Two days had passed. The air around the tomb had grown dense—taut like a drawn bowstring. Even the wind held its breath.

Aaryan stood near the back of the crowd, arms folded, eyes fixed on the faint shimmer that still cloaked the tomb's entrance. He didn't know what secrets the tomb held, but one thing was clear: whatever lingered inside had resisted the erosion of time and the ambitions of men for centuries.

But not for much longer.

The elders were stepping forward.

Aaryan's gaze sharpened. He'd never seen the other sect elders gathered in one place before. He didn't know their exact cultivation stages—no one ever said it outright—but to be an elder, one had to have long since advanced past the Body Tempering stages(Anima) and into Qi Condensation. That was the line few ever crossed.

He remembered what Dharun had once mentioned in passing—when a cultivator entered the Qi Condensation realm, they stopped relying solely on their internal strength. They began pulling Qi from the world around them, circulating it using specialized methods aligned with their elemental affinity. The stronger the technique—and the better it resonated with the cultivator's nature—the more terrifying the results.

The first one to step forward was Elder Ma from Starfall Valley. Her robes shimmered with inked constellations, the trailing edges embroidered with tiny starmaps. As she raised a single hand, threads of pale blue Qi spiralled around her fingers, glinting like frozen moonlight.

'Stellar Descent—Third Spiral.'

A cold hum filled the air. Qi condensed above her hand into a comet of blue light. Aaryan squinted—the energy was faintly luminous, vast, but graceful.

The comet struck the barrier in a flash. No sound followed, only a sudden pulse—and a ripple as if the sky itself had blinked. Cracks laced across the barrier like frost on glass.

Aaryan inhaled. 'Water affinity…. Delicate but wide-reaching.'

Next came Elder Jun of Crimson Serpent Hall, bare-armed, wiry, and grim. His skin was tanned, and the serpent tattoos on his arms moved, their fangs gleaming. He slapped his palms together, and deep crimson Qi surged up his arms like boiling blood.

'Bloodcoil Fang.'

He punched forward—not with force, but with intent. A serpent of Qi erupted from his aura and bit the barrier, hissing. Red fractures flared to life where it struck, burrowing deep with venomous persistence.

Fire. Dangerous, Aaryan thought. 'His Qi is dense… violent.'

Third was Elder Kezan of Cloud Pillar Sect.

He was calm, almost indifferent. His white robes stirred in the breeze, though the wind had long since stilled. When he moved, he barely seemed to do so—but faint green Qi swirled at his feet, rising in lazy circles like mist off a pond.

'Heaven's Step, Eighth Fold.'

He took one step forward.

A pulse exploded from beneath his feet—soundless but devastating. The ground quivered. The barrier rang like a bell and sagged inward, as if it had taken a blow from above and didn't know where it came from.

Aaryan's brow furrowed. 'Wood affinity. Subtle… refined.'

And finally—

Dharun stepped forward.

He didn't posture. Didn't raise his voice. Just lifted one hand and drew a slow, deliberate circle in the air.

Lines of silver Qi flared to life—lightning-swift and precise. They spun around him like a sigil, pulsing with barely-contained force.

Aaryan felt a jolt in his spine. 'Silver Qi. Lightning affinity… incredibly rare.'

Dharun had once mentioned, offhandedly, that affinities like lightning weren't just destructive—they were difficult to harmonize with. Hard to control. Only a few ever managed it. The fact that Dharun did… said enough.

He didn't name the technique.

The formation pulsed once. Twice.

Then it surged.

CRACK.

The barrier didn't just break—it exploded into shimmering fragments, disintegrating mid-air like dust caught in a storm. The energy of four powerful cultivators laced the air, making every step forward feel like walking through syrup.

Silence returned.

And then the wind moved again.

The tomb had opened.

The moment the barrier dissolved into glittering fragments, the tension snapped like a bowstring loosed. Dozens surged forward at once—disciples from the four sects, rogue cultivators from scattered corners of the region, and even a few mercenaries bold enough to sneak past the perimeter.

Aaryan slipped in with the wave, careful not to draw attention. The tomb's entrance yawned ahead—arched, ancient, and covered in vine-like carvings that pulsed faintly with old Qi. The air changed the instant he crossed the threshold. Cooler. Heavier. As if the tomb itself was watching.

The corridor split almost immediately into three diverging paths.

"Spread out!" Rudra's voice rang from the centre of the group. "Find whatever you can. The main hall is what matters—but everything else is fair game."

The crowd fractured at once, eager for loot. A pair of Crimson Serpent disciples vanished down the left corridor, blades already drawn. Starfall acolytes hesitated, whispering among themselves before taking the right. The air grew thick with the scrape of blades, shouts, and the sharp cries of early skirmishes.

Aaryan didn't rush.

While others lunged into chambers like beasts smelling meat, he moved with caution. The path he chose curved away from the main crush—narrow, dimly lit, lined with faded murals. He brushed dust off one with his sleeve, revealing a half-worn depiction of a man standing above a field of kneeling figures.

'Whoever this tomb belonged to... he wasn't just powerful.'

The silence didn't last. Screams echoed faintly from nearby halls, followed by a hiss of clashing energy. Dust shook loose from the ceiling.

Aaryan quickened his pace.

He passed two side chambers. One had already been ransacked, doors broken in, blood smeared across the floor. The other was untouched. He froze at the threshold. No glyphs, no Qi traps—just dust and time. He slipped inside.

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The chamber was small—half-collapsed, with a fractured pedestal at its centre. A cracked jade urn sat beside it. He pried it open carefully.

Three spirit stones glowed inside. Faint. Low-quality. Probably left behind because they weren't worth the risk to most.

He took them anyway.

'Never ignore small gains. Never let others know what you've kept.'

He moved on.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan's steps grew lighter the deeper he went.

The tomb grew stranger here—walls narrowing, shadows stretching longer than they should. Then, echoing from somewhere ahead: fighting. Not chaotic looting. Not random scuffles. This was fast, focused, deliberate. A real clash.

He followed the sound, crouching low as he reached a wide archway. He peeked in.

The room beyond was cracked but intact—pillars ringed the edges, and a soft light from a hole in the ceiling bathed the centre in a pale glow. There, sitting atop a smooth jade pedestal, was a sealed wooden box emanating a faint herbal scent. Not overwhelming, but definitely rare. Something valuable… but not priceless.

Around it? Chaos.

A girl stood alone, back to him, facing off against ten disciples. Judging by their mix-matched weapons and desperate moves, they were rogues or outer sect opportunists. She flowed between them like water made solid—spinning, ducking, striking with a grace that made their lunges look pitiful.

Then, mid-swing, she turned—

—and Aaryan's brain stopped functioning.

He didn't breathe. Didn't even blink.

She wasn't just beautiful. She was divine. Flawless skin that caught the light like silk. Eyes so dark they made obsidian look like glass. Lips full, faintly parted in focus, and a face sculpted so perfectly he wondered if some deity had gotten bored one day and decided to show off. Her hair was midnight itself—long, flowing, bound carelessly with a sliver of silver that shimmered like a falling star.

A single strand slipped across her cheek as she struck down another attacker.

Aaryan just stood there, one hand still gripping the edge of the doorway, mouth slightly open, heart doing something very undignified.

'Was this still the tomb? Or had he died somewhere along the way and reached some unfairly selective heaven?'

The last rogue hit the ground with a grunt. The room stilled.

And then… her eyes flicked to him.

Cold. Curious. Just a hint of challenge.

"If you're here for the treasure," she said, her voice as smooth as still water, "then fight me. If not—scram."

Aaryan blinked. Stared. Tried to remember how words worked.

"I…" he began, then paused. Straightened. Cleared his throat with what he hoped was dignity.

"Right. Yes. Ahem. See, fighting you would be… disrespectful. Tragic. Possibly blasphemous. You don't stab perfection. That's just rude."

She didn't move. Didn't smile. Just watched him.

So naturally, he kept going.

"In fact, I think the real treasure in this room isn't on that pedestal. It's standing in front of it. Genuinely—if the tomb collapses right now, I'll die fulfilled."

Nothing. Not even an eye twitch.

She turned, walked to the pedestal, picked up the herb box, and made for the exit.

As she passed, her sleeve brushed his arm, and he caught the faintest trace of jasmine.

Still no reaction. Not a word. She just walked off and vanished into the corridor.

Aaryan stood there, hand still mid-air, watching the empty doorway like a man who'd been hit by lightning and wasn't sure if he'd survived.

"Well," he muttered, blinking hard. "I think I just got spiritually mugged."

And grinning to himself like a fool, he kept walking.

The faint scent of jasmine hadn't fully left his nose, and his brain hadn't fully resumed normal operation. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was muttering something about priorities—'focus, you fool, this is a deadly tomb'—but he waved it off. Beautiful women had a right to be distracting. It was practically in the universe's design.

He rounded another corridor, barely even registering the twists and turns anymore. For all he knew, he'd circled back twice. The rooms he passed had long since been picked clean—doors broken open, spirit stones scraped up, even the murals defaced in places by over-eager hands. Greed was efficient, if nothing else.

At the path's end, he stopped.

A solid wall greeted him—no turning, no branching corridors. Just stone.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. 'Of course. Dead end.'

He was just about to pivot back when something caught his eye—something small, barely noticeable. A dent in the wall. No… not a dent. A groove. Thin and deliberate, almost hidden under a layer of grime.

He stepped closer, squinting.

Four faint lines. Straight. Cleanly carved into the stone, forming a square about the size of a man's chest.

Aaryan knelt and brushed the dust aside.

Within the square, tiny indentations—eight in total, like points around a wheel. And in the centre, a sun-shaped mark. Faded, but still visible if you looked just right.

His brow creased. This wasn't just decoration.

He ran a finger over the marks, thinking.

'Eight points… one sun… No writing, no numbers. Not a riddle. A pattern?'

Then he noticed something else. In the stone next to the panel, someone had etched a small mark—barely visible. A circle with one notch missing from it.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed. He hesitated. What if it was a trap disguised as a mechanism? But then again—when had he ever listened to the sensible voice in his head?

Especially not now, when he was riding high on herbal fumes and heartache.

He touched the sun-mark gently, then rotated his hand in a full circle. Nothing. He tried again—but stopped his finger exactly where the notch had been marked.

Click.

The wall gave a soft shudder.

Stone slid back with a low grinding noise, revealing a hidden doorway just wide enough for a person to slip through sideways.

Aaryan grinned. "See? Totally not distracted," he muttered—then immediately tripped over a loose stone and had to pretend it was on purpose.

He slid into the passage sideways, shoulders brushing cold stone.

The air was colder here—cleaner, somehow. As if even the dust hadn't dared settle. The passage narrowed, then widened into a round chamber with a high domed ceiling. At its centre was a wide, pristine pond—clear water rippling faintly despite the stillness. He could see the stone bottom perfectly, smooth and unmarred.

The floor beneath his boots was cooler too, faintly damp with age. The faint scent of mineral water hung in the air—clean and metallic.

Directly opposite the entrance, across the pond, stood another arched door. Smooth. Intact. No markings. No obvious locks. Just… waiting.

He didn't move yet.

Instead, he scanned the room—walls bare, no shelves or urns, no visible traps. Just the sound of his own breathing and the quiet drip of water from somewhere unseen.

He circled left, careful not to touch the pond's edge. No strange Qi in the air. No hidden enemies. But something about the silence—it wasn't peace. It was pause. Like the room was holding its breath.

Aaryan gave the water a sidelong glance.

"No bodies, no curses, no blood on the floor," he muttered. "That's either a good sign… or a trap that hasn't triggered yet."

Still cautious, he made his way around the edge of the pond toward the opposite door.

Aaryan reached the far end of the chamber and stood before the arched door. Still no traps. Still no sound.

He exhaled slowly, half-turning to leave this room behind—

—and froze.

His chest prickled.

Not his skin. Not even his gut instinct. Deeper than all of those.

Something shifted.

Not in the room… in him.

The egg.

The strange dragon egg—the one that hadn't so much as twitched since that day. That refused to be seen or sensed unless it allowed it. He hadn't put it in a pouch, hadn't stashed it inside his storage ring. He couldn't. It didn't exist in those places.

It simply… stayed with him. Wrapped in something between presence and absence. Nestled in a hollow somewhere deep within him. Bound like a brand he couldn't reach.

And now, for the first time since he'd claimed it, it was stirring.

Not physically. Not with heat or movement.

But with awareness.

A sudden whisper crawled across the inside of his skull.

"The pond."

Aaryan staggered back a step, eyes wide. "What the—"

The voice wasn't his.

It was foreign. Vast. Dry as dust and ancient as stars. It wasn't spoken aloud, but it rang in his bones all the same.

For a moment, his pulse spiked.

Had he tripped a seal? Triggered some spiritual defence? A hidden formation in the room?

Then a memory surfaced—clear and sharp as a blade.

"Fear not. None shall see it unless it wills it so… and my will's last fragment still remains till the egg hatches."

The dragon's words.

He swallowed hard, glancing down.

And there it was.

For the first time since that night, the egg had revealed itself.

It wasn't blazing or shaking or floating with divine light.

It was just… there, nestled against his chest like it had always belonged there— Soft white, laced with veins of shifting colour, glowing with a quiet hum that spoke of things older than language.

Aaryan stared. His fingers moved instinctively to touch it, but stopped just short.

"Is there something you need… down there?" he whispered, eyes flicking to the water."

The egg pulsed once—soft and clear, like a heartbeat made of starlight.

Aaryan slowly turned back toward the pond.

The water was undisturbed. Still crystalline. Still empty.

No objects beneath. No ruins. No shimmer of treasure.

Just a smooth stone bed and a soft, patient ripple.

Aaryan scanned the pond again. Still empty. Still calm.

"There's nothing down there," he muttered.

The egg pulsed sharply in response—brighter this time. Urgent. Almost… anxious.

Aaryan blinked. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Not loud. Just a short, soft chuckle under his breath.

"Don't worry," he said, brushing his fingers near its surface. "If there really is something below… I'll get it for you."

His voice was quiet, but sure. A promise, not of duty, but of loyalty. Not to a prize. To a presence.

"Brothers look out for each other, yeah?"

He stepped toward the edge of the pond.

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