Mira didn't bat an eye as Rael crashed into the Grand Library, knocking over an entire bookshelf in her haste to wheel in a very annoyed, marble-painted swan on a makeshift pedestal.
Mira merely adjusted her spectacles—which she absolutely didn't need for reading, but wore anyway because they made her look like a prophecy-keeper—and signed with all the gravity of a librarian holding the fate of the world:
"There is only one way to fix this."
Rael groaned, still tangled in scrolls. "Please don't say 'true love's kiss.'"
"Even worse," Mira signed. "She must compete in the fabled Moonlit Dessert Contest."
Rael blinked. "Come again?"
Mira shoved forward a velvet scroll sealed with a glowing sugar crystal. The royal crest shimmered faintly… shaped like a cake so divine it probably composed poetry in its free time.
The Grand Moonlit Dessert DuelHosted Once Every CenturyJudged by the Enchanted Order of Royal SquirrelsPrize: One Magical Wish(Terms and conditions may include minor fire-breathing)
Rael's jaw hit the floor.
Mochi, still frozen in Swan Statue Displeasure Mode, flapped one wing and turned to Mira with the slow, thunderous glare of someone just informed they must bake for their metaphysical freedom. With wings.
Mira nodded gravely.
"The spell is old," she signed. "A displaced soul may be reseated only by earning the favor of creatures pure of heart… or with superior almond tarts."
Cue: Dessert Contest Preparations
The palace kitchen had never been more chaotic.
Flour clouds rose like battlefield smoke. Spells fizzed from wand-whisks. Somewhere in the northwest corner, a pudding exploded with such poetic force it briefly became sentient and recited a haiku before dissolving.
Mochi-the-Swan, feathers bristling under a lacy apron, stood at her station. Rael hovered at her side as sous-chef, frantically chopping almonds and whispering, "We've got this. I mean, you've got this. I'll just… panic and hand you stuff."
The judges arrived.
Twelve magical squirrels in tuxedos pirouetted onto the judging table. One adjusted a monocle. Another unfurled a scroll. One executed a flawless cartwheel into a bowl of mousse and had to be rescued.
And then she appeared.
Lady Petronella von Butterfrost, noblewoman, dessert sorceress, and three-time winner of the contest (not counting the time she hexed a rival into flan), floated into the kitchen on a cloud of croissant crumbs. Her towering hair resembled whipped cream; her dress shimmered with candied rose petals.
She gave Mochi a slow, feline smile.
"Oh look," she purred. "A waterbird. How… quaint."
Mochi honked.
Loudly. Royal-ly. Offensively.
The duel had begun.
Round One: Magical Macarons
Petronella conjured a shimmering tower of lavender macarons that sang haunting lullabies when bitten. Several squirrels wept. One proposed to another.
Mochi, assisted by a trembling Rael, produced golden acorn macarons that exploded in the mouth with starry confetti. The squirrels cheered like rock fans. Bonus sparkles were awarded.
Round Two: Enchanted Éclairs
Petronella's éclairs whispered your darkest secrets with every bite. One judge sobbed and confessed to stealing hazelnuts from his cousin's stash. Another had an existential crisis.
Mochi's éclairs, made from moon-milk and luckberries, granted the ability to speak fluent Swan for exactly seven minutes. It was oddly moving.
Final Round: The Grand Cake Duel
Petronella raised her arms, summoning a levitating, three-tiered cake that played a harpsichord sonata and glowed like pride incarnate.
Mochi paused.
Her wings trembled.
Rael whispered encouragement. Mira signed calmly from the sidelines, as if this was what she'd been training for her entire life.
Flour flew. Rael tossed ingredients like a panicked juggler. Mochi flapped and focused.
From the oven emerged:
The Swan-Shaped Dreamcake.Spun sugar wings. Spiced velvet core. A filling that whispered warm childhood memories and smelled like stories read under blanket forts.
The squirrels went silent.
Then: cheering. Applause. One squirrel began floating in bliss. Another sang. A third knighted a spoon.
The lead squirrel judge adjusted his crown-nut and squeaked, "The wish is yours, O Feathery Pastry Empress!"
Mochi waddled forward. Rael knelt beside her.
"Are you ready?" he whispered.
She hesitated… then nodded.
The squirrels gathered. The moonlight spilled across the frosting-strewn table like sugar icing from heaven.
And in a puff of pink smoke—