The lower floor of the restaurant pulsed with noise and clatter.

Breakfast hour had set in with full force. Cultivators packed the common hall—robed wanderers and sweaty artisans, lone merchants with dust on their boots and knives at their belts. Steam curled upward from hot broths, waiters shouted over each other, and someone near the hearth was already halfway into a drinking contest that had clearly started before sunrise.

Spoons clacked against bowls. Laughter rolled over coughs. A pair of rough-looking mercenaries argued over whose beast cart had fewer wheels lost this week. Somewhere in the back, a kitchen worker dropped a tray with a loud clang and earned a roar of complaints.

It was chaos. Familiar, breathing, alive.

In contrast, the private room upstairs might as well have belonged to another world entirely.

Silence blanketed the space like velvet. The table was smooth stone, the plates elegant ceramic with painted rims. The windows opened just enough to let in the sun without letting in noise. Their food had been served without a word. No shouting, no crowd, no distractions. Only calm. Only quiet.

Shravan and Aaryan hadn't spoken for a while.

But it was the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.

Eventually, Aaryan set down his cup and broke it anyway.

"You mentioned four clans," he said lightly, as if making idle conversation. "And that the Vermas are the weakest."

He let the words hang. No request, no obvious prompt. Just a soft ripple on the surface.

Shravan's brows lifted slightly. "Trying to figure out who not to offend?"

Aaryan gave a faint shrug. "I'd just rather know where the storm's coming from before it hits."

That drew a quiet chuckle from Shravan. "Practical. I respect that. Most wouldn't ask until it's already too late."

He placed his cup down and leaned back slightly.

"Steel City was founded decades ago by a grandmaster Spirit Crafter. No one knows his real name now—just that he was the best of his time. It's said he forged a blade that could cut through space itself. That's probably nonsense, but what we do know is that he built the Ember Spire at the city's heart. That tower is the reason this place exists."

Aaryan nodded silently.

"Now," Shravan continued, "there are five major powers in the city. Four clans and one merchant guild. The clans are Verma, Megh, Kaleen, and Dravhal. You've met the Vermas already—Viyom's lot. They're the weakest, though not weak by any normal standard. Dravhal is strongest, but even they don't overstep."

"Balance?"

"Barely. But yes. The clans keep each other in check. If one moves too aggressively, the others pressure it back. Open war would ruin them all. Still, things simmer under the surface."

"And the guild?"

Shravan's smile thinned a bit.

"The Copper Circle," he said. "The branch here is just one of many. Word is, they have thousands across the continent. They deal in resources, weapon orders, auction rights, trade routes. They don't throw weight around often—but when they do, even the clans step back. No one in Steel City dares cross them."

Aaryan raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds like they're the real power."

"They don't act like it," Shravan said. Then after a pause, "But if they ever wanted to, they wouldn't need permission."

Soon, the soft creak of the door opening signalled the return of Shravan's servant. Balanced on a lacquered tray was a plain, unmarked silver ring and a small dirty rag. The servant stepped forward, bowed faintly, and presented the ring to Shravan.

Shravan gave a slight nod, and the servant turned, offering it to Aaryan with both hands. "All items accounted for, honoured guest."

Aaryan took the ring and sent a thread of his soul sense into it. His brow lifted slightly.

Everything was there.

Coldiron shards, Cloud Tin, Molten Sand, the bark—even the Soulfire Crucible and Essence Bed—all neatly stacked. He'd spent the morning roaming half the city. Shravan sat, sipped tea, and it all arrived on a tray.

He sighed.

"…Next life, I'm getting born into a clan," he muttered under his breath.

Vedik snorted quietly from the corner, his beady silver eyes half-lidded in amusement.

Aaryan transferred the materials into his own spatial ring, double-checked that nothing was missed, and placed the now-empty silver ring back on the tray with care.

Then he looked up. "What's the cost?"

Shravan raised a brow. "There's no need. Consider it a small gesture."

Aaryan's tone sharpened slightly. "I don't like owing favours I didn't ask for."

The brief flicker of firmness made Shravan smile again, this time with a touch more admiration than amusement. He sipped his tea slowly, then said, "Alright. If you insist—fifteen thousand spirit stones. Market price, no overcharge."

Even saying it aloud made his chest ache a little. Fifteen thousand. A painful number, even for someone like him.

But something about this boy—barely thirteen by the looks of him—felt different. Shravan had taken risks before—but never on people. But his gut told him this wasn't a gamble. It was an investment. And one worth making.

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Aaryan, meanwhile, had gone completely still.

"…Fifteen thousand?"

He blinked. Five thousand stones, counted last night, had seemed like a fortune. Now? Barely a down payment.

No wonder most crafters ended up broke… or sold off their pride for backing.

So much for thinking I was rich, he muttered inwardly.

Shravan noticed the pause and the subtle shift in his expression. He raised a hand. "It's fine. Really. I wouldn't have bothered helping if I expected you to pay back every stone."

But Aaryan didn't reply right away. Instead, he reached into his robe and pulled out a long, slender weapon—a spear, unwrapped and polished, its presence subtle but unmistakable.

The shaft was a deep midnight-blue, sleek and finely balanced, with faint silver lines running along its length like veins of starlight. The blade itself gleamed coldly, its edge curved just enough to whisper of danger. Near the base, etched discreetly into the metal, was a familiar symbol—a stylized crest belonging to the Verma clan.

Shravan's eyes narrowed with recognition.

"That mark… Verma forging style. No doubt about it."

He leaned in slightly, then chuckled. "So brother Vidyut really did rob Viyom blind."

Aaryan gave a shrug. "He wanted my bird and I had him put his things as stake. I won. Just took what was mine."

Shravan grinned. "Ah, even better. Legal robbery."

"Then consider this my payment," Aaryan said coolly. "It should cover the rest. If not, I have more."

Shravan studied him, then the spear. He reached out and ran a finger just above the blade—not touching it, just letting his soul sense brush against the insignia.

"This is no ordinary weapon. Second-grade, easily. And customized—probably Viyom's personal Spirit Weapon before he moved to a higher one."

He sat back, thoughtful. "Frankly, it's worth more than the entire material list. But reselling it would be… delicate. Anyone else tries to move it, and the Vermas might come sniffing."

He paused.

"Unless," he added, "you sell it to the Copper Circle. They're neutral. Even the Vermas wouldn't dare accuse them of theft."

Aaryan tilted his head slightly.

"They'll buy from me?"

"They'll buy anything—so long as it's valuable. And they don't ask where it came from." Shravan leaned forward, voice low. "You've got a whole ring full of things you can't sell openly, don't you?"

Aaryan nodded.

"Then trade it all at once," Shravan said. "The Circle deals in clean transfers, no questions. Turn that ring into something useful before someone tries to track it back to you."

Aaryan mulled over it. It made sense. The Vermas might not openly challenge the Copper Circle, but if he sold the items elsewhere, he'd be painting a target on his back.

After a moment, he gave a single nod.

"Alright," he said. "Copper Circle it is."

Shravan smiled and lifted his cup once more. "Good. I'll have someone send directions."

Aaryan's lips quirked. "As long as they don't charge me for the map."

That earned a real laugh from Shravan. He set his cup down, eyes still bright with amusement. "Then how about I save you the trouble and come along myself?"

Aaryan glanced at him. "You don't seem like someone with free time."

Shravan stood, adjusting the folds of his robe. "Let's just say I'm suddenly curious. Besides, it's been a while since I visited the Copper Circle without needing to haggle like a beggar."

Aaryan rose as well, his expression unreadable. "…Fine. As long as you're not planning to charge for directions."

Shravan chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

And with that, the two stepped out together, leaving behind the quiet luxury of the upper floor for the waiting noise of Steel City.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The Copper Circle was only a short walk from the restaurant, nestled just off the Ember Spire's inner ring, but the difference in atmosphere was immediate. People noticed. Heads turned—not openly, but subtly, with curious glances and whispered guesses. Shravan Megh was not an unknown name in Steel City. One of the few young clan heirs considered both capable and… tolerable. Yet it wasn't just Shravan they were watching. It was the boy beside him. A stranger. Young. Calm-eyed and unreadable. That made people curious. Curious made people talk.

The Copper Circle's outer entrance looked like most official buildings in the city—tall and blackstone-built, its facade polished to a mirror sheen. But inside, it was nothing like the other shops. The air shifted as they passed through the wide archway—cool, fragrant, laced with faint traces of incense and spirit wood. Instead of loud voices and clattering boots, there was soft conversation, distant footsteps, and the gentle rustle of paper. The floors were tiled in gleaming white stone, and decorative banners lined the walls—each bearing an emblem or trade seal from faraway cities. This was a place of deals and power, not posturing.

Two guards at the inner checkpoint straightened the moment they saw Shravan. One gave a slight bow; the other stepped aside with a respectful "Young Master Megh." Their eyes flicked to Aaryan but neither spoke. Shravan gave a nod of acknowledgement and walked on as if he owned the marble beneath his boots.

Almost immediately, a well-dressed young woman appeared—a receptionist in flowing pale robes, hair pinned up with delicate jade clips. "Young Master Megh," she greeted with a polished smile. "This way, please." She didn't ask for his purpose. Just turned, graceful and efficient, and led them deeper into the hall.

The private room they were shown into was small but tasteful. Glossed wooden furniture, a circular window with a view of a wisteria-lined courtyard, and a table already set with tea. The woman poured for both of them before leaving, not a word wasted.

A few moments passed before the door opened again.

An old man stepped inside, his white robe crisp, beard trimmed close to his jaw, and thin spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His steps were slow but firm. The kind of pace worn by long years of quiet control.

Shravan stood. "Elder Nema."

The man gave a mild nod. "Young Master Megh." His gaze moved to Aaryan. "And guest."

Aaryan stood as well and inclined his head. "Vidyut."

"Vidyut," the elder echoed, then gave a small smile—neither too warm nor overly formal. "A strong name."

Once they had all seated, Aaryan didn't waste time. He reached into his robe and, one by one, placed several items onto the table. First came the spear—Verma-forged, unmistakably high quality. Then came three swords, a pair of sabres, and a single heavy cleaver. Each radiated a faint sense of presence. Finally, he laid out six jade slips—delicate and glowing faintly with spiritual script.

Nema adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward, fingers brushing lightly above the items without touching them. His brows lifted ever so slightly. "Hmm," he said. "All in good condition. This one—" he pointed at the spear "—clearly personalized. Verma clan craftsmanship."

Then his eyes flicked to Aaryan. "These are all from the Vermas?"

Before Aaryan could answer, the elder's eyes sharpened with recognition. "Wait… you're the one who crossed blades with Young Master Viyom, aren't you? The duel at the Ember Spire? Hm. I'd heard you were a child. Didn't expect to see you walking freely through the city."

Shravan tensed slightly beside him, but Aaryan simply met the elder's gaze.

"Didn't take much courage," he said. "They're not as big as they think."

That drew a long pause.

Shravan blinked, lips parting in half a breath. He studied the boy again, wondering—not for the first time—just what kind of storm he'd decided to walk beside.

Even the elder leaned back with visible surprise. But then—after a heartbeat—he let out a genuine, deep-bellied laugh. Not mocking. Not forced. Just… real.

"Well," he said, wiping the corner of his eye. "Haven't heard someone say that out loud in quite a while."

He composed himself, straightened his sleeves, and gestured toward the items again. "Altogether, this is good stock. The spear alone would fetch quite a bit. And the jade slips, well… no ordinary peddler would dare handle those, but the Circle can."

He considered, then nodded. "Forty thousand spirit stones. Final offer. Clean trade. We keep no record of sellers."

Shravan glanced at Aaryan, mildly impressed.

Aaryan looked down at the items he'd barely glanced at since retrieving them. Junk to him. Trouble, mostly.

But forty thousand?

He tapped the table once, then nodded.

"Deal."

Elder Nema smiled again and clapped his hands once. A quiet transaction began—efficient and silent, like everything else in the Copper Circle.

And in that moment, something shifted.

A line had been crossed, quiet but real. Aaryan had just turned someone else's legacy into his own leverage.

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