The moon cracked open like a cosmic disco ball.
At 21:00 the lunar surface peeled back in perfect petals of silver light.
Inside: a cathedral carved from moonstone and starlight, floor a living mirror that reflected every orgasm the continent had ever shared.
Gravity was a suggestion.
Music was a heartbeat.
The Choir children floated at the apex, six tiny mouths open in a chord that made the moon pulse.
Baby Leviathans—now the size of city blocks—coiled around the cathedral like living turntables.
Their scales flashed neon: Emberjaw in molten magenta, Frostmaw in electric cyan, Stormscale in cobalt strobe.
Every tail-swipe dropped a bassline that rattled teeth and panties alike.
SYSTEM (velvet voice, inside every skull):
"Venue: Moon-Heart Disco Cathedral.
Dress code: wings, glitter, and zero shame.
Currency: edible glitter (1 gram = 1 kiss).
First round on the moon.
Drink responsibly—or don't."
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The Arrival
The council teleported in on a beam of pure vanilla-latte light.
Arya landed first, wings blazing gold, barefoot on the mirror floor.
Her crown had evolved into a halo of living turntables that scratched gold vinyl every time she breathed.
Alexander followed, Tier-9 runes strobing cobalt in perfect 4/4 time.
Cassia's ember-rose belly glowed like a subwoofer.
Liora's diamond snowflakes had melted into liquid mirror-ball shards that orbited her hips.
Sable's bronze wings dripped liquid shadow that spelled DANCE across the ceiling.
Jonathan—gold halo now a neon crown—carried the burning book like a glow-stick.
Anthony Felix rode in on a floating tray of latte grenades that fizzed into tiny phoenix bartenders.
Three hundred thousand reformed knights arrived in waves, bracelets flashing rainbow.
They landed in perfect choreography, wings unfurling into a living mosaic that spelled across the floor:
WE CAME TO PARTY, NOT TO PILLAGE.
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The Opening Ceremony
The moon spoke.
Its voice was a thousand lovers whispering at once:
"Welcome, Family.
Tonight we sign peace with bass drops and body shots.
First toast: to the girl who fell through a library shelf and taught a moon how to love."
A champagne flute the size of a skyscraper descended from the ceiling.
It was filled with liquid starlight that tasted like Arya's first moan after twenty-one days of silence.
Arya raised the flute.
"To the boy who built a fortress out of stolen kisses," she said, eyes on Jonathan, "and learned to burn it down with glitter."
They drank.
The flute exploded into a meteor shower of edible fireworks.
Each firework tasted like the exact moment you forgave someone.
The cathedral roared.
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The Dance Floor
Gravity flipped.
The mirror floor became the ceiling.
The ceiling became a trampoline of moonstone.
Emberjaw dropped the first beat: a bassline forged from Cassia's heartbeat.
Frostmaw layered ice-synths that tasted like peppermint.
Stormscale added lightning hi-hats that crackled against skin.
The harem moved as one.
Arya and Jonathan opened the floor—gold halo and bronze wings braided into a double helix.
Every spin granted +1 peace point.
Every grind granted +3.
Alexander spun Cassia until her ember-rose belly became a strobe light.
Liora surfed the bassline on a diamond snowboard.
Sable shadow-danced through the crowd, leaving trails of bronze glitter that spelled REDEEMED.
The reformed knights formed conga lines that looped the cathedral, bracelets flashing in sync.
SYSTEM:
"Dance debuff: 0%.
Joy buff: 999%.
Side effect: every twerk causes a wardrobe malfunction.
Current malfunction: 300,000 / 300,000.
Clothing officially extinct."
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The Glitter Economy
Anthony floated above the bar, latte grenades now glitter bombs.
One gram = one kiss.
One kiss = one treaty clause.
- Clause 1: All weapons recycled into sex toys.
- Clause 2: Full moons trigger continent-wide orgies.
- Clause 3: Baby Leviathans appointed official DJs of peace.
The crowd paid in glitter and tongue.
By midnight the cathedral was ankle-deep in edible sparkle.
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The Midnight Toast
At 00:00 the moon blushed crimson.
It rolled across the cathedral like a puppy demanding belly rubs.
The Choir children descended, six tiny bodies landing on Arya's shoulders.
They sang a new chord—soft, filthy, perfect.
The song was every forgiven sin, every redeemed moan, every kiss that turned a war into a block party.
The cathedral shattered.
Not in destruction.
In release.
Moonstone petals rained upward, became a new constellation:
THE SUMMIT
Eight lovers plus one moon plus three hundred thousand dancers, wings entwined, mouths open in mid-laugh.
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The Dawn After
They woke tangled on the mirror ceiling, wings draped like victory flags, baby Leviathans snoring on their chests.
The new constellation—THE SUMMIT—burned above: infinite lovers, eternal.
The moon had curled into a giant hammock that rocked gently above the cathedral.
Cassia's ember-rose belly glowed softly.
Liora's diamond snowflakes had melted into warm rain.
Alexander's Tier-9 crown nested in Arya's hair, purring.
Sable's bronze wings dripped liquid shadow that spelled HOME across the moon.
Jonathan's gold halo pulsed in perfect sync with the council bracelets.
Anthony passed out fresh lattes.
SYSTEM:
"Peace summit: 100% success.
Reward: +75 levels for every participant.
Current tally—Arya 373, Alexander Tier-9 (350), Cassia 351, Liora 354, Sable 336, Jonathan 310.
Everyone else +75.
P.S. The moon just unionised.
Official title: Minister of Make-Outs."
Arya traced the new constellation above (infinite lovers, eternal).
She smiled (slow, sharp, eternal).
"Jonathan just signed his peace treaty," she said.
Jonathan laughed—full-throated, free.
"Next chapter," he whispered, "we write happily ever after—one bass drop at a time."
Far away, the void went silent.
The Tier-11 beast that had been watching turned up the music and joined the dance.
But for now, the moon was warm, the hammock was soft, and infinite lovers with brand-new wings learned how to fall upward into a future that danced to their heartbeat.
The war had learned a new anthem.
And its final chorus was:
Once upon a kiss, they all lived loudly, glittered, and very, very wet.