Sailor Ceres swept dust from the floor of the crystalline embassy she had claimed for herself. The inner Guardians were tangled in some private worry lately, and she had used that quiet to settle in. A seat in their formation was the goal. This empty dome was only the waiting room. A knock cracked the silence. Sailor Venus stood in the archway, Sailor Pluto behind her, the moonstone well outside catching cold light through the glass. "We came to see what you can carry," Venus said. No greeting. No softening. "Transform. Show us the ceiling, not the floor." Ceres did. Burnt orange bloomed up her legs, yellow-gold ribbon snapping at her shoulders. She pulled harder than she ever had alone, until the dome shook and her vision went white at the edges. Pluto watched her hands, not her face. "There," Pluto said quietly. "That is the line. Note where it trembled." Ceres dropped to one knee, breathing hard. She had never seen her own limit so clearly. Venus crouched beside her, eye to eye. "Now we know what you've got. So does she." A tilt of the head toward Pluto. "The Queen asked us to measure you," Pluto said. "She did not ask the others." Ceres understood. The inner four still did not know she existed here. But somewhere above them all, she had just been counted.