The sky had dulled to a flat grey-blue, the last traces of day slipping behind distant hills. A few faint stars blinked through scattered cloud banks, and a chill had begun to settle over the earth. Lanterns flickered to life on wooden poles, dotting the outer wall of the large village that sat on the edge of the Steel City trade routes.

Unlike most backwater settlements, this village was wide and well-trodden, its dirt paths packed firm by hundreds of boots each day. Stone buildings mingled with thatch roofs, and the distant clang of hammers echoed faintly from a forge not far within. Even in the fading light, the steady trickle of travellers hadn't stopped. If anything, more people arrived at dusk—eager to pass through before the gates closed for the night.

A short but sluggish queue stretched near the gate. Two guards handled the line—methodical, unsmiling. Three others watched from the walls, spears slouched like props but eyes tracking everything. A small desk had been set up beneath an oil lamp where a scroll was being quietly updated by a scribe—names, goods, faces. Routine, yet tense.

They weren't just checking for troublemakers. They were looking for someone.

"Azure robes," one guard muttered, tapping the hilt of his weapon. "If you see 'em, stop 'em. No questions."

"No names?" asked another.

"Didn't give one. Just said it's a youth—probably a cultivator, traveling alone. Orders came down from someone rich, not the city."

"Discreetly?" the third smirked.

"Too quiet for the official channels. That means serious."

As if to punctuate that, a pair of ornate carts rolled up. Silken curtains drawn, crests of some local noble house etched in brass on the side. The guards didn't bother to halt them. They moved aside without a word, like dry grass parting before a storm.

But for the rest—merchants, farmers, wandering peddlers—everyone was stopped. Packs were opened, sleeves rolled up, questions asked. Most complied without complaint, though a few shifted uneasily under scrutiny.

At the end of the line stood a solitary figure, a young man clad in plain black robes, a wide bamboo hat casting deep shadows over his face. His posture was relaxed, almost bored. A silver-scaled serpent wound lazily around his right wrist, its tongue flicking once toward the gate.

Aaryan waited patiently.

He didn't draw attention. No odd colours. No dramatic weapons. Just someone forgettable.

"Next," barked the guard.

The queue inched forward. A boy with a chicken. A woman with cloth bundles. Then Aaryan stepped forward.

The guard eyed him.

"State your business," he said.

Aaryan tilted his head just slightly. "Passing through. Heading north."

The guard looked him over once, then nodded toward his wrist. "That thing friendly?"

The snake blinked at him slowly.

"Doesn't bite unless you're stupid," Aaryan said flatly.

That earned a short chuckle. The guard motioned him past without further trouble.

Behind him, the line dragged on. But Aaryan had already slipped inside. He moved through the village's outer lane like a shadow on the wind—unseen, unremarkable, unimportant.

And yet, somewhere, in some high room filled with polished wood and veiled threats, someone was still waiting to hear that a youth in azure robes had been found.

Too bad.

There were many roads to walk.

And they didn't even have a name. Just vague orders and a colour. This was the third checkpoint Aaryan had passed in as many days. Clothes could change. Faces could disappear. He'd made sure of both.

The streets of the village were quieter now. Distant dogs barked occasionally, and the glow of lanterns cast long amber streaks across the stone-paved road. Aaryan moved with calm steps, eyes scanning the row of shops and houses until he spotted a modest two-story inn tucked between a tailor's workshop and a spice vendor's stall. A faded wooden board swung lightly at its entrance, etched with the name: The Amber Hearth.

Aaryan pushed open the door, and a dull bell above the frame gave a lazy chime. Warmth hit him at once—the smell of cooked grain, roasted meat, and a hint of brewed spirit in the air. A few patrons lounged near the hearth, quietly nursing their cups. No one looked up.

The innkeeper, a stout man with a half-tied apron and a thin Mustache, looked over from behind the counter. His eyes flicked to Aaryan's robe, then the snake coiled around his wrist. He straightened immediately.

"Need a room, traveller?"

Aaryan nodded. "One night. Something quiet."

The man handed him a wooden key. "Upstairs. End of the hall. Meals are served till second bell after dusk."

"I'll eat in my room. Bring the food up."

The man nodded again, then paused as Aaryan handed him a list of dishes—enough to feed four grown men. His brows lifted slowly. "Are… are you expecting company?"

Aaryan gave a weary sigh. "Yes. Sort of."

The innkeeper hesitated, still unsure.

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"You could double-check," Aaryan said flatly, "but I'd still need it all."

Once inside the room, Vedik dropped his illusion, the little dragon stretching out in his true form—about the size of a large hound—and immediately perked up, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Plates arrived one after another, carried by two serving boys who kept casting curious glances inside. When the last dish was set down, the door shut, and Aaryan leaned back, rubbing his temples.

Vedik didn't need an invitation. The dragon pounced with glee, tail wagging as it began devouring meat, rice, dumplings, and anything else within reach. Aaryan let him eat freely and only picked at a few bowls himself. Once Vedik was finally done—his belly round and satisfied—the dragon curled near the foot of the bed, chest rising and falling in slow, contented rhythms. One paw twitched mid-dream, claws flexing as he let out a low snort.

Aaryan shook his head, then crossed his legs and settled into a meditative posture on the floor. His breath slowed. His mind cleared.

The Confluence Codex stirred within him.

Qi responded instantly.

It rushed in from all around, drawn to him like iron to a magnet. Mist strands wove through his meridians—smooth, steady. Each breath pulled in more energy, but what struck Aaryan was the ease. The rate had improved drastically since the fusion. He'd never struggled to cultivate before, but now… it was like sharpening a blade. Everything felt cleaner, smoother, more precise.

His body absorbed the Qi with far less resistance. The faint tug between external energy and internal refinement had become a steady current. The techniques hadn't changed—but the results were. Purification that once took effort now flowed swiftly, like sand through silk.

A slow smile formed, but he forced it away, bringing his focus back.

With a final breath, he guided the now-refined Qi along the Codex's path, depositing it deep into his Dantian. It settled there, joining the silvery mist that now danced with more strength than ever before.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

In a secluded wing of a lavish manor, far from the noise and dust of the outer districts, a training chamber glowed with soft amber light. The walls were lined with polished spirit stones, pulsing faintly in rhythm with the cultivator inside. The air held a metallic tang from the refined Qi being cycled again and again.

At the centre of the room, seated on a low stone dais, was a young man draped in luxurious yellow robes embroidered with cloud-patterned thread. His features were sharp and composed, brow furrowed slightly as he sat cross-legged, eyes closed in deep focus. Not a strand of his dark, slicked-back hair moved. His breath was steady—each inhale drawn as if weighing the air itself.

Near the doorway, a guard stood silently. He was tall and rigid, a pale scar cutting diagonally across his cheek like an unspoken memory. The wound had faded but was left untreated—deliberately. He had received it in the presence of this very man. To have it healed would have been seen as denying the moment, erasing a lesson. And this young master? He did not take kindly to lessons being erased.

The room was silent save for the hum of cultivation until, without warning, the young man's eyes snapped open. Calm and cold.

"Any news?" he asked flatly, his voice low and emotionless.

The guard straightened. "None substantial, young master Gyan. The youth we are searching for… no one has seen him enter any of the outer villages under your influence. We suspect he is either hiding or has disguised himself. We cannot detain everyone under suspicion, lest the other clans take notice."

A pause.

The air thickened.

The young man's gaze remained fixed forward, but a flicker of irritation passed through his eyes. For a brief moment, the Qi in the room turned heavier—sharp enough to make the guard's shoulders stiffen. But then, the pressure eased. The young master exhaled, slow and thoughtful.

"No matter," he said softly. "If he has the ore, he'll come to Steel City. Or at least pass through it. That kind of thing… it needs to be tempered by an expert. If he knows what it is, he'll come to use it. If he doesn't…" The corner of his lip lifted slightly. "Then he's just a clueless child carrying a blade meant for someone else."

The guard didn't speak.

"Double the eyes on the gates and main districts. Patrol the forger lanes and trading spots. If anything unusual appears—person or item—I want to know immediately."

The guard bowed and exited without a word, the heavy door closing behind him.

He closed his eyes—not in peace, but in calculation. The Qi didn't hum anymore. It hissed.

He wasn't patient. But he knew how to wait.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

It was already morning by the time Aaryan opened his eyes. A soft breath escaped his lips, and with it, the gentle hum of Qi circulating through his veins slowly faded. The strength he had gained no longer felt new or unfamiliar. Through days of steady effort, he had come to understand it—each motion, each pulse of Qi now responding with practiced ease. The power that once surged like a rising tide now flowed like part of him, honed and steady, fully integrated into every breath and movement.

He stretched his limbs, joints cracking faintly as he stood up. The small inn room was quiet, bathed in the cold light of early morning filtering through the wooden shutters. After freshening up, he ordered food once again—this time not as much as the night before, though still enough to make the innkeeper raise an eyebrow. Aaryan waved it off with a faint smile. No explanations. Just food.

Half an hour later, with Vedik lazily perched atop the wooden beam across the ceiling, their breakfast disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Vedik, naturally, devoured most of it—his appetite no less fierce in his avian form.

Once they finished, Aaryan slung his storage ring back onto his finger and stepped outside, the breeze cool against his skin. The village streets were already buzzing with activity. Stalls were opening, vendors calling out prices, and carts trundled over stone-paved paths.

Aaryan moved swiftly, slipping through the crowds with quiet ease. He didn't linger. With the sun climbing higher, it was time to leave.

Vedik, at Aaryan's request, now took the form of a small bird—silver feathers with faint iridescence glinting in the light. Aaryan had tried to convince him to completely vanish within his illusion, hiding even his presence, but Vedik had refused outright. He had puffed up indignantly, squawked something unintelligible, and hopped in circles until Aaryan relented.

So the bird stayed—visible, though subdued.

"I guess this is the best I'll get," Aaryan muttered under his breath as he passed through the village gates, Vedik chirping smugly from his shoulder.

The trip to Steel City should've taken a week. But Vedik's nose for herbs had dragged it out. Every other day, they'd veer off-track—chasing glowing moss, strange roots, or some snarl-backed beast too stubborn to share.

Just this morning, Vedik had led them off-course again—nose twitching, eyes wide—toward a patch of glowing moss beneath a cliffside.

A minor spirit beast guarded it, snarling and territorial, but Aaryan dispatched it swiftly, the fight over before it truly began.

Now, another herb and beast core sat snugly in his ring, much to Vedik's annoyance. The dragonling pouted for half an hour, flapping around and demanding "his share." Aaryan ignored him at first, then finally flicked a low-tier core his way, which Vedik devoured with theatrical disdain.

Still, the slow pace had been worth it. His stores were full again, and Vedik's instincts had proven valuable.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the broadening forest path, the land ahead began to level out. The narrow trails had given way to wider, well-trodden roads—signs of nearing civilization. In the distance, the faint outline of a city emerged, blurred by dust and distance. Amidst the hazy skyline, one structure stood out with clarity: a lone, towering spire rising high above the rest, cutting into the dusky sky like a silent sentinel.

Steel City.

Aaryan slowed his pace, gaze lingering on the skyline.

They had arrived.

A long breath escaped him, one of quiet relief laced with tension. He didn't expect peace. He wasn't here to offer any either. Binay had suggested this city to get information about the orb—and now it stood just ahead.

Vedik chirped once, quietly. No teasing this time.

Aaryan offered a faint smile. "Let's go," he murmured.

Together, they stepped forward—toward Steel City, and whatever waited within its walls.

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