The wind carried an eerie silence as the group returned to the Emberfall clearing, the once-burning skies now a dull ember-glow in the horizon. The Autumn Mystic had retreated, wounded but not vanquished, leaving behind nothing but scorched bark and curling leaves. Rylan stood at the edge of the clearing, sword still humming with residual energy, and gazed at Grace and Riley, who knelt near the place where the battle had taken its heaviest toll.
Grace's hair was singed, her armor cracked. Riley's bow was snapped in half. Their beasts, panting and bruised, were slumped beside them—alive, but barely.
"You made it in time," Grace whispered, offering Rylan a tired smile.
"Barely," Blaze said, his voice rough. "We heard the echoes of the battle across the range."
Rylan looked toward the horizon. "Too close. If we'd waited another minute…"
Blaze nodded grimly. "Let's not wait next time."
The ground beneath their feet still sizzled from the Mystic's last attack. Even the air had a bite to it, thick with burnt ozone and the iron tang of spilled blood. Rylan kneeled beside Riley, examining the broken shards of her bow.
"Can it be fixed?" he asked gently.
Riley shook her head. "Not the way it was. But maybe… something new can grow from it."
Before they could speak further, the crystal compass in Blaze's pack flickered erratically. The violet and pink pulse had shifted, dimming, twisting, until now it shone with a dull crimson glow.
"That's not good," Blaze muttered.
Suddenly, the sky above trembled, and a fissure of light split the clouds. From within that rift came a howl—long, mournful, otherworldly.
Grace stiffened. "That's not from this realm."
"More trouble," Rylan whispered. "We need to regroup with the others."
The return to the temporary camp was heavy with silence. Pair 3—Joy and James—had set up near the Spring Edge, a serene glade of green and bloom. The scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, sweet and heady, but even here, peace was a fragile illusion.
Joy was kneeling over a map etched in enchanted ink, while James was binding a cut on his beast's flank. When they looked up, their faces said everything—they'd felt the shift in the world's balance too.
"It's getting stronger," Joy said, eyes narrowing. "The magic. It's not just the petals—it's the boy."
James added, "Every petal we collect seems to stir something in him. Like he's tied to them… or what they guard."
Blaze frowned. "Are you saying we're waking him?"
Joy nodded. "Or something inside him."
As if summoned by those words, the compass flared again. This time, it pointed due north—toward the last known coordinates of Pair 4: Frost and Rant.
Rylan didn't hesitate. "We're heading to the Summer Expanse."
The Summer Expanse was unlike the other regions—an endless stretch of sun-bleached stone, rolling dunes, and sudden oases brimming with strange, bright flora. The air shimmered with heat, and magic danced visibly along the winds like golden threads.
The journey was brutal. Even mounted on their Soulbound, the heat drained their strength, every gust of wind a whip of searing sand. The deeper they went, the more unstable the terrain became—illusionary cliffs, mirages that whispered in familiar voices, and time slips that made minutes feel like hours.
They finally found Frost and Rant near a collapsed sandstone structure, surrounded by the crumbled remains of a once-thriving oasis. But it was the body between them that made Rylan's heart stop.
It wasn't either of them—it was a stranger, cloaked in desert leathers, clutching a pendant shaped like a sunburst. He was unconscious, but breathing. Around his wrists were shimmering golden cuffs etched in arcane script.
"Who is he?" Blaze asked.
Frost looked up, his face a mask of frustration. "We don't know. He appeared during the fight. The Summer Mystic stopped when it saw him."
Rant added, "Then it fled."
Grace approached carefully. "And this pendant?"
Frost shrugged. "It feels… old. Important. But cursed, maybe."
Blaze knelt beside the man and examined the cuffs. "These aren't to hold someone. They're to protect us from them."
Rylan stood slowly. "Then we're not just chasing petals anymore. We're chasing a pattern."
They all turned to him.
"Think about it," he continued. "A dying boy with glowing red eyes. Four Mystic beasts connected to elemental petals. Ancient magic sealing these places. And now this stranger appears, wearing protection cuffs and causing a Mystic to back off. Something bigger's playing out here."
Joy nodded. "The Vessel."
"What?" Riley asked.
Joy pulled a scroll from her bag—tattered, scorched, but legible. "I found this in the ruins near the Spring Mystic. It speaks of a vessel—a being born of balance and chaos. They're tied to the seasons, the elements… and the outcome of the world's fate."
Blaze snorted. "Sounds like a bedtime story."
"Maybe," Joy replied. "Or maybe that story's waking up."
Night fell over the camp like a velvet curtain stitched with heat lightning. They took shifts watching over the stranger, while the rest huddled near the fire.
Grace approached Rylan, holding two steaming mugs of duskberry tea.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Too many questions. Not enough answers."
She handed him a mug and sat beside him. "You've changed, you know."
He looked over. "Since when?"
"Since the cave. Since the first fight. You're not just reacting anymore. You're leading."
Rylan smiled faintly. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."
"None of us are," she said. "But you do it anyway. That's what matters."
He stared into the fire. "Grace… if this Vessel is real, and if that boy is tied to it… what happens when he wakes up?"
She didn't answer. The fire crackled between them like a heartbeat.
Dawn crept in on golden feet. The stranger was stirring, murmuring in a language none of them recognized. Rant stepped forward, attempting to calm him, but the man's eyes snapped open—pure white, searing with light.
"Back!" Rylan ordered.
The cuffs around the man's wrists flared, suppressing the burst of magic that rippled from his chest.
He sat up, gasping. "Where—where am I?"
Rylan stepped forward. "You're safe. Who are you?"
The man clutched his pendant. "My name is Solen. I was the last of the Sunbound Order."
The group exchanged glances.
"The Sunbound?" James asked. "That's just a legend."
Solen shook his head. "No. We were protectors of the balance. Guardians of the Mystic seals. When the Vessel was lost… our order died with it."
Grace approached. "You mean the boy?"
Solen's face darkened. "He's not just a boy. He's the key. If he wakes before the petals are restored, the seals will break. The beasts will fall. And something far worse will return."
Rylan's voice was low. "What happens if we fail?"
Solen met his gaze. "Then your world burns."
That night, under the pale gaze of twin moons, the boy stirred again in his coma, far away in the academy's crystal-inlaid infirmary.
His chest rose, then stilled.
The sigils across his body flared.
And from the shadows outside the academy, a cloaked figure stepped through the warding barrier as if it weren't there.
The figure placed a single black petal on the windowsill.
And whispered, "The seal is breaking."