to—”

“Adora.” Light Spinner’s hand comes down firmly on her shoulder. “Slow down.”

“We don’t have time to slow down!” Adora urges. “Please, she’s—she’s—” Her throat closes up, but she pushes through it. “I need you—”

“You to focus, Adora,” Light Spinner interrupts, her voice somehow calm and sharp at the same time. “Like you’ve practiced. You and your sister have the natural power. Way stronger than mine without augmentation. You need to relax. And focus.” She takes Adora’s hand and places it, open palm, over Catra’s abdomen.

“I can’t transform like Mara can!” Adora protests, her voice cracking. “What if I—what if it’s not enough?”

“Breathe, Adora.”

Light Spinner inhales deeply, locking eyes with her. Adora swallows hard but mimics the motion, taking in a shaky breath, then exhaling. 

Light Spinner nods approvingly. "Now focus."

Adora’s jaw clenches. She shuts her eyes, brow furrowed, concentrating with all her might. 

“This magicat woman… you know her?” Light Spinner asks lightly, almost conversationally, as if they aren't in the middle of a crisis.

Adora nods, eyes shut tight. Still breathing in and exhaling shaky breaths.

“Remember your breath work. Remember to feel the magic from around you. Let it flow through you. You are just as capable of transformation as Mara, just as able to heal.”

Glimmer watches dumbly from behind them, trying to make sense of whatever she is watching unfold with her friend. Her gaze bounces between Adora and Catra, but she stays silent.

“Such raw power and talent,” Light Spinner continues. “So much potential. The things you could accomplish with it, if only you focused.” Her grip on Adora's shoulder tightens almost imperceptibly. “Breathe, Adora.”

Adora breathes deeper. And slowly—so slowly—the tips of her fingers begin to glow.

A moment of silence is broken by a weak cough from the bed. The gash that was previously across Catra’s side is now closed, leaving dark, badly bruised looking skin in its place.

Adora's eyes fly open. She drops to her knees beside the bed, one hand remaining on Catra's abdomen while the other reaches to brush damp hair from her forehead. Catra's eyes crack open to tiny slits but there’s a glint of recognition there. A lazy, dazed smile spreads across her face.

“Catra,” Adora softly chokes out. “You’re back.” It’s a weak reference to Catra’s greeting to her earlier in the woods.

“Heyyyy, Adora,” Catra replies, smile turning goofy. She blinks slowly, each one longer than the last.

Adora gently takes Catra’s head piece off to place it on the nightstand before continuing to brush more hair away from her forehead. Light Spinner's gaze follows the headpiece with quiet interest while Catra's eyes drift closed again, though her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Her breathing sounds clearer now. Adora leans close. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t leave you… but I promise, I’ll get you back to your people safely. No one will find out about them.”

Catra makes a soft chirruping sound, turning her head to press into Adora's touch. Adora doubts she's truly comprehending anything, but the gesture soothes her nonetheless. Adora leans in, wanting to place a kiss on the magicat’s head, but thinks better of it, not knowing if Catra still wants any type of kiss from her after their argument. She instead settles for resting her forehead against Catra’s hand instead.

A throat softly clears beside her. 

Adora startles, her shoulders stiffening as she’s suddenly reminded they aren’t alone. 

Light Spinner watches her, unreadable. Glimmer just stares. 

“Adora,” Light Spinner begins carefully. “Is this woman from the woods?” Adora can pick out the knowing undertone of the question.

“She is,” Adora says, rising to her feet.

Light Spinner hums softly. “She’ll need rest.” Her voice is even, but Adora doesn’t miss the subtle shift in her expression, like she’s tucking thoughts away, saving them for later. She gestures for Adora to step closer.  “As do you.”

Adora doesn’t move. 

“And we need to contact your sister,” Light Spinner adds. 

Adora’s stomach twists. “I’d rather we didn’t.”

Light Spinner raises an eyebrow.

Adora glances back at Catra—peaceful now, breathing steadily—and something in her chest loosens slightly.

“She… No one can know she’s here.” She looks to Glimmer as well, knowing Angella and Micah finding out are the biggest threat to Catra’s anonymity. “At least for now.”

Light Spinner regards Adora silently for a moment before bowing her head in confirmation. “If it appeases all in the room, then so be it. But if there’s a chance this woman’s presence can agitate the engagement with the Plumerians, I would advise we create a plan for all potential scenarios. For that to happen it would be best if you told me as much as possible. Starting from the beginning.”

Catra has never thought of herself as much of a dreamer.

But now, she dreams often. Vividly. Violently.

Darkness swirls around her. She’s floating. Then falling. Gleaming white eyes loom in the void, tracking her descent, whispering that she's unwelcome here. That she's drifted too far from home.

Sometimes, she isn’t sure if she's dreaming at all.

Sometimes she thinks she’s awake.

She feels pain, and you’re not supposed to feel anything when you’re dreaming. Not physically, that is.

There’s a sharp pain in her side.

Then there’s the dull ache throughout her entire body. Her eyes hurt. Her stomach hurts. Her legs hurt. Everything feels weak.

Adora’s there. Between the swirls of darkness, the shifts in reality, the white eyes… Adora is there. Always. A constant presence.

Sometimes she feels her too. Physically. Mainly Adora’s hands.

Adora’s hand over her own. Adora’s hand in her own. Adora’s fingers intertwined with hers. Adora’s calloused thumb tracing slow, steady circles against the inside of her wrist. Adora’s hand on her head. On her cheek. Brushing the skin along the side of her stomach where the pain is.

Her lips on her cheek. No, not on her cheek. Near her cheek. Near her ear. The proximity of Adora.

Gentle words being said to her. Gentle reassurances. Humming, sometimes. A gentle tune like a lullaby.

Not always so gentle though.

Sometimes, in the shadows and the darkness, Adora also appears. She seems different. Her eyes beam white. She sneers at Catra. Tells Catra she shouldn’t have come here—that she’s not wanted. That she is matched with someone else. That Catra should return home.

But where is here?

And then the shadows disappear. And Adora is still there, but Adora is warm again. Gentle again. Her eyes are blue, like a clear sky.

Catra can start to make out more of what she says to her, with those close lips. Catra’s going to be okay. Catra will be safe. Catra is strong. Please don’t be mad at her. She’ll get Catra home. She promises. She’s got her. Catra tries to respond. Thinks she responds. Thinks she’s asking questions.

What’s happening?

“You’re regaining your strength.” Adora’s hand rests on her forearm.

They were attacked… Was Adora hurt?

“I’m fine.” Even through the haze, Catra is sure she can hear the soft smile in Adora’s voice.

Did they whoop the thing’s ass? How was Catra in battle?

“Ferocious,” a soft chuckle of a response, fondness curling in every syllable. Her hand finds Catra’s again, thumb resuming those steady circles against her skin. Catra likes it. Finds it comforting. She dips back into the shadows and Adora is also waiting there, with white eyes. Taking back everything she’s just said.

When Catra emerges from the darkness again, her vision is less fuzzy, but still fuzzy. Her mouth feels stuffed with cotton. Everything still hurts. Something essential is missing.

“Adora?” The name scrapes against her dry throat like sandpaper.

“You’re talking?” Pink fills Catra’s vision. It’s not Adora. The voice sounds familiar, but she can’t recall how. “Wait. Is this TALKING talking or drug talking? I heard you were drug talking earlier. Say something else. What’s your name? The date? Guess you might not know the date… Just, uh, say what comes to mind?”

“Annoying.” The word is just as scratchy leaving Catra’s throat as Adora’s name was.

An indignant gasp. “I’m just gonna take that as the drugs still talking.”

“Delusional.” Catra’s lips twitch. This game is fun. “You, that is.” She adds, arching an eyebrow at the pink blob. Even her eyebrows hurt.

A scoff. “So awake, sort of. Brain damage isn’t ruled out though. Impressive for someone who didn’t even get hit in the head.” The blob's edges sharpen the longer Catra stares, though her eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. “But seriously. What’s your name? I have to at least pretend I’m trying to rule out serious brain damage here.”

“Where’s Adora?” Catra asks instead. Adora was here. She remembers Adora being here. She doesn’t know the blob.

“Sleeping,” Pink Blob responds. “Or should be sleeping. Hopefully showering too. We had to force her out of here to do a little self-care. I’m holding down the fort until she gets back.”

“Sleeping…” Catra repeats mindlessly, blinking rapidly to fight off another wave of drowsiness. “In the woods?”

“Uh… not really.” Pink Blob’s voice shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe we’ll wait for Adora before we talk about that. But, uh, about the woods…” Pink Blob pauses. “Adora would go out there. A lot. Did you see her out there… a lot?”

“In the woods?”

“In the woods.”

“Here?”

“No, not here. In the woods.”

“I’d see her in the woods.” Catra's thoughts drift.

“To do what?”

“Explore.”

“Oh, I bet you two explored alright…” Pink Blob’s voice sighs, suggestion lacing her tone.

The air feels… fizzy around them. Catra isn’t familiar with this feeling, but has a good enough idea of why that is so. “Wizard.” The accusation was meant to be more of a hiss but came out closer to a groan. “Wizards are enemies.” Catra tries to readjust herself in the bed. “Who are you?” she asks the blob.

“First off... Rude. I’m Glimmer. Adora’s best friend. Or I thought I was Adora’s best friend. I mean, you think you know a girl and then she shows up one day carrying only what I can suspect is a hidden lover—” she stops herself, “—I mean, acquaintance from an extinct race out of the woods and you’re just supposed to dodge your entire family on why everyone’s acting weird all a sudden and roll with it?!”

“Annoying.”

“YES. It IS annoying.”

“No. You again.”

Catra can't make out Glimmer's expression through the pink haze, but the irritation radiates off her in palpable waves. “You're definitely a charmer," her voice flattens. Another pause stretches between them. "You're also a magicat.”

“You state the obvious… with such a sense of discovery.”

“What I mean is, how are you surviving—”

A snicker bubbles up from Catra's chest as Glimmer's voice fades into nothingness and darkness claims her once more.

Catra opens her eyes and she’s sure she’s awake. She blinks once, then twice. The room is dark, but her eyes adjust quickly. Her body aches with a fatigue that’s borderline painful. She attempts to sit up but twin sensations stop her—a searing pain tearing through her side and the stark realization that her wrists are pinned to the bedposts above her head by weird, purplish tendrils.

“I apologize.”

Catra startles, her body jerking involuntarily – and painfully – at the voice from the foot of her bed.

“We usually don’t treat guests this way, but you see, your claws…” The speaker is an older woman in dark robes. A maroon-colored mask covers her face with white eyes gleaming through. She wreaks of magic. “You were lashing out in your fever. Becoming a hazard not only those who tried to treat you, but also to yourself. I had to restrain you to avoid any… accidents.”

Catra tugs at her restraints again, testing the hold of the magical tendrils while keeping her gaze fixed on the wizard. “Where are we?”

The wizard’s white eyes sparkle with delight at the question. “Brightmoon Castle.”

Catra’s stomach plummets.

“I don't know what—or if—you remember of your journey here. You seem to have had a nasty encounter with one of the monsters of the woods—a particularly poisonous one. Healing the flesh wound wasn't so much an issue as the blood poisoning you suffered. The results would’ve been much better if the healer was more experienced… less distracted… but you’ll survive, I’m sure.”

Catra unthinkingly pulls at her bound wrists again, panic rising in her chest. "Am I a prisoner?"

“Of course not.” The wizard's voice rings with feigned astonishment. “Princess Adora insisted we do everything we can to make this feel like a second home to you. Despite the safety precautions.”

“Adora’s not here?”

“Not in this room, per se, but she is in Brightmoon. An emergency counsel was called by the king and queen. You see, her sister set off to Plumeria to finalize the plans for her upcoming nuptials – I believe, your culture compares it to the mating declaration ceremony – but they were ambushed on the road. As head of the city guard, Adora needs to fortify the defenses here, although with the attacks happening so close to where her mate lives… I can’t imagine Adora won’t want to travel there to ensure her safety.”

Each sentence feels like a blow.

“There was a pink girl, I think, in here too. Have many people… tended to me?”

The woman glides closer to Catra's bedside, her movements unnaturally smooth. Catra feels the intensity of the woman's gaze, studying her every expression, every twitch.

“Not many,” she answers. “Adora spent most of the time on watch, but myself, Princess Glimmer, and Princess Scorpia have taken turns as well. Adora made us all promise to keep your presence here a secret.” The wizard reaches out a hand to place the back of it against Catra’s forehead. Catra shivers at how cold the touch is and angles her head away, but the woman just presses more firmly. “Not uncustomary for royalty when it comes to their entanglements, especially so close to their mating unions. Your fever hasn’t completely broken.”

“Excuse me?” Catra grits through clenched teeth.

“Your fever. I’ll need to administer a bit more medicine.” She turns away, fiddling with something on the nightstand as Catra pulls frantically at her restraints. "Time and time again we see it," she continues in an almost sing-song voice. "A prince or princess running out to have a last hurrah before pledging themselves to another royal line, then getting cold feet about leaving their exploits behind." She turns back, holding a syringe. "Princess Adora was quite hoping you'd like this room. There's a secret hatch under the rug in the corner. It's a convenient way to get in and out without someone from any of the royal bedrooms being able to see, and from what I hear from her... less demeaning than the floor of the woods."

Catra opens her mouth to speak but feels the prick of a needle breaking skin.

“Apologies again. I forgot to warn you. This might hurt a bit.”

The next time Catra wakes, she’s still not alone.

Her eyes slowly blink open and she jolts at the hulking figure looming over her bedside, then immediately regrets the movement as pain lances through her body. A groan escapes her lips.

“Whoa, there!” A boulder of a woman – part woman, part scorpion – reaches toward her with a gleaming pincer.

Pure instinct takes over. Catra lunges sideways, tumbling over the edge of the bed. The cold stone floor slams against her already aching body. Behind her, the giant woman lets out a startled noise. Ignoring protests from every muscle, Catra attempts a belly crawl toward the door. She manages three pathetic drags before pincers encircle her waist, lifting her clear off the ground.

"There ya go, little buddy!"

The floor vanishes beneath her as she dangles helplessly in midair. Catra hisses and swipes with her claws, but connects with nothing. Her stomach lurches as she's deposited back onto the bed.

"Didn't mean to startle ya there. Name's Scorpia." The woman beams down at her, exuding nothing but cheerful goodwill. "I suppose the last thing you saw before ya passed out in the woods was a scorpion. Probably freaks you out to see a Scorpini when you wake up."

"Kinda..." Catra eyes her warily, unconsciously patting the top of her head where her headpiece should be. Nothing but hair. "Not the only thing to freak me out lately." Her dreams, or moreso nightmares, flood back—taunting voices and gleaming white eyes, being chased by something that seemed to weave through the very shadows of the night itself. She glances at her wrists resting against the mattress. "I'm not cuffed anymore."

"Cuffed?" Scorpia's face scrunches in confusion. "Gosh, no! Why would you be cuffed?" Her expression brightens suddenly. "Oh! The antibiotics musta given you some real doozies for dreams! You were out of it for a good while there."

"How long is 'a good while'?" Catra keeps her tone measured, sizing up the cheerful giant despite her apparent friendliness. She also takes a moment to scan the room, looking for her headpiece. Nothing.

“I guess about two days. Maybe three?” Scorpia says with a shrug. “Feels like forever though with all that’s happened! I mean, you caused a bit of a ruckus when you got here with Adora being so on edge and wanting to keep you all hush-hush. She barely left your side until we forced her to shower 'cause, y'know, hygiene.” Scorpia's pincers click together nervously. "They called me in to help watch over ya since you got attacked by an arachnid, and they figured I'd know how to help. Kinda racist if ya ask me, but I do know a bit about antidotes! Not as good as a proper healer though... it’s probably why yours had so many side effects. Sorry 'bout that! BUT THEN, the Horde attacked Mara and Light Hope on their way to Plumeria and I just know everyone's gonna blame my family because they always blame my family when the Horde attacks and now Mara's stuck in Plumeria because no one's sure if the Horde is plannin' an actual strike out there, and she's supposed to be their strongest military ally now that Perfuma’s gonna marry Adora." She finally pauses to take a deep breath.

Catra feels herself sinking deeper into the mattress. “Perfuma,” she murmurs. “She’s the one matched to Adora?”

Scorpia freezes, seemingly surprised by the question. “Yes.” She nods, matching Catra's soft tone. "She is."

“What’s she like?” Catra knows she's picking at a fresh wound, but she can't help herself. Her body’s already racked with physical pain. What's a little more of the emotional kind?

"Gosh..." Scorpia's gaze drifts past Catra to the far wall, her expression melting into something wistful and tender. "She’s kinda hard to describe. She’s a good person. Like—like a lighthouse on a dark night. The kinda person that just warms ya up inside, y'know? Everyone says she's got the most gifted green thumb because the plants turn to her when she walks by, but how can anything not when she's as magnetic as the sun? She—"

Scorpia catches herself mid-sentence. Her cheeks flush crimson and she clears her throat awkwardly. "Erm, what I mean is, she's just... she's wonderful. Super wonderful. Yep."

"Huh." Catra studies her. Perfuma is either universally beloved... or specifically beloved by this woman. Neither prospect sits well with her, and a wave of nausea rolls through her as she wonders if Adora feels the same.

Her mind flashes back to one of her fever dreams. Being cuffed to the bed. The wizard with white eyes explaining how Adora planned to go through with the mating—how she expected Catra to become some happy concubine, sneaking in and out through secret passages—

She pauses.

Her eyes drift to the corner of the room. To an ornate rug that seems just slightly out of place.

"Scorpia?" she asks, a plan forming through the fog of pain. Something tells her the Scorpini woman wants to see Adora and Perfuma's courtship succeed just as much as she does, and based on what she's gleaned about Scorpia's relationship with the Brightmoonians... the woman isn't exactly considered family here. Catra remains weak, still recovering from her injury. Returning to the woods would be extremely dangerous… if she did it alone. "Have you ever checked under there?"

"It doesn't make sense," Adora says beneath her breath, one destination in mind as she strides through the halls with Glimmer and Light Spinner in tow. "They're a secretive people. All of Brightmoon thinks they’re extinct and I don't think they leave the woods. I've never even seen one besides Catra."

"But still, one of the attackers did shout about 'vengeance for the magicats,'" Glimmer points out. Adora throws her a sharp look over her shoulder. "But they could've been saying anything in the chaos," Glimmer hastily adds with a shrug.

The three were leaving a council meeting that included a video update from Mara in Plumeria about the surprise attack from the Horde. During the scuffle, multiple Horde soldiers had shouted battle cries related to magicats coming back with a vengeance, which Mara reported as being somewhat comical considering magicats were extinct, but it immediately put Adora on edge.

"Adora, we can't dispel the possibility of this being conspiracy instead of coincidence," Light Spinner says.

Adora halts mid-stride, turning to face Light Spinner with undisguised incredulity. "You can't be serious." She steps closer, lowering her voice to prevent eavesdropping. "Are you insinuating she's somehow involved with the attack?"

"Magicats were known to be extremists," Light Spinner informs. "You would know this if you had studied their culture more thoroughly before engaging with one in the Woods."

Adora's mouth opens to retort, but Light Spinner continues unabated.

"And with proper research, you would have discovered they too waged war against Brightmoon before going into hiding."

"The wizard riots?" Glimmer supplies, to which Light Spinner hums in agreement.

Adora lets out a frustrated breath. She turns abruptly, resuming her march down the hall toward her room. She needs to check on Catra, to make sure she's alright. But she also needs to ask if there's any possibility that those insurgent claims about magicat vengeance have any substance behind them.

"What was the catalyst for those riots, anyway?" she hears Glimmer ask behind her, but Light Spinner shushes her.

Adora reaches her wing of the palace, pausing before her door. “Wait for me out here.” Catra's been approaching lucidity now that the antidotes have had time to work against the poison in her system, and she doesn't want their first real conversation to be surrounded by strangers. She wants Catra to feel safe. Secure.

“Is that safe, Adora?” Light Spinner asks. “Considering what we know now?”

“We don’t know anything now,” Adora snaps. Her expression softens as she turns to Glimmer. “Just... a few minutes.”

Glimmer nods. “A few minutes is reasonable. We’ll be out here.” She emphasizes the last sentence pointedly, prompting Light Spinner to narrow her eyes but offer no rebuttal.

The corner of Adora’s mouth twitches upward in a quick, thankful smile before she twists the handle and pushes into the room—only to find it empty.

“Catra?” she calls, stepping inside. No response. The sheets are strewn across the abandoned bed. Everything else seems in place except for an upturned rug in the corner of the room—the rug covering a secret passage that Adora and Mara used to crawl through as children, when they pretended to be expeditioners sneaking in and out of the castle.

Adora curses and Glimmer appears beside her. “What’s—is she not here?”

“Maybe she hasn’t gotten too far.” Adora wastes no time before spinning on her heel toward the door.

Glimmer’s eyes jump from the bed to the trap door as she puts the pieces together. “If she escaped, should we just let her go? Unless you think she had something to do with the attack—”

“I THINK she’s in no condition to be traveling through woods,” Adora retorts, brushing past Glimmer through the doorway. “She’s going to get herself hurt even more.”

“Hasn’t that door rusted shut by now?” Glimmer follows closely. Light Spinner trails not far behind. “How would she even be able to pry that thing open.”

Adora slows. It’s a good question. The same realization hits both her and Glimmer simultaneously.

“Scorpia,” they say in unison.

“Do you think they left together?”

“Mara is going to freak… especially if any of the other kingdoms find out.”

“More than she will when you confirm a magicat is on the loose while a magicat vengeance campaign is taking place?”

“We CAN’T confirm that a magicat vengeance campaign is taking place.”

“Your magicat has mysteriously gone missing at the same time.”

“If I was hurt and trying to get through the woods, I’d try to recruit the strongest person I could find too.”

“Well, lucky for her, traveling with Scorpia is more dangerous than traveling alone if any of the other kingdoms find out.”

Adora gives Glimmer a stern glare before releasing a heavy sigh. Scorpia, who abandoned her family and deserted her home in the Fright Zone to claim sanctuary in Brightmoon, remains a controversial figure among the Princess Alliance. So controversial that the Kingdom of Plumeria confiscated her family's runestone, the Black Garnet, to ensure she couldn't access it.

“Adora,” Glimmer says, looking at her friend meaningfully, “I’m sure you and Catra are friends. I picked up on that. But the woods are GINORMOUS. Trying to find two people in there is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If she snuck back out there in her condition without waiting to talk to you… Don’t you think maybe she doesn’t want to be followed?”

Adora tries not to let the truth of that thought sting. “If she left with Scorpia, she’s going to get followed whether she likes it or not.” She sets her shoulders determinedly. “I need to find her first.”

“Adora,” Light Spinner interjects. She extends her hand, Catra's headpiece dangling from around her wrist. Adora's brow furrows as she stares at it. Light Spinner must have found it in her room. It's somewhat scuffed and both the jeweled eyebrow stones are missing, but Adora assumes it took as heavy a beating as Catra did during their fight with the scorpion creature in the woods. "I'm sure she'll appreciate having this back when you find her.”

Adora nods resolutely as she takes the headpiece. “Glim, cover for me until I’m back. If I get into any trouble, I’ll comms you.”

“Adora—”

“I’m going to find her.”

“Not without taking a GPS tracker with you, you aren't.” Glimmer crosses her arms. “I can’t stop you. I know that. But if you’re gonna go traipsing through the woods that you just had me EMERGENCY TELEPORT you out of a few days ago, we need to know where to locate you if something happens. You’re taking a damn geo tracker with you.”

“I couldn’t agree more with Princess Glimmer,” Light Spinner chimes in. There’s an unusual sparkle of delight in her eyes.

Adora sighs. “Fine.”

Adora pushes aside a thick curtain of vines, wincing as thorns catch and tear at her sleeve. The woods have thickened with each step, the canopy overhead weaving together so tightly that only occasional shafts of sunlight manage to pierce through.

It should be midday.

It feels like twilight.

She pauses, leaning against the rough bark of an ancient tree to catch her breath. Her muscles ache from the constant struggle against the woods’ resistance—pushing through undergrowth, climbing over fallen logs, wading through unexpected bogs. The woods seem alive, constantly shifting around her, as if deliberately trying to confuse her sense of direction.

"What am I even doing?" she mutters to herself, wiping sweat from her brow. The question has been haunting her since she left the gates of Brightmoon. Is she really going to find two people in this mess of wilderness? And if she does find Catra—what then?

Catra ran.

Again.

Without waiting to hear her out. Without trusting her.

Adora’s fingers brush against the headpiece tucked securely in her belt pouch. Something about Light Spinner giving it to her still feels off, but she pushes the thought aside. Right now, returning it to Catra is just another excuse to find her.

Adora takes a deep breath and pushes off from the tree. As she moves deeper into the woods, the ambient sounds shift. The cheerful birdsong of the outer woods has given way to strange, throaty calls and the occasional distant screech that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"This is ridiculous," she says aloud, just to hear someone’s voice even if it was her own. "The woods go on for miles. They could be anywhere." Still, she keeps walking. She has to. Even if Catra wants nothing to do with her, Adora needs to know she’s safe. Needs to see it for herself if she can.

After what feels like another small eternity of slogging forward, Adora risks calling out. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she whispers as loudly as she dares.

"Catra? Are you out here?"

The rustle of leaves answers her. She tries again, a bit louder.

"Catra? Scorpia?"

Something shifts in the canopy above—perhaps just a bird. Still, Adora's hand moves instinctively to the hilt of her sword. The scorpion creature that attacked them had come from the treetops. She doesn’t want to be caught offguard by a creature like that again. She walks on, occasionally whispering Catra's name, each call slightly bolder than the last.

"Catra, it's Adora. Are you—"

Leaves ruffle loudly from above. Adora draws her sword in a fluid motion as a figure drops from the branches, landing in a crouch before her. Before she can react, two more bodies descend on either side.

Masked faces. Gleaming eyes. Blades drawn.

These aren’t monsters of the woods, at least not in the general sense. Possibly bandits, all the way out here? Adora raises her sword defensively.

"Hey," she says, voice low and steady as she tries to keep all three bodies in her peripherals even as they slowly start to circle around her. "I don't want trouble—" One of them lunges before she can finish. She quickly deflects with her sword, knocking the attacker back as another charges from the left. She kicks out at the second, connecting with a solid thud that earns her a pained grunt. The third lunges with twin daggers, which she parries with a ringing clash of metal.

"I'm not here to fight!" she shouts, ducking under a swipe that would have raked her ear. "I'm looking for someone!"

They don't respond, just continuing to fight as if granted with a second wind of energy. Adora finds herself backing up, forced on the defensive by their coordinated assault. She catches glimpses of them through the chaotic dance of combat—lithe bodies, quick movements, and then—a tail flicks out from beneath one of their cloaks.

Magicats.

Her sword freezes mid-swing. The momentary hesitation is all it takes for a heavy blow to connect with the back of her knees. Adora's legs buckle beneath her. She scrambles to recover, but clawed hands are already on her, holding her down to swiftly bind her wrists and ankles.

She opens her mouth to shout—only for a gag to be shoved between her teeth.

A coarse sack is yanked down over her head, plunging the world into a more suffocating darkness than the one she’d already been traversing.

Disorientation comes first—the swaying motion of being carried, the scratch of burlap against her face, the dull throb in her lower back from the awkward angle in which she had been carried for most of the trip. Through it all, Adora keeps still, not wanting to aggravate her captors as she takes stock of her situation. Catra was always secretive about her people, so Adora doesn’t know much about any magicat communities so much as Catra’s specific one, but she’s willing to roll the dice that there can’t be multiple and that where these magicats are taking her… it will possibly lead her closer to Catra.

They’re descending. Adora is dropped to her feet to walk and she immediately stumbles on the incline, trying to stay upright as she half jogs/half slides down while slipping over roots and leaves. The hands gripping her are her only anchors until they reach level ground again and their steps slow. Voices begin to murmur around her, speaking too softly and quickly for her to catch more than fragments.

"—deeper than anyone's gone in years—"

"—calling for her—"

“—armed—"

"—Queen will want—"

Queen? Adora's mind races. Which queen? Angella? Is she going to be used for ransom? Or do the magicats have a queen of their own?

A horn sounds—three short blasts followed by one long note. She hears what sounds like massive structures groaning, then the ambient sounds change. The forest's natural chorus gives way to something different.

Voices. Movement. Life.

A settlement.

The hands gripping her arms haul her forward. She lets her body limply drag along, still gathering information. The sounds around her grow—whispers and murmurs swelling into a low buzz of spectators. She can’t see what’s going on around her, but still feels as if she’s being put on display. 

She is brought to a halt then pushed to the ground. Without warning, the hood is yanked from her head. The orange light of the setting sun assaults her eyes, and she squints against the sudden glare. As her vision adjusts, the scene before her comes into focus.

She kneels in what appears to be the center of a village square, surrounded by crude but ingenious structures built into and around massive trees. Walkways and platforms connect dwellings that rise from ground level all the way up into the canopy. Huge walls of pure stone circle the entire settlement, half-swallowed by moss and greenery. A natural fortress. And everywhere she looks—magicats. Dozens of them. Hundreds, perhaps.

Directly before her stands a magicat woman that commands immediate attention. She’s older than many of the others surrounding her, standing with arms crossed in robes of burgundy and deep green. Thick alloyed bands circle her arms, glinting with embedded stones. A twisted burgundy circlet crowns her head, catching the orange light from the retreating sun. Her presence radiates authority the way a fire radiates heat.

If the magicats have a queen, it is unmistakably this woman.

Adora straightens her spine, refusing to appear intimidated despite her vulnerable position. The possible queen studies her with penetrating amber eyes—the same shade as one of Catra's, she realizes with a jolt.

"Most travelers," the magicat woman finally speaks, her voice carrying easily across the now silent gathering, "don't make it this far into our part of the woods." Her claws tap rhythmically against one of the bands on her arm. "Those who do... never find their way back."

The subtle emphasis on her final words sends a chill down Adora's spine. The queen's mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. She’s eyeing Adora with an icy stare, one that silently conveys to Adora that she is more dangerous than any monster she could have met in the woods.

"Honestly, we consider it a small mercy, compared to the fate they would face if left to wander."

She slowly steps forward to approach Adora. The crowd parts respectfully. Up close, the woman’s features are more pronounced and undeniably familiar. They’re nearly the same features of the magicat Adora came here chasing. The same graceful movements, the same shade of her coat, the same proud tilt of her chin…

"I hear," the magicat woman continues, circling Adora like a predator, "you were moving through the woods calling a name. So tell me..."

She stops directly in front of Adora, bending slightly to bring their faces level. For a long moment, she simply observes, her expression unreadable. When she finally speaks again, her voice has dropped to a menacing whisper.

"How do you know my daughter?"

The words take the wind out of Adora. Her mind reels, pieces falling into place with dizzying speed. Catra, the daughter of the magicat… queen? Which would make her a…

Before she can form a response, a commotion erupts at the edge of the clearing. Shouts and calls ring out as the crowd begins to part. Heads turn toward the disturbance, murmurs rising in volume.

"Make way!"

"She's returned!"

"The princess is back!"

The queen straightens, her attention drawn to the noise. Adora turns her head, heart pounding against her ribs.

There, at the edge of the clearing, is Catra—looking better than when Adora last saw her, if still a bit haggard from travel and fever. She leans against Scorpia for balance, who appears extremely out of place and nervously clicks her pincers together as all eyes turn toward them.

Catra's face transforms from weary relief to utter shock as she takes in the scene before her—the gathered crowd, her mother standing in the center, and kneeling on the ground...

"Adora?" Her voice carries across the suddenly silent clearing.

Their eyes lock, and Adora sees a kaleidoscope of emotions flash across Catra's face: surprise, confusion, anger, and something else—something raw and vulnerable that vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

Catra's ears flatten against her head as her gaze darts between Adora and the queen. She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. Until finally, across the hushed square in a voice think with disbelief…

"What in the actual f—”

Chapter Text

The queen's ears swivel toward the sound of her daughter’s voice and in an instant, all her aggression melts away.

“Catra?”

She abandons the Brightmoonian in front of her to instead close the distance between her and the younger magicat.

“Mother,” Catra manages, frozen in place. Her eyes dart between the queen and the kneeling Adora.

The queen reaches out, her hands hovering momentarily before gently cupping Catra's face. “Where have you been? Are you hurt? When we couldn't register your pulse anymore…” Her fingers tremble slightly as they carefully comb through Catra's mane. “We thought the worst.”

Scorpia shifts awkwardly beside them. She’s a head taller than all the magicats that are starting to gather around them with obvious looks of suspicion on their faces.

“I'm fine,” Catra mumbles, clearly uncomfortable with the public display of affection. She steps away from her mother's fussing hands, closer to where Adora kneels. The guards flanking Adora tense, but the queen makes no move to stop her daughter.

Adora stares up at Catra, bewilderment etched into every line of her face. “You're a princess?” The words slip out as a hiss. “After ragging on me for being one?”

Catra's ear flicks in irritation. “Why you bringing up old shit?”

“This is very much present shit!” Adora's voice climbs an octave despite her attempt at whispering.

The queen approaches them. The not-so-secret whisper conversation between the two reminds her that she was on the verge of an interrogation before Catra’s sudden arrival and her gaze now curiously moves between her daughter and their captive. “Catra, you look... worn. What happened out there? When your signal disappeared, I enacted the emergency protocols.”

Adora's face scrunches in confusion.

Catra gives the slightest shake of her head, a signal that this conversation needs privacy. She then gestures toward Scorpia who raises one massive pincer in an awkward wave. “This is Scorpia. She's cool. Helped me through the woods. She's looking for a place to stay.”

The queen looks to the Scorpini woman with a raised brow but doesn't comment.

Catra then glances down at Adora and fixes her expression into one of forced indifference, though her tail betrays her with its agitated twitching. “That one,” she says flatly, “you can toss back into the woods for all I care.”

Adora flinches at the remark before she can stop herself.

The queen doesn’t miss the reaction. Her eyes narrow, cataloging the interplay of emotions before she stills completely. Then… ever so slowly… a grin spreads across her face, revealing the tips of her fangs.

“Sooooo.” She draws the word out. She takes one long, slow stride then another as she leisurely starts to circle them. “This is the one who’s been putting you on the fritz.”

“What?” Catra’s head snaps toward her mother.

Adora's mind is reeling. Finding Halfmoon… Catra being royalty… the way Catra won't quite meet her eyes despite the near physical tension she can feel between them… Her knees ache against the hard ground, but she doesn't dare move.

The queen's tail swishes with amusement as she completes her circuit around them. “Bushy tail. Overheating. Volunteering for way more watches than necessary in the woods.” She ticks off each observation on her clawed fingers. “The signs were all there, but since I didn’t see you showing interest in anyone around here...” She lets the implication hang in the air.

Catra's fur bristles, a flush of heat rising to her cheeks. “Mom!” Her ears flatten against her skull.

Adora shifts uncomfortably, ropes digging into her wrists. The pieces aren't quite connecting, but something about the queen's smirk makes warmth creep up her own neck.

“Believe me.” Catra’s voice is tight. “Whatever you think you’re seeing, you’re imagining it. The further away she is from here, the better.” The venom in her tone fails to cover the hurt beneath it.

The queen just seems all the more intrigued, studying Adora as if she’s a new clue at a crime scene.

“Release her,” the queen finally commands. The guards hesitate for only a moment before moving to cut Adora's bonds. “She's a guest, not a prisoner.”

“Should we search them—” one of the guards starts but the queen flutters her hand dismissively.

“You can leave that to Catra.” She throws Adora a wicked grin.

Catra stares at her mother in horror while Adora rubs her wrists and rises slowly to her feet. She feels unsteady after being forced to kneel for so long.

“And find suitable accommodations for both our guests,” the queen continues, gesturing to include Scorpia, who perks up at being acknowledged. “The East Hollow should suffice.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. The East Hollow, apparently, holds some significance.

The queen turns to place a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Catra, I expect you to treat our guests with more courtesy.” Though spoken gently, it's clearly an order. “Tonight, we feast to celebrate your safe return.”

Catra opens her mouth as if to protest, but thinks better of it. “Fine,” she mutters, still refusing to meet Adora's gaze.

“Excellent!” The queen claps her hands together. “Then it's settled. I’ll call the best chefs to our kitchen!”

The crowd begins to disperse, the spectacle apparently over. Guards move to escort Adora and Scorpia, while others approach the queen to discuss security concerns.

Catra lingers, caught between following her mother and acknowledging Adora. Finally, their eyes meet and for a moment, the world narrows to just the space between them. Adora takes in a deep breath. “You’re okay,” she says softly, slightly assessing Catra as she stares. She’s close enough now to see the fresh scrapes across her knuckles. Close enough to see the raw exhaustion bleeding through the anger Catra’s trying so hard to hold onto. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Catra replies through clenched teeth. “You were never supposed to come here.”

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice,” Adora’s voice strains in response, the relief of seeing Catra alive and sort of well now warping into exasperation. “You disappeared. I thought you might’ve needed help.”

“Maybe I was getting it from people I actually want it from!” Catra exclaims. “You don’t get it, do you, Adora? You showing up here? It puts everything at risk! Me, my people, YOU. Do you think people who show up to Halfmoon get to waltz right out?”

“Right, because you obviously want me here so badly!” Adora throws her hands up. Catra scoffs, turning away, but Adora keeps going. “All I understood,” she continues, voice low, “was you were hurt and missing and I couldn’t stand not knowing if you were safe.” She pauses to consider her next question and hates how she can’t keep the tremor out of her voice when she asks it. “Do you really think if you just disappeared... that it wouldn’t affect me?”

Catra’s frown deepens and she turns her body further away from Adora. The motion exposes a makeshift bandage peeking out from beneath a tear in her shirt, dark with blood. A new injury. “I’m sure you care sooo much.”

“Of course I do!” The words burst out of Adora. “Who do you think carried you to safety after we got attacked by that THING?!”

“Right into Brightmoon!” Catra chokes out in just as much disbelief. She huffs out a breath and shakes her head. Her gaze fixes on some point past Adora's shoulder. “Know what? I saved you. You saved me.” She hikes her shoulders. “We’re even. Now your conscience can be clear if you ever get back to your mate.”

Adora's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. That last dig was unfair, and it seems as if it hurt Catra to say it just as much as it hurt Adora to hear it. Every instinct screams at her to reach out, to bridge the distance between them. The impulse is there, in every twitch of her fingers, but Catra's rigid posture might as well be a wall topped with razor wire.

“Catra,” the queen calls, now a fair distance away.

Catra's jaw tightens. Without a word, she turns to follow her mother with a slight unevenness to her gait, catering her injured side. Her tail agitatedly lashes behind her.

Adora watches her go, her head suddenly filling with things she could have said in response instead of saying nothing.

“So that went well.” Scorpia appears beside her, watching the departing magicats with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Adora responds, her gaze still fixed on Catra's retreating form. “Just great.” She turns to face Scorpia properly. “Thank you for getting her here in one piece… but you do know you can’t stay, right? We need to get you back to Brightmoon before the wrong people find out you’re gone.”

Scorpia’s shoulders sag. “You mean your in-laws?”

Adora’s mouth parts slightly in surprise. Seems like Catra may have rubbed off on Scorpia during their trek through the woods.

One of their assigned guards clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt. If you'll follow me, Ma’ams of Brightmoon.”

As they're led through the village, Adora notices how the magicats have built their civilization in perfect harmony with the forest. Not conquering nature, but becoming part of it. Intermingled with the trees is a strange alloy, the same material of the headpiece Adora is carrying around with her, and tons of stones embedded into nearly everything, almost like batteries. Contraptions wiz past or hover above or glow from stationary positions around the settlement in a way that feels both futuristic yet natural at the same time. She can’t help but think of how Bow and Entraptra would lose their minds if they saw this place.

The East Hollow is a spacious dwelling carved into the heart of an ancient tree. Even at first look, it’s obvious that it’s meant for special occasions. Metallic looking skylights with glowing gems inserted in their centers emit warm mood lights from the higher parts of her room and nestled in a cozy corner fashioned to mimic a secluded area of canopy is a sleeping recess fitted with tons of downy looking pillows and sheets, partially veiled by silk curtains that hang like willow fronds.

“How long do we have to stay here?” Adora asks the guard.

“Until summoned,” he says curtly, then departs without another word.

Adora paces the room, replaying her conversation with Catra. A princess. All this time. The irony isn't lost on her, but at the same time it feels like an extremely Catra-esque thing to withhold. She shakes her head and pulls out her communicator, glad that the queen dismissed the guards from searching her and possibly confiscating the thing. She dials in to update Glimmer that she’s okay and that she’ll try to head back to Brightmoon with Scorpia in the morning.

“Good. Mara checked in with my mom. She’s leaving Plumeria today, so she and Light Hope should be back tomorrow evening. Timing lines up perfectly.”

“Nothing about her talk with Perfuma?” Adora asks, hopeful.

“Not sure that’s top of mind after all that’s happened,” Glimmer says, “And as if she’d tell me anyway.”

Adora sighs. It was worth a shot. The Horde’s attack so close to Plumeria was just another unnecessary complication in all of this.

A soft knock interrupts her thoughts. She quickly bids Glimmer goodbye then hides the communicator. When she opens the door, she finds a young magicat with oversized ears and big, curious eyes standing there. The guard who originally escorted her is standing not too far off, cluing Adora in that although she’s a guest, she’s a monitored one.

“The Queen sent me to show you around before your dinner,” the child announces. She cranes her neck, trying to see past Adora. “You’re in here alone? That’s weird… Where's the giant bug lady?”

“Scorpia?” Adora suppresses a smile. “She has her own room, and I think she’s using it to nap right now.”

“Oh.” The girl looks disappointed, with a hint of something else. “She seems interesting.”

“She is.” Adora steps outside. “So, what are you going to show me?”

The girl brightens immediately. “The quarry! The Queen thought it’d be nice for you to see one of our customs.”

The girl leads her past the guard, who trails them at a distance, and through a network of suspended walkways that connect the various tree dwellings. Magicats move about their daily business, some openly staring at Adora, others pretending not to notice her while stealing glances when they think she isn't looking.

“They don’t see outsiders often,” the magicat girl explains. “Only when Queen C'yra brings back prisoners, but those usually don't stay long.”

“Thanks for clarifying,” Adora says uneasily. “Queen C'yra? That's Catra's mother?”

“Mhmm. And Princess C'ytra is next in line.” She pronounces Catra’s name differently than Adora has been saying it, along with adding a subtle rolling of the 'r' that makes it sound more elegant, more regal.

They descend a spiral staircase woven from vines, arriving at what seems to be a cave carved into the outer stone wall of the village. A massive tree grows out from the stone, its trunk wider than any Adora has ever seen, with the stone wall running through it like a highway. Its bark glows with a faint blue luminescence. The glow ebbs and flows like breathing, somehow both organic and ethereal.

“The Quarry and the Heart Tree,” the girl announces. “It helps connect all magicats to each other.” She thrusts her small fist upward, showing off a metallic cuff with a flat stone embedded in its center.

Dozens of magicats surround the tree, palms pressed against its bark. Their eyes are closed in what appears to be a meditative state. The air hums with an energy Adora can feel but not quite grasp.

“What are they doing?” Adora asks, keeping her voice low.

“Communing,” comes a familiar voice from behind her. “It's how we check in on each other, monitor the woods surrounding the wall, maintain our bonds. Think of it like a big water cooler that can also charge our electronics. Or as you would say, artifacts.”

Adora turns to find Catra standing there, arms crossed defensively across her chest. She's changed into attire more befitting her station, a deep burgundy tunic with one long sleeve and intricate embroidery that matches her mother's royal garb, though cut to hug her lean frame. She still looks sickly but her face isn’t as pallid as it was earlier, which gives Adora a breath of relief.

“Princess C'ytra,” Adora says, deliberately using the pronunciation she just learned.

Catra’s ears flick. She then raises the most erect middle finger the blonde has ever seen, and Adora fights to hold in her snicker.

“It’s just Catra,” she grumbles, finger still extended. Her eyes dip to the child in their presence and she lets out a sigh before finally letting her hand drop to her side. “Shoo, kid. I’ll take it from here. Tell that guard he can scram too.”

She makes sweeping gestures with both hands. The girl giggles, bows quickly to Adora, then scampers off with her tail held high in what looks like satisfaction.

“You didn't have to send her away,” Adora says once they're alone. The blue light from the tree casts shifting shadows across Catra's face, making her expression harder to read.

Catra shrugs, her shoulders rolling in a fluid way that's always caught Adora's attention. “Trust me, she'll find another excuse to ditch chores in five minutes anyway. It’s all good as long as they can find her in time for the child sacrifice later.”

Adora watches Catra's face for any hint of a smirk. When none appears, her eyes widen in horror, mouth dropping open.

“I'm joking. Geez, we're not savages,” Catra finally relents. She’s still not smiling, but there’s a lightness that wasn’t present earlier. “C’mon. By royal decree, I’m ordered to show you magicat culture without bitching about it, and this is as good as it gets.”

She leads Adora closer to the Heart Tree. The gathered magicats part for them, some bowing their heads respectfully to Catra, others giving both her and Adora a curious side-eye.

“Place your hand on the bark,” Catra instructs, demonstrating by pressing her palm against the glowing surface. The light intensifies briefly where her skin makes contact, pulsing brighter before settling back to its steady rhythm. “You won't feel what we feel, but you might get... something.”

Hesitantly, Adora places her hand beside Catra's. The bark feels warm, almost vibrating beneath her touch. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, like a distant whisper, she feels... presence. Not thoughts or words, just a sense of connection, flowing around and past her like a river moving around a stone.

“Oh,” she breathes, surprised.

Catra watches her closely, her heterochromatic eyes reflecting the blue glow. “You feel it?”

“I feel... something. Like I'm standing at the edge of a conversation I can't quite hear.” Adora's hand shifts unconsciously, her pinky finger barely grazing Catra's. “It’s strangely comforting.”

“That's more than I expect most outsiders would get,” Catra admits, her voice softer now, less guarded. “Probably cuz you have magic in your blood. The gems from the quarry are supposedly like the weaker second cousin to your princess’s runestones. Somehow this tree grew straight through this cave where the gems were forming. A, uh, prime example of ‘mixing magic with organic’,” she deepens her voice as she says the last part, letting Adora know she must be quoting someone. Adora finds herself leaning closer, drawn in by this rare openness. “Our ancestors studied how the tree, a living thing that wasn’t born with magic, adapted to have a symbiotic relationship with magic stones. When they figured it out, magicat tribes set out in all directions to build settlements around gemstone sources. Now we can straight up harness the power of the gemstones to power our homes, tools, gadgets… but from their research, we also learned how to use it to power these magic synapses between ourselves to the tree if we use the right alloys as conductors and embed the right types of gems in them. It’s how Mom knew I was in danger after we were attacked in the woods.”

The pieces click into place. “So when your mother said your signal disappeared...”

“She thought I was dead, yeah.”

The weight of that statement hangs between them. Adora tries not to think about the terror C’yra must have felt, believing her daughter had died in the wilderness, but her heart still aches. Without thinking, she turns her hand to fully cover Catra's against the bark. Blue energy flickers between their fingers, bright and unexpected.

“That's...” Adora's voice falters. She can’t help but think of her own fear of Catra’s near death experience. She swallows hard, looking down at their joined hands. “I’m glad you were able to get back to her.”

“Yeah, well you know what they say about how hard it is to kill weeds.”

“Seriously, Catra.” Adora's voice cracks slightly. “You know, back in the woods, when you stopped responding, it was like everything just stopped. I could barely think, barely breathe. All I could feel was…” She pauses, searching for words.

Catra's tail twitches nervously behind her. “You don't have to—”

“Dread,” Adora finishes. “Pure dread. I’ve never been that scared before. When you were in my room, after you got through the worst of it… I just kept thinking about how much I needed you to be alright. Of how I never want to see you hurt. Of how I needed to get you back to your people.” The blue light intensifies beneath their hands. The glow on Catra’s face does make her look majestic… and tired. And achingly beautiful. “I didn’t know you were a princess.”

Catra stiffens but doesn't pull away. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were engaged.”

The accusation stings, but Adora holds steady. “I didn't know either. Not until the end of my induction ceremony.”

There’s a quick flinch of Catra’s eyebrows, a flash of surprise, but she doesn’t say anything. Adora’s been trying to get across that this wasn’t a planned engagement, but this may be the first time the two of them have talked about it without shouting over each other. The blue light pulses between them, stronger now.

“I understand why you didn't tell me,” Adora says gently. “About who you are. I just... I wish I could have understood what you were carrying all this time.”

Catra lets out a short snort. “You know who I am. My title doesn’t change that.”

“I know a curated version of you,” Adora replies, tone still soft. It’s the version Catra allows her to see plus whatever slips through the cracks. Her moods, her quirks, her sense of humor, her laugh... The way her tail betrays her feelings and the way her ears flatten when she's anxious. How curious she is. How much she observes and learns from the world around her, which has made her whip smart. How her love language is complaining. And cursing. The way she tilts her face toward rare patches of sunlight on the forest floor, savoring warmth she pretends not to need. How she plays the tough girl all day, but it’s all a buffer from admitting that she actually cares. A lot. “But I don’t know this. Not the context that shapes you.”

“The context that shapes me?” Catra scoffs in annoyance.

“This tree is important to you. That child is important to you. Your role in protecting Halfmoon as its princess… that’s important to you.” Adora's fingers tentatively intertwine with Catra's against the bark. “I always knew how protective you were of Halfmoon, but knowing you’re its princess...” She releases a breath. “I understand the pressures of doing what you need to do to keep your people safe. How your duty can come before yourself.” She lightly squeezes. “It explains so much about who you are. I wish you trusted me enough to share that.”

Catra's ears flatten slightly, but she still doesn't pull away. “It’s not about trust,” she says, her voice quieter. “It’s about perception. If you knew, you’d see me differently. You’d measure everything I said. Probe. Wonder what angle I was playing for Halfmoon’s gain. Or what you could gain from Halfmoon. You’d see ‘my duty’ instead of just me choosing to spend my time with you because I wanted to.”

Adora doesn’t interrupt, sensing she needs to let this unfold.

“And I know you,” Catra adds with a half shrug, “You’re sickeningly optimistic. You’d think we could use our status as princesses to try and save the world. Try to make it so we’d get Halfmoon and Brightmoon to work together or something. It would’ve made it... I don’t know. Political. Complicated. Different from what we had.”

“I don’t think it would’ve made a difference for me,” Adora says earnestly. “Princess or not, everything about you matters to me because it's part of who you are…” She steels herself, pressing down on Catra's hand as an anchor. “And it's all of you I want.”

Catra looks at her and her gaze softens, if only slightly. But the hurt hasn’t left. Not entirely.

“It’s all I’ve wanted ever since the first time you hopped down from the branches.” A lopsided smile tugs at Adora's lips. They've held hands. Held each other. Kissed. But neither has addressed the elephant in the room directly. Neither has said exactly how they feel. And it feels good to get this out in the open. To say it so Catra knows exactly where she’s at. “And if you haven’t noticed,” Adora continues, albeit a bit bashfully, “You also put my body on the fritz.”

Catra’s eyes widen before she drops them to her feet.

“You don’t get to tell me these things while you’re promised to another.”

“Catra…”

“So what, then? Like you said, duty comes before self. Even if you knew I was a princess, wouldn’t your duty still have sent you to someone else? Would you have stopped it by telling your Queen you found a different princess in the woods? Bargained for power? Promised gemstones?”

Adora starts to speak, but Catra doesn’t stop.

“Just you being here puts Halfmoon at risk. I don’t know how long your wizards’ memories are, but if they realize what our quarry holds, it won’t be long before they come around trying to mine us of all we’re worth like they’ve always done when they discover a group of us.”

The heartbeat of the tree quickens beneath their joined hands, responding to Catra's agitation.

“I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t afford for anyone to know. I’m responsible for keeping this place hidden. Safe. And now... now you’re here because I got selfish. Because I wanted...” She swallows. “And I don’t know how to get you out of here without making it worse.”

Adora wants to argue that she understands the fear behind Catra's words, knows the weight of responsibility she carries for her people. But before Adora can respond, a horn sounds—a few short notes that echo through the village.

“Dinner call,” Catra explains, looking almost relieved at the interruption. “We should head over.”

As they walk, a careful distance between them, Adora feels the weight of the headpiece in her pouch. “I almost forgot,” she says, pulling it out. “I brought this back for you. All jokes aside, I guess it actually was a crown.”

Catra stops, staring at the familiar piece. “I figured it fell off during the fight.” She runs a finger in the spaces where the gemstones are missing. “This is why my mom thought my pulse was out.” She taps one of the empty settings. Her head tilts as she eyes the empty spaces curiously. “Otherwise, the synapses would’ve shown I still had vitals last time I wore this.”

Catra continues studying the headpiece as they walk but doesn't put it on, instead turning it over in her hands with a troubled expression. “Did the gems get knocked out in battle?”

Adora shrugs in response.

“Would’ve thought they’d have to be pried out…” Catra murmurs as her claws scrape lightly against the alloy.

They continue toward a grand hall that opens into a vast space illuminated by floating alloyed lanterns. A long table dominates the center where Queen C'yra already sits at the head. Scorpia occupies the seat to her right, looking simultaneously awed and terrified as she attempts to delicately handle tableware clearly not designed for pincers.

“There you are!” the Queen calls, gesturing to the empty seats. “Come, come. Scorpia has been telling me the most fascinating stories about her time with each of you.”

Catra freezes mid-step. “Has she now?”

Scorpia waves cheerfully, accidentally knocking over a goblet that a server rushes to right. “Hey! Just the good parts, y'know? Well, maybe not all good parts, but how Halfmoon has nothing to worry about between me and Adora!”

Catra emits an uncomfortable squeak.

“Do sit,” the Queen urges, an unsettling gleam in her eye that reminds Adora far too much of Catra when she's plotting something. “Scorpia was just explaining how you two met in the woods.”

Adora and Catra exchange a wary glance before taking their seats, Catra beside her mother and Adora beside Scorpia.

“Scorpia,” Catra begins, scooting herself closer to the table. “I believe some of the things we discussed on our walk here were meant to be in confidence.”

“Anywho,” the Queen ignores her child to continue once they're settled, “Scorpia tells me you saved my daughter from a rather nasty creature, Adora. It’s why she showed up looking like rewarmed scavenger kill.”

“I wouldn't say saved,” Adora begins cautiously. “We fought it off together.”

“And then carried her all the way back to your castle,” Scorpia adds helpfully. “Super heroic! I mean, she was unconscious and everything, and you could've just left her there, but nope! Scooped her right up!” She looks to C’yra, an almost imploring look on her face. “She’s super loyal like that. She wouldn’t just let people get hurt for no reason. Not Catra. Not any magicat.”

Catra groans, sinking lower in her chair. Her mom is obviously prying, and Scorpia seems to think this is some sort of interview to prove she and Adora aren't a threat to Halfmoon. “Mom...”

The Queen's smile widens. “How chivalrous.”

“Anyone would have done the same,” Adora insists, reaching for her water goblet.

“Oh, I don't know about that. Catra was pretty adamant in the woods about how she’d have left you,” Scorpia continues, oblivious to Catra's increasingly murderous glare. “But the way Adora wouldn't leave her side while she was recovering? Barely slept! Had nothing but Catra’s best interest in mind, like I bet she’d have for your subjects as well! Just kept checking her temperature and changing those little wet cloths for her forehead and whispering stuff to her about how she was going to be okay. It was kinda sweet.”

“Is that so?” The Queen leans forward, chin resting on interlaced fingers. “I can only assume from experience my daughter isn’t an easy patient.”

“Mom,” Catra warns again.

“Well, she was feverish,” Scorpia barrels on, “So she wasn’t as snappy as she was when we were in the woods, but oh man, would she mumble. I don’t think it was bad mumbling, though. I couldn't make out most of it, but your name came up a lot, Adora. Along with ‘mine’ and ‘stay’. I guess the mine part makes sense now, with there being a quarry here and all.”

“Scorpia, I swear to the gods.”

“Catra, please,” C’yra waves off her daughter as if she’s a gnat. “Of all the things to be embarrassed about, considering you two were practically fingerbanging on the communing tree today.”

Adora chokes on her drink.

“Synapses were flying everywhere. The chefs had to take off all their gemstone cuffs to concentrate on dinner. I may have to make a formal announcement tomorrow to apologize to anyone with children.”

“MOM.”

“Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about Adora trying to take advantage of anyone!” Scorpia quicky tries to cover. “She’s always been the nicest person, y’know. And super respectful. She made everyone leave the room when she changed Catra out of her ripped clothes. It was super thoughtful, although I guess we wouldn’t really know if she did anything creepy or not if we weren’t there…”

The Queen's eyes widen dramatically as she turns to look between Adora and her daughter. Catra's fur stands on end and her entire face flushes crimson.

“But I’m sure she didn’t,” Scorpia adds with innocent enthusiasm. “All things considered.”

“I—it wasn't—nothing creepy—” Adora stammers, her own face turning an alarming shade of red. She looks to Catra apologetically but becomes triggered by the glare the magicat is sending her way. “Oh, calm down. I didn’t take off everything! And it's nothing I haven't seen already!”

The Queen's eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her hairline.

“I mean, from when we've sparred or gone fishing together!” Adora hastily clarifies, waving her hands frantically. “Nothing less, or more. Clothing wise. Just—helping a friend. Who was injured. And dirty. I wasn’t looking at anything!”

“Should’ve left me in the woods to die,” Catra groans, sliding so far down in her chair she's practically under the table.

“Well, in the woods, Catra also talked a lot about how Adora—”

“Please!” Catra slams a palm on the table, making the dishware jump. She pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Of course, darling,” the Queen purrs, not the least bit deterred by her daughter's outburst. “Scorpia, tell me more about yourself. I understand you're seeking asylum?”

Scorpia brightens. “Yes! I was hoping—”

“Actually,” Adora interrupts gently, “I'm afraid Scorpia can't stay. She needs to return to Brightmoon. Both of us do.”

The Queen's ears flick forward with interest. “Oh? And why is that?”

“It's complicated,” Adora says, choosing her words carefully. “If Scorpia doesn't come back, the kingdom of Plumeria might see it as her defecting to side with their enemies. They could send scouts to hunt her down. Scouts who may stumble upon Halfmoon.”

“Plumeria?” The Queen repeats, testing the name. “What importance does this kingdom hold?”

Catra stabs at her food with unnecessary force. “It’s where Adora's ‘fiancée’ lives.”

“Fiancée?” The Queen's brow furrows. “I'm not familiar with this term.”

Scorpia slumps in her seat. “It means they're going to get married. Princess Perfuma of Plumeria and Adora.” Her voice carries a somber tone that doesn't go unnoticed by the Queen.

“Married is their mating ceremony,” Catra informs flatly.

The Queen's eyes widen slightly as they dart between Adora, who's suddenly very interested in her plate, and Catra, whose ears have flattened against her head. Her gaze then shifts to Scorpia, noting the scorpion princess's dejected posture at the mention of Perfuma as well.

“I see,” the Queen says slowly. She gives Catra a look of unmistakable sympathy before smoothly changing the subject.

As the dinner winds to a close, the Queen rises from her seat and regards the three young women thoughtfully.

“Scorpia, you have such a rich family history. Mind if you continue indulging a curious woman about it in my study? And Adora, if you absolutely must leave in the morning,” the words come out slow. Measured. “Perhaps you might enjoy exploring the ancient star pools on the northern ridge tonight. The waters are said to hold stress relieving properties. Maybe you can convince Catra to stop being a stick in the mud and get in them for once.”

Adora risks a glance at Catra, who stubbornly refuses to meet her eye. “I, uh, don’t believe I have swimming attire.”

The Queen waves a dismissive hand. “No one uses swimming attire in the star pools at this hour. And from what I’ve gathered, it's not as if you haven't seen my daughter undressed before.”

Catra makes a strained sound in the back of her throat while Adora turns a brilliant shade of red.

“A night,” C’yra continues, “can be both excruciatingly long and heartbreakingly short.” She offers them both a sympathetic smile. “Don't waste the time while you have it.”

Out of either defiance or embarrassment, Catra opts out of showing Adora the star pools. She takes a brisk detour past them instead, where Adora catches glimpses of a few elderly magicats lounging naked in the bioluminescent waters.

Catra instead leads her to a compact building carved into the trunk of another tree. Inside, a small couch sits nestled in one corner with a kitchenette opposite. Low tables surrounded by stubby chairs fill the center of the space and shelves carved directly into the wall overflow with toys, books, tins, and jeweled contraptions that Adora instantly recognizes as the type of 'artifacts' Catra would trade with her in the woods. The inside of the one roomed structure smells deeply of spices and autumn leaves, a smell that Adora already distinctly attributes to Catra. Her eyes follow Catra as she moves around the room gathering pens and strips of paper from the tables to put into her hip pack.

“This way.” Catra jerks her head towards a door on the far side of the room. They're back outside, but now on a path that spirals upward around the trunk of the big tree. Gemstones embedded in the bark illuminate their way, turning Catra's fur into something almost mythical as she moves ahead.

The path opens onto a small platform nestled among the highest branches. All of Halfmoon spreads below them, the crystal-lit dwellings creating a mirror of the starry sky above. The scent of spice and autumn is even stronger here.

An oblong seat sits in the near center of the platform. It’s close enough to the edge to overlook the city, but far enough back to feel secure. It looks like an amateur’s earnest attempt at crafting an egg chair, with its misshapen outer shell curving unevenly around a seat just wide enough for close company. Inside, it's filled with a pile of cushions, soft and sunken as if someone had been nesting there. It's not elegant, but it's oddly inviting. Adora smiles warmly at it, mind going back to Catra’s offer to build a bed for her in the woods.

“What?” Catra’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the look on Adora’s face.

“Nothing,” Adora says although the fondness lingering in her gaze betrays her denial. “This place is nice. Peaceful. Is it yours?”

Catra lightly snorts. “No. Community property. I built that though.” She points at the egg sofa, confirming Adora’s suspicions, “But this place is, uh… Usually our emotions counselor is downstairs. In that room we walked through. But it’s late, so she’s gone home already.”

“Emotions counselor?”

“I know, I know.” Catra’s eyes slam shut and she holds a hand out as if bracing for judgement. “Look, my dad went missing a few years ago after leaving to help some other magicat settlement, and ever since, I've been coming here to...” she pauses to think of the best words, “better regulate my anger.”

“You have?” Adora tries to tamp down the coo in her voice, but it still seeps through.

“I have.” Catra's jaw tightens, clearly working to contain anger at even having this conversation now. “I… It helps,” she simply says. “Sometimes, when the counselor isn’t in, I come up here to think. Or write. Or not think. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s either here or the woods.” She settles into the sofa, leaving extra space to her side. She looks up at Adora expectantly.

Adora accepts the silent invitation and joins her. The semi-enclosed seating brings their shoulders together, Catra's warmth seeping through Adora's shirt. “Explains why a princess would be out in the woods so often,” Adora murmurs, looking down at hidden kingdom spread below them. She squints as she tries to make out the larger granite wall surrounding them, blocking Halfmoon from the rest of the woods, but it’s almost impossible to see the barrier in the dark.

“Kinda.” Catra's tail sways between them, occasionally brushing against Adora's leg. “It’s easy to go there to escape. Serves a dual purpose since we need watches out there to make sure no one gets too close to the walls. The counselor thinks I’m keeping watch in case he ever returns, and maybe that’s true.”

Adora just watches attentively.

“And now, the woods will always be where I met you.” She looks to Adora and her eyes are sad.

“Catra...” Adora turns to face her fully, done with holding back. “Why did you run?” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “You were hurt, barely recovered, and you just... left. Without a word.”

Catra's eyes seem to glow as she meets Adora's gaze. “You're ‘betrothed’ to Princess Perfuma.”

“A betrothal I didn't know about,” Adora insists, shifting closer so their knees press firmly together. “That I didn’t choose.” She watches as confusion and suspicion war on Catra's face. “It was arranged on a miscommunication. Our royal counselor noticed how happy I seemed lately. Assumed it was because of someone and not something… She was right.” Her eyes remain steadfast on Catra. “But wrong about the who. It’s just convenient the person they matched me with is the ally pissed with us for taking in Scorpia. Dissolving it requires caution.”

“So what does that mean? You just... agreed?!”

“I've been fighting it ever since it was announced,” Adora laughs bitterly. “But it has to be done in a way to make sure we maintain a relationship with Plumeria.” At the darkening look on Catra's face, she sighs heavily. “It's not the most forward thing, but it's the most agreeable choice I have. Lives depend on this alliance.”

“Yeah, well,” Catra wraps her arms around herself, turning her head towards the twinkling lights of Halfmoon below. “Seems like you want a lot of things hidden behind closed doors.”

Adora frowns. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Catra mutters, still not looking at her, tail now twitching agitatedly, “I'm not gonna be your dirty little secret.”

Adora blinks. “You're the one who needs secrecy. For Halfmoon’s safety, remember?”

“No, I mean I’m not going to be your little plaything who sneaks in and out of stupid trap doors in your bedroom whenever you want a fix!”

Adora is wide-eyed in her stare. “Why…” she begins, gathering herself. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Your wizard made it pretty clear—”

“Light Spinner?”

“—that’s why you brought me back to your castle. Why you have those stupid trap doors in the floor. To sneak your ‘entanglements’ through.”

Adora’s mind spins trying to keep up with the barrage of information. “I brought you back to the castle because I couldn’t leave you out in the woods to die! When did you talk to Light Spinner?”

Catra eyes Adora suspiciously. “Before I left, I woke up and she had me tied to the bed with magic.”

“SHE WHAT?!”

“What does it matter though?” Catra leans forward on her knees to gaze outward. She reaches for her hip pack and pulls out a pen with a gemstone crystal protruding from the end of it and a piece of parchment.

Adora still feels scattered, mouth slightly agape, still processing. “Catra, I'm not going through with this wedding,” she says resolutely. “Whether you choose to believe me, or be with me or not, I'm not agreeing to a marriage I don’t want to be in. I want you to still be in my life when that happens, but that’s not only my decision to make…”

Catra flattens the parchment out on against her thigh, turning her leg into a makeshift desk. She presses the pen to it and it glows softly, responding to her touch in a way that seems almost alive. “At the end of the day, you're still a princess of Brightmoon and I'm still—”

“A princess of Halfmoon.”

Catra lightly snorts as she continues writing, the crystal's light illuminating her features in soft blue. “A princess of a kingdom most of your world thinks is extinct. Not exactly match material.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Being match material?” Adora's voice is gentle as she watches how the light plays across Catra's face, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. She's beautiful in the dim glow, and Adora's heart aches with the sight. “Catra, please look at me.”

Reluctantly, those mismatched eyes meet hers, catching the light in a way that makes Adora's breath hitch. There's something raw and vulnerable there that makes Adora want to reach out and touch her face, but she resists.

“I don't care about matches. I care about you.” Her voice cracks with emotion, and she doesn't try to hide it. Her hand finds Catra's knee, warm and steady. “But I’d like you to trust me. To stop running away when there’s an issue. Talk to me instead.”

Catra's eyes drop to where Adora's hand rests on her knee. After a moment of hesitation, she places her own hand over it. The touch sends warmth spreading up Adora's arm. Catra nods and returns to writing on her parchment. Adora reaches for the pouch at Catra's side, silently asking permission with her eyes. When Catra doesn't object, she takes out another crystal pen and piece of parchment.

“When you’re in your sessions, do you write whatever comes to mind?” Adora asks softly, turning the crystal pen over in her palm.

“Whatever my feelings are. Things I’m having trouble saying and stuff.” She looks slightly embarrassed.

Adora nods, carefully drawing squiggly test lines on the paper. The gem at the end of the pen glows softly as she writes and similarly, the ink on the paper emits a low glow through the dark.

Catra peeks at her and how the furrow of concentration between her brows, the slight bite of her lower lip. It's painfully endearing.

“What do you do with them? When you're done?” Adora asks, still writing.

“Whatever you want,” Catra shrugs, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Sometimes I'll share them with the counselor. Sometimes I'll keep them folded up in my pack, wait to read them back later. Depends on how raw they are.”

The night air feels charged between them as Adora finishes writing and holds the parchment out across the small space separating them. Catra takes it, her fingers brushing against Adora's in the process, lingering just a moment too long to be accidental.

I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid you'll never trust me enough to let me in. I want a future where I don't have to choose between duty and love where somehow, impossibly, they're the same thing. I want you to be that impossible thing.

Catra’s tail swishes anxiously as she reads it, the tip brushing against Adora's thigh. Without a word, she looks at her own piece of paper and hands it to Adora. Their fingers meet again in the exchange, and this time neither pulls away immediately.

i’ve been alone then i’ve been yours, but i want you to choose me. don’t give me back to myself.

There are other doodles around the words, mainly one of Adora’s face with an exaggerated hairpoof rising from the top of her head like a horn.

Adora reads the words, her breath catching at the raw honesty. “We’ll find a way,” she breathes. She reaches out, her fingers grazing Catra's cheek. “I do choose you. I've always chosen you, even when I didn't know that's what I was doing.” She nods to herself as she says this, never breaking eye contact. “We won't do anything that puts Halfmoon at risk, but we'll figure this out. Together.”

“No one leaves Halfmoon,” Catra reminds her, but there's barely any conviction in her voice. Her body leans into Adora’s. “My mom’s offered to kill you peacefully at least twice when you were out of earshot.”

“Then your paper is easier to make happen then mine,” Adora jokes. It elicits a soft chuckle from Catra that sends warmth blooming in her chest. “You wouldn’t have any trap doors in your room, would you?”

“My room's not the best place to go if leaving in the morning is the plan.” Catra leans back into the back curve of the sofa, her eyes wide and inviting. There's something different in her gaze now. There’s a certainty that wasn't there before, as if having laid her heart bare has freed her from some of her reservations. Adora takes the cue and leans back as well, smiling as Catra nuzzles into her side. She reaches out to tuck a strand of Catra's wild hair behind her ear. Her fingers linger against the soft fuzz there, tracing gentle circles that make Catra's eyes flutter closed.

“I'm not giving you back,” Adora murmurs, answering the request in Catra's note.

The two of them had been close before, nestled into each other on a tree branch or on top of each other in a patch of sun for their limbs to overlap and tangle. But never like this. Never without pretending there was a practical reason for them to touch. Never when their feelings for each other were out in the open.

Catra's fingers find Adora's wrist, holding it gently where Adora's hand has lowered to cup the back of her neck. “I might have an idea that could work.” Her expression shifts, turning more serious. “Your wizard's a problem though.” She levels Adora with a look. Her thumb runs along Adora's pulse point. “She set up your mate—I mean, marriage. Tied me up. Lied to me.” The memory darkens her eyes momentarily. “I don't like that she knows about me. I want you to bring her to the woods. I can deal with her.”

Adora's brow furrows. She understands a threat when she hears one, and even though she’s also pissed with Light Spinner, she's not sending her family's closest advisor into a potentially lethal trap.

“No need for that. I’ll handle her when I get back.”

“You will?” Catra's ears perk up, clearly not expecting her accusation would lead to action.

“Just because I don't know about everything going on in Brightmoon doesn't mean I'm completely oblivious.” A wry smile tugs at her lips, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Though apparently I did miss the part where I got engaged.”

A small laugh escapes Catra, and the sound warms Adora's heart.

“But in my defense,” Adora continues, her voice dropping to that intimate register meant only for Catra's ears, “I was a bit distracted.” Adora free hand traces patterns over Catra's knee with her finger. “Worth it, though.”

Catra looks down to watch Adora's thumb travel across her leg. “So... what now?”

“I don't know,” Adora says, bringing Catra's hand to her lips and pressing a gentle kiss to it. Against her skin, she murmurs, “But I'd like to stay out a little longer.” Her voice softens further, almost shy. “You could show me more of this place? If that’s okay?”

Catra's purr is so soft it's almost inaudible as she stands, pulling Adora up with her. She leads Adora to the edge of the platform where Halfmoon lies visible below them.

“See over there?” Catra asks, taking Adora's wrist and pulling it over her shoulder so the blonde is draped over her back, using Adora's finger as her personal pointer. “That's the market. Best place to get into trouble as a kid. The fruit vendors used to chase me out weekly.”

Adora's finger traces invisible lines between locations as Catra guides it. “There's the training grounds where I learned to fight. Mom says I was terrible at first. Too much attitude, not enough focus.”

As Catra continues pointing to meaningful places, her stories flow more freely, revealing parts of herself she's kept hidden. Adora feels warmth spreading from her chest to her fingertips, overwhelmed by this glimpse into Catra's world.

Catra points to a particular spot and launches into a grand tirade about how the old magicats who live in that tree pretend to be senile to cheat at bingo. “I swear one of them has extra cards hidden under a skin flap! No one believes me but I've seen her switch them out!”

Adora laughs, not at the story but at the indignation in Catra's voice, at the way her tail puffs slightly at the memory. In this moment, with Halfmoon spread out before them and Catra's warm hand in hers, their problems don’t seem as complex. She doesn’t know what the path forward looks like, but with Catra here, pressed in front of her, it doesn’t feel impossible.

As Catra launches into another story, animated and unguarded, Adora squeezes her hand gently. They’ll make this work.

The night is reaching its peak when Catra escorts Adora back to her room in East Hollow. Adora was expecting Catra to show her more historical sites of Halfmoon, but instead, Catra revealed her personal sanctuaries.

A grilled squirrel vendor whose aroma made Adora’s mouth water despite her initial hesitation and whose taste, when she finally gave in, was like nothing she’s ever encountered before.

A low banked plaza where younger magicats race hand-crafted gadgets.

A moonlit square where sometimes people gather with instruments, prompting other magicats to stop what they were doing to either join in or dance.

Catra's hand brushes against Adora's as they walk, each touch electric. Sometimes Catra's tail curls briefly around Adora's wrist as they walk past other magicats, an act that Adora isn’t sure is territorial or not but makes her blush nonetheless.

“See those?” Catra's voice drops to a whisper as she points to the towering walls that surround the city. They're so covered in moss and foliage that they appear to be nothing more than the continuation of the forest beyond. “From the outside, they look like more woods. It’s the city’s natural camouflage. Makes it harder for people who get lost in the woods to notice us before we notice them. We're in a basin, though. Mom worries about the lack of high ground making us vulnerable.” Her voice grows more serious. “It's why our watches in the woods are so extensive.”

As more and more of the Halfmoon residents turn in for the night, granting the two more privacy as they traverse the city, Catra reveals more about them. How all magicat settlements are called Halfmoon, but each uses different coded language to identify themselves. How it’s a protective measure ensuring that even if one settlement falls, outsiders would never realize how many settlements truly remain.

“We stay because of this,” Catra says, gesturing toward the quarry's gemstone glow. “Wizards made these deposits rare. We won't leave, even though this location is... precarious.”

The walk back to Adora’s temporary quarters in East Hollow feels all too short now, neither of them ready for the night to end despite having made their plan for tomorrow.

Catra would rap on Adora’s door before sunrise to sneak her and Scorpia out of Halfmoon. As princess, it would be easy enough to dismiss the guards momentarily, but the real challenge lies in slipping past the patrols during shift changes, especially with Scorpia being so large. Catra would guide them most of the way back, either moving ahead to distract any of the magicat watches in the woods or guiding them to avoid as many as they can. It wouldn’t be safe for Adora to come back into the woods though. As long as Adora and Scorpia knew about Halfmoon’s existence, they would never be safe in the woods.

“So tomorrow... that's it? No more meetings at our spot?” Adora leans against her doorframe, postponing goodbye. Catra stands close enough that Adora feels her warmth, catches her scent of autumn and spice. “Us going back to square one… and me trying to survive your mom’s assassination attempts tonight?”

Catra lightly chuckles, realizing Adora’s last statement is both a joke and an inquiry. “She's just worried about our existence getting out,” she says. “We all are. The last time outsiders found a Halfmoon settlement, they wiped out half their population.”

Her gaze drops, claws absently scoring shallow lines into the wooden doorframe. The gentle scrape of claw against wood fills the silence between them. “We took refugees, but there's only so much space within the walls.” She looks up. “It's nothing personal.”

“I understand,” Adora says, and she does, even as her heart aches at the thought of not seeing being able to see Catra regularly anymore. “But where does that leave us?”

Moonlight filters through the leaves, casting shadows across Catra's face, turning her freckles to constellations. “I don't know,” she admits quietly. “But we'll figure it out.”

“Will we?” Adora asks, unable to keep the doubt from her voice. She was all too sure of it hours ago when they were curled together overlooking the city, but that was when they still had the entire night ahead of them. Now, she wasn’t as certain.

Catra's fingers find hers, intertwining slowly. “Yes.” Her voice softens to a timbre Adora hasn't heard before. “We will,” she says with a small smile that reveals just the hint of fangs. “Look, I can still slip away on patrol sometimes. We just... need to be more careful about where we meet.”

“The borderlands?”

“Maybe,” Catra says thoughtfully. “Orrr maybe we meet on neutral ground. I’ll wear a cloak so people don’t realize I’m a magicat. Rent a boat to Salineas and treat it like a vacation.” At Adora's surprised look, she adds hastily, “I don’t know where Plumeria is, but I know a bit of old geography. We’re living surrounded by rock, not under one.”

The absurdity of the Princess of Halfmoon disguising herself to sneak onto the high seas makes Adora laugh, the sound warming the night air between them. “You'd do that? You don’t even like water.”

“I'd do a lot of things for you,” Catra whispers, vulnerability naked in her eyes.

“Like what?” Adora asks, equally soft, afraid to break whatever spell has fallen over them in this moonlit moment.

Instead of answering with words, Catra kisses her. It's gentle to start, but when Adora responds, her hand coming up to cup Catra's cheek, the kiss transforms. Deepens. All their nerves, their fears and hopes, distill into this one connection. When they finally separate, they’re both breathless. Adora's fingers tangle in Catra's wild mane, while Catra's claws rest lightly at Adora's hips, just firm enough to keep her close.

“Not a bad answer...” Adora murmurs, “but that felt more self-serving than anything—”

“Seriously?”

“—pretending you're doing that on my behalf when we both know you like me,” Adora finishes. “Which, honestly, how embarrassing for you.”

Catra huffs, warm breath ghosting across Adora's lips. “You know…” Their lips are still just a hair's width apart. “My mom’s assassins might not attack you if I'm close by. They wouldn’t risk endangering the princess and all.” Her voice drops to a dangerous purr that sends shivers down Adora's spine. “And you once did say I deserve a bed.”

The purr that starts to rumble in Catra's chest reverberates through both their bodies, and Adora feels the vibration in her very core. Her eyes drift shut for a moment, allowing herself to imagine the possibilities.

“I want to be respectful of you and your family,” she says as she opens them again. She refrains from bringing up her fiancée again, even though that also guiltily tugs in the back of her mind. “And according to you, I’m still missing the champagne and penthouse suite.”

“My family assigned you the penthouse suite in the hollow most known for the newly mated,” Catra chuckles. Her claws flex lightly against Adora's hips. “Her announcing that this is where you would be sleeping was practically an announcement to the entire city to expect furniture rattling.” She leans in closer. Her lips brush the shell of Adora's ear as she whispers, “Plus... I want you to be as disrespectful to me as you can in there.”

The words send heat coursing through Adora's body, and for a moment, her resolve nearly crumbles. “Catra...” Her voice emerges both fond and admonishing. She pulls back just enough to look into Catra's eyes, her own filled with a complex mixture of desire and hesitation. “It's not that I don't want to—believe me, I do—but if tomorrow's going to be goodbye for a while...”

“All the more reason not to waste tonight.” Catra's tail curls possessively around Adora's calf.

Adora catches Catra's wrist, pressing her lips to the soft fur there, feeling the racing pulse beneath. “It would make leaving harder,” she whispers. “I need to walk out tomorrow without falling apart.”

Catra's ears droop before understanding settles in. She nods, nose brushing Adora's. “Fine,” she concedes without resentment. “Too respectful for a goodnight kiss?”

“That I can definitely manage.”

Their lips come together again, this kiss slower, deeper than the first. There's no urgency now, just a deliberate exploration, a memorization of sensation. Adora tries to commit everything to memory. The softness of Catra's lips. The way her claws flex against Adora's back. The taste of her. The purr that vibrates between them growing louder with each passing second.

When they finally separate, Adora keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to stretch the moment as much as possible.

“I'm going to find a way to make this work,” she vows when she finally looks at Catra again, thumb tracing the line of Catra's jaw.

“We're going to find a way,” Catra corrects, catching Adora's hand and kissing to her palm. “Together, remember?”

Adora smiles. “Together.”

Catra steps back, though her hand lingers in Adora's until the last possible moment, their fingertips the final point of contact before separation. “Get some sleep, Princess,” she says, her voice a mixture of affection and mischief. “Dawn comes early, and my mother's assassins are notoriously punctual.”

“I'll sleep with one eye open,” Adora promises with a wry smile. “Princess!” she quickly tacks on, realizing the title doesn’t only apply to her.

Catra lifts her middle finger before disappearing around the corner. When she’s out of sight, Adora lets her smile fade. She touches her lips, still warm and tingling from Catra's kiss, and tries to believe that this isn't an ending but a beginning.

Adora is restless at first. She knows she has a big day ahead of her, and it’s important to be well rested for it, but that makes it even harder for her to fall asleep. Her brain just keeps repeating ‘Go to sleep. Go to sleep,’ but that just makes sleep even harder to come. Anxiety chews her from within.

What if Queen C’yra really does send assassins in the night?

What if they make it out, but Adora can’t break her engagement with Perfuma?

What if there really aren’t any safe places for her and Catra to meet?

What’s the deal with Light Spinner in general? She assumed setting her up with Perfuma was a misguided but well-meaning mistake, but tying Catra to the bed? Making her think Adora was only interested in her for hidden late-night trysts? Adora’s blood had boiled when Catra brought it up.

She tries to force herself to stop thinking, which only makes her think harder. When exhaustion finally drags her under, it’s more morning than it is night.

But still, she dreams.

She dreams of Catra.

Of Catra's laugh.

Of Catra’s mismatched eyes gleaming in moonlight.

Of Catra’s promises whispered against her lips.

Of Catra buzzing.

Buzzing?

Of Catra talking, but her voice sounds like a distant yell. Of a distance knock. Multiple distant knocks. Multiple distant bangs.

More buzzing. More persistent buzzing.

The dream fractures as the persistent buzzing pulls her toward consciousness. She opens a groggy eye. The room is dark aside from the communicator pulsing under the covers beside her, flashing on and off beneath the blanket.

She fumbles for it, mind still foggy with sleep. “Hello?”

“Thank the gods you picked up!” Glimmer's voice comes through, high with both relief and panic. “Can you hear me!? Adora, I don't know what happened—”

“Slow down,” Adora mumbles, pushing herself upright. The room is washed in the orangish blue of pre-morning. The sun was rising. Catra should have come to get her by now. “What's going on?” Adora asks, trying not to panic herself over whether something had already gone wrong with the plan.

“Someone sent a messenger to Plumeria,” Glimmer's words tumble out. “They're saying Scorpia defected to the magicats! That they’re part of the Horde and she's helping them plan vengeance and they’ve taken you hostage! My mom got a message for us to be ready if they need support for the surprise attack they’re launching. I just found out, but the tracker—the one we’re using to monitor your location—it's missing. Adora, where are you?! I need your coordinates!”

The fog of sleep clears in an instant. The geo tracker. Her dream. Light Spinner.

“Where’s Light Spinner?” Adora whispers, horror dawning. “Only the three of us knew about the tracker—”

A distant boom shakes the room. The sound of screaming filters through the walls. Not screams of surprise.

Screams of terror.

“What was that?” Glimmer demands.

Adora rushes to the window, pushing aside the silk curtain. She lowers the communicator to her side as she peers out. She can still hear Glimmer shouting for her coordinates from the device.

Armored soldiers in Plumerian green stream through the eastern edge of Halfmoon, their weapons raised. Behind them, massive vines slither through the underbrush like serpents, tearing up the earth as they advance. The king of Plumeria himself stands atop a living platform of intertwined roots, directing the assault.

“No,” Adora breathes. “This is all wrong…”

“Adora?! Talk to me!” Glimmer's tinny voice calls from the communicator still clutched in Adora's hand.

Adora scrambles around the room to properly get dressed and pulls the communicator back to her lips. “Glimmer, the Plumerians are attacking Halfmoon. I need help! I need—”

“Half-what?” Glimmer's voice crackles. “Adora, Halfmoon got wiped out ages ago! I need something more specific than that!”

“It didn’t! I mean—it did, but not this one! There’s a Halfmoon hidden in the Whispering Woods, and now…” Adora chokes on the realization. “And now I've led an army straight to them. You need to tell your mom and Mara that I left willingly! The magicats aren’t our enem—”

The room convulses, hurling Adora to the floor. The communicator skitters away. This wasn’t an explosion. The tree itself shook as if wanting to vomit out anyone inside it. The wooden walls around her creak and groan. A fracture splits the ceiling like lightning. Adora’s blood runs cold at her second realization. The trees of Halfmoon, living structures shaped over generations to house the magicats, are moving, but not of their own accord.

If there’s one weapon the Plumerian royalty excel in, it’s the control of plants. The Plumerians aren't just attacking with soldiers. They're turning Halfmoon's living architecture against itself.

Adora crawls for the communicator as the room contracts around her. Sap bleeds from widening cracks. Through the splintering window, she watches magicat stumble from their homes in nightclothes, unprepared and outnumbered. Protective trees become prisons as branches twist downward to snare fleeing residents. Roots erupt to tangle legs.

This isn’t just an attack. This is a massacre in the making. And it's all because of her.

Because she came here with a geo tracker tag.

Because of her betrothal to Perfuma.

Because the Plumerians believe their future queen has been kidnapped by insurgents.

The ultimate betrayal, Adora realizes with sick certainty. Plumeria is the only kingdom whose very power negates Halfmoon's greatest defenses. Every strength of the magicats is now weaponized against them by people who believe they're rescuing her.

“Glimmer, you have to tell Mara I’m fine! She needs to get the Plumerians to stop—”

The room shudders again. The door begins sealing itself as controlled wood responds to Plumerian commands. She has minutes before she's trapped or crushed.

And somewhere in that chaos is Catra.

Adora's first promise was to keep Halfmoon's secret. To protect their people. To prevent history's cruelties from repeating.

Instead, she'd led an army to their doorstep.

Her hands glow as they clench into fists.

Chapter Text

The door frame buckles inward with a splintering crack. Adora throws herself against the warping wood, shouldering through just as bark seals the doorway behind her, tumbling outside where her knees hit the floor hard enough to send jolts of pain racing up her legs.

The suite door beside hers explodes in a shower of wooden splinters as Scorpia bursts through, skidding to a halt with hair disheveled and eyes wild. Her shoulders slack only slightly when she sees Adora kneeling there, confusion evident as she likely wonders if this somehow relates to their escape plan. Before either can speak, the wooden walkway beneath them tilts violently like a ship caught in a storm, sap oozing from widening cracks in the walls while the air grows thick with sawdust and the cloying sweetness of flowers.

“What’s happening?” Scorpia gasps, her pincers scraping against the buckling floor for balance.

Screams echo from every direction. The steady thrum of boots on earth mingles with the wet sound of roots tearing through soil, punctuated by a child’s wail that cuts through the chaos, high and desperate.

Two magicat guards round the corner at a run, gems in their cuffs flickering erratically. “Hey!” One points directly at them with his saber. “Hey! You two! Stop right—”

The floor erupts around them. Roots coil around their legs and yank them into the splintered wood. Their weapons clatter to the ground as they’re dragged down, shouting.

Adora stares in frozen horror. Another violent lurch of the tree that houses East Hollow slams her into the wall, her palms burning from the impact. The screams multiply in the background as she closes her eyes and grits her teeth, hearing Scorpia’s uneven footsteps as the larger woman struggles to maintain balance while rushing over.

This is wrong.

All of this is wrong.

Anger boils in her chest, sending a tingling sensation racing up her fingers. When she reopens her eyes, for a moment, the world around her sharpens. She can see every splinter, hear every heartbeat, feel the terror bleeding from every soul in Halfmoon washing over her like a wave.

Her lips part as something like a current rushes through her veins, some weird power hovering just beneath her skin, begging to be released—

A terrified scream snaps her back to reality. Below them, through breaks in the splintered trees and smoke, a family struggles amidst a mass of twisted roots. Two kittens clutch desperately to their parents’ arms as thorned roots rise upwards to close around the family like a cage..

“They need our help!” The words tear from her throat without thought.

Scorpia is already moving, her hulking form smashing through the crumbling guardrails that granted East Hollow some modicum of privacy from the rest of the city. Adora’s instincts scream at her to follow, and she throws herself after Scorpia into the chaos below.

They hit the dirt hard. Around them, Halfmoon is unraveling. Trees bend, homes collapse, the ground itself feels as if it shifts and heaves like a thing in pain.

As they run, small drones dart overhead, comprised of the same alloy and gem-embedded design woven into most of Halfmoon’s infrastructure. Whether by purpose or coincidence, they carve a path for Scorpia, zapping Plumerian soldiers with incapacitating shocks that drop them like flies, giving her the chance to rush past unimpeded.

Scorpia reaches the root cage first, her pincers flashing as they slice through the woody bars in one powerful downward swoop. The roots fight back, trying to reform, but she wedges her pincers into the gaps and forces them apart.

“Go!” she shouts to the trapped family. “Get out of here!”

The magicats don’t need to be told twice. They scramble through the opening, parents clutching their children as they flee.

A new wave of Plumerian soldiers drop from above like ripe fruit falling from branches. They hit the ground in perfect formation, weapons drawn, blocking the fleeing magicats’ path. Ther drones from earlier have already flown on, moving towards the next patch of carnage. One of the soldiers raises his saber toward a younger magicat that can’t be more than six years old.

Adora moves without thinking. Her hand closes around the soldier’s collar, yanking him backward. “Stop this! You have to stop!”

The soldier spins, eyes widening behind his helmet. “Princess Adora!” He lowers his weapon, confusion replacing aggression. “Your Highness, we’re here to rescue you! The rebels—”

“There are no rebels!” Adora’s voice cracks with desperation. Or anger. She’s not sure which is the more prevalent feeling in this moment. “These people aren’t our enemies!”

More soldiers appear, spreading out to surround Scorpia as she continues cutting trapped magicats free from their wooden prisons. For every cage she opens, two more seem to form.

“Princess, you’ve been brainwashed,” the soldier says matter-of-factly, reaching for her arm. “Your consult warned us this would happen. The Scorpion Princess realized she couldn’t access her power from the Black Garnet anymore and is now leeching power from the stones these rebels harvest to poison your mind. We’ll get you safe, get you help—”

“What?! I haven’t been—” Adora jerks away from his grasp. “That’s idiotic! Listen to me! Call off the attack!”

But he’s not listening. None of them are. They see what they expect to see. A kidnapped princess, meant to be their future queen, defending her captors out of magical coercion from a nonexistent enemy. The soldier signals to his squad. They advance on Scorpia, who’s now defending a group of elderly magicats too frail to run.

“Princess Adora has been compromised!” one shouts over the din. “Subdue the Scorpini defector! Protect the princess!”

Scorpia’s pincers sweep out in wide curves, knocking the ensuing soldiers aside but more seem to be rushing to join the fray every second. They come at her from all angles, forcing her to choose between protecting the magicats and defending herself.

Adora’s frustration boils over. These soldiers think they’re saving her, and that certainty makes them deaf to reason. She ducks away from grabbing hands, dodging between fallen trees and root barriers. She needs to reach the king. He’s the only one with authority to call this off.

The noise that stops her in her tracks sounds otherworldly.

It’s a guttural yowl, and it’s deep. Primal. Filled with rage and pain.

Adora looks up. On a massive branched platform overlooking the central square of Halfmoon, Queen C’yra is locked in combat with the Plumerian king himself. The queen moves as fluid as water, as elusive as shadow, her claws nearly leaving silver streaks in the air with each swipe. But the king commands the very wood beneath her feet. The bark of the branch ripples to knock her off balance. Branches further up on the tree swing down like clubs

Adora needs to reach them. Needs to stop this before it goes too far. Before any losses become irredeemable towards a chance at peace.

She pushes forward, helping a trapped magicat here, knocking down an overzealous soldier there. The shifting terrain makes every step treacherous. Twice she nearly falls trips over a knotted root sticking from the ground.

Then the screaming starts.

Not the screams of battle or fear that had already created its own chorus through the hidden city. These screams are different. Dozens of magicats cry out in unison, their voices harmonizing in an anguished wave. The gems in their clothing flicker and die like extinguished flames while drones providing aircover start dropping from the sky like flies.

That can only mean one thing.

The Heart Tree.

Adora spins toward the source, her blood turning to ice water as the ancient tree groans and tilts, massive limbs creaking while roots tear free from the ground in muddy chunks. It looks like a lever on a hinge against the great wall that keeps it anchored.

A line of high rank Plumerian soldiers stand in a line in front of it. They must be royal-blooded to wield this kind of power over nature. Not enough individually to fell such a massive tree, but together they focus their abilities to slowly topple it. Adora realizes they must also be controlling the vines and branches holding magicat families captive, causing other trees throughout Halfmoon to cave in on themselves. At some point during the attack, one of them must have realized the quarry and its tree act as the main power source for magicat weaponry, power, and communications.

Movement in the upper canopy catches her eye, a figure leaping between the branches.

Adora’s breath catches.

Catra.

Even from this distance, Adora can see something’s wrong. This isn’t the agile predator she knows from their sparring sessions or the effortless climber she’s watched swing through trees during their secret meetings. Catra’s rhythm is off. Her movements slower, not as sharp as Adora knows they should be. She’s slightly favoring her one side as she runs then leaps from a thick branch to grasp a vine in mid-air and swing to a lower level of branches. She lands heavier than usual, takes an extra heartbeat to launch into her next leap. Still, as branches rise to block her, she cuts them down. She doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. She spins through the air with claws extended, tagging Plumerian soldiers who get too close to her path. She swings from vines that shift and writhe beneath her grip, racing toward the Heart Tree even as her own body betrays her limitations.

“No,” Adora whispers, transfixed by the sight. “Catra, don’t—”

The elite group of soldiers spots the magicat’s approach, raising their hands so branches respond like extensions of their will. Thick vines whip through the air like striking serpents while Catra slashes at them, her claws opening green wounds in woody flesh.

She’s breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure, every movement a testament to a raw determination and skill that makes Adora’s chest tighten with something between awe and fear. She slashes the leg of one soldier, bringing him to his knees before her fist connects with his jaw. Another lunges from behind, but Catra’s elbow finds her chin. Another swipe of claws sends a third sprawling, clutching their shoulder. Catra’s miraculously holding her own in this mesmerizing dance of violence and grace, but she’s also hurt, and outnumbered, and vines spiral everywhere now, wrapping around her arms, her legs, her throat—

Something shifts inside Adora’s chest. The earlier tingling returns, spreading up her arms and racing along her spine as light gathers around her, soft at first, then blazing.

The transformation happens without her conscious choice. Power floods through her veins like liquid fire, reshaping her from within. When the light fades, she stands taller. Her hair cascades past her shoulders, and her hand wraps around the hilt of a sword that wasn’t in her possession a moment ago. A sword that hums with magic.

She charges, the sword cutting through the air with a sound like singing crystal. She cleaves a path through the writhing mass of hostile plant matter and upshoots. A path to Catra.

The soldiers working to topple the Heart Tree fall back at the sight of her coming. Some drop their weapons entirely. The raw power radiating from the warrior princess makes the air itself hum with barely contained energy.

She-Ra sheathes her sword and drops to knee. A simple pull and the vines restraining Catra tear apart like tissue paper. The magicat falls forward, instinctively grasping her side, but she’s not looking at her injuries.

She’s staring up at Adora with eyes gone wide as moons.

“A-Adora?” The name comes out as barely a whisper. Wonder and disbelief war across Catra’s features as she takes in the golden hair, the impossible height, the foreign sword. “Is that... is that you?”

Before She-Ra can answer, a roar of pain and rage cuts through the battlefield, making every soul in Halfmoon freeze.

The Queen.

Above, She-Ra can see Queen C’yra bound to the trunk of the massive tree where she and the king have been dueling, thick branches wrapped around her arms, legs, and chest like full-body shackles. Her struggles have torn gashes in the bark where her claws scraped for purchase, but the bonds only tighten with each movement.

The King of Plumeria stands before her, and he is no longer the refined royal from state portraits. A gash runs from his left temple to his jaw, painting half his face crimson. His clothes are torn and his breathing comes in harsh gasps. His eyes burn with the determination of a man who at first might have believed he was fighting for his future daughter-in-law’s life, but now those eyes were filled with abject fury.

“How can you justify what you’ve done?” he snarls at the queen, voice raised to make sure everyone can hear below. “Hiding in wait. Pretending to not exist. Meanwhile, you build an operation to harbor terrorists and support killers.”

Catra’s ears flatten against her skull as she tries to push herself up, muscles tensing to run to her mother’s aid, but her injury betrays her. She stumbles, her hand flying to her side with a sharp intake of breath.

“Mother—”

A blur of motion cuts across the upper dais where the two royalty are isolated. Scorpia bounds forward, seemingly from out of nowhere. She moves like an avalanche given purpose, her pincers already extended as she roars, “SHE DID NOTHING WRONG!”

With a strike that looks part swipe, part punch, the scorpini hits the vines near the Queen’s left side with enough force to snap several wooden tendrils. It’s not enough to free C’yra completely, but some of the constraints drop away. The queen gasps as the crushing pressure around her chest eases enough for her to draw a proper breath.

The king whirls toward his new threat, his hands rising to command the forest itself. Lower branches of the tree surge upward to block Scorpia’s advance while upper branches bend down to strike her.

At the last second, a figure in green silk rishes between them.

“FATHER, ENOUGH.”

Princess Perfuma stands with her arms spread wide, directly in her father’s line of attack. Her flower crown sits askew on blonde hair, her formal gown stained with mud and torn at the hem from her desperate journey through the Whispering Woods.

“Perfuma?!” Shock flashes across the king’s face. “How did you—what are you doing?! Move!”

“No.” Perfuma doesn’t budge. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

“Her?” The king’s eyes dart between his daughter and the scorpion princess behind her. “Perfuma, that traitor is part of the Horde! She’s—”

“She’s my heart.” The words come out fierce and protective. “And you will not hurt my heart. Not while I draw breath.”

The king staggers back as if she’d struck him. Meanwhile, C’yra’s eyes widen, moving between Perfuma, Scorpia, and the king. “Your... what? Perfuma, this woman has kidnapped your betrothed! We are working to rescue your love if you would let us! You should be safe in the palace, not—”

“Safe?” Perfuma’s laugh is bitter. “While you wage a battle based on lies? I came as soon as I learned what was happening! I ran ahead when I heard you from the outside of the wall.”

“Ran ahead?” The king’s voice drops to a whisper, confusion replacing rage. “Ran ahead of what?”

Light explodes across the battlefield.

A strong shockwave of energy follows. The wave of energy ripples outward, and a gravitational pull yanks at everyone connected to the earth. Every standing body drops to one knee. Every body except She-Ra’s. She feels the pull, knows this energy is immensely taxing on the person wielding it, and that somehow she’s immune. Even the dying Heart Tree stills its groaning.

Mara materializes at the center of the light, her She-Ra form somehow more regal, more bright than Adora’s. Her hair billows behind her although there is no wind. Her armor catches what sunlight breaks through the canopy. The sword in her hand doesn’t just sparkle in the light. It commands it.

Weapons clatter to the ground. The hostile vines retreat into the earth. The very air seems to hold its breath.

“Albert.” Mara joins Perfuma, staring calmly at the king. She surveys the chaos with an apparent calm, but Adora knows her sister. Knows the set of her jaw when she’s furious, how her shoulders hike when anxious, the look in her eyes when exhausted. Whatever magic sent that shockwave across Halfmoon was a gamble that drained too much of her energy. Her plan hinges on stopping the fight now and believing it won’t resume.

Just as Adora knows her sister, her sister must also know her.

Mara’s eyes lock onto Adora’s across the battlefield. One She-Ra to another.

“Sister.” There’s both surprise and relief as she speaks the word. It reaches Adora’s ears softly, leaving her unsure whether she actually heard it from this distance or if she was so focused on Mara’s entrance that she could see her speaking and imagined hearing her voice.

Adora looks down, fully realizing she’s transformed. Mara has only seen her like this a handful of times, usually after painstakingly long training session dedicated solely to triggering the transformation.

Heat flushes her cheeks, but relief follows. Mara is here. The fighting has stopped, at least for now. And… that look on Mara’s face. She was… worried. She came to Halfmoon as Brightmoon’s military command, yes, but also… as Adora’s big sister.

“Can you walk?” Adora hunches low to reach for Catra, who wraps an arm around her shoulder without protest, letting Adora help her toward the upper platform where the rest of the royalty is gathered.

“Princess Mara, thank you for your assistance, but we have this controlled. I’ve subdued their queen—”

“Actually, King Albert, if you may excuse me. Queen Angella sent me to investigate a breach of peace between our allies.”

The king’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand. If you’ll give me a moment to apprehend the Scorpini—”

“You mean Princess Scorpia, who is currently under my employ at Brightmoon Castle?” Mara raises a brow. “Since you don’t understand, let me clarify. We’re standing in the Whispering Woods, but not past the midland borders marking Fright Zone territory.”

King Albert stares, missing the point.

“By zoning, we are still in the kingdom of Brightmoon,” Mara continues. “This is a civilian settlement. As long as this settlement sits within those bounds, these are constituents of Queen Angella and King Micah. Constituents that you have just attacked, unprovoked… ally.” She says the last word with a lilt, purposely to make the statement sound like a question.

The king sputters and his face turns red. “I-but—No! Princess Adora—”

“Is here!” Adora calls loudly, waving an arm as she finishes the climb with Catra to the platform. The king turns, eyes widening on seeing her in her She-Ra form as well. “I’ve been helping the magicats evade your soldiers’ cages. Against the uprooting of their power source. I begged your commanders to stop this!”

He gapes, turning back to Mara’s She-Ra. “Princess Mara. There was cause. You KNOW there was cause.” He looks past her to his own daughter. “Perfuma! And Princess Adora! I was trying to save your sister! My future daughter!”

“And your kindness towards my family, my only surviving family,” Mara’s voice softens at this. She reaches out, fingertips grazing his face. Light glows where she touches, and the gash from his fight with C’yra knits together. “Hasn’t gone unnoticed… But you’ve been deceived.” Her eyes lower. “We both have. By my family’s most trusted advisor… ugh. Light Spinner has defected to the Horde.”

The king’s face grows incredulous while Adora withholds a gasp, clenching her teeth. Mara lifts a hand. A sign to let her continue speaking.

“She planted false information about Princess Scorpia and Adora. She was counting on either you leaving Plumeria or sending your army here under cover. Either way, her target was the Black Garnet that you hold in your kingdom—or should I say, held in your kingdom.”

She looks over her shoulder towards Scorpia, apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Princess, but she stole the Black Garnet while the Plumerian army marched here. Her plan was to take it and flee to the Fright Zone. If that failed, she hoped to find this city decimated enough to mine the magical stones here instead. Her obsession with the Black Garnet is why she pushed so hard for an engagement between our kingdoms. Which brings us to the second deception… from our kids.”

She turns to fully face Perfuma, still positioned between Scorpia and her father. A slight smile creeps across Mara’s face.

“We arranged a match because we thought we saw love. But perhaps we were misguided in where we looked.”

The King stared slack-jawed at his daughter. “Your heart?” His eyes jump between Perfuma and Scorpia. “So this whole time… It’s been her?”

Perfuma nods. “I… I was afraid of how you’d react. You harbor so much against Scorpia’s parents that I—I didn’t think you’d ever...” She pauses. Takes a deep breath. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

The king nods numbly and in the motion, his eyes find Queen C’yra’s and his expression turns ghostly. “Oh no…” He groans. “What have I done?”

Mara turns her attention to the Queen as well.

C’yra meets the glowing woman’s gaze, less perturbed by her power than the others. “Constituents?” She nearly spits the word out.

“Would you have preferred tax evaders?” Mara asks evenly. “If I let you down… will you be peaceful?”

C’yra gives her a hard stare. With one swipe of her sword, the binds around C’yra fall, and the queen drops down, brushing herself off.

“We can help with rebuilding efforts—”

“We don’t want your help.” C’yra’s voice cuts like ice.

“At least let us help with clearing out the debris.”

“I want them gone.” She glares at King Albert. “All of them. If you are not a magicat, I want you out of my city before the sun sets.” She pauses. “The Scorpion Princess is allowed to stay.”

Mara breathes deeply through her nose. “I understand your frustration—”

“DO YOU?!” C’yra explodes. “Look at my people! My city! All that you have done over ‘a little misunderstanding’ and a prejudice!” She’s once again glaring at the king who stares ashamedly at the ground.

Mara’s jaw tenses.

“King Albert.” Her glowing eyes don’t leave C’yra’s. “My command will escort you and your soldiers out of the city.”

“Mine will assist.” C’yra’s gaze remains hard.

“As for the rest of you,” Mara breaks eye contact to address the surrounding princesses. “May Her Majesty and I be granted a bit of privacy?”

“Mother?” Catra’s voice carries a tinge of worry.

“She’s my sister.” Adora’s voice comes out soft. She gives Catra, who she still supports with her hunched over shoulder, a gentle squeeze, more for comfort than anything else. “She won’t hurt your mom.”

Mara’s brow gives the slightest twitch as she notices Catra hanging from Adora’s side, but she quickly refocuses on the queen. “Yes…” The word pulls from her slowly. “There’s been enough violence today. I only wish to talk.”

C’yra considers the offer before nodding with a grunt.

“She-Ra.” A proud half-smirk now pulls at Mara’s mouth as she regards Adora, putting extra emphasis on the name She-Ra. This was the smile of her sister, not the commander of the army. “If the queen allows, use this time to find the injured. Heal them with your restorative power.”

The queen nods, clearly more comfortable with Adora than with her sister.  Adora’s eyes light up, as if the idea had never occurred to her and immediately looks down to the woman on her arm. “Where are you hurt?” The question comes barely whispered, her face awash with concern as her eyes drop to where Catra’s hand is planted to her side.

She reaches for the injuryt, but Catra intercepts her hand. Lets her thumb run over Adora’s knuckles. Adora forces herself to ignore how wet Catra’s hand feels, forces herself not to think about that bloody bandage on her side yesterday that she should have healed then, forces herself to focus on Catra’s eyes instead whatever injury was previously blocked from view by her hand.

“It doesn’t require emergency attention.” Catra straightens, sliding her arm from Adora’s shoulders despite a quick flinch of discomfort. “All of Halfmoon can see us from here. They’re watching.” Her multicolored eyes try to communicate something. “Duty, remember? Treat them first.”

Adora releases a breath and nods.

Mara studies Catra openly now. Her eyes move between her little sister and the magicat slowly, the crease in her brows slightly crinkling as her thoughts form.

Catra makes it a point of walking on her own, albeit slowly, to lead the descent down to the heart of the city. Adora’s She-Ra, Scorpia, and Perfuma dutifully follow in a line.

The sun nears its halfway point when they start. A burnt orange glow washes over Halfmoon through the canopy by the time they’re sure they’ve freed the trapped and healed the injured. Scorpia and Perfuma tag team on moving obstacles and debris that may have fallen on or trapped any of the Halfmoon citizens while Adora stops to heal each and every magicat, even down to the tiny scrapes, that they encounter. She finds healing these people far easier than when she was terrified of losing Catra just days ago. There don’t seem to have been any casualties. The Plumerians were more focused on detaining the magicats than killing them, possibly because this was meant to be a search and rescue mission of sorts. There are still enough injuries to make Adora’s stomach still churn with guilt. The sense of purpose to find and help as many people as she can calms her as she searches for more magicats to help.

Catra sits on a splintered log, watching Adora rise from healing a magicat woman’s twisted wrist. Adora looks both ways, waiting to be approached by anyone she’s missed, but no one comes. “I think that’s everyone.” Her eyes land on Catra. “Just leaves one patient.”

Catra’s hand presses tight against her side again. “Okay, but don’t… don’t make it a big deal.”

Adora drops to one knee in front of her. In She-Ra form, she’s tall enough that they’re still eye to eye. She leans in, one hand tenderly wrapping around Catra’s wrist. “Let me see?” she coaxes, voice only audible to the two of them.

Catra hesitates.

“How else am I supposed to kiss and make it better?” Adora teases gently. “C’mon, I’ve seen worse on you. Which, by the way, the goal is the move out the way of the pointy things when you’re fighting.”

Catra cuts her eyes at the comment but still slides her hand away to reveal a deep red gash. She was right in that it’s not a life-threatening emergency, but it’s a nasty injury nonetheless. Adora gives Catra an admonishing look. The gash looks painful. It could have taken precedence over the more minor cuts and scratches she healed, but she doesn’t voice the opinion. Instead she leans closer, letting her forehead rest against Catra’s as her hand finds the wound. Magic flows through her fingertips. On an exhale, the angle of her head shifts. Her body shrinks. As healing magic leaves her hand, so does the She-Ra form, transforming her back to Adora.

She opens her eyes and leans back. “All better.” The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Catra’s gaze wanders over the devastation surrounding them. “If only it were that simple…”

Adora sighs, looking down. “There’s no kiss that could help fix any of this…” Guilt gnaws at her. The Plumerian army marched here looking for her, thinking they were saving her. Instead, they upended the lives of multiple innocents, most of whom didn’t know of or care about Adora at all. This was all her—

“Hey.” A claw taps under Adora’s chin, lifting it. Amber and blue eyes meet hers, half-lidded as the finger guides Adora’s chin forward. Catra leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “But a kiss doesn’t hurt.” She brushes Adora’s cheek with her thumb before pulling back. “And this is NOT your fault.” The claw that had been so gentle now pokes Adora directly in the forehead and pushes it back. “I know how that crazy mind of yours works. You like to put everything on yourself. Stop it.”

Adora forces a smile and shakes her head. Easier said than done, but she feels slightly less terrible.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Mara approaches, still in her She-Ra form, with the Queen beside her.

“Time to head back to Brightmoon,” she says, though her tone carries none of the commanding edge from earlier. She turns to C’yra, inclining her head respectfully. “Your Majesty, again, I offer my deepest apologies for what transpired here today. The Kingdom of Brightmoon will provide whatever aid you need for moving forward. Whether it’s resources, protection… whatever you require.”

C’yra studies her for a long moment before giving a curt nod. “We’ll consider it.”

Adora and Catra rise at the same time. Adora looks awkwardly towards her.  She wants to hug her. Hold her… but guilt churns in her stomach knowing the devastation she brought to these people, especially with both Mara and the Queen watching. So instead, Adora reaches out and grips Catra’s forearm in a more formal hold than a handshake, squeezing tight. Her eyes try to speak what her lips cannot. She bows her head. “Princess C’ytra.”

Catra huffs out a laugh, squeezing back. “Dummy.”

“Actually… Princess Mara?” Scorpia’s voice pipes up timidly. “I’ve, uh, been thinking. I’d like to stay with the magicats. At least for now! Help however I can! If Light Spinner has the Black Garnet and is targeting their gemstones, I uh… I think I could help out here more. Common cause, ya know?”

Perfuma steps closer to her. “Then I’m staying too.”

“Perfuma—”

Before Scorpia can finish whatever she has to say, Perfuma cups her face and pulls her down into a searing kiss that makes Adora’s eyes widen and Mara mutter, “Oh, for the Gods, Perfuma...” under her breath. C’yra tilts her head with slight intrigue before her expression drops into annoyance at the Plumerian princess whose hidden love also played a role in the attack on her city. Whatever guilt or modicum of embarrassment Adora was feeling about the events of today, Perfuma was obviously not as susceptible to them.

“Perfuma?” Mara tries politely in a low cough. Perfuma’s only reaction, if she even heard Mara at all, is to bury her hands deeper in Scorpia’s hair. “PERFUMA!”

Perfuma releases from Scorpia’s lips with an audible pop, leaving the much bigger woman looking dazed.

“Princess Perfuma,” Mara punches the words out sweetly, although her patience is visibly running thin. “All things considered about today, there are less options available for the rest of us. Mainly you. Especially you. Caravan. NOW.”

Perfuma sighs deeply, looking back at Scorpia one last time “Be safe, my love,” she says before Mara takes her by the elbow to lead her away.

In her wake, Catra stares after her with an impressed look. Her eyes move from Perfuma’s retreating form to Adora before silently mouthing, ‘Your mate?’ Her jaw drops in an exaggeratedly scandalized facial expression.

Adora shakes her head and chuckles before she turns to follow her sister, who hasn’t looked back once since practically dragging Perfuma away.

It’s hard to tell with the thick layer of canopy overhead, but Adora is sure that it’s late evening as their caravan travels through the woods. The soldiers carry lanterns as they travel, and even have the few horses they’ve brought with them equipped with illuminated baubles. Even in the dim lighting, Adora notices movement in the treetops above. Magicat warriors follow them, monitoring their passage. In some sense, she realizes they’re also guiding them safely through the forest. If a certain sound calls down from the trees, Mara immediately commands a shift of course in their trail. This is a courtesy from Halfmoon that Adora didn’t expect, but she’s relieved that the day didn’t end in total animosity.

“So...”

Mara’s voice brings Adora’s attention back to the ground.

“The magicat princess…” She glances sideways at Adora. “She’s cute.”

Heat floods Adora’s cheeks. “Mara—”

“I was wondering whose identity you could possibly be more secretive about than a woman from the pleasure district. It makes a lot of sense now,” Mara’s continues on, voice taking on an introspective quality. “Is it true you two were fingerbanging on their sacred tree?”

“NO!” rips from Adora’s throat as a mortified croak. Her face is practically on fire now. “That’s not what—”

“Better control in public than Perfuma at least, sheesh.” Mara proceeds to joke. “Did you see the way that girl latched onto poor Scorpia? Damn near sucked her tonsils out!”

Adora lightly chuckles.

“Another few seconds and thought I’d have to pull out a spray bottle, hells… And you passed up on all of that. That could’ve been wifey.” A light smile graces her features as she turns to her little sister, but as her words sink in, the smile fades. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. You were right. About the engagement. It wasn’t my place.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I shouldn’t have interfered with your life like that.”

Adora feels her own smile linger as her cheeks start to revert back to regular temperatures. “Thank you.”

“Though Albert being so gullible has screwed this situation royally. Ugh… leave it to an Albert. The magicats will have to relocate now.”

Adora whips her head around, surprised. “Relocate?”

Mara stares at her like it’s obvious. “They’re a secretive people, Adora, very dependent on that stone technology. They don’t like it if outsiders know where they live, and at least three kingdoms just figured out where their settlement is. Sure, they could branch out, but I don’t think they want to. Not yet. And that location will always be a target now that the Horde knows about the quarry. They’re not exactly fans of Brightmoon and the Princess Alliance at the moment either. We literally uprooted their Heart Tree.” She shakes her head. “I give it three sunsets before that entire settlement is cleared out.”

Cold settles in Adora’s chest. She turns to look over her shoulder, steps slowing as she considers that each step takes her further and further away from Halfmoon. From Catra.

“You shouldn’t worry.” Mara’s voice cut through her thoughts. She whips her head back in her sister’s direction. Mara is looking straight ahead, the curve of her lips slightly lifting in a knowing smile. “The only thing that stopped that queen from actively trying to rip my head off back there, was my relation to you. I doubt she’d be so… restrained if she assumed the princess would never see you again.”

Adora releases a pent up breath and manages to nod her head, picking up her pace again.

“Kiddo—I mean, Adora.” Mara’s voice is low, soothing, as she once again tries for her sister’s attention. “As leaders, we have responsibilities.” She hikes a shoulder. “She’s going to have her hands full in Halfmoon dealing with hers, just as we’re going to have our hands full in Brightmoon dealing with ours and Light Spinner’s. If she was still sweet on you after what Plumeria did, I don’t think you’re going to lose her.”

I won’t, Adora thinks resolutely. We’re going to make this work. She recalls their promise to each other the night before, holding onto those words even as her heart sinks. She trusts Catra... and she hopes Catra still trusts her.

They’ll make this work.

Together.

Brightmoon Castle buzzes with anticipation.

Adora, Light Hope, and Mara wait at the gates to receive their visitor.

When Scorpia emerges into view, stoically walking the roundabout path to this part of the castle gates, she somehow looks both unchanged and utterly transformed. A golden tan paints her skin. Her shock white hair has grown longer and falls in a sweep over her brow, held out of her eyes by a thin circlet with a gleaming gemstone set in its center. She looks more rugged than when they last saw her. Brawnier. Weathered by passing seasons of sun and travel. But the same bright smile lights her face, the same unshakeable optimism in her eyes.

“Hey, boss!” She beams, pulling Mara into a bone-crushing hug.

Mara laughs, patting Scorpia’s back. “Good gods, what are they feeding you over in Magicat Land? I think you cracked a rib.”

When Scorpia reaches for Adora, the embrace is warm, familiar. “Hi, Scorpia,” Adora says softly.

“Hey, pal,” comes the equally gentle reply.

Everyone talks at once as they move through the gates. Mara leads the way, joking about maximizing their time before Perfuma arrives and they need to get Scorpia a life alert button for if she can’t get enough oxygen once the princess gets her hands on her. Light Hope fusses over how tired Scorpia must be from her journey.

“We don’t even know where she’s journeying from, dear,” Mara mentions with a laugh.

Adora finds herself hanging back, walking beside Scorpia as the others move ahead. She watches her friend’s face soften with recognition as they pass familiar corridors, sees her mentally noting what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. There’s something bittersweet in Scorpia’s smile. It’s the look of someone who’s found home somewhere else, but still carries something for the place that came before.

“Scorpia?” Adora finally works up the courage to ask. She worries her bottom lip before finally asking the question that has been plaguing her for over a season, a question that burned her from the inside out when she first heard the magicats were sending representation to Brightmoon and subsequently found out that the representation would be Scorpia. “How is she?”

Scorpia startles, broken from her reverie, before settling into a comforting smile. “She’s well.” She pauses, thinking before choosing her words. “Same rambunctious self, ya know. Gets angry easily, and we’re working on talking through our feelings before cursing people out.” A fond chuckle escapes her. “There’ve been some run-ins with the Horde. Mainly when we go back to Old Halfmoon to mine more gems. But the people are safe. Happy.”

“Oh.” Adora’s face falls despite herself. There’s relief in Scorpia’s answer, but she can’t help the hollow ache that still rings in her chest on hearing it.

“She misses you,” Scorpia adds quietly, catching Adora’s attention.

Scorpia studies Adora’s reaction with a bit of confusion, the expression of someone watching a puzzle piece that should fit but won’t. “Have you not... She hasn’t called?”

Adora stares blankly. “Called?”

Scorpia’s brow creases. She opens her mouth to respond when—

“Adora!” Mara’s voice carries back to them. She’s finally noticed that the two younger women have held back so much that they’re now out of regular-talking earshot. “Stop hogging Scorpia! We’ve a lot to cover today!”

Scorpia lifts her shoulders in a sheepish shrug. “We can talk later.”

Adora just nods and quickens her pace to catch up with Mara and Light Hope. The agenda for the day is filled mainly with updates from Scorpia on the Magicat settlement along with any updates on the Horde that she may have observed while travelling with them.

Scorpia can’t give them exact details on where the Magicats have migrated. She’s forbidden. But she assures that they are content. They feel safe. They still send groups to the recently vacated ‘Old Halfmoon’ to mine stones. It’s how they got the stone in Scorpia’s circlet. It’s where they’ve had some run-ins with the Horde. Light Spinner has sent groups herself to mine the quarry, but she’s no longer called Light Spinner. Her charges now refer to her as Shadow Weaver, and the magicats are willing to give up their secrecy in trade for that woman never having full control over their quarry. They want to return to their actual home—to Old Halfmoon. Even if that means that Brightmoon and its neighboring kingdoms know they are there. Scorpia has already ventured to Plumeria and acted as a representative on their behalf to get the Plumeria’s support in using their powers to help revive the heart tree. They owe Halfmoon and the magicats that much.

Scorpia was now returning to Brightmoon to gain support in helping to fortify the defenses of Halfmoon. The magicats would share their knowledge with the Brightmoon scientists on how to leverage the gemstones as a power source if Brightmoon would share their resources, their promise of safety if the magicats were to return to Halfmoon.

“Princess Entrapta and Dryl are going to eat this up,” Mara murmurs, fingers working her chin in thought. “I don’t see Queen Angella or King Micah turning this opportunity down. They already offered sending military assistance after Plumeria attacked, but let’s work on how we package the proposal to them anyway.” Mara’s expression warms. “They’ll be excited to see you back, too, Scorpia.”

Scorpia blushes fiercely. Seems to be overcome with emotion and asks to be excused. When she returns, she gives Mara another huge bear hug.

Scorpia finds Adora in the hall during their next break.

“Gosh.” She rubs a pincer awkwardly behind her neck. “I feel I’ve made a scene.” Her eyes dart to Adora, then away. Adora just smiles faintly in response, waiting. “All the time I spent here, I just figured… I dunno. It was hard being separated from my family. I didn’t think that anybody… I guess it didn’t sink in that I had family here too.”

“Well,” Adora folds her arms and leans back against the hard stone wall. “We could’ve made it more hospitable for you while you were here. You don’t really know what you’re missing sometimes until it’s gone.” Her gaze goes distant to the floor of the hallway.

“Oh, um, about making things nice for people when they’re around…” Scorpia clears her throat. “Perfuma’s arriving tomorrow, and I was thinking of having something really nice for her when she shows up. I want to get her some nice flowers, but… ya know…”

“She’s the queen of flowers,” Adora says, lips quirking.

“She IS the queen of flowers.” Scorpia nods, a tortured look on her face. “And I heard from a trusted source…”

Adora feels that familiar ache in her chest.

“…you should know a good deal about the flowers in the Woods?”

Scorpia looks to Adora hopefully as Mara reappears in the hall. “Scorpia, are you ready? We’ve more to discuss.”

Adora forgot how peaceful the woods could sometimes be.

She clips her communicator to her belt as she high steps over some brush. She’s deeper in the woods than most of the guard would dare go, but this area is shallow compared to the depths she used to travel… compared to the furthest depths she’s gone. This part of the woods doesn’t feel as threatening as it had even just a year ago. Now it feels as if the very trees have shifted to accommodate her presence. Or perhaps she has simply changed, grown harder in some places… softer in others.

There’s a small meadow-like area not too far from where she is, but that space it too open. Too dangerous. However, in the brush surrounding that space, a variety of flowers still branch out, growing in patches or sticking out from bushes or near the base of a few trees. These are rarer varietals than what anyone could find in Brightmoon proper, perhaps even in Plumeria.

A bouquet that was sure to impress Perfuma.

Adora kneels among the blooms and wonders what conversations she missing back at the castle. How much information does Scorpia know of the magicats and how much is she allowed to tell? How are they enjoying their new location? Is it in an equally dangerous place as their previous location in the woods? Is their princess still gazing out over the people she cares for so much, writing down her thoughts so they can’t stay bottled up inside? Is she avoiding injury? Is she still able to find patches of sun to bask in?

Adora moves from bush to bush as she thinks of these questions, cataloging the flora options. There’s a cluster of silver-petaled blooms that shine as if bathed in moonlight even though it was daytime. Star-shaped flowers with centers that pulse like tiny heartbeats. Delicate vines with blossoms that seem to whisper secrets to the wind.

When she spots a peculiar looking plant tucked beneath a gnarled root, its leaves an unusual shade of purple-green with tiny thorns along the edges, her curiosity get the best of her. She leans in close, drawing in a breath to catch its scent—

“Tsk tsk.” A noise clicks from above.

Adora stills.

Strains her ears.

The woods are filled with sounds. Birds, bugs, all manners of things constantly melding to form a usual and expected cacophony. Sudden, out-of-place noises were rarely good things. She’s already learned the hard way that it’s important to be vigilant when you hear, or she even guesses didn’t hear, an unfamiliar sound. When the clicking doesn’t continue, she leans in again.

“Uh uh.”

The voice echoes around her through trees and in response, her heart slams against her ribs. Time freezes momentarily as realization hits. She knows that voice.

“Not sure about that one. If you inhale too hard, it’ll make the inside of your nose itch something crazy. Terrible experience.”

Adora’s pulse is a thunderstorm in her ears. At first, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t give any immediate reaction. Instead, her eyes sweep upward, searching the canopy with desperate hunger that she hopes her hidden spectator can’t see, can’t get the satisfaction of.

Nothing.

She slowly rises from her crouch to instead move towards another flower, this one bright orange with petals shaped like little flames. She reaches towards it.

“Mmmm.” The sound echoes down from above, lazy and amused. “Not that one either. Can cause early onset hair loss if its pollen spreads. There’s enough of that going on in your community… Baldy.”

Adora’s lips twitch. She turns, visibly looking towards the trees instead of playing nonchalant. Still nothing. She turns back to the bush she stands before. “And this one?” she asks aloud, eyes on a new flower. Her voice emerges steadier than she feels.

“Those will wilt the moment they’re picked.” The voice sounds closer now, though Adora still can’t pinpoint exactly where in the trees its owner is hiding. “Too fickle. Only master botanists can keep them healthy. They need... attention. Someone who’ll actually answer when they call.”

“When they call…” Adora lets out in a disbelieving breath. She shakes her head, brow crinkling as she eyes the trees. “And how do they go about that? By staying tucked in their cocoon somewhere before eventually deciding someone should have tended to them somehow?”

“They LITERALLY call.” There’s an edge to the words, obviously irritated. “Multiple times, actually. You’ve had the transaphone for months—”

“The what?!” Adora’s voice is exasperated. She huffs, annoyed. Looks down at a patch of weeds near her boots. Without really thinking, she bends down to pick one. “What about this? It’s stubborn. Takes foreevvvverrr to bloom. Obstinate. Prickly—”

“Oh, you like prickly.”

“Pops up WHEREVER and WHENEVER it wants,” Adora raises her voice, “And in who knows whose garden!”

There’s a pregnant pause. The soft chirruping of birds, bugs, and crickets form a symphony around Adora’s heavy breathing.

“What other gardens?” The question is breathless as it drifts down like a falling leaf. “There are no other gardens, Adora.”

“That’s….” Adora softly shakes her head, gathering herself. “I trust you. That’s not what I meant by that.” Her worries since leaving Catra in Halfmoon haven’t been about Catra courting someone new… They are moreso about the dangers surrounding her people being newly nomadic, and what dangerous areas they may accidentally stumble into. What Catra would risk of herself to keep them safe during those travels.

“And I know it took awhile… The blooming and all. But once it did—or does... it’s… I think it’ll be worth it.”

“It already has been,” Adora says softly, letting the weed fall from her fingers.

Her attention is grabbed by a couple of flowers at the base of a tree. She moved towards them, drawn to their grayish blue buds, pinned up tight, not yet in bloom. “I remember these.”

“Beautiful,” comes the response from the trees, and there’s something reverent in the tone. Adora smiles to herself. She remembers the day she was introduced to this flower. When Catra had picked one and twiddled it in her fingers, mindlessly mentioning how she thought of Adora whenever she saw them because they reminded her of her eyes… Eyes she refused to meet the rest of that day after she realized what she’d said aloud and started blushing furiously. “It’s early in the season for them. Kind of pointless to pick them now while they’re all closed up. Maybe in a week or so they’ll be ready. They like waiting for the right moment.”

“Haven’t some things waited long enough?” Adora’s voice is contemplative, nearly falling into a whisper. “Come down. I want to see you.”

The rustle of leaves draws Adora’s gaze upward as a familiar silhouette begins its descent. Catra moves through the branches as if she were born in the trees, each graceful movement bringing her closer to the woods floor, closer to Adora. Her hair catches fragments of the sunbeams filtering through the treetops, and even in the marbled light, Adora can spot subtle changes. The muscles of her arms are slightly more defined, a signal that where she’s travelled, she’s moving even more through the trees than she previously had. There’s a new scratch across the top of her right hand. The sun has created a new highlight streak in the hair near her left temple.

“Hello, Catra.”

“Heyy, Adora.”

Adora smiles, not shying away from letting her gaze take in as much of Catra as she can, drinking in every detail that’s she’s missed since they last saw each other in Halfmoon before catching Catra’s eyes. The open space between them feels charged. Heat floods throughout her, but before she fully succumbs to it, she turns away. She moves to a vine heavy with small white blossoms. “What about these?” She reaches out to lightly graze its petals with her fingertips.

“Pretty... But they can be defensive.” Catra’s voice is quiet, careful. Adora hears the soft crunch of leaves as the magicat woman meanders, moving closer. “They grow thorns to protect themself. But under the right hands...” Catra is at Adora’s back, reaching out to also touch the petals. Her hand and Adora’s don’t quite meet, but Adora can feel the warmth emanating from Catra leaning in so close over her shoulder. From her fingers, hovering right below Adora’s. Can smell the light scent of leaves and spices that waft from her. Gods, she’s missed it so much… Catra pauses, her voice going low. “They’re supposed to be extraordinary.”

“Supposed to be?” Adora feels out of breath.

“I wouldn’t know.” Something raw bleeds through the words. “Never knew anyone willing to risk the thorns long enough to find out.” Just that quickly, the warmth has gone. Catra resumes walking aimlessly behind her.

Adora’s takes a deep inhale then exhale to compose herself. She reaches for a cluster of pale flowers nearby, their petals soft as silk. “These?”

“Seasonal blossoms.” Catra moves in again to get a better look at the flowers. “They pop in and out all year round, no matter how harsh the weather. Hopeful things.” There’s a thoughtfulness to her tone. “In spring they go full bloom. People say they tend to smell like a lover’s perfume.” Adora can feel Catra at her back again, the gentle warmth of her breath near her neck as she quietly inhales. “Sweet and woody. A hint of rose.”

Adora’s fingers tremble against the petals. She fights to swallow past the tightness in her throat.

“When summer comes around, the heat makes them wild,” Catra continues. Adora turns to her face her, and holds in a gasp, now close enough that she can see the intensity in Catra’s heterochromatic eyes. “Bold. Reckless.” She nods toward vibrant orange blooms cascading from a vine. “Gets them hot at the roots. You’ll see them cluster near streams. Not brave enough to dive deep, but wanting to. Needing a splash to cool them off.”

Adora closes her eyes, the description immediately bringing her thoughts back to cold creek water and Catra pressed under her on that sandbar, how the chill was the only thing that kept her from combusting entirely.

“Autumn brings change. They sometimes need to spread in separate directions. Not because they want to… but for survival. But eventually, like in winter,” Catra’s gaze shifts to a tree shedding leaves despite the season, “After everything starts to fall away… petals, leaves. When they’re bare. Exposed.” Her voice drops lower. “You’ll see them twist together then. Intertwine for warmth. But some sprigs, the ones that have wandered from the main vine...” A pause, her voice barely above a whisper now. “When they find their way back to the cluster, sometimes they’re unsure if there’ll still be room for them after disappearing for so long. If things have… changed.”

Adora’s pulse thunders. The realization of what Catra’s really prodding for is almost laughable. The idea that anything could have changed for Adora where she wouldn’t accept her traveling sprig back in open arms, as if this isn’t the only thing she has dreamed of every night for countless nights, makes her shake her head. An odd color catches her eye in the motion. A branch twisted among the undergrowth, its bark deep crimson shot through with gold. She slips past Catra and reaches for it, fingers closing around the unusual looking twig.

“You mention how sometimes leaves and petals will start to fall in winter.” She studies the strange branch for a moment before lifting her eyes to Catra. “What of something that’s already fallen? Fallen hard.” She waits a beat, giving the words time to sink in before lifting the twig harmlessly. “Like this?”

Catra’s throat bobs as she swallows. Her eyes fixate on the uniquely colored branch in Adora’s hands before lifting to meet her gaze, something dangerous flickering there. “That… you must be careful with.”

Adora can see the way her chest rises and falls with each careful breath, as if the woman has run a marathon.

“It’s dangerous,” Catra continues, nodding toward the branch in Adora’s hands. “If you snap it, it affects everything else in the area that’s already fallen too. Gives them an affliction… They’ll get this uncontrollable urge to get close… to touch. To not let go. They say there’s no cure. Just gets worse with each break.”

Adora holds her gaze, heart hammering. Without looking away, she snaps the branch. The crack echoes sharp in the quiet of the woods.

Catra’s pupils dilate slightly, but she doesn’t move.

Adora takes a step forward. “With each snap?” she asks innocently. Snaps the branch again, the sound sharper this time.

Catra’s breathes become heavier, chest rising and falling just a fraction faster. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip.

Another step. Another snap. Then another, until she’s breaking the branch into smaller and smaller pieces, each crack like a promise, a challenge, a prayer. Until she’s standing close enough to see the gold flecks in Catra’s blue eye, close enough to count the freckles dusting her nose.

“Hmm...” Adora whispers, letting the last broken pieces of the branch fall from her fingers. “No change?”

Catra’s gaze drops to Adora’s lips, lingers before dragging back to her eyes. Something wild and hungry flashes across her features. “Oh, princess...” Her voice comes out rough as bark. “I was already afflicted.”

And just like that, the space between them disappears. Adora’s hands find Catra’s face to pull her in just as Catra’s hands wrap around her lower back, and when their lips meet it’s with the fierce hunger of two people who have knowingly been starving for each other. There’s no soft build up, just raw want and desperate need. Catra tastes like wild honey and freedom, and all Adora wants is more. She opens her mouth to deepen the kiss, tongue seeking contact, claiming and being claimed in equal measure.

Her hands move down Catra’s neck, fingertips trailing fire across her pulse point before sliding across her collarbones to her shoulders, mapping every inch with reverent touches. Catra’s hand finds its way under the back of Adora’s shirt, claws lightly raking down her spine and sending electric shivers cascading through her entire body. Catra’s other hand caresses slowly up Adora’s side, her thumb deliberately swiping along the outer swell of Adora’s chest as it ascends, transforming the hunger inside her into something almost unbearable.

Adora grips Catra’s waist possessively, walking her backward until Catra’s back hits the rough bark of a nearby tree with a soft thud. Catra exhales on a groaned breath into Adora’s mouth at the impact, her nails digging imprints into Adora’s back as she pulls her impossibly closer. A low moan escapes Adora as Catra strokes her tongue along the roof of her mouth before sucking her bottom lip between her own, the sensation sending heat pooling low in her stomach.

They break apart for a moment, both breathing ragged, chests heaving. Catra’s voice emerges as barely a whisper.

“You never answered the transaphone.”

“Catra,” Adora manages between breaths, “What in the hells is a transaphone?”

Before Catra can answer, Adora captures her lips again with renewed hunger, unwilling to waste another second on words. She loses herself in the pillowy softness, the addictive slide of Catra’s lips against her own as their kiss gradually gentles. Catra’s hands reluctantly remove themselves from under Adora’s shirt to instead cup her jaw, thumbs stroking softly as if relishing every curve and angle.

The magicat’s lips leave hers to follow the path of her thumbs, pressing feather-light kisses to the corner of Adora’s mouth, then her cheek, followed by the softest series of kisses that linger ever so slowly as she moves along Adora’s jawline toward her ear. Each touch is worship, reverence, and Adora shudders at the overwhelming tenderness after so much fierce passion.

When they finally part, foreheads touching and sharing the same air, Catra tilts her head back against the tree. Her smile is devastating, from the mischievous twinkle in her mismatched eyes to the endearingly disarming way one of her canines hooks over her bottom lip. Adora’s heart aches with the sudden, crushing realization of how much she’s missed this exact expression, and seeing it aimed at her now has her feeling as if she’s soaring through the clouds

“Now who are you out here picking flowers for?” The question is practically a growl, possessive and playful all at once. “I was afraid I’d get here and find you betrothed again.” Adora knows it’s a joke from the inflection in Catra’s tone, but at the same time, but she also knows Catra well enough to recognize the genuine insecurities threaded through the statement.

“Were you planning on coming here to break up another one of my engagements, Princess C’ytra?” Adora teases back, nose nuzzling against Catra’s cheek, breathing her in.

“No.” A pause. “Well… maybe. The plan was always that I’d come here to discuss an agreement for knowledge in exchange for protection.” Catra’s expression shifts through a dozen emotions before settling on something soft. “Scorpia travelled ahead so that she could forewarn me of any… surprises before I arrived. I was on my way to your castle when I spotted you coming out here, so I followed.”

“So you followed me through the woods to make sure I wasn’t entertaining another?” Adora’s voice is warm with affection and amusement.

“I followed you through the woods,” Catra says, her voice dropping to a low, intimate register that makes Adora’s knees weak, “to remind you of what’s already yours.”

Adora’s grip around Catra tightens instinctively. Heat floods through her at the declaration, at the certainty in Catra’s voice. “In that case…” She rests her chin on Catra’s shoulder, lips brushing against her ear as she speaks, voice rough with want, “Can I take what’s mine home now?”

Catra’s answering laugh is breathless, tinged with relief. “After that kiss, if you didn’t ask,” her arms wind around Adora’s neck, “I probably would’ve found my way through that trap door in your room. Would that be better anyway? I’m sure your fellow princesses will want me to hold audience with them first if they see me at the castle.”

Adora pulls back just enough to see Catra’s face, to drink in the sight of her smile, the way the sunlight leaking through the canopy pierces through her eyes. There will be time for explanations later, for politics and treaties and whatever in the gods name a transaphone is. Right now, there’s only this. The warmth of Catra in her arms… the promise of tomorrow stretching out before them like an unwritten story. If the magicats are done with keeping their existence a secret, Adora is equally done with keeping her relationship with Catra one. “Regardless of what they want, no trap doors,” Adora murmurs, pressing one more soft kiss to Catra’s lips before taking her hand and leading her toward Brightmoon. “Let them wait.”