Chapter 52 – The Carnival of CalamityThe city of Bellmare was famous for two things: its pristine canals lined with pastel-colored houses… and its annual Carnival of Calamity. Nobody could quite explain why the people of Bellmare celebrated by deliberately unleashing chaos upon themselves, but one thing was clear: it was an event unlike any other.“Why are we here again?” Percy asked, staring at a man in a chicken costume chasing a barrel down the street.“Because,” declared Felix with all the authority of a seasoned adventurer, “this is where information flows best. Festivals are like taverns, but louder and with more fire hazards.”The group had just finished another bizarre detour involving a haunted harp that wouldn’t stop singing breakup ballads, and now they were in Bellmare, lured by rumors that someone in the Carnival’s grand parade might know something about the shards of the relic.The Carnival was sensory overload. Jugglers tossed flaming torches while balancing on tightro

Chapter 54 – The Dragon, the Doughnut, and the DeadlineThe dragon wasn’t supposed to be in the cafeteria.Theo realized this the same way everyone else did: when the roof peeled back like a sardine tin and a pair of glowing, sulfur-yellow eyes peered down at the lunch line.“...Please tell me that’s just a new vending machine,” Brie whispered, clutching her tray of macaroni.The dragon roared, smoke curling from its nostrils, and three terrified interns dropped their trays in unison.“Nope,” said Steve. “That’s the real deal. Fire, scales, and an attitude problem.”“Why is there a dragon in the cafeteria?” Theo asked, ducking as a chair flew across the room in the panic.“Deadline,” said Lucy, appearing beside them with a tablet in hand, as though dragons were an everyday occurrence. “Someone failed to submit the dragon appeasement paperwork before end-of-quarter. Standard protocol says: if you don’t file, they come to collect.”“Collect what?” Brie asked nervously.Lucy scrolled. “B

Chapter 56 – The Baker of Unreasonable PowerThe industrial bakery district was deceptively quiet. No dragons, no screaming citizens, no collapsing rooftops—just the faint smell of yeast and flour lingering in the air.Theo parked the van in front of a massive warehouse with a flickering neon sign that read:“DoughMageddon: The Last Honest Bakery”Steve whistled. “Dramatic name for a pastry shop.”Lucy checked her notes. “According to Department records, this is the only bakery still functioning after the dragon incident. Which means…”Brie bounced in her seat. “Which means this is where we find our legendary baker!”Theo sighed. “Or we’ll find an overworked guy who hates his job and definitely doesn’t want to make ten thousand doughnuts for free.”“Legendary baker,” Brie repeated firmly.Inside, the bakery looked less like a kitchen and more like a fortress. Giant ovens lined the walls, conveyor belts rattled like ancient machines of war, and flour dust hung in the air like smoke. At

Chapter 58 – The Trial of Deep FryThe bakery rumbled like an awakening volcano. The frosting geysers vanished into the floor, the conveyor belts stilled, and the entire chamber rotated with a mechanical grind. Out of the shifting tiles rose a monstrosity of culinary engineering: a deep fryer the size of a small swimming pool, filled with boiling golden oil.Theo’s stomach turned just looking at it. “Okay. That’s… that’s not a fryer. That’s a war crime.”Lucy was already adjusting her goggles. “Estimated temperature: 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Splash radius: catastrophic.”Steve clapped his hands, practically vibrating with glee. “Finally! My entire life has led to this moment.”Theo gave him a look. “Your life? Specifically? Has led to… frying things in a death vat?”“Absolutely. I was born for fried chaos.”Pâtissier Supreme’s voice echoed through the chamber:“THE TRIAL OF DEEP FRY. To advance, you must create doughnuts with the perfect crisp, without burning, undercooking, or—”The f

Chapter 60 – The Banquet of Betrayal (and Bad Buffet Choices)The Great Hall of Havenbrook Academy had been transformed overnight from a place of homework stress, magical misfires, and the occasional food fight into a shimmering palace of chandeliers, glowing runes, and far too many plates of suspiciously jiggling pudding. Banners of gold and silver hung from the enchanted ceiling, shifting images of past academy “heroes” glaring down as though silently judging anyone who dared eat with their hands.It was the Centennial Banquet of Magical Excellence—a mouthful of a title, both literally and metaphorically. Every hundred years, the academy threw a feast to honor the “legacy of magical learning,” which in practice meant: free food, too much music, and the perfect excuse for rivalries to boil over like a cauldron left unattended.“Why is everything glowing?” Jasper muttered as he eyed a tray of cupcakes that sparkled like radioactive stars.“Because it’s magical,” Serena answered, scoop