The corridors outside the ward were alive with tension. Every torch flickered too violently, every guard stood too rigid, as if the air itself had grown alert. Bao Bao and Naelith moved quickly, their steps echoing through the marble hall in sharp, controlled rhythm.
"Bao," Naelith said quietly, "whatever is happening inside you—keep it hidden in front of the Council."
"I know."
"They're already afraid of you."
"I know that too."
Naelith didn't press further. Not yet. Her instincts told her they were walking into a chamber where fear would be wielded like a blade.
When they reached the Council hall, the heavy doors were already half-open. Murmured arguments seeped through the gap—accusations, half-whispered fears, the brittle edge of political panic. Bao Bao paused only a breath before stepping inside.
All twenty-one Council members turned as one.
Some startled.
Some calculating.
And some—Sorell among them—smiled.
The smile of someone who believed the moment he'd planned had finally arrived.
"Your Majesty," Sorell said smoothly, adjusting the silver clasp on his mantle. "We feared you would not attend."
Bao Bao ignored the provocation. "Messenger said you were voting without us."
"Ah. A misunderstanding," Sorell replied with practiced calm. "Given recent… chaos, the Council felt the need to discuss defensive measures."
"Measures that remove command from the throne," Naelith stated.
Several Councilors shifted uncomfortably. Sorell didn't.
"We are at war with an enemy we cannot see, cannot predict, and cannot understand. And forgive me, but your recent decisions have been—unstable."
"You mean resisting your attempts to control the capital," Naelith returned, voice even.
"Control is a harsh word. I prefer 'stabilize.'"
Bao Bao's hands tightened at his sides. The light within him stirred, hot and insistent—not flaring, not burning out of control, but pushing. Listening. Reacting to something in the room.
Something wrong.
Sorell tapped a parchment. "We propose temporary redistribution of military authority to a committee of five. Until these… unexplained energies settle."
The word energies hung in the air like an accusation.
Naelith's gaze hardened. "You're referring to the attack on Veylara."
Sorell folded his hands. "You mean the attack that only she witnessed. And that conveniently coincided with a surge of unknown power from His Majesty."
Silence cut the room clean in half.
Bao Bao met Sorell's stare. "You think I attacked her."
"I think," Sorell replied, tone soft but blade-sharp, "that whatever struck her and whatever radiates from you are connected. And until we understand how, the kingdom cannot be governed by someone whose abilities shift without warning."
A few councilors nodded. More watched Bao Bao closely, weighing words against rumors.
Bao Bao stepped forward. The heat inside him rose—but instead of bursting out, it narrowed, focused, carrying his voice in a still, controlled intensity.
"The Conclave attacked Veylara. They've evolved beyond shadowcraft. They're targeting me. And if we waste time chasing political leverage while they move, Firelonia will fall."
Sorell's eyes narrowed. "Convenient. Every uncertainty explained by an enemy only you can sense."
Naelith stepped forward, placing herself beside Bao Bao deliberately. "We are not children grasping at myths. The healers confirmed the injuries were not human-made. The Umbra signature was clear."
Sorell's gaze flicked to her. "Or cleverly crafted."
The heat behind Bao Bao's ribs surged, bright enough that the nearest Councilor leaned back instinctively. The torches guttered—not dimming, but bending toward him, drawn as if gravity itself had shifted.
Naelith murmured, "Bao—"
He steadied himself. The energy tightened again, like a storm waiting for permission.
Then the doors at the back of the chamber opened.
Everyone turned.
Veylara stood there—unsteady, breath strained, but upright. And her voice cut through the room sharper than any decree.
"Enough."
Councilors blinked, startled. She walked between them, each step slow but unwavering.
"I was conscious during the attack," she continued. "I saw the Umbra signature. I felt it. I heard them speak Bao Bao's name."
Sorell's jaw tensed. "You should not be walking."
"And yet I am," she answered. "Because the truth matters more than my pain."
She stopped beside Bao Bao and Naelith.
"Whatever is changing within the Sun King is not harming Firelonia. The Conclave is. And your attempt to strip authority in the middle of a crisis is exactly what they want."
A ripple spread through the Council. Doubt. Tension. Cracks forming in Sorell's carefully crafted narrative.
Sorell exhaled, controlled but visibly frustrated. "You expect us to accept the word of someone struck by shadowfire? Your mind could have been compromised."
Veylara met his eyes without blinking. "Then look at the healers' report. Look at my aura. Look at the scorch on the ground where Bao Bao stood when he sensed them. There is no imprint of madness. No distortion. Only truth."
Councilors exchanged uncertain glances.
The momentum was shifting.
Sorell knew it.
His expression thinned.
"This vote will proceed," he announced. "Fear cannot be allowed to rule us."
"No," Bao Bao said quietly. "But neither can ambition."
For the first time, Sorell's confidence faltered.
Because the light behind Bao Bao's eyes had changed.
Not glowing.
Not burning.
But awake.
And every Councilor felt it.