Steel City's heart was heavy.

As Aaryan neared the centre, the strange tension that had prickled at the edges of his senses began to thicken. It was in the air—coiled, watchful, like the city was holding its breath. Stalls stood shuttered. The usual din of bartering and hawking had vanished. The clang of metal from forges had dulled. Even the various clan's storefronts, which usually bustled with clients and attendants, had fewer visitors loitering about.

Aaryan's eyes swept across the Ember Spire as it came into view—still towering and proud, its dark stone surface glinting faintly in the morning light. But the square at its base, often filled with traders, clients, and the occasional brawl, now looked subdued. People moved quickly, conversations whispered. Something had happened—or was still unfolding.

He frowned slightly but kept walking. Then a familiar voice rang out across the square.

"Brother Vidyut!"

Aaryan turned and found Shravan waving to him from across the square. The young heir was dressed in elegant green robes today, his clan crest stitched in gold thread near the collar. Around him stood a dozen or so cultivators—likely fellow clan members. They looked well-groomed, confident, and most notably… alert.

Aaryan changed direction and walked toward them. Shravan stepped forward, smiling easily to greet him.

"I thought you'd already left the city," Shravan said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "I even felt disappointed."

"I've been training," Aaryan replied calmly, voice even as ever. "Didn't step out much."

Before Shravan could respond, a voice to his right cut in.

"Training or hiding? Maybe hoping that the Vermas forget about you."

It was a girl—close to Aaryan's age, if not younger—her tone sharp and her expression unimpressed. She wore robes of the same green as Shravan's, though hers bore more intricate patterns—embroidered flourishes that suggested either rank, vanity, or both. A pair of silver earrings swung from her ears as she snorted and looked away.

Shravan shot her a glare. "Pardon her, Brother Vidyut. That's my younger sister, Babita. She tends to talk nonsense."

Aaryan glanced at her once and then looked back at Shravan with the faintest of smiles. "It's no big deal."

Babita scowled harder at that, as if his indifference somehow annoyed her more than anger would have.

Shravan laughed and waved his hand. "Ignore her. Come, walk with us. Things are changing fast, and the city's not quite the same as it was last week."

Aaryan gave a slight nod. Whatever this tension was… it looked like he was about to learn more.

The group moved through the quiet plaza, feet tapping softly against smooth blackstone as they approached the base of the Ember Spire. Its towering form loomed overhead, stark against the pale morning sky. The tension that hung in the air earlier now pressed heavier, as if the very ground was waiting for something to break.

Aaryan walked beside Shravan, his hands folded behind his back. After a moment, he asked quietly, "What's happening in the city?"

Shravan's smile faded. He exhaled through his nose, voice low but serious. "As you know, Brother Vidyut, all four clans in Steel City normally keep each other in check. That balance… it's what allows things to function. No single power dares move too far without being pushed back by the others."

He paused, then continued, "But lately… the Dravhals have been getting bold. Picking fights, throwing their weight around. It started small. Disputes over trade routes. A few accidents in the forge district. But then, before anyone could fully grasp what was happening—word spread. The Vermas submitted."

Aaryan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Submitted?"

Shravan nodded grimly. "Joined them. Or were forced to. Either way, they've become Dravhal's dogs. I imagine they were targeted first because they were the weakest of the four."

That made sense. Aaryan nodded slowly. 'So that's why no one from the Verma clan came looking for me…'

Shravan went on, voice hushed now as they closed towards a pair of guards near the spire's entrance. "Three days ago, the Dravhals declared the Ember Spire theirs. Said it now belonged solely to their clan. Just like that."

Aaryan blinked, his brows drawing together. "What?"

Shravan smiled tightly, though there was no amusement in it. "Exactly. The Megh and Kaleen clans opposed the move, of course. We all did. But…" He hesitated.

"But?"

Shravan's tone dropped further. "Firstly, the Megh and Kaleen clans… well, we've never exactly been allies. We're not enemies, but cooperation isn't easy. And now that the Dravhals have both their own strength and the Vermas behind them, any move against them has to be measured."

He glanced at Aaryan and added with meaning, "And then there's the matter of Rivan. Dravhal's elder son. He's been training with the Crimson Hell Sect for the past two years."

Aaryan frowned at the unfamiliar name. "…Crimson Hell Sect?"

Before Shravan could respond, Babita—who had been walking slightly ahead—spun on her heel, an eyebrow arched in mock surprise. "Don't tell me you've never heard of them?" she said with a smirk. "It's only the strongest sect in the entire region."

Aaryan didn't bother responding. He simply looked away, thoughtful. Entire region… does she mean the whole of Panchvati? Or just the land around Steel City?

The grand blackstone entrance of the Ember Spire loomed ahead, its massive arch inscribed with faintly glowing runes. Two armoured guards stood at either side, halberds in hand and gazes sharp.

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Shravan and his group approached smoothly, the clan's insignia gleaming on their robes. One by one, they stepped forward, handed over a few spirit stones as entrance fee, and passed through without trouble.

Aaryan followed at the end of the group, reaching into his robe for his pouch.

But before he could even raise it, one of the guards shifted, stepping directly into his path.

"Hold it," the man said, voice clipped.

Aaryan stopped mid-step, a sigh slipping from his lips the moment he saw the man's face.

Of course. It was the same guard from his first visit—the one who had barred his entry back then too.

In the brief walk with Shravan's group, Aaryan had nearly forgotten that gaining entry to the spire wouldn't be so simple for someone like him. No clan badge. No official backing.

The guard's eyes flicked to the pouch Aaryan held. "Only those affiliated with a clan or bearing an endorsement from the Forging Council may enter. No exceptions."

Before Aaryan could speak, Shravan turned around, having noticed the delay. His brows drew together as he saw Aaryan still outside the gate.

"He's with us," Shravan said, stepping to Aaryan's side. "The Megh clan vouches for him."

From past the threshold, Babita smirked. "Should've known."

The guard hesitated slightly, glancing between Shravan and Aaryan. "I understand, Young Master Shravan. But rules are rules. Clan backing must be verified through documents or formal markings. Without that, I can't let him pass."

Shravan's lips pressed into a thin line. "I can send a servant to bring our clan's endorsement letter right now. You know who I am. You know this shouldn't be a problem."

But the guard didn't move. His expression stayed neutral, but something about his posture suggested that this wasn't about rules—it was personal.

Shravan realized it then. This guard wore the yellow-threaded sash of the Dravhal faction. The same clan currently trying to seize full control of the Spire.

They're flexing. Even over things like this.

He glanced apologetically at Aaryan, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior.

Before Aaryan could wave it off or speak, a sudden sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?"

All heads turned.

Babita stood just inside the entrance, hands clenched at her side, eyes blazing. "My brother vouches for someone, and a dog like you dares to question it?"

She took a step forward, Qi crackling faintly around her.

The guard flinched.

But before she could fully raise her hand, a calm and chilling voice rang out from the side of the gate.

"So this is the famed etiquette of the Megh Clan. The young mistress bullies a gatekeeper for doing his duty?"

The words were soft—but carried weight. Heavy, deliberate, cold.

Aaryan turned toward the voice, and the tension in the air shifted again.

Everyone turned as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed against the stone. A group of ten or so cultivators walked in a loose but unmistakably confident formation. Their robes bore the marks of two different factions—some embroidered in red, others in deep yellow. At a glance, it was clear who was who.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed slightly. Among them was a familiar face: Viyom, grinning in a way that didn't reach his eyes. But it wasn't Viyom who had spoken a moment ago. That calm, clipped voice had come from someone else.

The figure at the front was a tall youth, maybe a few years older than Shravan. His movements were smooth, controlled. He didn't radiate arrogance—not like Viyom or Babita—but a quiet confidence that drew every gaze to him naturally. His eyes were cool, and his expression unreadable as he came to a stop a few paces from Shravan's group.

"Aran," Shravan said, his calm veneer flickering for the first time. "What are you doing here?"

The tall youth—Aran—tilted his head slightly. "Doing here?" he echoed, voice smooth. "Brother Shravan, have you already forgotten? The Ember Spire belongs to us now. It should be me asking you—what are you doing here? Or perhaps I should simply revoke your entry."

Laughter broke out from those in yellow behind him—Dravhal clan members, clearly enjoying the moment. Those in red, presumably Verma, exchanged glances but didn't speak. Their expressions were amused, but wary.

Babita stepped forward, her pressure rising. "In your dreams," she snapped, fists clenching, ready to strike.

Shravan extended an arm, blocking her path gently. "Not now," he said under his breath.

Then, straightening, he met Aran's gaze. "It still hasn't been decided who controls the Spire. You're moving ahead of yourselves."

Aran's smile didn't falter. "Formality," he said. "A few signatures. A few threats. Nothing more."

Meanwhile, Viyom had been silent, his gaze locked onto Aaryan like a wolf spotting a lone cub. The smirk he wore was brittle, stretched too tight over humiliation he hadn't forgotten.

He stepped forward, eyes flashing. "Throw this dog out," he snapped, voice sharp with spite. "He has no clan, no right to step here. He belongs in the dirt."

Aaryan tilted his head lazily, a faint smile touching his lips. "If you're referring to yourself as a dog," he said dryly, "that's quite the enlightenment. You've come to know yourself deeply in just a few days. I'm impressed."

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Even Babita stared, momentarily speechless.

One of the Dravhal youths stifled a laugh and failed.

Shravan looked at Aaryan with admiration and worry.

Even Aran blinked, surprise flickering across his calm expression. He glanced sideways at Viyom, who looked ready to combust.

Then he laughed—a rich, unexpected sound. "Interesting," he murmured, eyes now fixed on Aaryan with far more interest than before. "Very interesting."

Aaryan just smiled, calm as a quiet flame, as the storm continued to gather around him.

Aran took a step closer, hands clasped behind his back as he studied Aaryan like a curious specimen. "So you're the one who turned the star of the Verma clan into a laughing stock."

That statement struck like a gong in the tense morning air.

Laughter erupted from the Dravhal entourage, sharp and mocking. Several of them glanced at Viyom, whose face had darkened into a violent shade of red. The Verma clan members with him looked away, shame and wounded pride twisting in their eyes. Their glares toward Aaryan weren't about justice—they were about revenge.

Aran continued, his voice calm but laced with thorns. "I've heard a lot about you in the past few days, you know. Word travels fast when someone dares to humiliate a noble clan in public."

Aaryan's lips curled into a faint smirk. "I wish I could say the same about you."

That earned a few sharp inhales from onlookers. Even Shravan glanced sideways at Aaryan, brows pinching slightly.

The smile on Aran's face didn't vanish, but something in his eyes shifted—a glint of steel beneath the silk. "You must be quite brave, saying things that most wouldn't dare to think in the privacy of their own hearts."

Aaryan tilted his head slightly, tone light. "Or maybe people are just too easily impressed by loud names and empty robes."

A low growl rose from the guards stationed nearby. One stepped forward and roared, "How dare you speak like this to our young master?!"

Aaryan glanced at him with all the concern of a man inspecting a noisy insect. "Oh? Now even the dogs dare to bark. Seems a tail grows longer when the master is near."

That broke the final thread of restraint. Several Dravhal followers surged forward, fists clenched and spiritual energy flaring—until Aran raised a single hand, palm outward.

"Enough," he said, not loudly, but with enough force to halt the wave. "Let's not embarrass ourselves further."

The would-be attackers froze in place. Grudgingly, they stepped back, eyes still burning holes into Aaryan's calm expression.

Aran gave a slow nod. "You are... truly courageous. Or perhaps reckless. I wonder—where exactly has this brother come from?"

Aaryan folded his arms, voice relaxed. "Nowhere of note. Just travelling."

"Travelling," Aran echoed thoughtfully. "Interesting. Because I recently heard about something peculiar—a village called Brackenhill. Small place, but something odd happened there. A bandit raid... failed raid, in fact. Some strange youth interfered."

His voice was casual, but his gaze was sharp.

"You," he continued, "wouldn't happen to be related to that incident in any way… right?"

Aaryan met his eyes, face unreadable. His body didn't move—but inside, something jolted. He had nearly forgotten about that person from Steel city who had sent the bandits amidst all the chaos, the forging, the flame.

His silence lasted just a moment too long.

And Aran saw it.

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