A silence hung in the main hall—heavy, stretched taut like a drawn bowstring.

All eyes slowly turned toward the Green Fairy.

She hadn't spoken yet. Hadn't moved.

But her presence rippled through the air like a breeze through still water. Even seated, her posture was impeccable—back straight, hands folded gently in her lap. Her flowing green robes shimmered with a faint lustre beneath the filtered green light, and the veil across her face gave her an ethereal, unreadable elegance.

She was no longer just a clan matron. She was a symbol—steel wrapped in silk, the undisputed genius of her generation. A cultivator whispered about even outside Steel City.

The elders from all sides glanced subtly toward her, some with veiled caution, others with quiet anticipation. Even the seasoned Dravhal elders shifted slightly, as if to prepare for something.

The Green Fairy exhaled once—soft, measured.

Varesh's fingers tightened on his cup, the only sign that the silence had reached even him. Then, as if remembering his role, he gave a faint smile and said, "Surely the Green Fairy does not mean to suggest that the Megh Clan alone intends to oppose us?"

His voice was smooth, diplomatic, but behind the calm tone was a challenge. A provocation wrapped in civility.

Jitesh blinked once, then turned his head ever so slightly toward Varesh—his expression strained. The subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed something deeper. Dravhal Varesh was no longer treating him as an ally—but as a vassal. And he'd done it openly.

The Green Fairy raised her chin just a little.

"Alone?" she said, her voice gentle, almost amused. "Perhaps not."

She turned her gaze—slow, deliberate—toward the Kaleen side of the hall. Her words were measured, yet every syllable landed with purpose.

"But tell me, Clan Leader Varesh, what makes you think the Kaleens will remain seated… while you tip the balance of the city's foundation?"

The words echoed.

Not loud. Not forceful.

But weighted.

The way she said "foundation" left little room for misinterpretation.

Varesh's smile remained, but the air around him thinned. His fingers tapped once on the armrest before going still again.

Fairy Shuvi didn't speak. She didn't need to. The veil fluttered faintly with her breath, and behind it, the gleam in her eyes had sharpened. Not warmth, not agreement—but awareness. Her fingers idly traced the edge of her teacup, but her posture had shifted—just enough to suggest she was listening now. Closely.

No one dared to speak immediately.

Even the elders, ancient as they were, remained silent—eyes darting between the factions, waiting to see who would blink first.

The Green Fairy's voice, when it came again, was like leaves brushing stone.

"If you seek strength," she said, "then build it. Don't steal it."

A flicker of something unreadable passed across Varesh's face.

From the far corner, a young disciple swallowed, too softly for anyone to notice—except the Green Fairy, who always noticed.

And then once more, the hall fell quiet—stiff with unspoken threat, veiled alliances, and a war that had not yet begun… but no longer lived in the shadows.

For a heartbeat, the bowstring didn't snap. It only pulled tighter.

Varesh had expected resistance. But not like this.

The Green Fairy's words coiled around the room like creeping vines—soft to the ear, but barbed where they landed. They carried no overt hostility, but their weight was undeniable.

Varesh's lips parted, then pressed together as he recalibrated. His fingers drummed once on the polished armrest before his posture straightened, calm returning to his eyes.

He exhaled slowly, his voice smoother now. "True. If the Kaleens truly give their all—if they bleed beside you, stand against us in full—then perhaps… yes, we may not win."

The way he spoke—without raising his voice, without threat—drew attention, especially because of what he said next.

"But will they?" Varesh's gaze turned, deliberate, to Shuvi. "Will they risk everything to stand beside you? And if they do…" he let the sentence trail before continuing, "what happens after?"

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The air shifted again.

The warmth of the tea steam had long vanished. The wooden beams of the ceiling, usually humming with faint qi resonance, now felt heavy. Still.

And every eye turned—slowly, one by one—toward the veiled figure in white seated opposite the Green Fairy.

Fairy Shuvi.

Her face was obscured. Only the lower half of her expression showed, lips poised in thoughtful calm. But her eyes... they did not move toward Varesh, nor toward anyone. They stared at the untouched tea cup before her.

Yet beneath that stillness, her heart wasn't still.

Varesh's words echoed too closely to her clan's own fears. He wasn't just sowing discord—he was pulling at something real. Something whispered in closed-door meetings.

Shuvi's throat felt dry. 'After all, what if the Megh Clan, once victorious, did not share the throne of Steel City—but claimed it alone?'

Fairy Shuvi remained unreadable.

But that pause… it lasted a second too long.

And it was all Varesh needed.

He leaned back with a faint smile. "All I ask is for clarity. If one plans to gamble their clan's future, they should at least know all the stakes."

He didn't look at Shuvi again. He didn't have to.

But the Green Fairy didn't so much as blink.

She placed her cup down with the faintest clink, a sound like distant wind chimes brushing together.

"That is the Kaleen Clan's decision to make," she said, voice light. "To risk their future, or to wait and become its victim. But..." her eyes flicked toward Shuvi with a curious softness, "I do hope you are not underestimating their wisdom."

Then she turned back to Varesh with the gentlest smile. "And as for what happens after... perhaps we won't even need to reach that point."

Varesh's brow twitched. "Oh?"

The Green Fairy's voice, though calm, cut cleaner than any blade. "Who's to say the Vermas won't join us instead—to help cleanse Steel City of the one clan too blinded by ambition to see its own disgrace?"

Every gaze now snapped to Jitesh.

Even the air seemed to freeze.

Jitesh, tall and broad-shouldered in his pristine yellow robes, looked as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him. His lips moved, but no words came out.

His back remained straight. His chin, held high. But the flicker in his eyes—shame, fury, and something else—betrayed him.

Open mockery.

Not just from the Green Fairy. But tolerated by the hall itself.

He was being treated as the lesser. As a puppet. And he could not deny it—because it was true.

Yet he said nothing. Because anything he said would either betray Varesh's alliance or confirm it. And both paths led to humiliation.

So he drank.

Silently.

Swallowing more than just tea.

The Green Fairy returned her gaze to Varesh, her voice now silk over steel. "It's not about who wins, clan leader Varesh. It's about what kind of city survives this. And from what I see..." she leaned ever so slightly forward, "you don't want to lead Steel City—you want to own it."

The quiet that followed was the kind that precedes earthquakes.

And Varesh smiled—but the stillness of it said less about victory, and more about calculation. A man already weighing his next pressure point.

The words had been spoken.

Shuvi still hadn't moved. But one of her elders leaned in close, whispering something only she could hear. Her fingers twitched near her sleeve.

She didn't respond, but her fingers paused—just briefly—above the porcelain lip of her cup.

Pramod's eyes, still fixed on Varesh, seemed to deepen further—like a quiet lake suddenly gone still, its surface glassy, its depths unreadable. "I suggest you choose your next words carefully, Clan Leader Varesh," he said, each syllable laced with calm authority. "There are traditions older than any of us here."

Varesh didn't flinch. His expression was as composed as ever—chin level, eyes sharp—but the faintest flicker passed through his features, a twitch near his brow. Then he replied, voice low and smooth:

"And perhaps it's time some of them are buried."

A faint collective murmur stirred from the seated elders of the Megh clan, barely more than a shift in the air, but unmistakable in its disapproval. One of them inhaled sharply, another narrowed their gaze.

Green Fairy didn't move, but her gaze turned sidelong toward Varesh, unreadable behind the veil, save for the slight tilt of her head—like a sword returning to its scabbard... for now.

Fairy Shuvi half-rose from her seat, robes whispering against polished stone, a sudden ripple in the still room. Her fingers curled faintly at her sides, but she caught herself and sank back into her seat—slower this time, like a ripple settling back into still water. The movement was small, but the tremor it caused was felt by all.

Jitesh looked away.

Not at Shuvi. Not at Pramod. Not even at Varesh.

He stared down into his tea, as though he might find dignity somewhere in its steam.

Pramod finally stood.

He did not raise his voice. He didn't need to.

And yet, the very air in the hall seemed to contract around him.

"We've hosted you in goodwill," he said. "Steel City is still one city. Let this meeting not be the stone that shatters what still holds it together."

His words, soft as falling ash, landed heavier than any shout.

Varesh's lips curved faintly, the corners of his mouth flattening into something closer to a smirk than a smile. "Then I suggest the other clans decide soon," he said. "The Spire will operate under new rules—whether you accept them or not."

He straightened, robes rustling with controlled force as he stood. From the corner of his eye, he gave a near-imperceptible signal.

Jitesh, slow and tight-lipped, rose beside him with the look of a man lifting a boulder onto his shoulders.

"There's no need for us to drop all pretences just yet," he said, straightening his robes with a calm, measured movement. "We are, after all, the four great clans of Steel City. The people look to us—for protection, for order, for prosperity. If we start tearing each other apart, the city will crumble under our pride."

His words echoed gently through the high-ceilinged hall, softened by the faint rustle of silken sleeves and the creak of a chair shifting slightly.

Across the polished floor, Fairy Shuvi turned her gaze toward him. Her eyes, veiled yet piercing, settled on Jitesh with a quiet weight. "What you say is true, Clan Leader Jitesh," she said slowly, her voice like cool water over stone. "But if we let this claim go unanswered, what message does that send to the rest of the city? What solution would you propose?"

She didn't raise her tone. But the edge was there—buried in the pause before her last word. It was not just a question. It was a warning.

Jitesh remained still for a moment, letting the silence settle once again. His gaze drifted over the gathered elders, over Pramod, over the Green Fairy. Then he spoke, evenly.

"A competition," he said.

Another hush fell—different this time. Not a silence of tension, but of calculation.

Even the faint breeze through the high windows seemed to pause.

Pramod's brows furrowed slightly, a shadow crossing his expression as he leaned back into his chair. The Green Fairy didn't speak, but her fingers tapped once against her teacup—slow, thoughtful.

And Varesh…

He didn't so much as blink, but the corner of his mouth curled—just a little. Barely visible, except to those who were looking.

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