Mist curled along the valley's edge, soft and cold against the skin. Disciples from Evernight Pavilion stood watch near the tomb's perimeter, their gazes drifting between the sealed stone gate and the surrounding ridgelines.

Aaryan kept his head low but his senses sharp. The uneasy chill still lingered in his bones. Without realizing it, his eyes drifted toward them again.

A cluster of figures stood apart from the others, their robes dyed deep crimson with a silver serpent curling across their backs. Their weapons—short-curved blades, whip-like chains—hung loose but spoke of cruel precision. And among them, standing just to Yashan's side, was the same cold-eyed young man from the hill. His gaze swept the area like a scalpel, cutting without touching.

Aaryan narrowed his eyes, but didn't look long. That gaze felt like staring into winter.

"Don't let him catch you staring," a voice said beside him. "That's Shivul. Inner disciple of Crimson Serpent Hall. If he looks at you too long, best to check your tea for poison."

Aaryan turned to find Ravi smirking faintly at him.

"You know him?" Aaryan asked.

"I know of him. Everyone does." Ravi shrugged. "They arrived just before we did, no fanfare. That's their style. Crimson Serpent Hall doesn't announce themselves—they just appear and watch like snakes in the grass. That one with Yashan? Shivul. Silent. Precise. They say he once assassinated ten rogue cultivators at a banquet—without standing up."

Aaryan raised an eyebrow. "Sounds exaggerated."

"Maybe. But no one's alive to deny it."

His gaze drifted back. Yashan looked too comfortable beside Shivul. Laughing quietly, leaning close. Not friends, perhaps—but allies. That alone was troubling.

Before Aaryan could dwell further, a sudden hush rippled through the gathered disciples.

From the eastern pass came a procession of figures, silent and otherworldly.

They wore robes of pale silver and deep starlight blue, hair bound with thin cords of silver thread. Their steps made no sound, as if the ground itself refused to echo them. Light shimmered faintly around them—not quite illusion, not quite real. When they stopped, the air itself seemed to still.

"Starfall Valley," Ravi whispered. "Elegant bastards. Don't try to match stares with them either—they'll twist your spirit into a knot just for fun."

Aaryan kept his gaze low. But even then, he felt a strange pull—like someone reading a page of his thoughts before flipping to the next.

One of them—a woman with eyes the colour of fading moonlight—paused briefly near the Evernight line. She glanced once in their direction. And then moved on.

Aaryan exhaled. "Yeah. I see what you mean."

Ravi grunted. "All four major sects here now. This tomb won't stay sealed much longer."

As if summoned by that thought, a faint gust stirred the air. Heavy footsteps followed. A figure cloaked in dark Evernight robes walked through the ranks, calm and unhurried.

Dharun had returned. And it sent ripples through the Evernight ranks. Disciples straightened instinctively, and those near the front stepped aside to let him pass. His robes, dark as a moonless sky, trailed faint wisps of shadow that curled and vanished into the mist.

He didn't speak—only gave a brief nod to the disciples before striding toward the barrier. Elders from other sects mirrored the motion, quiet and watchful. Aaryan studied Dharun's face. The elder's calm was measured, but tension sat in his shoulders, subtle and tight.

Around the tomb, the atmosphere had shifted.

The four major sects had staked out positions like predators circling a wounded beast. Evernight held the eastern ridge. Crimson Serpent Hall had coiled into a shadowed grove along the western slope—half-hidden by dense trees but watching everything. Cloud Pillar Sect camped to the north, on higher ground, their white-robed disciples patrolling in crisp formation. Starfall Valley had taken the southern terrace, wide and open, overlooking the rest—as if daring the others to envy them.

Sentries stood at measured intervals. No one crossed into another's zone. When they did, it was deliberate.

Tension simmered under every glance.

Aaryan noticed one such moment near the central path leading toward the barrier. Rudra from Evernight Pavilion stood there, arms folded, black eyes steady. Yashan had just crossed down from the Cloud Pillar lines and exchanged a few low words with Shivul, who stood beside a sharp-faced senior from Crimson Serpent Hall—veins like dark ink visible beneath pale skin. At that same instant, the leader of Starfall Valley's contingent arrived—a woman in starlight robes, her expression serene and unreadable, three silent attendants trailing behind her.

No one spoke. But all stopped. A square of silence formed in the mist.

"Strange company for a place like this," Rudra finally said, his tone dry. "Or perhaps vultures do flock where the meat lies."

Yashan's lip curled. "Careful, Rudra. Jealousy doesn't suit you. Not all of us were sent here to play watchmen."

"Nor all of us to play errand boys," Rudra returned smoothly. "Though I suppose barking up the Serpent's tree earns you scraps."

Shivul's eyes flicked toward Rudra, unblinking. He said nothing. But the older Crimson disciple beside him answered, voice cold as water. "You speak too freely for someone from a sect known for hiding in fog and shadow."

The Starfall leader stepped closer, her voice calm and honed. "And yet none of you speak to the barrier itself. Curious. So many voices. So little understanding."

Yashan tilted his head. "Ah, Lady Veiyra. Come to observe, or to interfere?"

"To listen," she replied. "Something your sect might try, for once."

Again, silence.

Then Dharun's voice cut through it—low, but firm. "Enough."

The Elder from Starfall valley stepped in along with Dharun and other elders. Her gaze drifted across them all like drifting frost. "This tomb has waited centuries. It can wait one more breath. But if this is what the future of cultivation looks like…" Her tone sharpened, just a touch. "Perhaps the tomb should stay sealed."

With silence restored, the elders turned, each returning to their own camp. The moment passed, but the chill it left behind did not.

Shivul gave a shallow nod, then turned without a word. The others followed, silent but simmering.

Rudra exhaled slowly. "This is going to get worse before it gets better."

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Aaryan didn't answer. He knew Rudra was right.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Night had begun to pool deeper in the cracks of the valley by the time Dharun summoned the core disciples.

They gathered at the eastern ridge beneath a crooked pine, its branches twisted like reaching fingers. Mist hung low, curling around their boots. No outsiders approached this place—Evernight territory was marked in unseen ways, and the others knew to keep their distance.

Aaryan stood near the back, hands folded behind his back, beside Rudra and two other senior disciples. Dharun stood facing them, arms behind his back, his expression unreadable in the dim.

"I've spoken with the other elders," he began, voice low and even. "The tomb's outer seal is weakening. Rapidly. Within two days, the barrier will collapse—if it doesn't shatter on its own before then."

A few exchanged glances. No one interrupted.

"Crimson Serpent Hall proposed a joint breach," Dharun continued. "Cloud Pillar and Starfall agreed. We did too."

Rudra's brow furrowed. "All four sects entering together?"

Dharun nodded once. "It was that, or a bloodbath the moment it opened. This is the compromise."

A pause. Then his gaze swept across them.

"But don't mistake compromise for safety. When the barrier shatters, there will be no alliances. No rules. What happens inside… will be chaos."

His voice darkened slightly.

"Lesser sects are arriving as well. Stragglers, mercenaries, rogue cultivators drawn by rumours. When the barrier falls, everyone will rush in. You'll be on your own, even if we enter together."

Aaryan felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Ravi beside him shifted, muttering something under his breath.

Dharun's gaze landed briefly on Aaryan before continuing.

"You will not seek glory. You will not stray without cause. You will move in pairs or not at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Elder," the disciples replied in near unison.

"And one more thing," Dharun said, slower now. "We won the wager against Cloud Pillar. But we didn't press them. That might've spared you a public backlash—but don't believe for a moment they've forgotten."

He let the words settle.

"Later, Yashan might act cordial. Their disciples will pretend indifference. But when opportunity comes, they'll seize it. Stay alert. Especially around them."

Rudra muttered, "They always smile before the strike."

Dharun's lips curved just slightly—almost a smile, almost not.

"Good," he said. "Stay sharp. Rest while you can. The storm breaks soon."

The moment Dharun dismissed them, the disciples began to disperse—pairs drifting with quiet murmurs and clinking boots.

Aaryan turned to leave with the others when Dharun's voice called out, low but unmistakable.

"Aaryan. Stay."

He halted. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rudra pause mid-step. A flicker—brief, but unmistakable—passed across his face. Something cold and bitter beneath his calm. Then Rudra turned and walked away without a word.

Aaryan didn't look after him.

He followed Dharun as the elder strode toward the edge of the encampment, where a modest tent lay pitched beneath the slope of a jutting rock. Shadow pooled heavily there, curling at Dharun's heels like old smoke.

Inside, the tent was plain. A map was spread across a low table, held down by polished stones, inked with markings only Dharun seemed to understand. Lanternlight painted the elder's face in soft gold.

"You've made enemies," Dharun said without preamble, settling onto the mat beside the table. "More than you know."

Aaryan didn't sit yet. He leaned against the pole and raised an eyebrow. "Is this about Yashan?"

Dharun glanced up. "You spoiled their plan. He won't forget that."

Aaryan snorted. "He should've planned better."

Dharun let out something between a sigh and a short laugh. "Spoken like someone who hasn't yet had a dagger slipped between their ribs over a bruised ego."

Aaryan tilted his head. "I'll keep my ribs safe, then."

For a moment, Dharun studied him—his expression unreadable again. Then he reached into his sleeve and pulled out something small and metallic.

With a casual flick of the wrist, he tossed it across the space.

Aaryan caught it reflexively.

It was a ring. Simple, dull, faintly etched along the band with characters barely visible.

"What's this?" he asked, turning it over between his fingers.

Dharun leaned back slightly. "Your grand compensation for throwing yourself into a pit of snakes on our behalf." A pause. "Try not to pawn it off for roasted buns."

Aaryan blinked, then gave a crooked smile. "Sarcasm noted."

"It's a spatial ring," Dharun said, voice flat now. "Not much space—barely enough to stuff in some tools, herbs, maybe a weapon. But it's better than carrying everything on your back."

Aaryan's brows rose. "A real one? Like, pocket-dimension, spatial-bending type of real?"

Dharun nodded once. "Yes. But don't get too excited. It's not even a proper low-grade. Space is pitiful. I only kept it around out of habit."

Aaryan stared at it, then slowly extended his hand to return it. "Still too much. I can't accept this."

Dharun didn't move. "You can. And you will. It's useless sitting with me, and you'll need every edge in the tomb."

Still, Aaryan hesitated.

Dharun didn't push. He just watched him quietly, until finally, Aaryan let out a breath and slipped the ring onto his finger.

It didn't glow or pulse—just sat cool against his skin. The warmth came from elsewhere.

When Dharun had first helped him—given him herbs, saved his life—Aaryan had wondered why. Wondered what the angle was. Now… he didn't know if the question still mattered. A quiet warmth had settled somewhere behind his ribs.

"Even you don't have one," he muttered without thinking.

Dharun blinked. "What?"

Aaryan looked up, puzzled. "You said it's not valuable. But I've never seen you wear one."

Dharun was silent a beat. Then gave a soft chuckle. "I've never needed one. My hands stay empty until they don't."

After a pause, Aaryan slipped the ring off and tucked it inside his robe. Quietly, without a word. "I won't wear it openly," he said quietly. "Someone sees it, I'll have bigger problems."

Dharun's eyes glinted with faint approval. "Good. Keep your advantages close. Out there, being underestimated is a weapon."

There was a short pause. Then Aaryan looked up. His voice, for once, was steady and sincere.

"Thank you, Elder."

Dharun blinked.

Something in his expression shifted—just slightly. "That's the first time you've called me that."

Aaryan smirked faintly. "Probably won't happen again."

Dharun chuckled. "That's more like you."

He reached to the side, grabbed a small cloth pouch, and tossed it to Aaryan. "Here. Some herbs. Consider them your overdue match fee."

Aaryan caught the bundle, sniffed lightly at the dried contents. "Let me guess. More bitter roots and things that taste like burnt moss."

"Effective moss," Dharun said. "Use them sparingly. They'll help with focus and recovery. Especially once you're inside."

He studied Aaryan for a moment. "You suddenly became awfully serious."

Aaryan didn't answer.

So Dharun continued, more gently now. "You're doing well. Don't let others unmake you. When you walk into that tomb, don't forget who you are."

Aaryan nodded, still quiet.

He gave a small, respectful nod—not a bow, but close enough. "Good night."

Dharun watched him for a moment longer before replying, "Go rest. Tomorrow's quiet will be short-lived."

Aaryan left the tent, steps light but thoughtful. His face was still, unreadable—no grin, no quip. Just silence.

And Dharun, still seated beneath the lantern light, watched the tent flap sway for a long while after he'd gone.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The night air clung to Aaryan's skin as he stepped beyond the ring of tents, leaving the murmurs of the Evernight camp behind. Crickets hummed low in the grass. Distant laughter echoed from another camp—probably Starfall's. Or Cloud Pillar. He didn't care.

He walked until the flicker of torchlight faded behind him. Until only the moon and the tomb remained.

There, nestled against the valley's throat, the barrier shimmered like a vertical lake of oil and starlight. Bands of shifting light ran down its surface—slow, rhythmic pulses, as if the tomb itself were breathing. Aaryan stopped on a ridge above it, arms folded across his chest.

He stared.

From a distance, it was beautiful. Up close, it would be war.

He let out a slow breath, the quiet catching somewhere in his throat. Two days. That's what Dharun had said. Maybe less. And then they'd all pour into the dark like moths to flame—desperate, greedy, and blind to what lay beyond the first turn of a hallway.

Aaryan rubbed his thumb along the edge of the spatial ring hidden in his robe.

He'd joked, as he always did. Smirked. Deflected. But inside—he felt it. A tightness in his chest that hadn't been there before. It wasn't just nerves. It was weight.

He'd never had someone like Dharun pull him aside—not just to scold him or lecture him, but to warn him. To arm him.

That meant something.

Dharun didn't owe him anything. Had never promised anything. Yet, again and again, the man had offered him more than words—first herbs, now this. Not out of pity. Maybe not even out of belief. Just… quiet, solid backing — the kind that didn't ask for thanks.

Aaryan never liked owing anyone. But this felt different. This wasn't debt. It was trust — faint, maybe, but dense as old stone.

He let out a breath, long and low.

A few weeks ago, he was the "Wise One". Outer disciples hanging on his every word.

Now?

Now he was being told to watch his back before he even stepped inside.

This wasn't some outer-realm sparring match. No games, no spectators. Just blood, ambition, and the buried echoes of old power clawing for attention.

He wasn't ready. Not really.

But no one ever was.

A gust of wind slipped past, stirring his hair, carrying the faint, metallic scent that seemed to hang near the tomb—like rusted steel and damp stone. Aaryan tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving the barrier.

He could almost hear it calling.

It wouldn't be a trial.

It would be a reckoning.

And everyone who stepped inside would leave a ghost behind — whether they lived or not.

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