In Evernight Sect, power meant position. For most, the path was carved in stone: reach the Sixth Stage of Body Tempering, and you would be promoted to inner disciple status. Reach the Ninth—be named a core disciple. But there were always exceptions. Aaryan and Rudra were two of them.

Neither of them had followed the standard route. Rudra stood proudly at the peak of the Eighth Stage, whereas everyone believed Aaryan had only just stepped into the Eighth Stage, but it was their contribution in the tomb expedition that had earned them their core status, or such was the announcement made by the higher-ups. As for Aaryan, only Dharun knew the truth—he had already stepped into the Ninth Stage. He'd said nothing to the others. There was no need. In the Body Tempering realm, unless the difference in cultivation was vast, even elders might misjudge one's true level. Aaryan preferred it that way.

Dharun walked beside him now, leading him across a stone bridge onto the Sect's main island. Aaryan didn't have many things and hence within minutes he gathered everything from his old dwelling and headed with Dharun to his new one. Here on the main island, resided the elders and the ten core disciples—eight before, now ten with Rudra and Aaryan's addition. It was a quieter place, set apart from the clangour and chaos of the outer and inner islands. The spiritual energy in the air felt denser, more refined. Every breath taken here nourished the meridians.

"Your new residence is just ahead," Dharun said, nodding toward a secluded courtyard nestled between two towering trees.

Compared to the dim, cramped cave he'd once called home, this was a palace. Aaryan stepped through the small wooden gate, taking in the spacious stone courtyard. It had a central training room with reinforced floors, a private bedroom with proper bedding—actual bedding, not just a mat—and a peaceful garden pond that glimmered with faint spiritual light.

Aaryan turned to Dharun. "You know, this place almost makes me feel like I belong."

Dharun chuckled, arms folded behind his back. "You do. Whether others like it or not."

There was a moment of silence between them, stretched by the weight of things left unsaid. Then Dharun gave a soft pat on his shoulder. "Don't get too comfortable. The Sect isn't finished with you yet."

With that, the elder turned and left, robes fluttering behind him as he vanished into the evening mist.

Aaryan stood there for a moment longer before heading inside. The door to the training room slid shut behind him with a soft thud. He sat cross-legged in the centre, letting his breath settle and his mind still.

The chaos of today's meeting still lingered in his mind. Although he appeared calm to outsiders, only he knew how much strain that whole thing put on him. One misstep, and the schemers would've pounced., which he knew, wouldn't end well for him in any possible scenario.

He went over every minute detail which he could remember but still couldn't piece everything together. There were gaps. Things that didn't make sense yet. And yet... he wasn't ready to force answers. Not now.

He exhaled deeply and shook his head, dismissing the web of uncertainty trying to take root again.

'Later. I'll dig into it later.'

Right now, he needed to train. Since returning to the Green Veil City, most of his time had been spent relaxing—and, admittedly, indulging. Good food, fragrant tea, and the rare company of both Kalyani and Dharun had made the days pass faster than he liked.

But that time was over. He was already back in the sect and the scheming and plotting had already begun.

Something had already shifted in the air. He didn't need proof—his instincts screamed it.

So, he closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and began to cultivate once more.

Whatever came next, strength was the only thing he could rely on.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

While Aaryan sat in quiet meditation, deep within the stone stillness of his new courtyard, the heart of Evernight Sect pulsed with older, darker currents.

Beyond the soft rustle of leaves and distant echoes of disciple chatter, past layers of stone corridors and shadow-draped halls, lay one of the oldest structures on the main island—an unmarked building rarely entered, rarely discussed. Inside, a secluded chamber sat veiled in gloom. Heavy black curtains smothered the windows, and not a sliver of moonlight dared slip through. The air was thick with incense, its scent sweet at first sniff but cloying upon second breath, hinting at something fouler beneath—something rancid, ancient, and hidden.

At the centre of this oppressive silence sat two figures. Cloaked head to toe, faces obscured by the folds of fabric and darkness, they looked more like shadows than men. Yet their presence pressed against the walls, sharp and suffocating.

One of them leaned forward, the dull glint of a jade ring flashing on a bony hand. His voice broke the silence like a knife sawing through silk.

"That boy... he's too smart for his own good. I expected a reckless brat charging in for revenge—but he wears cowardice like a pelt, but he bites like something starved."

The second figure stirred slightly, shoulders hunched beneath layers of dark robes. His voice, when it came, was hoarser and deeper, like rocks grinding underwater.

"His growth is unnatural. Within a year, he reached the Eighth Stage of Body Tempering. And that's without guidance, without resources. No clan, no elder backing him—at least not that we know of. It doesn't add up."

The first man exhaled through his nose, a sound more hiss than breath. The chamber seemed to tighten, tension wrapping around them like invisible cords.

"You're right. We can't afford to delay. He's not like the other ones— He's not reckless. He calculates. And worst of all—he listens. Say nothing, and he still sees too much. Wait too long, and complications fester."

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A bitter laugh answered him, more mockery than mirth.

"A mere boy," the second man growled. "Barely past his first bloodletting, yet he stirs this much trouble in the Sect. It's almost insulting. Once he's done what we need him to, I'll kill him myself. Personally."

He lingered on the last word as if savouring it. A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with unspoken plans.

But then—something changed.

From the far corner of the room, where even the lantern's glow refused to reach, a third presence unfurled. It did not step in. It simply was—there, all at once, like a shadow that had always existed and only just now remembered to move.

The pressure in the room shifted instantly.

The two seated figures froze. Instinct overcame pride. As one, they stood and bowed low, heads nearly touching the stone floor, voices dead in their throats.

The newcomer's voice slithered from the dark like oil sliding across a blade.

"For you to personally want to kill him... he must have truly pierced that hollow thing you call pride."

Neither man dared to raise his head. The speaker had not moved far, and yet the room already felt smaller, colder, as though the shadows themselves bowed to him.

"But you overestimate your ease," the voice continued, smooth and cold. "And you underestimate him. Killing that boy... won't be so simple."

A pause stretched, thick as tar. Then the voice grew almost amused, tinged with something far more dangerous than mere curiosity.

"To rise so quickly... to crawl out alive from a place where most would die screaming... his karma must be vast indeed. That's no ordinary fate tied to his back. Not some street rat's luck."

The two men exchanged no glance. They didn't move, didn't speak. Still bent over, still frozen.

Then came the laugh.

Low. Twisting. Not human. It rolled through the chamber like smoke through cracked stone—slow, invasive, and cold. It curled along the skin, slipped beneath the robe, and pressed into the spine. The air seemed to shiver with it.

The two figures flinched. Their bow deepened.

"And that karma..." the figure murmured, tone turning reverent. "That legacy... the secrets he carries... all of it will soon belong to me."

The laugh rose again, louder this time—almost giddy in its malice. The chamber trembled. On the walls, lanterns that had burned steadily for years flickered, guttered. One hissed and went out.

The two conspirators remained bowed in absolute silence. There was nothing else they could do.

In that chamber—hidden beneath the surface of the Sect they had helped shape—there were monsters not made of blood and bone, but of ambition and shadows. And tonight, they had spoken his name.

Aaryan.

And he had no idea how many eyes were now watching. Waiting.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

It had already been a week since Aaryan moved to the main island of Evernight Sect.

In all that time, he had done little else but cultivate—hour after hour, day after day, without pause. He hadn't eaten a single meal. Not once had he wandered beyond the stone thresholds of his new courtyard. Even the bedroom adjacent to his training chamber remained untouched, the sheets unrumpled, the lantern unlit. His world was the training mat, the clatter of his bones grinding under pressure, and the low hum of energy resonating in his veins.

He had broken his silence only once—to collect his new robes, the badge of his promotion, and the monthly resource pack granted to core disciples. Unlike in the outer sect, there had been no crowd to wrestle, no desperate scrabble for the best portion. No elbows. No blood. There was no longer needed to shake the jar. The Sect had already picked its strongest worm.

He had ascended, and with that ascent came eerie quiet.

His training continued relentlessly. He pushed his Body Tempering technique to its limits, kept hammering at the Dominion Tyrant Physique, and even chipped away at the Soul Anvil. But without Maya's formations or rare herbs to assist him, progress came in inches instead of leaps. Still, he endured.

In the outer sect, such slow progress would have been unacceptable. But here, in solitude, even inches counted.

Progress was progress. And Aaryan never wasted what was given.

That evening, as twilight melted into night and the Sect's main island dimmed under a moonless sky, Aaryan finally stepped out of his courtyard. The air felt strange against his skin, cool and moist like it had missed him. A faint mist clung to the ground, curling around the stone paths like something alive.

He walked without direction, hands folded behind his back, posture loose—like a blade finally sheathed, unsure what to cut. A part of him wondered if the world had changed while he sat with closed eyes. The stars above blinked in their familiar places. The trees still whispered in old voices. But something felt thinner… quieter.

Soon, his wandering brought him to a well-worn corridor, lit only by distant lanterns. It was the outer disciple quarters. A place that once buzzed with noise and rivalry, and now felt far smaller than he remembered.

He was about to turn back—when his gaze snagged on a familiar figure.

Ravi.

He hadn't changed much. Maybe a little broader in the shoulders, maybe a bit more confident in the way he stood. He was talking with a few other outer disciples, faces Aaryan vaguely recalled. But when their eyes met his, the group fell silent. Every one of them bowed respectfully. Aaryan gave a curt nod in return.

The moment passed. The others, sensing the weight of unspoken things, murmured excuses and scattered. Soon, only Aaryan and Ravi remained beneath the starlit eaves.

Aaryan stepped closer and pulled out a small pouch. He handed it over without ceremony.

"This should cover the Emberthorn Root and Silverroot Balm," he said.

Ravi blinked. Surprise flitted across his face, quickly replaced by something unreadable. He took the pouch after a second's hesitation.

"You… don't want to owe an outer disciple, do you?" he asked, with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Aaryan paused.

That was the truth, wasn't it?

It had been Ravi's quiet generosity—offering those rare herbs to a stranger, injured and desperate—that had planted a splinter of doubt in Aaryan's heart. No outer disciple had resources to spare like that. And even if they did, they never gave them away freely. Back then, Aaryan had been certain: someone in the Sect was testing him, pulling strings from the shadows.

Tonight's offering wasn't generosity. It was a balancing of accounts. A ward against invisible debts.

But Ravi's question lingered. Not accusatory. Just honest.

Was he being paranoid again?

Jumping at shadows?

Maybe Ravi had no ulterior motives. Maybe he'd simply done the right thing when few others would.

Aaryan stared at him, really stared. His thoughts flicked, unbidden, to the Mirror Maze in the tomb—he had looked for trickery, for lies only to find out that truth was there in front of him. Found out that not everything is a trick. As he was about to say something another truth stirred his eyes.

'Trusting someone just to prove you're capable of trust… that's the kind of fool who ends up poisoned twice.'

He exhaled slowly. For a heartbeat, the words caught in his throat—half-formed apologies, half-excuses. But he swallowed them.

His voice, when it came, was calm but edged. "I just prefer clean slates."

Then he turned, robe brushing the path behind him, and walked away.

'If he ever trusted someone, became friends with someone—it would be because he wanted to. Not because he needed to.'

Behind him, Ravi stood frozen, mouth slightly parted. Not angry. Not insulted. Just… thrown off. A flicker of something passed across his face—hesitation? Guilt? Or something else?

Aaryan didn't look back.

By the time he neared his courtyard again, the night had deepened. Fog coiled through the trees, thin and silver. The cicadas had gone quiet. The stillness was just a little too still.

That's when it hit him.

The pressure. Faint, but wrong. Like a breeze that turned the hairs on his neck. Not hostile. Not quite. But present.

He stopped.

Every instinct in his body went silent.

Before he could turn, a voice slipped into the space behind him—a whisper smooth as silk, cold as pondwater.

"You're either paranoid or gifted—either way, I'm impressed."

Aaryan didn't move. His pulse didn't quicken. But his eyes narrowed as he stared ahead.

He was no longer alone.

And the night was no longer quiet.

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