The early light bathed the courtyard in gold, slipping past the jade-hued curtains and dancing on the polished stone like ripples across a still lake. Aaryan stepped out barefoot, the morning dew cool against his skin, and let out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

No alarms.

No blades behind backs.

No one lurking like shadows with teeth.

Just sun, breeze, and the faint chirp of birds perched on tiled roofs.

It had been seven days since he returned to the Green veil city. Seven days of warmth, of silence, of something dangerously close to peace. No schemes. No veiled threats. No pretences.

A week wasn't much. But to Aaryan, it felt like stolen time—richer for how undeserved it was.

He closed his eyes and let the sunlight brush against his face. The wind carried with it the faint scent of sweetleaf and morning jasmine. Somewhere behind him, the kitchen staff were starting the firewood, and a bell-chime echoed faintly from the front gate.

This… this is what home should be.

There had been very few nights in his life when he didn't sleep with one eye open. For change, he could let his guard down without consequence. The tomb and its aftermath had nearly killed him—body, soul, and spirit—but it had also shattered something inside that had long held him back.

And with that fracture came clarity.

He hadn't trained a single day since returning, hadn't circulated even a thread of qi. His cultivation had deepened—without effort, he'd reached the mid-stage of the Ninth Layer. Just like that. As if his flesh had remembered what his mind refused to believe: he wasn't the same anymore.

Not a trickster crawling between sect cracks.

Not a discarded orphan playing shadow games.

Not even the same boy who once laughed at the idea of fate.

Something had changed. And the world could feel it—even if he tried to ignore it.

A breeze tugged gently at his loose robes. He tucked his hands behind his back and took a slow walk down the stone path, eyes tracing the worn lines of the garden. Kalyani had made him help water the plants yesterday. She'd claimed it was punishment for "being careless and not coming to see her for too long."

She'd said it like a joke. But her voice had cracked at the end.

Aaryan smiled faintly. Then paused.

Down the far end of the courtyard, near the white blossom tree, stood Dharun and Kalyani, once again deep in what could only be called an argument—if arguing involved calm voices, narrowed eyes, and increasingly theatrical gestures.

He couldn't hear the words from here, but he didn't need to.

Kalyani had that pinched expression, the one she wore when she knew she was losing ground but refused to admit it. Dharun, in contrast, moved with the smug grace of someone who'd already won and was now simply drawing it out for the fun of it.

Aaryan leaned against a pillar and watched them quietly, a chuckle rising to his lips.

He'd seen this scene play out half a dozen times now. It always ended the same way—Kalyani storming off to complain to no one, and Dharun sipping tea with an infuriatingly satisfied smirk.

They were… ridiculous. Infuriating. Constantly one-upping each other like old lovers pretending they weren't. But they were also kind. Reliable. Safe.

What would it be like, Aaryan wondered, if life could just… stay like this?

No tombs. No betrayals. No elders weighing your worth with cold, exacting eyes.

Just this courtyard.

This morning sun.

These two oldies arguing under a flower-laden tree.

He'd never imagined himself longing for something so… ordinary. And yet, standing there, the thought burrowed quietly into his chest.

Maybe peace wasn't weakness. Maybe it was the one thing he'd never learned how to fight for.

And maybe—just maybe—he could try.

Even if only for a little while longer.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The smell of fried radish cakes and sweet lotus paste filled the courtyard, drawing Aaryan in like a moth to flame.

"Kalyani," he said, peeking into the kitchen, "are you trying to make me fat before we return to the sect?"

From behind a stack of steamers, Kalyani snorted. "If I wanted to make you fat, I'd feed you properly. This is barely breakfast."

"I counted seven dishes," he deadpanned, stealing a crisp dumpling.

"Youngsters have no respect," she muttered, swatting at him with a rolled towel. "You're not even properly plump yet. Eat more."

"I am eating," Aaryan said, mouth full. "This one's medicinal, right? I can feel the healing—mmm—right in my soul." It was made from a cheap herb Kalyani had bought for him, but it tasted better than the divine fruit he got from the tomb.

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From the courtyard came Dharun's voice, laced with disbelief. "Are you bribing him with food again?"

"Why do you care?" Kalyani said, pushing past Aaryan into the sunlit garden. "He was my little patient before you even noticed him. I just didn't claim ownership like some greedy, tea-drinking elder."

Dharun, lounging beneath the plum tree, raised a brow. "And yet here he is. Smarter, stronger, and shockingly still alive. I must be doing something right."

"I'd say you're doing something loud," Aaryan muttered, flopping down beside him with a fresh plate. "Gods forbid I enjoy one quiet meal."

Kalyani joined them with a sigh. "This courtyard was quiet before you two returned. Now I can't even hear the birds."

Dharun smirked. "The birds are intimidated by our combined wisdom."

"They're probably traumatized," Aaryan said. "Especially after the 'philosophy of soup' debate last night."

Kalyani rolled her eyes. "He tried to convince me soup teaches patience."

"It does," Dharun said. "One must wait for the broth to bloom, just as a cultivator must wait for their foundation to deepen."

"I burned my tongue," Aaryan muttered. "I gained nothing."

"You gained character," Dharun replied, deadpan.

They sat like that a while—sun warming their backs, tea steaming, laughter rising like birdsong. These past days were more precious than any treasure he had. For once, Aaryan didn't feel like a storm barely holding together. Here, under this tree, with the only two people who didn't want anything from him, he could pretend things were normal.

Kalyani tried to steal a dumpling from his plate. Dharun caught her wrist mid-air like it was a duel. They bickered, quiet and good-natured. Aaryan leaned back with a sigh.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't permanent.

But it was enough.

Just as he poured more tea, a sharp knock came from the front gate. A servant appeared, breathless.

"Elder Dharun," the young man bowed. "A message from the Evernight Sect. Immediate summons."

Dharun's smile faded.

The servant turned to Aaryan. "You're to report with him. Sect Leader's orders."

The warmth didn't vanish. Not exactly.

But Aaryan felt it retreat—like a tide pulling back before a wave.

He met Dharun's eyes. The elder was already standing, back straight, ready.

Kalyani didn't speak. She placed her teacup down and looked at Aaryan, lips a thin line.

Aaryan stood too, brushing crumbs from his robe. "Well," he said lightly, "it was nice being irrelevant while it lasted."

Dharun clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. With any luck, you'll be causing trouble again in no time."

Aaryan grinned. "Is that… encouragement?"

"No," Dharun replied. "That's a warning."

They both laughed.

Kalyani spoke, calm and offhand. "I'll pack some lotus cakes for the road. Can't have you starving before the sect lectures you to death."

Aaryan gave her a crooked smile. "Trying to win me over from him?"

"You're not that hard to keep," she said, voice gentler. "Just feed you and don't ask for too much."

She busied herself with the cups but didn't meet their eyes.

"Still," she added, softer, "if the sect keeps you both too long… I'll have no one to shout at. The birds will get lazy again."

Aaryan opened his mouth, then shut it. No witty line came.

Dharun gave her a short nod that said everything.

"Keep the tea warm," Aaryan said. "And the insults sharper. I'm bringing back new material."

"Just come back hungry," she said in a low voice, only for him.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The gates of the Evernight Sect loomed ahead—tall, solemn, and unchanging. After more than seven months, they didn't look any different. But Aaryan did.

As he and Dharun passed through the outer courtyard, the atmosphere shifted like a current beneath still water. A few guards stiffened, some averted their gazes, others looked too long. There were no whispers—just the silence of stares that had already heard the stories.

He didn't flinch. Not outwardly.

"Go to your dwelling," Dharun said as they crossed the threshold. His voice was clipped but not cold. "Wait until I call for you."

Aaryan gave a small nod. No questions. No protest.

Dharun didn't wait for acknowledgment—he was already striding toward the Sect Leader's main hall, his robe catching in the early wind like a dark flame.

Aaryan turned, heading toward the outer island. The path was familiar, worn from years of walking, and yet the journey felt different. With each step, he passed disciples—some in groups, others alone—but most slowed down when they saw him.

Their eyes followed him. Measured. Curious. Wary.

The stories had long reached the sect walls. Elder Kezan—one of theirs—dead. A tomb battle. A trial. A boy dragging his broken body through storms and fire. A survivor, yes—but now also something else. A reminder.

Some lowered their heads in greeting. A few even bowed.

Aaryan returned each gesture, politely, no trace of arrogance. If anything, there was something quieter in his demeanour now. Grounded, heavy like a mountain after rain.

By the time he reached his dwelling on the outskirts of the island, the sun was already inching westward. His small, cave-like dwelling was carved into the mountainside. Weeds had grown tall around the garden patch where he'd once tried to grow spirit herbs. The fields he left half-sown now bore wild growth—radishes, of all things, stubborn and thriving in the chaos.

He rolled his sleeves, and began pulling the weeds one by one.

It wasn't glamorous work. It wasn't the kind of thing a so-called prodigy was expected to do the moment he returned. But it felt right. His hands remembered the soil. His body, still healing, ached in quiet places. The silence didn't press on him like before.

Half an hour passed before footsteps crunched along the path behind him.

"Brother Aaryan?"

He turned to see a small group of outer disciples, mostly younger faces. Not the same group he once conned with his "divine insights," but a few familiar ones lingered in the back—grinning sheepishly.

"Ah," Aaryan said, dusting off his hands. "Did the heavens send you to hear the next sacred revelation? Spoiler—it involves weeding."

They laughed, awkward at first. But it spread. A real laugh. One of them even stepped forward with a bundle of spirit cabbage. "We… uh… heard you were back. Thought maybe you'd want some fresh greens?"

Aaryan blinked. "Offering tribute already? You move fast."

"N-no! I mean—just a gift! You helped some of us, back then. Even if it was a little…" The boy scratched the back of his head. "Creative."

Aaryan chuckled. "Well, thanks. I'm honoured to receive the first harvest of my accidental farming empire."

The group relaxed, settling into more casual chatter. Someone even asked if he was really the one who defeated an elder. Aaryan only smiled faintly and turned back to the soil.

"I survived," he said. "That's all."

For a few moments, the group helped him work. Pulling weeds, chatting, laughing lightly. There was no begging, no idolizing, just a strange warmth Aaryan hadn't expected.

Respect, yes. But not because he tricked them or said the right clever things. This time, it wasn't about stories or scams.

When the sun dipped lower, the wind carried the familiar sound of boots against stone—measured, slow, and precise.

Dharun.

He stood at the edge of the path, watching the scene with unreadable eyes. After a moment, the disciples sensed his presence and quickly excused themselves with bows and hushed farewells.

Aaryan dusted his hands again and stood up.

Dharun didn't speak at first. He looked at the cave. The crops. The half-patched fence.

Dharun snorted once, a rare sound. Then, more softly: "You greeted every one of them."

"They greeted first."

"And not a single one mocked you."

"Maybe they're scared I'll drop a tomb on them."

Dharun stepped forward. "No. That's not fear. That's respect. And it doesn't come from reputation alone. It comes from strength. Only strength demands real respect."

Aaryan raised an eyebrow. "Says the man who drinks tea and quotes soup."

"And yet here I am," Dharun said, turning. "Still ahead of you. Come. Sect Leader won't wait."

Together, the two walked back toward the heart of the sect—quietly, the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone path.

Whatever storm waited ahead, the silence here was a rare mercy. For now, it was enough.

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