The night deepened, draping the Megh clan's training grounds in a gauze of silver light.

A full moon hung low above the stone platform, its glow sharpening edges and casting long, softened shadows across the open courtyard. A faint breeze stirred, lifting a few strands of dust from the flagstones. The distant murmur of Steel City—so constant during the day—was barely audible now, like a memory of noise behind heavy walls.

Here, atop this elevated ground, silence had settled thick and watchful.

Aaryan stood at its centre, still and calm, facing the elders and fighters of the Megh clan. Around him, eyes flicked between one another. Shravan shifted behind him, lips parted in surprise. Babita lingered near her cousin, a curious light dancing in her eyes.

No one had expected him to ask for anything.

And yet here he was, naming prices not like a desperate boy clinging to his place—but as someone who knew exactly how much value he had, and how little mercy the world offered if you didn't speak your worth aloud.

The silence stretched.

Then Aaryan exhaled slowly, his voice quiet but steady, carrying through the open night.

"First," he said, "I'll need spirit stones."

He didn't name a number. Instead, he let the request hang in the air a moment longer before continuing.

"Go on," Pramod said, folding his arms.

Aaryan dipped his head slightly. "Second—if we win, the Megh clan must ensure my safety within Steel City. From any clan. Any force."

At that, Pramod looked to his right. The Green Fairy's eyes were already on him.

A breeze tugged at the edge of her sleeve as she tilted her head, studying the boy. Then, with a faint sigh—half amused, half exasperated—she waved her hand lightly through the air.

"Tell me that's all," she said. "Or I'll start thinking you've been mentored by a merchant."

Aaryan smiled. "One more, Senior."

"I want access to the upper levels of the Ember Spire. For a month. Unsupervised. After the competition, if we win."

No one spoke. Not immediately.

Pramod let out a low, thoughtful breath. "Spirit stones," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile. "You didn't name a number."

Aaryan inclined his head slightly. "Because I trust the clan leader's judgment." He let the words hang just long enough before adding, "...and his understanding of what the clan's future is worth."

That earned a small huff from Subhash—something between amusement and approval.

Cunning little fox, his eyes seemed to say. If the boy had asked for a fixed amount, it could've been debated—challenged, reduced. But like this? Pramod had no choice but to weigh his clan's future against the value of a few bags of stones.

And how could he offer little, after such a framing?

The moonlight caught the glint in Green Fairy's eyes as she narrowed them slightly, not in anger—but calculation.

She didn't blink. Just watched, like someone measuring a blade's edge by feel alone.

"And the second?" she said. "You want protection from retaliation. Expecting vengeance, are we?"

Aaryan didn't smile. "I assume those who lose power rarely do so with grace."

A long silence followed. Only the rustle of fabric and the distant crackle of a torch filled the void.

She saw it now.

He wasn't just covering his back from retaliation. That would've been smart enough. But he was reaching beyond—securing what every cultivator truly chased: resources and opportunity. Safety, stones, and the forge. Protection, power, and potential.

"You think ahead," she said, softly.

Aaryan held her gaze. "I try to survive."

She turned back to Pramod. "He's ambitious."

"Spoken like someone who hasn't lost yet," Mithun muttered—but even he wasn't sure if it was a jab or a warning.

Pramod finally spoke again, slowly. "Very well. You'll have your spirit stones, enough to satisfy your ambition. The protection of the Megh clan, should others strike in revenge—provided you remain in Steel City."

His voice dropped just a little, each word deliberate.

"And, should we win… the upper levels of Ember Spire will be made available to you for one month. No supervision. No restrictions."

A pause.

"But remember, Vidyut," he said softly, "opportunity and protection are earned with risk. If we lose—"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"I know," Aaryan cut in. "Then I will pay the price, like the rest of you."

Pramod's smile faded into a quiet nod.

"Then let it be so."

No cheers followed.

Only the sound of a decision settling into stone.

Aaryan stepped back, hands clasped behind him. "It's already quite late," he said, voice even. "I'll take my leave now. I'll be at the tower when the time comes."

His gaze moved on, level and steady.

Pramod nodded once. "Shravan, arrange a carriage."

Shravan turned without a word. His steps glided over the stone, near silent as drifting ash. Soon he disappeared into the shadows beyond the torchlight.

Pramod reached into his sleeve and drew out a simple, dark ring. It gleamed faintly in the moonlight, dull silver flickering across its surface. He held it out, palm open.

"The spirit stones are inside. Don't worry—you won't be disappointed."

Aaryan accepted the ring without ceremony. His fingers brushed Pramod's, but he didn't flinch. No surprise showed on his face—just the barest furrow of thought behind his eyes.

Then a nod. Nothing more.

Moments later, his footsteps echoed softly on the stone as he descended the platform. A servant bowed low and gestured toward the waiting carriage at the base of the steps.

Up on the platform, silence lingered like mist.

Babita's lips parted, but no words came. Her gaze fixed on Aaryan—not with derision, but something sharper. She didn't smile. Just watched, like she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or unnerved.

Pramod exhaled, slow. "So?"

The Green Fairy shifted slightly, veil brushing against her shoulder with the hush of worn silk—familiar, ceremonial. "It wasn't what I expected."

A pause.

"He might turn out to be the wild card in this competition."

Pramod's eyes followed the departing carriage. "Maybe, maybe not. But he'll burn bright."

A flick of movement—almost a smile, almost not—from beneath the Green Fairy's veil.

"Or burn everything around him."

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Inside the carriage, the lantern cast a soft amber glow over worn cushions and smooth wood. Aaryan sat still for a long moment, the ring resting in his palm.

Only when the carriage began to move did he let his fingers curl slowly around it.

Like closing a fist around fire.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The carriage wheels slowed with a hollow clatter against cobblestone, lantern-light catching on the sleek sides before the driver gently pulled the reins. Outside, the Ember Spire loomed like a slumbering giant. But Aaryan didn't glance toward it. Not yet.

He stepped down without a word, the wooden slats creaking beneath his weight. Cool wind curled around him, carrying the distant clang of hammers, the faint scent of soot. His gaze swept the quiet street before he turned and walked—silent and swift—toward the Copper Circle.

Stone whispered beneath his boots like ash drifting over an old hearth. The night air held a stillness rare for Steel City, pierced only by a few distant murmurs and the shuffle of guards repositioning. The Copper Circle's ornate archway shimmered faintly under moonlight, its bronze filigree glowing like trapped fire. Still open.

The guards bowed with respectful murmurs. A lovely maid, dressed in layered silks the colour of dew-kissed lavender, stepped forward and inclined her head.

"I wish to speak with Elder Nema," Aaryan said.

She didn't ask questions. With graceful steps, she led him through polished halls and paper-lantern corridors until they reached a familiar wooden door. She slid it open.

The room inside was exactly as he remembered. Modest, tasteful. A small round table, already set with tea. A circular window offered a glimpse of the courtyard beyond, wisteria vines shifting gently in the wind. She poured tea for two, bowed once more, and left in silence.

Moments passed. Aaryan stood by the window, one hand resting on the sill, the other still loosely cradling the ring Pramod had given him.

Then came the soft shuffle of robes.

Elder Nema entered in pristine white, thin spectacles balanced on his nose. He smiled.

"So, it's friend Vidyut again," he said lightly. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"I need information," Aaryan said, turning. "On the four major clans—personalities, strengths, habits. Faces, if you have them."

Elder Nema blinked once. For a heartbeat, surprise cracked his usual calm. Then he laughed, rich and warm. "That's an unusual request. Dare I ask why?"

"Just preparing," Aaryan said, his tone smooth as lacquered stone. "I like to know what I'm getting into."

Nema studied him a moment. "Expensive knowledge."

"No problem."

Nema noded slightly and left.

A few minutes later, he returned with a wave of his sleeve. Four tomes appeared on the table, thick and bound in coloured thread.

"This is what we have," he said. "Fifty thousand spirit stones each."

Aaryan nodded. A flick of his fingers, and 200,000 stones shimmered from his ring into Nema's. The elder's eyebrows arched.

"I'll also need techniques," Aaryan added.

Nema straightened. "We still have some—"

"Not the old ones," Aaryan interrupted, eyes sharp. "Something stronger. Verdant grade, high-tier or above."

The silence in the private room deepened after Aaryan's words. Elder Nema remained still, eyes half-lidded behind his thin-rimmed glasses. A single candle flickered on the table between them, its flame swaying gently, casting shifting shadows across Nema's weathered face and the gleam of the four thick books.

Aaryan frowned. "What? You don't have any?"

Nema exhaled slowly, folding his hands in his lap. "It's not that we don't have any. It's that… they're not for sale."

Outside, the muffled hush of evening wind carried through the window, rustling the wisteria petals just beyond the glass. Inside, the air was warm, laced with the faint scent of steeped jasmine tea gone cold.

"In Steel City," Nema continued, "verdant-grade techniques—especially high tier or above—are treasures. Foundations. No clan gives them up lightly. Whenever one surfaces at auction, entire families bleed spirit stones to claim it."

Aaryan's eyes narrowed, his voice edged with quiet iron. "Since Elder has mentioned you have them… then surely you're not just teasing me."

A chuckle broke the stillness like a ripple across a still pond.

"It's always a pleasure doing business with sharp minds." Elder Nema leaned forward slightly, his smile barely there. "I can't sell you the technique. But… I can give it to you. Freely. That is, if you agree to one condition."

Aaryan's gaze sharpened, but he didn't speak. A slow breath filled his lungs—measured, not relaxed. His fingers tapped once against his knee, then stilled. Only his head tilted, ever so slightly. "And what condition would that be?"

The candlelight caught the gleam in Nema's eyes now—something unspoken and old, buried beneath years of bargaining and silence. "After the competition," he said. "I'll tell you then. No point wasting breath if you don't survive."

Time lingered, stretched thin as thread.

Aaryan rose. He didn't ask what kind of condition. Didn't care. If he survived, he'd know. If not—then it didn't matter.

"Fine then," he said, and turned without another word, his robe brushing the edge of the table as he moved.

Nema watched the door close behind him. The echo of Aaryan's footsteps faded slowly down the corridor.

Minutes later, the carriage wheels creaked into motion beneath a waning moon. Inside, Aaryan sat beneath the dim lamplight, fingers brushing over the cover of one of the books.

He flipped it open. Eyes scanning. Memorizing.

Stone walls rolled past outside, shadows bending across alleyways and rooftops. The city was quiet, but something tense curled under its skin, like the stillness before a summer storm.

Back in the private room, Elder Nema sat unmoving, gaze fixed on the window.

"I really hope you're as talented as I think, young friend," he murmured, lifting the teacup to his lips, though he didn't drink. "Because I don't have much time left."

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