By the time Aaryan reached the inn, the moon had climbed high, draped in a silvery veil that bathed the cobbled streets in pale light. Most of Steel City slumbered, the usual clangour of forges long gone silent, replaced by the occasional creak of wooden beams and the distant call of some night bird. The inn itself stood quiet, its lamps dimmed, the common room nearly empty save for a snoring figure slumped over a table.

Aaryan climbed the stairs slowly, footsteps muffled by old rugs. Weariness had crept into his bones, but it wasn't the kind that rest could ease.

His door was slightly ajar.

Inside, Vedik perched on the windowsill. Soot slouched in the corner, half-swallowed by shadow.

The moment Vedik saw him, his pupils widened, and in a blur of motion, the dragonling glided across the room. His body cut through the air like a dart of lightning, landing in front of Aaryan with a soft thump. But the joy in his silver eyes darkened when they traced the torn fabric at Aaryan's shoulder and the bloodstained robe.

A low growl rumbled from his throat.

"I said it's nothing," Aaryan muttered, brushing past him. "Just a flesh wound."

Vedik's snout pressed into his arm anyway, and a faint heat shimmered around him—not hostile, but protective. Aaryan looked down, and for a heartbeat, his breath caught.

There was something new in Vedik's aura. Before, he had hovered near the peak of Qi Condensation—maybe brushing against Foundation Establishment. But now… Aaryan could feel it—like touching sun-warmed stone—steady, but pulsing with power. Solid. Unshakable.

"You've grown stronger."

Vedik tilted his head, coiled his tail in a slow, deliberate curl—smug as ever as if to say, 'Of course I have'.

A muffled yawn drifted from the corner. Soot opened one eye, its pupil gleaming in the dim light.

"Huh. Finally came back." He stretched like a cat, joints cracking lazily. "Thought it'd take you another month to succeed. Or die."

Aaryan said nothing. Instead, he reached into his robe and pulled out the dagger. With a fluid motion, he tossed it.

Soot caught it with two fingers, turning it under the lantern light.

"Hmph," he muttered after a moment, tossing it back. "Not bad. Seems like you're not completely hopeless."

Aaryan caught it and placed it aside, then finally sank into the chair near the window. The cool night air whispered through the open shutters.

"Where did you two go?" he asked.

Vedik feigned sleep, curling tighter with one eye open.

Soot stretched again, voice as vague as ever. "Oh, here and there. Watched some idiots get scammed. Got bored. Taught a man a lesson or two."

Aaryan glanced toward him. "A lesson?"

"Just the kind that leaves a limp and a grudge."

Their laughter didn't come. Just silence. The kind shared between companions who no longer needed words. Only the moon bore witness to the quiet fire building in that room.

Soon, the food arrived in neat wooden trays, steam curling in lazy tendrils as the innkeeper's assistant bowed and retreated without a word. The room became quiet—too quiet—save for the clink of chopsticks and the occasional grunt from Vedik.

The dragonling devoured the meal, claws scraping as dumplings and meat rolls vanished into his maw. Even Soot, usually too lazy to sit upright, hovered over his bowl, hair falling in his face as he ate like he'd fought a war in the alleyways.

Aaryan let them eat as he let the wall hold him. The lantern's rhythm danced across his eyes.

When they were finally done—when the last slurp was heard and Vedik licked his claws clean—Aaryan began speaking.

He told them everything.

The ambush. The Megh Estate. The strange deal with Elder Nema. His voice was calm, each word spaced like measured steps through a darkened corridor. Vedik's silver eyes narrowed the moment he heard about the shoulder wound. He growled, low and protective, curling beside Aaryan like a living shield.

Soot didn't even look up.

As if the ambush was just background noise.

"Why d'you have to get involved in this crap anyway?" he muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "If this is just about forging, fine. But you're forgetting something, dimwit. Soul fire's essential, yeah. But that ain't the only damn way to train."

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Aaryan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You can use your essence fire to refine raw ingredients. Temper your senses. Learn how materials behave under heat, how they transform. No one told you because most folks don't bother unless they're serious about it."

Aaryan sat up straighter, something shifting in his gaze. "You mean I can still train even without forging spirit weapons?"

"Course you can," Soot said, waving a hand. "Might even be better, since you won't blow yourself up. Yet."

Aaryan nodded, his voice firmer. "I can't run forever. Aran knows I have the Star-Devouring Ore. Sooner or later, he'll come. Might as well strike first. And I got a million spirit stones for the trouble."

Soot froze mid-stretch. His head tilted.

"…A million?"

A glint sparked in his sleepy eyes.

"Well, well. I do believe it's time to discuss my tuition fee. Feeding me's nice and all, but you know, knowledge ain't free. Especially not mine. Rare-grade forging wisdom from a handsome genius like me—"

Aaryan groaned, hand to his forehead. Vedik snorted.

Soot ignored them both, already calculating something in the air with his fingers. "Let's say… thirty percent. For mentorship. Forty, if you include entertainment value."

Changing the topic, Aaryan sighed. "I can't use the Star-Devouring Ore right now. But… maybe I can use something else? To strengthen Dawnshard?"

Soot finally stopped, tapping the table once. Thoughtful.

"…Yeah. You could. But that sword of yours—it's not normal. The things it needs to grow aren't just rare. They're unique. And dangerous."

His words hung in the air like smoke from a dying flame.

Aaryan exhaled. "Dawnshard… it's not normal, is it?"

Soot, who had returned to nursing a lukewarm cup of wine, cracked one eye open. His voice was lazy, but the edge behind it gleamed like a whetstone. "Don't play dumb just 'cause you are dumb."

Aaryan didn't bite back—just waited.

"You used a beast's soul as an anchor for that little dagger, yeah?" Soot jerked his chin toward the sheathed blade resting by the table.

Aaryan nodded slowly.

"Then what did you use for that ugly sword of yours?" Soot's words floated out, casual, like tossing a stone into still water—but the ripples were deliberate.

Silence stretched. Aaryan's lips parted—then closed again. His hand instinctively went to Dawnshard, resting near his folded cloak. "I… didn't use anything," he admitted finally. "Back then… it responded. Like it heard something I couldn't say."

Soot stared, his wine cup frozen halfway to his lips. Then he snorted. "Didn't use anything? You might as well have birthed it out of stubbornness and spite, kid."

Aaryan blinked. "Is it… really?"

Soot's grin was half amusement, half disbelief. "A spirit born not from materials or cores, but from sheer will? That's rarer than your precious Star-Devouring Ore—maybe rarer than sense in your head."

Aaryan frowned, the weight of the claim sinking in. The firelight danced across his features, catching the slight furrow in his brow.

"If that old bastard in the Megh clan knew," Soot continued, "he'd have tried to skin you alive and peel the sword from your soul."

Aaryan felt a chill crawl up his spine. He'd nearly drawn Dawnshard against Simmi—thankfully, he hadn't. But he'd need full power in the competition. He opened his mouth to ask, but Soot beat him to it.

"Relax," the old man muttered. "I'll mask the sword's presence. Make it seem like any other spirit weapon. Just don't go swinging it around like a drunk with a stick."

Aaryan exhaled, tension unwinding just a little.

"But listen close now," Soot went on, tapping the table for emphasis. "A spirit weapon's path depends on what it's born from. Used a fire beast's core? Feed it fire. Feed it heat. But your sword…" He squinted at Aaryan. "...your sword's like you. No clear affinity. And yet, it's compatible with everything."

Aaryan's breath caught. He'd never told anyone about the Confluence Codex.

"How do you—"

Soot grinned devilishly, raised his cup, and wagged a finger. "Kid, I see the script you're in. Don't look too shocked when the author starts flexing."

Aaryan blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," Soot muttered, swigging his wine. "Scolding the heavens," Soot muttered. "For handing their dullest blade the sharpest edge."

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The room was quiet, save for the slow breathing of Vedik, near the window, tail twitching once in a while like a dog dreaming of fire. Uncle Soot snored with one arm draped over one of the cushions and his beard soaked in wine—or water; hard to tell.

Aaryan sat cross-legged in the centre of the room, bathed in dim silver light. His brow was furrowed in focus, the lines on his face sharpened by the contrast of moonlight and shadow. Dawnshard lay across his knees, silent and still, yet somehow aware.

He inhaled deeply, and his mind, in his mind, the outline of the Soul Anvil flickered into view. The sound of its first strike echoed faintly—not metal on metal, but something deeper, more primal. His hands trembled. His soul form almost collapsing.

The second strike came harder. The world seemed to pull away, replaced by weightless silence. He grit his teeth. His chest tightened.

Then—collapse.

He gasped, leaning forward and clutching the sword like a lifeline. His heartbeat roared in his ears, and his soul trembled—but it held. Slightly better than before. Barely, but still.

A faint snort from Vedik broke the silence, soft and encouraging.

Aaryan allowed himself a thin smile. "I'm not done yet."

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Elsewhere, in the cold stone chambers of the Dravhal Clan, Aran paced like a caged beast. His red robe dragged behind him, the fabric scorched at the edges where his temper had flared earlier.

"Vidyut," he spat, the name burning on his tongue. "That lightning-struck bastard."

He hurled a jade cup against the wall. It shattered, splashing tea across a family portrait. The young servant nearby flinched but said nothing.

Aran's voice dropped to a growl. "I couldn't touch him directly because of that mad dog… so I tried to carve him out quietly. And he lives. Not only lives—he fights. Dares to oppose me openly?"

A pause. A breath.

Then a crooked smile spread across his face. "Good. Let everyone watch. Let them see the moment I rip him from the heavens. Not even Soot will protect him once I break him under the rules of the stage."

His eyes gleamed.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Steel City held its breath.

Merchants whispered behind shuttered stalls. Cultivators polished their weapons in silence. Streets usually echoing with noise now hummed with restrained tension. Banners flapped in the wind, yet none dared to celebrate.

In the manor halls, small clans and sects sat in uncomfortable meetings, weighing loyalties with shaking hands. They had chosen sides. Their survival hinged not on strength—but on who would win.

And above it all, the Copper Circle remained still. Untouched. Impartial. Or so they claimed.

Only one man in white robes sat beneath the ancient Ironwood tree outside their headquarters, his eyes fixed on the rising sun.

"The game's finally begun," he muttered. "Let's see what you've got."

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