The hall breathed like a forest at twilight—still, immense, and watching. Moonlight, pale and new, filtered through the green-tinted glass above, softening into silver as dusk began to gather.

Though the atmosphere wasn't hostile, it carried weight—an unspoken pressure that clung to the skin. Not quite suffocating, but present enough to remind Aaryan that he was being measured. Every blink, every breath, every silence.

He didn't flinch. Barefoot and composed, he lowered himself into the seat indicated with a quiet exhale, the polished stone beneath his soles cool and faintly slick. Across from him, the seats arranged in a gentle arc were filled by figures whose silence spoke of long years of influence—Pramod at the centre, flanked by the Green Fairy and another elder with a pale gold beard and a war-hardened gaze followed by two others.

Shravan lowered himself into the seat beside Aaryan, the motion smooth and unhurried.

It felt natural, unforced—like water choosing the nearest stone. A few elders glanced over, then looked away, saying nothing. The silence held, undisturbed.

Pramod's voice broke the silence, calm and almost too soft for the space. "So, Vidyut. Where are you from?"

The formality wasn't lost on Aaryan. He met his gaze without lifting his chin.

"A small place," he said. "One not worth naming. I'm only traveling now. To see the world."

A brief pause.

"Mm." Pramod nodded once. "You don't strike me as someone who wastes words." His fingers tapped once on the armrest, the sound barely audible. "So I'll come to the point."

The slight shift of robes, the subtle movement of hands resting atop armrests—every action in the hall had weight.

"Do you understand the situation in Steel City?"

The silence lingered—not out of hesitation, but calculation.

Aaryan exhaled softly through his nose. "Not much," he admitted. "Only that there's tension among the four clans."

Shravan leaned forward, his voice threading into the space like a bridge. "Brother Vidyut was inside the Ember Spire. Focused on training. He's unaware of how things stand."

A soft hum of acknowledgment came from the Green Fairy.

"Very well," Pramod said, his tone even. "Then allow me to clarify."

His words settled slowly, each one spaced like a stone being placed on a scale.

"There is a battle underway. For control over the Ember Spire. As you may have gathered, whoever controls the tower… controls the city."

Aaryan's fingers flexed faintly over his knee. He said nothing, but the truth clicked into place. He somewhat understood how many resources the tower earned for the four clans.

Pramod continued, the rhythm of his voice deliberate.

"To avoid a citywide war," he said, voice deliberate, "an agreement has been struck. One last effort to prevent steel from turning on steel. A competition will be held—five fighters from each side. The winner's faction will take control of the Ember Spire."

His gaze steadied. No bluster, no threat.

"Each side is permitted one outsider. Under twenty years of age."

A slight shift beside Aaryan—Shravan straightened a little.

"It was Shravan who put forth your name."

Aaryan sat as still as stone, the words hanging in the air like sparks cooling before they touched the floor.

It was as if Pramod had spoken about someone else.

The Green Fairy turned her head slowly from the window. Her gaze settled on him, searching. No pride. No fear. Just a clear, unreadable stillness in his eyes. That alone made her lips press together under the veil.

Across the circle, a snort broke the silence.

"Tch. Brat, shouldn't you be thanking the Clan Leader?" The voice came from a squat man draped in layers of vivid green.

The words cracked through the air like dry tinder catching flame.

Shravan leaned in slightly, his tone quiet but edged with warmth. "Brother Vidyut, this is the Third Elder—Kel. Please don't take his words to heart."

Aaryan gave a slow nod. "This junior doesn't understand," he said, eyes still forward. "Thanks… for what?"

The question slipped into the hall like a breeze that turned the flame of a lantern. Simple. Yet heavy.

The Green Fairy's gaze narrowed.

Pramod said nothing, his expression unchanged—only the faintest lift of an eyebrow, as if curious where the boy was going with this.

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To the left, The girl in blue robes shifted forward, her movement quiet—but intentional, like a page turning itself.

It was Second Elder Mithun who filled the pause. "For letting you act as a helper in the competition, of course."

Aaryan turned slightly toward the voice, his expression polite but distant. "According to my understanding, and what Clan Leader said earlier—it has not yet been decided whether I will be the helper. As for Brother Shravan's suggestion, I will thank him properly later."

There was no bite in his tone. No tremble. Only that strange stillness he always carried—too calm to be confused.

Pramod exhaled softly. "But I didn't say you weren't the designated helper."

"Senior is right," Aaryan said evenly, "but senior also didn't say I was. Only that Brother Shravan suggested my name—which, to me, implies there may be others in consideration."

The silence that followed was not empty—it bristled. Like the moment before lightning strikes.

Even Elder Kel and Elder Mithun seemed unsure how to respond.

And beside them, the man with the pale golden beard—the one Shravan had introduced as First Elder Subhash—leaned forward. His gaze had remained still until now, but there was a shift in his posture, subtle but telling.

The hall had gone still again. Moonlight pooled through the high, narrow windows—silver veins across the polished stone floor—while the central brazier cast long shadows that flickered along the curved walls, brushing the faces of those seated with warm and wavering light.

Pramod's faint laugh echoed softly, unexpected in the silence that had followed his announcement. It wasn't loud—just a quiet exhale of amusement, the kind that suggested a truth had been confirmed rather than challenged.

"I can see why Shravan regards you so highly," he said, his eyes not just seeing, but measuring.

Aaryan's head dipped ever so slightly. "Senior is overpraising me," he replied, voice smooth, respectful—but behind it was the weight of calm certainty, like still water concealing its depth.

Pramod studied him a moment longer, then leaned back with a nod. "You are right. We have invited someone else as well. And I suspect…" He let the sentence hang in the air like smoke. "You've already guessed who that is."

Aaryan's gaze shifted—barely. Just a flicker of movement toward the girl in blue robes.

"I made a guess," he said simply.

The blue-robed girl met his eyes now. Simmi. Her posture hadn't changed, but her expression had narrowed—just slightly. Enough to suggest curiosity, maybe annoyance.

"Very well," Pramod continued, his voice firmer now, stripping away any pretences of delicacy. "Let me put it bluntly then. She is Shravan's cousin, and she is our choice to be the helper."

Simmi tilted her chin, the barest arch of pride flickering in her jawline.

"But," Pramod added, "if you can defeat her, the position is yours. I hope you don't find this offensive. This matter is too important to rest on one man's word—no matter how trusted."

A pause followed. A subtle one. In that breathless sliver of time, Aaryan's gaze turned—not to Simmi, but to Shravan.

Shravan rose slowly from his seat. The movement wasn't abrupt, nor ashamed—just steady. He hadn't expected this, that much was clear. His brows drew together for a fraction of a second before smoothing out.

"I understand," Aaryan said, forestalling whatever Shravan was about to say. "Brother Shravan, please don't worry. I understand how important this is. Naturally, the clan leader must confirm things with his own eyes. This concerns something far greater than anything I could imagine."

Shravan's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, then gave a slow nod and sat back down.

Pramod's lips curved—not quite a smile, but the echo of one. "So, you agree?"

"Of course."

Silence returned, but it wasn't stillness. Not quite.

Babita's lips curled, barely hiding her amusement. She didn't bother to speak, but the tilt of her head said enough—Let's see how long that confidence lasts.

But the Green Fairy's eyes stayed on him—no longer curious, but analytical. Watching. Sifting. As if somewhere behind her gaze, she was adjusting her expectations.

This young man was proving to be far more interesting than she'd thought.

Green Fairy exhaled slowly, arms crossed as she leaned against the back of her chair, her voice cool and musical. "Well then, what are we waiting for? The competition is in two days. We must decide the helper by morning."

Pramod nodded with quiet authority. "The training arena is open. If both are ready, we can proceed."

Aaryan inclined his head and rose. Shravan did the same—hesitant—then gave him a brief pat on the shoulder. From her seat, Simmi rose, every movement precise and unhurried—like she had known this moment was coming.

As the group moved together, the soft sound of sandals brushing stone echoed between the garden walls. Babita fell into step behind Simmi, casting a quick glance toward Aaryan. Their eyes met briefly—hers sharp, expectant; his calm, unreadable. There was no sneer in her gaze this time, only curiosity barely masked by her usual pride.

They arrived at the clan's training arena, a wide circle of stone platforms and engraved runes, surrounded by trimmed hedges and tall lanterns glowing with soul fire. Simmi stepped up onto one of the stone discs without pause, her blue robes rippling gently with her qi.

Aaryan glanced at Shravan, then stepped forward and mirrored her, standing across from her platform, feet bare against cool stone. The distance between them crackled with silent tension.

"This is a friendly match," Pramod said, his voice clear but even. "No lethal attacks. It is only to determine the helper."

Both combatants nodded.

Simmi closed her eyes. Her qi rose like a tide—but carried weight beneath the grace. The air thickened, the kind that made breath drag in the lungs. Fine mist gathered at her heels, coiling like sea fog, and for a moment, it felt like standing beneath a wave about to break.

Aaryan responded with a breath. The silver qi around him burst forth, blazing like moonlight striking polished steel. His aura climbed swiftly to the peak of the Sixth Stage. Though his body shimmered with strange heat, none of it burst wild. It moved as he breathed—contained, channelled—held tight in a body forged to endure.

From the sidelines, Elder Mithun scoffed. "Not even at the Seventh Stage? He'll be lucky to last five moves."

But neither Green Fairy nor Pramod responded. Their gazes remained fixed, still and discerning.

Around them, whispers rose as more clan members trickled in.

"Isn't that the Green Fairy's niece?"

"And who's the boy?"

"He came with Young Master Shravan… Vidyut, I think."

On the platform, Simmi finally opened her eyes. They were a clear, piercing blue—like rain that had not yet fallen.

"I hope you've brought more than clever words and flattery," she said, her tone level, polite, but edged with steel.

Aaryan's lips curled faintly, just short of a smile. "Words are for after the fight."

Simmi didn't reply. Her hand swept upward, and a spear of condensed water formed in an elegant spiral. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it forward.

The spear whistled as it tore through the air. Aaryan's body tensed—then, in a heartbeat, his qi flared violently. The Dominion Tyrant Physique activated, golden ruins glowing beneath his skin, while heat surged from his meridians—Smouldering Vein Art ignited in tandem.

He didn't dodge. He met the spear head-on with a punch.

The collision cracked the silence. Water hissed, steam exploding outward as fist met spear. Aaryan was driven back a step—two—but still upright. The water spear shattered, collapsing in a hiss of mist.

A collective gasp rippled from the crowd.

Even Simmi's poised expression faltered. A single frown creased her brow.

For the first time, the curiosity vanished from her eyes. What replaced it was sharper—warier. Acknowledgment.

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