The square smelled of salt and smoke though no fire burned. Sparks glowed steady in every palm, brighter than ever, but Hei Long's own glow had faded to a faint ember, pulsing slow beneath his cloak.
He sat on the Temple steps, breath shallow. Children crowded near, eyes wide, their little sparks flickering like stars around him. Guard stood silent, their lattice still linked, waiting for his command. But no command came.
Qingxue stepped forward, her sword still drawn but lowered. "You gave it away." Her voice was sharp, but her eyes trembled.
Hei Long lifted his gaze, pale but steady. "I didn't give it away. You took it. And you kept it."
Yexin knelt beside him, foxfire dim. "You're weaker now."
"Yes," Hei Long said softly. "And so you're stronger."
Yuran pressed her palm over his hand. Her glow wrapped them both. "You're still the hearth."
Hei Long's faint smile cut the air. "No. I was the match. You're the hearth."
