As the last of the crimson and ivory robes vanished beyond the threshold, the hall loosened its grip—briefly. The silence left behind by the three great clans was not peace, but a pause. A breath held between storms.

The great hall, with its arched wooden beams and sunlight filtering softly through green-tinted lattice windows, still carried the echo of harsh words and veiled threats. What remained was a bitter truth: they had chosen the less dangerous path, not the safe one.

Megh Pramod remained seated, his gaze distant, knuckles resting lightly on the carved arms of his seat. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Not defeat—but calculation. Some distance from him, the three elders shifted in their chairs, exchanging quiet glances that spoke more than words ever could.

Then came the soft rhythm of light footsteps.

The twin doors opened with a creak and in stepped Shravan and Babita, the warm hues of their forest-toned robes catching the filtered light. Their presence brought something vital back into the space. Movement. Youth. Possibility.

They bowed first to their father, then to the elders with practiced ease. Their mother—just moments ago, a poised weapon of rhetoric—was already on her feet.

The Green Fairy's expression softened instantly, as if all the steel had melted away. She walked over with a small smile and cupped Babita's cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair before guiding her gently to sit beside her. Her fingers lingered, resting lightly on Babita's shoulder. Shravan gave a small nod to Pramod and took his place near the rear, standing tall but silent.

The tension truly seemed to break—until the Third Elder leaned forward.

He was a short, broad-shouldered man, his robes a vivid green so bright it made the others look pale. His voice, when it came, was cautious yet firm.

"Forgive me," he said, bowing his head slightly, "but… why allow outsiders to meddle in this matter of ours? Steel City's future should be decided by its own blood, should it not?"

A heavy pause followed. All eyes turned toward the Green Fairy.

She didn't respond.

Instead, she turned slightly, speaking softly to Babita about the colour of her robes, her tone sweet and utterly detached from the conversation. A slight laugh escaped her lips. The kind that made it impossible to tell if she hadn't heard—or simply didn't care to answer.

The elder named Kel blinked, clearly unsettled.

Megh Pramod exhaled through his nose, offering the elder a glance. "Let it be," he said, not unkindly. "We have more to gain by playing this game than by refusing to sit at the table."

Megh Pramod steepled his fingers before his lips. His voice was low, weighty, measured.

"I'm almost certain this was their aim from the start," he said, his gaze distant. "Backed us into a corner, then offered a way out. One they had already prepared for. But a full war would have torn Steel City apart. This gives us a thread—thin as it is—to weave something better."

He glanced at the closed doors, as if Varesh's shadow still lingered there.

"The Dravhals have staked too much. Their thirst is showing in every move. If they lose this contest… I don't think they'll be able to stand again." His voice dipped, heavy with implication. "Which means they'll try everything to ensure they don't."

Shravan listened silently from where he stood near his father. He had heard every word of the confrontation. Not just the arguments—but the air shifted. His brows were furrowed, arms crossed behind his back, though not in defiance. In contemplation.

The Second Elder shifted forward, his long, wiry frame draped in a dull green robe too large for his gaunt shoulders. Mithun's white eyebrows twitched slightly as he spoke.

"The matter of the five chosen fighters… it's everything now. Especially the outsider. Varesh and Jitesh pushed that point because they already have someone in mind. Likely someone dangerous. We must assume that."

He looked toward Shravan briefly, nodding with a faint smile of confidence. "Besides young Shravan, who else do we place our hopes on?"

A silence followed—broken only by the soft rustle of silk as Babita adjusted in her seat beside her mother.

The Green Fairy's voice answered, calm and light, as if she were discussing flowers instead of war. "Three of the remaining four will be chosen after consultation with Fairy Shuvi."

She didn't turn as she spoke. Her hand rested on Babita's shoulder, idly smoothing the braid she'd just finished.

"And the fifth?" asked Pramod, his tone cautiously curious.

The Fairy's hand paused for the briefest moment, then continued.

"For the helper," she said, "I will invite my niece, Simmi."

The statement dropped like a stone into still water.

Even Pramod blinked, caught off guard. Across the room, the three elders turned to look at her, their expressions torn between surprise and disbelief.

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"Your… family?" Pramod asked slowly, eyes narrowing with something that wasn't quite disapproval—but not acceptance either.

The Green Fairy finally turned, her serene expression untouched.

"Why not?" she said. "They insisted on the clause. And this matter concerns not just the clan. It concerns me. My children. My blood. Why shouldn't I ask my blood to stand beside them?"

The answer had shocked everyone present.

Shravan exhaled slowly.

The weight of the hall, the hush in the air, the lingering scent of tea gone cold—all of it pressed in around him like mist. A single face flickered across his mind, brief but vivid. The thought sat on his tongue, half-formed.

And In that pause, brief but telling, his mother's eyes—bright as morning dew over a blade of grass—were already on him.

Her voice flowed into the quiet like a clear stream running through leaves. "Shravan," she said gently, "do you have something to say?"

He blinked, caught mid-thought.

"Don't hesitate," she continued, her tone neither commanding nor coaxing—just steady, calm, as though truth were inevitable. "The worst that happens is disagreement. But if you keep it bottled up, how would you know? One day, this clan will move when you do. That day begins with a single step."

All eyes shifted to him.

Even Babita, curled at her mother's side, sat up straighter.

Pramod watched quietly. He'd always known Shravan's gentle demeanour hid something steel-boned. His son had never been interested in clan politics, never fought for position or voice. Pramod had feared that meant disinterest. But perhaps… perhaps it meant restraint. And now, that restraint was loosening.

He hesitated… and then nodded, the motion barely perceptible.

"There is someone," he said, his voice calm but not soft. "If we are to invite a helper… I have someone in mind."

A beat passed.

Then another.

The Third Elder, Kel, visibly tensed, lips twitching as if preparing to object.

But he didn't.

Mithun, the lean elder with the snowy brows, simply closed his eyes for a breath. And said nothing.

They all glanced—not at Shravan—but at the Green Fairy.

Because to question Shravan here, now, was to question her.

And that, Pramod thought with dry amusement, would be a faster death than jumping from a cliff into a blade pit. Even if one of them tried, they'd probably argue over who got to throw themselves first.

Green Fairy didn't turn, didn't demand a name. She just smiled softly.

"Hmm," she murmured, brushing Babita's hair aside. "You've always been the quiet river, haven't you?"

She didn't ask who.

Not yet.

Because she knew that for his son to have brought this up, that person must have been special. And she was curious enough to wait.

The warm glow of evening light filtered through the high lattice windows, pooling across the jade-inlaid floor of the Megh Clan's main hall. Dust motes drifted in lazy spirals, untouched by the undercurrents of rising curiosity.

Green Fairy leaned back, fingers brushing through Babita's hair, her tone smooth as river silk.

"Why don't you invite this person over," she said, "so we might all meet the one you hold in such high regard."

Her words were soft, almost indulgent—but no one in the room missed the undercurrent of intent. When she asked, it wasn't a suggestion.

Shravan's gaze lowered for a brief moment. He didn't fidget, didn't shift, but the air around him grew heavier, as though something silent passed through him. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—firm, yet reluctant to expose more than necessary.

"I will," he said. "But I'm not sure he'll come if I tell him the real reason."

The stillness deepened.

Elder Kel, the short man swathed in bright green silks, could no longer contain himself. His fingers twitched once on the carved armrest—betraying the effort to stay polite.

"Who in this city would dare refuse an invitation from the Megh Clan—"

Then he saw the faint twitch at the corner of Green Fairy's mouth and stopped mid-breath. His mouth closed like a snuffed flame.

The silence returned, sharper now.

That was when Babita sat up, her brows rising. She'd been only half-listening, her focus drifting—until something clicked.

She turned to her brother.

"No…" Her voice was low. Unamused. "Brother, don't tell me you're thinking of him."

She didn't hide the distaste in her tone, the way her lips curled faintly at the corners. Everyone turned toward her. Even Shravan looked her way now.

The air shifted again, but this time it wasn't tension. It was interest—razor-sharp, now turned toward her.

Green Fairy's head tilted slightly, the glint in her eyes more than maternal. Beside her, Pramod leaned forward, expression unreadable.

"The way you say 'him,' dear," the Green Fairy said, brushing a non-existent speck from Babita's shoulder, "almost sounds like you know him too well."

Babita clicked her tongue and looked away. "Of course. That boy who thinks silence is charm. Cold eyes. Arrogant posture." She gave a shrug. "Didn't like him."

Pramod didn't speak, but his gaze lingered a moment longer on Shravan—curious now. This boy, whom they'd once feared would never step into the clan's larger world… had someone in mind. And his sister—sharp, proud—had disliked him on sight.

And all for a single person.

Now that was interesting.

Shravan, for his part, stayed quiet. There was no need to clarify.

Green Fairy smiled faintly, turning back toward the elders. "Seems like this helper of yours is going to be quite the guest."

"Invite your friend," she said, "for dinner. Tonight."

Her tone was unhurried, but the room stilled again. "Let us see him without banners or titles first. Then we'll speak of requests."

Shravan shook his head slowly. "That might not be possible. He's been training in the Ember Spire for the last few days. He never steeped out during that time."

At that, Pramod leaned forward ever so slightly, brows narrowing. "Ember Spire?" A pause. "Is he the same boy you brought up last week? The one you got the affiliation letter for?"

Shravan nodded. "Yes. But he didn't need the letter. Uncle Soot brought him in personally."

Silence slammed into the hall like a dropped stone in still water.

Even Green Fairy's fingers paused mid-motion, her expression unreadable for a breath—then her eyes narrowed. It was a subtle change, but to those who knew her, it was like watching leaves curl before a storm.

"You will explain that" she said simply.

Shravan nodded, the weight of their collective stares not shaking him. He spoke clearly, describing everything that happened in detail.

A soft gust of wind passed through the open screens at the far end of the hall, lifting one of the green banners just enough to show the polished stone underneath, as though the building itself had leaned in to listen.

When Shravan finished, the silence returned, heavier now.

Green Fairy looked at Pramod, then at the knife-edge of light sliding across the floor tiles, thin and vanishing fast. "Very well," she said finally. "When he exits the Spire, send our invitation. Until then, I will write to Simmi to come—just in case."

Her voice held no suspicion, but the implication was clear.

Shravan bowed slightly. "Understood."

He turned and walked toward the corridor without waiting for dismissal. Babita glanced at her mother, but the Green Fairy said nothing. With a quiet huff, she followed her brother.

Only after the siblings' footsteps faded did one of the elders dare to breathe aloud.

Pramod looked at his wife, but she didn't meet his gaze. Her eyes were on the flickering banner, thoughtful. Still and dangerous—like a bow drawn, but not yet loosed.

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