The Quiet Pedestal

Super Artist Lion landed on the fortress balcony, cape snapping like a flag. Inside, the main tower smelled like clean paint and lemon wipes.

His phone buzzed. A livestream page showed: TROPHY REVEAL — 12:00 PM.

A woman in a white curator coat hurried up, her lanyard tapping her chest.

“Zara Quill,” she said. “Please tell me you can stay close today.”

He pushed his black sunglass goggles up with one paw. “Close is my specialty. Where is it?”

Zara pointed through a glass dome into the gallery. On the highest rotating pedestal sat a trophy in a foam cradle, shiny enough to mirror his mane.

“It arrived sealed,” she whispered. “No return label. It… requested the top spot.”

“That is not normal trophy behavior,” he said.

Zara swallowed. “I may have posted a wish online. ‘Give us a winner that proves we’re the best.’”

As the pedestal turned, a thin black line appeared on its base, like a pen had touched down and started to draw

Floor Five Echoes

The line on the pedestal kept crawling.

Super Artist Lion grabbed Zara’s wrist. “Nope. Not staying under the glass.”

“Where—” she started.

He snapped his paws. The gallery vanished.

They landed in a bright laundromat in the zoo plaza, with spinning washers, a snack machine, and a floor dotted with little puddles from someone’s dripping umbrella.

Zara hugged her phone to her chest. “I need to call security.”

Super Artist Lion checked his phone. The livestream countdown still ran: 00:01:12.

A small koala kid in a hoodie waddled past and bumped Zara’s leg.

“Sorry,” the koala mother said, scooping the child up. Her tote bag swung and knocked a poster on the wall.

The poster used to show neon paint splashes.

Now half of it was gray.

Zara unlocked her phone. The screen flashed, then turned black-and-white.

The koala kid blinked. A thin black sketch mark appeared on the kid’s sleeve, like a pen had signed it.

Super Artist Lion lifted his goggles. “It’s drawing a winner,” he said, as the countdown hit 00:00:30