The chamber felt smaller than it ever had—tight walls, too many watching eyes, the air thick with heat that wasn't heat at all. Bao Bao stood absolutely still, but the space around him vibrated like a held breath.
No one dared move first.
Sorell lifted the parchment again. "Proceed with the vote."
He spoke as if the room belonged to him.
He miscalculated.
Before he could finish the sentence, every torch in the chamber flared—not brighter, but sharper, as though reacting to something unseen. Councilors recoiled. A few stumbled back from the sudden crackle of energy.
Naelith sensed it immediately. "Bao—don't push it."
"I'm not," he murmured. "It's reacting on its own."
He took a single breath, and the vibrations smoothed, as if adjusting to his calm.
This frightened the Council more than the flare.
Control made him far more dangerous.
Sorell forced a thin smile. "You see? This is precisely the instability we are trying to prevent—"
A heavy boom shook the far wall.
The sound didn't belong to the chamber. It belonged to the mountain itself.
Several Councilors cried out. Dust fell from the carved ceiling beams. The guards staggered, gripping their spears.
Naelith snapped toward the entrance. "That wasn't structural. That was external—"
Another boom. Closer.
This time, Bao Bao felt it in his spine, a pressure like a hand wrapping around the city itself.
The Conclave.
Veylara steadied herself against the Council table, gasping. "They're here. They didn't wait. They knew we'd gather here."
Sorell paled, but still tried to speak over the rising panic. "Secure the chambers! Guards—!"
"No." Bao Bao's voice cut through everything. "We face them."
He stepped toward the doors before anyone else could move.
Two more thunderous impacts rattled the stone—then a sound like tearing fabric, but deeper, heavier, as if space itself was being pulled apart.
A tear in the air opened above the palace courtyard.
Naelith reached Bao Bao in three strides. "Wait. Think. If they're after you—"
"Then I go first."
His voice wasn't reckless.
It was inevitable.
Veylara forced herself fully upright. "They're searching. For your power. For your resonance. They want to smother it before it grows."
"Let them try."
Bao Bao pushed the doors open and strode into the hallway.
The sounds of chaos hit instantly—guards shouting, civilians screaming, the deep hum of shadowcraft vibrating through the palace stones. Outside the windows, the sky was bruised with streaks of black-violet energy.
Naelith kept close, her Sunfire aura flaring in spirals of gold. "If they've evolved again—"
"They have," Veylara said behind them, limping but determined. "I can feel it."
Sorell and the remaining Councilors stayed frozen at the threshold—afraid to follow, too proud to flee.
Bao Bao didn't look back at them.
"When this is over," he said quietly to Naelith and Veylara, "we will finish what started in that room."
Naelith nodded once. "After we survive."
They reached the courtyard doors.
A guard slammed into the wall beside them, thrown by a blast of shadowfire. Bao Bao caught him before he hit the ground, lowering him gently.
The young soldier coughed. "Majesty… they came through the sky. Through a rift. They're… they're hunting something in the palace."
Bao Bao's jaw tightened.
"They're hunting me."
He stood and stepped into the courtyard.
The world cracked open.
A rift hovered above the stones—swirling black mist, howling like a thousand whispering voices. From it emerged figures shaped like men but hollow inside, outlines of swirling shadow with faint echoes of armor.
Umbra Conclave.
But not like before.
Sharper.
Stronger.
Awake.
The moment they sensed him, every head—if they could be called heads—snapped toward Bao Bao.
A chorus of empty voices hissed through the courtyard.
"The Lightwalker awakens."
Naelith froze. "Light… walker?"
Veylara went pale. "That's what they called him. Before."
Bao Bao stepped forward, eyes steady. Something inside him answered the title—not memory, not recognition, but intuition. A pull older than language.
"What do you want?" he called out.
The shadows writhed.
"To silence the spark before the flame returns."
Bao Bao inhaled.
And the world brightened.
Not fire.
Not heat.
Light. Raw, ancient, pouring through his veins like the sun had been trapped beneath his ribs and finally found a crack to escape.
Naelith shielded her eyes.
Veylara stumbled back.
The Conclave recoiled, screaming without sound.
"Bao!" Naelith shouted. "Control it!"
He tried.
The light slowed, narrowed, settled—but it did not vanish. It wrapped around him like a second skin, translucent gold laced with streaks of white.
The Conclave shifted, reorganizing.
Assessing.
"We were correct," they hissed. "The Lightwalker has awakened."
Bao Bao took his stance.
Not to attack.
To protect.
Naelith and Veylara flanked him instantly, Sunfire and spellcraft igniting around him.
"Then come try to silence me," Bao Bao said.
The Conclave surged.
And the courtyard exploded into war.