Veylara drifted in and out of consciousness as Bao Bao carried her across the plains. The ash beneath his feet turned molten where his power touched it, each step leaving glowing impressions burned into the ground. The sky darkened unnaturally, not from nightfall, but from the lingering aura the Conclave left behind.
Naelith flew beside him, her wings flickering with strained light. She kept looking back, scanning the shadows for movement. "They're still watching," she whispered.
Bao Bao didn't respond. His eyes were fixed forward, burning with that new, unfamiliar energy. The radiance around him pulsed in a way that didn't feel like fire, or heat, or even magic—it felt alive.
Veylara stirred weakly. "You… shouldn't be glowing like that," she murmured.
He tightened his hold on her. "Save your strength."
She tried to lift her head, but pain dragged her down again. "The Conclave… they said Firelonia would bleed… they're not here for territory…"
Naelith leaned close. "Then what?"
Veylara's breath hitched. "They said… the barrier is thinning."
Naelith froze mid-flight.
Bao Bao stopped walking completely.
The "barrier" was a word whispered only in dead archives. A myth. A containment. A seal forged during the Age of Sundering. Something even the old kings refused to document.
If it was weakening, it meant the Starless Legion wasn't the only threat creeping into Firelonia.
Naelith felt a coldness settle into her stomach. "Bao… we need to get her to the palace now."
Bao Bao nodded—but slowly, as if the new power in him resisted turning back. As if it wanted something else. As if it wanted to hunt.
He forced it down and continued forward.
Halfway back to the palace, Veylara's eyes fluttered again. She reached up, gripping the front of Bao Bao's armor with surprising strength. "Listen… the Conclave left a message for you."
"What message?" he asked.
Her voice broke into a rasp. "They said your power… is not your own anymore."
Naelith stopped flying. "What does that mean?"
But Veylara had already slipped unconscious again.
By the time they reached the palace gates, half the courtyard had gathered, staring at the glow radiating off Bao Bao. Soldiers backed away instinctively, unsure whether to bow or run.
Rana pushed through the crowd first. "What happened—"
His question died when he saw Veylara limp in Bao Bao's arms.
And then he saw Bao Bao's aura.
His eyes widened. "You're… changing again? That fast?"
Bao Bao didn't answer. He strode straight past them into the Sunspire infirmary. The healers rushed to him, pulling Veylara from his arms and moving her onto a bed of cooling crystal.
Naelith stood beside him, watching anxiously as two healers sealed the shadow-inflicted wound with layers of sun-thread. Even then, the cut resisted closing fully.
"These wounds eat light," one healer whispered.
Another added, "This magic belongs to nothing known in Firelonia."
Naelith's chest tightened. The Conclave left more than a warning—they left a scar that defied Firelonian magic entirely.
Behind them, Kuro entered the room, face sharp with suspicion. His eyes flicked between Veylara's wound and Bao Bao's glowing arms.
"What did this to her?" he demanded.
Naelith replied quietly, "Umbra Conclave."
Kuro froze. "…That's impossible."
Bao Bao turned to him slowly. "Not anymore."
Before the conversation could continue, the palace bells rang once—sharp, metallic, urgent. Not an invasion bell. Not a Starless alarm. This was the internal summons, reserved only for political emergencies.
Naelith and Bao Bao exchanged a look.
Rana reentered, expression tense. "You two need to come. Now."
Bao Bao followed him out of the infirmary, Naelith close behind. The echo of the bell seemed to vibrate through the palace walls, leading them toward the Council chamber.
The doors opened not to argument, but to silence.
Every Councilor stood around a table covered in inked parchment. Every seal had been pressed. Every signature completed.
Veshlor slowly turned to face the King and Queen.
"It is done," he said.
Bao Bao felt his aura flare dangerously. "What did you do?"
Veshlor didn't flinch. "The armies—Golden, Silver, Bronze, and all auxiliaries—are now under temporary Council supervision."
Naelith's wings flared. "You removed our authority."
Elder Yura didn't meet their eyes. Sorell stood stiffly behind Veshlor, his jaw clenched.
Veshlor continued calmly, "Firelonia is unstable. Your power is changing in ways we do not understand. The Starless Legion advances. The Umbra Conclave reappears. You two have become unpredictable variables."
Naelith stepped forward. "Say it for what it is. You fear losing control."
Veshlor held her gaze. "We fear what happens when a king can melt stone with his heartbeat."
Bao Bao's hands clenched. The glow around them intensified, illuminating the entire chamber. The Council members staggered back as the heat washed over them.
Naelith reached for him. "Bao… don't."
He took a slow breath. The aura dimmed, barely.
Veshlor set down the final scroll. "This decision stands. The Council commands the armies until further notice."
Naelith felt her stomach drop.
Bao Bao felt something else.
A fracture deep inside, as if something old and dormant had been waiting for this exact moment—for Firelonia to turn on itself.
A faint whisper brushed across his thoughts.
Let go.
His vision blurred gold for an instant before he forced it back down.
The Council stepped away from the table.
Outside, the bells rang again—three times this time.
A warning.
A shadow passed over the palace windows.
And in the infirmary, Veylara jolted awake with a scream, the same two words tearing from her throat:
"They're coming!"
The Starless were moving.
The Conclave was watching.
And Bao Bao's power, for the first time, felt like it might not be under his control at all.
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