Aaryan exhaled a thin stream of air, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the silent pulses of pain surging through his body.

He continued cycling the Dominion Tyrant Physique method—an excruciating routine that shattered his limits each time he practiced it. Tendons strained. Muscles screamed. Bones creaked like rusted chains pulled too tight. And yet, even in agony, his grin stretched wider. Immediately after, he initiated the body tempering technique from The Confluence Codex—a method that fused perfectly with the physique's aftermath, exploiting the body's weakest moment to mold it stronger.

That synergy—between pain and power—was addictive.

Each session left him half-broken, but when he emerged, it felt as if his very skeleton had been reforged in fire.

He could feel the change. Not just in the raw strength that now responded at a thought—but in the instincts, the balance, the terrifying control that settled into his limbs like he'd been born with it.

Inside the cave, his shirt was discarded and sweat clung like a second skin. Even his hair stuck, damp and tangled. Tension coiled and released in his hands, matching the rhythm of his breath.

Outside, the world was quiet.

Maya stood just beyond the stone outcrop that concealed the cave's entrance, her long veil fluttering in the windless air. She wasn't looking at the forest, nor the surrounding wilderness. Her gaze was fixed on the far horizon, distant enough that even birds seemed like dots barely worth noting.

Waiting.

Then the air shimmered.

Without a sound, Sampoorna materialized beside her, his expression as unreadable as always.

Maya didn't turn. Her voice was light, but her words direct.

"So?"

Sampoorna answered calmly, as if he'd been expecting the question.

"There is no need for concern. Although the young master killed those elders, the sects haven't taken any action yet. Likely, they still believe he perished in the tomb." He folded his hands behind his back. "It's already been two months. Their attention is waning. For now."

Maya's brows knit slightly.

"And when he reappears?"

"They'll act," Sampoorna said simply. "But I've evaluated their strength. Despite their efforts to hide their true strengths and hidden trump cards, their leaders are barely at the late stages of Qi Condensation. Eighth or ninth, at best." He glanced sideways at her. "If they dare to raise a hand against him… you can erase them."

A small silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustle of distant leaves.

Maya's eyes narrowed faintly.

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Sampoorna didn't deny it. His gaze lifted, focused somewhere far away—somewhere beyond sight.

"Yes. I must go. It's necessary, but temporary." A beat passed, then he added, "Still, you must remain cautious. Take care of the young master. No harm must reach him."

Maya didn't blink.

"Don't worry. While I'm here, there won't be a problem."

He nodded once in approval.

Then, without further words, the two figures vanished from the open space outside the cave, slipping soundlessly into the chamber within.

Aaryan remained seated in the centre, cross-legged, bathed in soft, flickering light from a lone luminous stone embedded in the ceiling —now replacing the ever-burning fire that once warmed the cave. His body trembled with exertion, but his breathing remained steady.

Neither of them made their presence known.

Sampoorna walked forward slowly and dropped to one knee in a motion filled with grace and reverence. His eyes lingered on Aaryan's face—sweat-slicked, yet calm. Younger than he should be, yet far older than the years he'd lived.

"Young Master," Sampoorna said softly, though Aaryan could not hear him. "Your servant must leave for a while. But you have already begun to walk the path. You don't need me to protect every step." His eyes softened. "Still... be careful. Even monsters can bleed if they're caught off guard."

He rose in silence and turned.

Maya stood near the wall, arms crossed beneath her long sleeves. She hadn't interrupted.

He gave her a single nod.

"Take care," she said quietly.

"You too."

And with that, Sampoorna vanished. No flash. No ripple. Just absence.

Maya stepped closer to Aaryan, still maintaining the invisibility shroud between them. She didn't speak, but her gaze lingered on his form—watching as Aaryan evolved slowly.

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Aaryan stood in a void of shadow and silence.

There was no ground. No sky. No horizon. Only endless black pierced by slow-burning rivers of gold-red flame, drifting like molten veins in the dark. Suspended before him—impossibly vast and ancient—was a black-gold anvil the size of a mountain.

The Anvil of Kalagni.

Said to be the soul-tempering tool of an ancient creator deity, it hung weightless in the void, unmoving yet heavy enough to crush thoughts. Above it, a hammer loomed—twice as large, shaped of the same celestial alloy, motionless for now.

Aaryan was smaller than an ant before it. His form was hazy, almost transparent—no colour, no features, just the faint outline of a man etched in silver mist. His soul form.

If anyone had seen this—seen a mere Body Tempering cultivator with a soul form this defined—they might've choked on their own blood. Even Maya and Sampoorna, for all their knowledge, couldn't have predicted the strength of what lay within him.

But Aaryan didn't know any of that.

He just stared at the Anvil.

This was the second scroll he'd chosen from the tomb: The Soul Anvil.

Maya had warned him—soul cultivation was rare, dangerous, and near extinct. Few walked that path. Fewer still survived it. Techniques were scarce, and risks were absolute.

According to the method, one had to offer their soul to the anvil. Then the hammer would descend three times. Each strike was to temper the soul. Withstand them, and the soul would be forged stronger.

If he survived the first three, he'd step into the Initial Stage of Spirit Awakening—a realm equivalent to Initial Qi Condensation for the soul. And once that happened… his soul form would awaken, become aware, and grant him perception of things beyond the material.

Aaryan drifted closer.

He landed upon the Anvil of Kalagni, weightless as dust, and the void held its breath.

Above, the hammer stirred.

It moved slowly at first, groaning as if dragged from the sleep of eons. But Aaryan already felt it—pressure, like a mountain pressing down on mist. His soul flickered. His form trembled.

'I might not survive this…'

The hammer fell.

A single sound echoed across the void: Dong.

Low. Final. Eternal.

Aaryan screamed. No sound escaped his soul form, but outside, it felt like molten iron rods had been driven through his skull, like someone was tearing pages from the book of who he was. Thought shattered. Time bent. It was like his very sense of self was being ripped into pieces and pounded flat.

Pain didn't describe it. This wasn't something the body could feel. This was existential. Like the idea of "Aaryan" was being erased, one agonizing stroke at a time.

He didn't know how long the feeling lasted—seconds, minutes, lifetimes. But finally, the hammer lifted again.

And he knew.

He wouldn't survive a second strike.

Aaryan tried to flee, but his soul form wouldn't move. He pushed. Pulled. Struggled. Nothing. His panic spiked.

'Maya warned me… soul cultivation isn't forgiving. If my soul scatters—'

His thoughts spiralled. Soul scars. Madness. A drooling idiot for life.

The hammer began its descent.

His breath caught—though he had no lungs here. Despair clawed up his throat.

And then—

RROOAARR.

A roar shattered the silence, ancient and primal, deeper than the void itself. A draconic cry, echoing with molten fury. The very space around the anvil rippled.

Suddenly, Aaryan moved again.

He didn't wait to question it.

In a blur, his soul form fled the Anvil of Kalagni, dissolving from the void like smoke in wind.

Aaryan's eyes snapped open.

His head felt like it was on fire. He gasped, chest rising in sharp stabs, pain burning behind his eyes. Sweat streamed down his face. For the first time in a while—he was afraid.

If that roar hadn't saved him—

The egg.

Aaryan froze.

A subtle warmth pulsed in his body.

It stirred.

That strange little thing—the one that had devoured the Nihil Bloom—had been dormant for two whole months. And now… it had saved him.

He laughed shakily. "Thanks, little guy…" he muttered, pressing a hand to his chest.

Then a shadow stepped into the cave.

Maya appeared, her veil flowing like mist. She didn't speak at first, but her eyes darted to him, narrowing as she saw his condition—drained, pale, trembling.

Her voice was flat, but her eyes betrayed worry.

"I told you not to take soul cultivation lightly. But no—you never listen. Not until you burn your hand once."

She handed him a pill without waiting for a reply.

He didn't hesitate. He swallowed it, and a cooling sensation swept through his mind, easing the fire bit by bit. The pain dulled to an echo.

Feeling better, he let out a sheepish laugh.

"I was just checking it out… didn't think I'd only manage one strike."

Maya froze. Her veil fluttered, but her mind raced. Then, she turned slowly.

"…. You actually endured a tempering strike? On your first try?"

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Six months.

That was how long Aaryan had remained in the cave, buried in silence and sweat, with nothing but training, meditation, and Maya's rare lectures to keep him company.

He'd spent just over a month rising to the 8th stage of Body Tempering. It had taken another four to push through the 9th. But now… his foundation was solid. Rock-solid. Even Maya, normally stingy with praise, had admitted as much.

His progress in the Dominion Tyrant Physique was evident too. His right arm had changed the most—especially the forearm and hand. The bones beneath his skin were laced with glowing runes, etched so deep it was as if time itself had carved them. They weren't random. They linked, curved, and locked into place until the entire structure resembled the forelimb of some ancient beast. Not his. Not human. Something else entirely.

The Soul Anvil technique had advanced as well. Thanks to the rare herbs Maya had provided—bitterness beyond mortal comprehension, but effective—he had grown stronger. He could now endure two hammer strikes. Just one more, and he would step into Spirit Awakening.

Aaryan grinned at the thought.

That was when Maya entered.

Her robes whispered against stone, veil faintly glowing in the cave's soft light. She studied him, her eyes scanning his frame, pausing briefly at the subtle flicker of soul energy behind his gaze.

"So," she said, calm as always, "you're planning on going back."

Aaryan shrugged. "Yeah. It's already been six months. All I've done is train and chew roots that taste like regret. A change of pace would be nice."

He missed noise. Trouble. People. Even arguments. Anything that reminded him he was still part of a world that moved.

She didn't stop him. Closed-door training was valuable—but not forever. Not for someone this young. Isolation could sharpen the blade—or warp it.

"When will you be leaving?" she asked.

"Tomorrow."

Maya nodded. "Take care of yourself. And stay alive. You still owe me, and I don't want my investment dying before it matures."

Aaryan snorted. "Don't worry. If anyone tries to kill me, I'll scream 'refund available upon request' and run."

Maya blinked. "That… might actually work."

He grinned. "I'm versatile like that."

She waved her hand, and a dozen dishes shimmered into view—smoky grilled meats, glistening fruits, roasted roots spiced with unfamiliar herbs, and a steaming pot of broth that smelled like it had been simmering for days.

"Let's celebrate," she said, her tone dry but the gesture warm. "Before you throw yourself into trouble again."

Aaryan's stomach growled in response. "Divine timing, as always."

He sat without ceremony, devouring the feast like someone who hadn't tasted the world in months. Maya remained composed, quietly picking at the side dishes with refined fingers, occasionally sliding spicier things his way with the air of a silent enabler.

For a few hours, the cave felt less like a cave and more like a home.

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