Aaryan's fingers trembled as the scroll landed in his hands. He hadn't expected to feel this excited—his heartbeat quickened, eyes locked onto the ancient parchment. Dark ink etched impossible runes across its surface, curling and shifting as if they held a rhythm of their own.

He took a breath, sat cross-legged, and unrolled the scroll with care.

Nothing happened.

Aaryan squinted. He tried again, mimicking the vague sensation he remembered from the first scroll.

Still nothing.

The characters remained silent, unmoved, stubborn in their secrecy.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, frowning.

The old man let out a dry chuckle. "So, the last time really was a fluke."

Aaryan shot him a glance, annoyed but still too focused to argue.

The man stepped closer, studying him. "Stop forcing it. That won't work. You're approaching it like it's a lock and your eyes are the key."

Aaryan looked up. "That's how you read it, isn't it? It worked on the first one."

"Not quite. This requires more than eyes and muscle." The man tapped a finger to his temple. "Calm your mind. Completely. Empty it. Forget where you are. Forget who you are."

"That's not ominous at all," Aaryan muttered, but closed his eyes.

The man crouched beside him, voice quiet now. "Don't touch the scroll with your strength. Not physically, not with your energy. Reach for it with nothing but your awareness. Connect to it as if your mind itself is trying to understand it. No barriers. No filters."

Aaryan exhaled.

He stopped thinking. Let the noise fall away. No tomb. No disciples. Just breath, and silence, and ink dancing on aged parchment.

For a moment, it felt like nothing.

Then something... shifted.

The symbols stirred—not on the scroll, but within his mind. One by one, they lit up in that space behind his thoughts, a quiet resonance forming between his awareness and the ancient script.

The man blinked, leaning back in disbelief. He'd assumed the scroll itself had helped Aaryan the first time. After all, he'd never known anyone in the Body Tempering stage capable of this. To test his theory, he'd simply repeated the words his father once told him—expecting nothing. Aaryan was too untrained, too unaware of what soul power even was. And yet, the moment his mind truly stilled...

"Impossible," the man whispered to himself. "He's still in Body Tempering…"

He watched in stunned silence as Aaryan's breathing slowed further, face calm, eyes closed—fully immersed in the scroll's mental current.

The soul—the part of a cultivator rarely awakened this early—was already active in him.

And more than that... it was strong.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The man stood in silence, watching Aaryan.

Eyes closed. Breathing steady. Mind locked into something beyond sight.

'You really found another one, didn't you, brother?'

His gaze softened, thoughts drifting somewhere deeper.

'He's not you. No one could be. But still... this boy—he's so much like you. And yet, so different. If we were still who we were... I think you would've called him our younger brother.'

A flicker twitched across his brow—then his whole face clenched. Like lightning through water, the pain surged in.

His body trembled—barely—but the man noticed it instantly.

The information hit like a tide.

Not as vast as before, but sharp. Piercing.

It clawed its way into Aaryan's mind, a thousand hot needles threading between thoughts. His jaw clenched, and his fingers dug into his knees. It was like ants crawling beneath his skull—burning, biting, relentless.

And yet, he endured.

The name revealed itself first: "The Heavenly Silken Mask Art."

Then came the flood.

Method upon method. Diagrams of facial lines, subtle qi flows that mimicked identity, secrets of bone-shifting, muscle-weaving, and soul-aura veiling—all laid bare inside his mind like threads waiting to be sewn. It wasn't a cultivation method. Not an attack. Not defence.

It was something far more elusive.

Disguise, perfected.

A mask not worn, but lived.

Time passed—he didn't know how long—until, finally, the flow ebbed.

His eyes snapped open, shining with a quiet, dangerous light.

The scroll crumbled in his lap, turning to dust with a soft hiss.

He exhaled, mind still ringing with fragments, but he knew it—without a doubt: This was no ordinary art. It was priceless.

The man smiled. "Did you like it?"

Aaryan nodded like a chicken pecking grain, too overwhelmed to speak.

Survival.

That had always been the goal.

And now, he had something that made survival more than possible—it made it inevitable.

The man laughed, a low, amused sound. "That technique is one of the best I possess. It was created by someone known only as the Mirror Immortal—a man who could walk among gods unnoticed in a forgotten era."

Aaryan blinked. The name echoed through him like legend.

"It's said," the man continued, "that even a Qi Condensation cultivator using this technique can walk past Core Formation experts without raising a single doubt." He gave Aaryan a meaningful look. "No one else alive has it. Just me... and now you."

Aaryan was stunned. The weight of those words settled on him slowly, heavily.

He had come here expecting scraps. A gamble at best. Maybe an edge. He never expected a treasure.

He looked down at his hands, then at the man. "This is... too valuable. If you want, I can return—"

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The man waved a hand. "I've given it. That's that. I don't take back what I gift."

Aaryan's heart warmed. For a moment, the world felt gentler.

He bowed deeply, the motion slow and sincere.

But the man just chuckled again. "Enough with the ceremony. It doesn't suit you."

The man's smile lingered, but something behind it dimmed.

He looked at Aaryan, expression unreadable now.

"…It's time for you to go."

Aaryan's brows lifted slightly.

The man closed his eyes, as thin threads of light—silver and violet—began to drift from his chest like unravelling silk. They coiled upward, weightless and silent, then gathered into a single point above his palm.

The energy pulsed, then solidified—dense and smooth like carved jade—before drifting gently toward Aaryan.

It landed in his hand with a quiet hum.

A token.

Oval-shaped. Cool to the touch.

A massive tree was etched on both sides, its trunk knotted and ancient, its roots twisting in strange, almost circular patterns. The branches stretched outward like veins, forming a crown too detailed to forget.

Aaryan turned it over once, twice. Something about it prickled the back of his mind.

He looked up.

The man's form had begun to blur. No longer solid—more a ripple of light than flesh.

"That," the man said calmly, nodding toward the token, "is a fragment of this incarnation's essence. Everything I've experienced here—every word, every thought, every moment shared with you—is sealed within it."

Aaryan's grip tightened. "Why?"

"In case you ever find the real me," the man said softly. "Show him this token. He'll recognize it immediately. Absorb it—and he'll remember everything that happened here."

Aaryan's eyes widened.

The man smirked, that familiar dry edge curling into his voice again. "Oh, and the token has one more function."

He paused dramatically.

"If you die, the essence fragment will retrieve both techniques and carry them back to this tomb."

Aaryan's mouth opened in disbelief. "That's… what?"

The man burst into laughter. "What, you thought I'd give away my best secrets without a leash?"

Aaryan could only gawk at him—equal parts betrayed and begrudgingly impressed.

Still grinning, the man waved him off. "Relax. You're not planning to die, are you?"

"…Not anytime soon," Aaryan muttered.

"Good. Then go. Most of the others are already out of the tomb by now."

Aaryan blinked. "Wait—how long has it been since I fell?"

The man glanced at him, amused. "Time flows differently in the inner chambers. Especially during the final trial."

Aaryan frowned. "So… how long?"

"Outside?" The man tilted his head, thinking. "About an hour. Maybe a bit more. They're still making their way out the final gate."

Aaryan stared. "That's it?"

The man raised a brow. "Why, did you want them to forget you already?"

"…Would've made my life easier."

The man chuckled. Then his tone shifted, casual but sharp.

"If you're curious, what's happening outside is quite interesting. And it involves you. Directly."

Aaryan stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, the man simply lifted a hand.

The stone wall in front of them rippled—then glowed.

The surface shimmered like light dancing on water… and then cleared.

Revealing a scene on the other side.

Aaryan leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

And what he saw—

Made his stomach twist and the blood drained from his face.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Outside the tomb, the wind was still.

Four elders stood together at the cliffside clearing—far above the tomb's entrance. Behind them, a handful of disciples waited, some resting, others watching the gate with thinly veiled nerves.

Dharun leaned against a craggy outcrop, arms folded, expression distant.

Elder Ma of Starfall Valley hummed softly to herself, trimming her nails with a spirit-imbued leaf.

Elder Jun of Crimson Serpent Hall sat crouched like a panther, eyes half-lidded but alert.

And Elder Kezan of Cloud Pillar Sect simply stood tall and proud, his robes billowing from some wind that obeyed only him.

"Well," Elder Jun said lazily, "they're taking their sweet time."

"Perhaps your disciples got lost," Elder Kezan offered without looking up. "Wouldn't be the first time Crimson Serpent Hall lost something valuable underground."

Jun raised a brow. "Better lost than poisoned and dead, I suppose."

Dharun sighed. "You two bicker like children. Maybe try silence for once."

Elder Ma chuckled, brushing invisible dust from her shoulder. "Let them speak. It passes the time."

Just then, a figure sprinted out of the tomb.

"Elder Dharun!"

Rudra burst into the open, robes torn, face streaked with dust, voice cracking as he called out. He clutched the front of his garments tight—too tight.

Dharun straightened immediately. "Rudra? Where's—"

"No time. We need to leave. Now." Rudra's voice was low, urgent. "I'll explain everything later."

For a moment, Dharun hesitated, eyes flicking toward the tomb gate. Aaryan hadn't emerged. His brow furrowed—sharp tension beneath the calm.

Then he nodded sharply. "Evernight disciples, gather up. We're leaving."

The other elders noticed instantly.

Elder Kezan glanced sideways. "Hm. That's quick."

Elder Ma smirked. "I thought we were waiting on the rest?"

Elder Jun cracked his neck. "Let them try."

But they didn't move.

Not yet.

Then—

"STOP THEM!"

Yashan's voice rang out from the tomb mouth. He stumbled into the open, followed by Shivul and Veiyra.

"Elder Kezan! Rudra has half the inheritance!" Yashan yelled. "He stole it!"

At once, the three elders vanished in flickers of movement—appearing in front of Dharun's group like shadows drawn by force.

Dharun's eyes blazed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Elder Ma smiled without warmth. "Just a conversation, surely."

Elder Jun stepped forward, voice low. "The tomb was open to all. But theft? That deserves...clarity."

Dharun's voice dropped. "He didn't steal anything. Whoever had the skill took what they earned."

Yashan laughed bitterly. "Skill? Rudra ambushed Aaryan. He struck him down and left him to die. That's your Evernight loyalty?"

Dharun's hand twitched.

"That's a lie," he said, voice flat.

Veiyra spoke, calm and composed. "Then why not ask Rudra himself?"

All eyes turned.

Rudra swallowed hard. "It—It was Aaryan's plan," he said. "He wanted to stall the others. I just… I just did what he told me."

Dharun stared at him. "You left him behind?"

Rudra couldn't meet his gaze.

Dharun's fury simmered. But now wasn't the time. He knew it. "This conversation isn't over," he said coldly.

Meanwhile, Yashan, Shivul, and Veiyra moved to their elders.

Veiyra produced a scroll, handing it to Elder Ma with quiet grace.

Shivul did the same, tossing his to Elder Jun.

Kezan glanced at Yashan—and frowned. "You're empty-handed."

Yashan bowed quickly. "I tried. But that damn Aaryan…..., he got three scrolls. It was all his fault."

Kezan's gaze darkened slightly—but he said nothing to Yashan. Instead, he looked to the other elders. "Three scrolls are with Evernight. If we act now, we can take all three—one for each of us. What do you say?"

Elder Ma tapped her chin. "Fair."

Elder Jun shrugged. "As long as we get ours."

The three nodded as one.

Inside the tomb, Aaryan stood frozen, watching it all unfold through the shimmering wall. The token pulsed faintly in his palm.

His throat tightened. His breath caught.

Three sects.

Three elders.

All turning against Evernight, against Dharun.

Because of him.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan remained silent. The shimmering wall had faded, but its weight still pressed on his chest. Outside, the figures moved like fate itself unfolding—inevitable, unstoppable.

The man beside him watched with folded arms, expression unreadable.

Minutes passed.

Then Aaryan exhaled, long and quiet, as if he'd just lost a bet with himself.

The man tilted his head slightly. "So," he said. "What are you going to do?"

Aaryan didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was low. "I don't care about the betrayal. Not the sect's name. Not even the scrolls." His eyes flicked toward the stone ceiling. "But I can't leave Dharun behind."

The man's face sharpened—not angry, not impressed. Just serious.

"You do realize," he said slowly, "those three elders are at the first stage of Qi Condensation. Dharun is stronger, yes—second stage—but outnumbered, he might still fall."

Aaryan didn't flinch.

"If you go out there," the man continued, "you might die. A rather poetic death, don't you think? Gaining powerful techniques… only to become a cautionary tale in the same breath."

Aaryan smiled faintly. "I've always had a bad sense of timing."

He turned to the man, half-expecting, half-hopeful. "You'll help, right?"

The man's expression didn't change. "I cannot leave the tomb. Not as I am."

A pause.

"Even if I could," he said, voice deepening, "I would not."

Aaryan's brow furrowed.

The man gestured to the air around them. "These choices—this pain, this danger—this is the fire that forges true strength. Without struggle, power is just decoration. If you want to stand tall, boy… then do it with your spine, not someone else's shadow."

He lifted a hand, and a shimmer bloomed in the air behind Aaryan.

"I can send you far from here. Far enough that no fight will find you. It is your path to take—if you wish."

The portal hummed softly. Tempting. Easy.

Aaryan stared at it for a long moment. Then he shook his head.

"I've run enough. If I keep leaving behind the few people who matter…" His voice faltered for just a breath. "...then I'll really be alone. And I already don't have many to begin with."

He turned away from the portal.

The man didn't smile, but there was a shift—approval, maybe, or something older.

Aaryan took a step toward the exit.

Then he paused, glanced back.

"Before I go," he said casually, "why don't you hand over those fruits? "He pointed at the tree in the middle of the chamber. They've just been sitting there. No offense, but you don't seem like the type who eats."

He squinted. "You are just a will incarnation, right? Can't imagine fruit tastes like much when you're made of mist and regrets."

The man blinked once.

Then—against all expectations—he let out the smallest chuckle.

"You are not just greedy but a opportunist as well. Each of these fruits can help someone at peak of body tempering to breakthrough to Qi condensation and you are asking for them as if they were pebbles."

Aaryan's eyes widened, he didn't know they were THAT wonderful.

"Take them, then. Consider it a parting gift." The man waved his hand and the fruits, a total of five, drifted towards Aaryan

Aaryan grinned and scooped the fruits into his ring.

"Strength and snacks," he said. "Now I'm ready to die."

He turned, cloak trailing behind him, eyes set with fire.

And walked toward the war waiting beyond the tomb.

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