The fire had died to glowing embers. Outside, sunrise arrived like a silent breath, casting golden light through the thick canopy above. Shafts of morning sun pierced the layers of mist that coiled lazily between the trees, illuminating floating motes of spiritual energy that shimmered like dust from the heavens.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, the world holding its breath in that fragile space between night and day.

Inside the hall, silence lingered.

Dharun finally spoke again, his voice low. Measured.

"The Trial for the Mani Disciple… it happens only once every few decades. The last one was about fifty years ago. I had joined right about when it ended."

Aaryan blinked, pulled from the fog of thought. "So… you were kind of there?"

Dharun gave a slow nod. His eyes weren't on Aaryan now—they were turned inward, gaze fixed somewhere far behind the walls, behind the years.

"I had just joined the sect. No involvement. No duties. No place in the sect's workings yet. I was still finding my bearings… but the air was different then. Heavy. The older disciples walked a little quieter, like something had happened but no one wanted to say it aloud."

He paused, watching the coals pulse faintly.

"I only caught scraps—whispers between disciples, stray words from elders. Bits of conversation in the corners of courtyards. But the one thing everyone seemed to know, even if they didn't speak of it directly…"

Another pause. Outside, birds began to stir in the trees.

"A disciple had gone missing. During the trial. Mount Veinsunder is where it's held, and that place… it's dangerous. Forbidden, sealed off for a reason. That seal only opens for the trial—and even then, just barely."

Aaryan shifted, the cushion beneath him creaking. "Wait, you're saying someone just… vanished? The sect didn't investigate?"

Dharun gave a humourless breath that might've been a laugh. Or just tired.

"One or two deaths during a trial—especially in a place like Veinsunder—aren't unusual. You climb into the mouth of a sleeping beast, you don't cry when someone doesn't crawl out. Even some elders tread carefully near that mountain. It's not a place to wander or question too loudly."

He looked down at his cup, still untouched.

"But not everyone was willing to let it go. It was her niece who went missing—the Fourth Grand Elder's own blood. Elder sister of Vayu."

That name hit like a spark on dry leaves.

'The Fourth Grand Elder's niece. Vayu's sister?' The air suddenly felt colder.

Aaryan's brows rose. "Vayu has a sister?"

"Had." Dharun's tone turned clipped. "She vanished during the trial. No body. No traces. No answers. The Fourth Grand Elder refused to accept it. Raised a storm in the Council Hall. Eventually, the other Grand Elders agreed to investigate. All four of them."

He met Aaryan's eyes now, meaningfully.

"That alone should tell you this wasn't just another failed mission."

Aaryan leaned forward, hands wrapped around his knees. "But the Grand Elders did investigate, right? What did they find?"

Dharun shook his head.

"If anything came of it, no one was told. I was just another speck in the sect back then. No access, no clearance. Just… rumours. That they returned empty-handed. Or worse, returned with truths no one wanted to speak."

The words hung like dust in the air, slow to settle.

As if summoned by the tension, a soft knock echoed at the door.

A young maid stepped in with silent grace, her hair tied in a neat bun. A porcelain teapot steamed in her hands, trailing the comforting scent of jasmine and crushed herbs. She set the tray between them, bowed, and left with barely a whisper of footsteps—like the mist outside, vanishing without trace.

Dharun poured two cups, the liquid pale and golden.

They sipped in silence.

But Aaryan's mind was anything but quiet.

'An accident? Or something more? A pattern? A warning?'

Was the trial back then just a misstep… or the start of something?

His fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

'Was he walking the same path now, drawn by the same unseen pull? Or had that path never ended, only waited… for him?'

The steam from the tea curled upward—calm, gentle, fragile.

Just like the morning light before the storm.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Elsewhere in the sect's inner most areas, the corridors were silent. Morning light filtered through tall, latticed windows, casting long, angular shadows across the marbled floors.

Vayu stepped into the Fourth Grand Elder's chambers, bowing deeply with one hand over his chest.

"Disciple Vayu greets the Fourth Grand Elder."

Elder Shiela turned from the table with a soft smile, her eyes warm but distant, like they were always watching something behind the world. She gestured lightly toward the cushion across from her.

"Come. Sit, child."

Vayu obeyed, folding his legs beneath him as the faint aroma of jasmine and crushed snowberries curled through the air. A porcelain teapot steamed between them, delicate and ornate. Shiela poured herself a cup without hurry, her gaze steady on Vayu even as her hands moved with graceful familiarity.

"So," she began, voice light, "how did the gathering go last night?"

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Vayu exhaled a long breath, shoulders easing slightly.

"There were… tensions. Most were respectful, but a few—Dhawan, Shoya, and Kuni—they tried to provoke Aaryan. Insults, thinly veiled threats. Nothing too direct, but still enough to sour the air."

Shiela's expression didn't shift, but her brows drew together the slightest bit. She raised her cup and took a sip, saying nothing.

Vayu continued, watching her carefully. "Aaryan didn't respond with violence. He was sharp-tongued as always, but he didn't escalate it. Still… the others present didn't intervene either."

"I see," she murmured.

"And then," Vayu hesitated, "Nitish stepped in. He turned to Aaryan and… asked if he would participate in the Trial for the Mani Disciple. Said it would be a way to prove himself to the rest of the core disciples."

For a moment, Shiela didn't move. The cup paused halfway to her lips, steam curling upward, untouched.

Then her fingers trembled—just once. She slowly set the porcelain cup down, not clattering, but with unusual care. Her other hand drifted to the table's edge and gripped it tightly, knuckles whitening.

Her eyes lost focus, staring through the teapot as if seeing something far away—something terrible and familiar. The warmth in her face drained, not in a blink, but like a candle slowly smothered under glass.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "The Trial?"

Vayu straightened. "Yes… he asked him directly. Is something—?"

Her chair scraped sharply against the floor as she stood. Her robes whispered as they moved, but the power coiling behind her no longer felt serene. It was cold, ancient, and coiled like a sleeping beast.

"So they're making their final move…" she whispered.

Vayu blinked, startled. "Aunt—?"

She looked past him now, as if seeing something no one else could.

"Nitish asked him to enter… to prove himself?" Her voice was taut, controlled only by force of habit.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. But I don't understand—why does this matter so much?"

Shiela's eyes closed for a moment, lashes trembling. Then she turned sharply, stepping away from the table with sudden, sweeping strides.

"I will not let it happen again," she said—half to herself, half to the air.

The doors opened with a sharp gust of spiritual pressure, and she was gone.

Vayu sat alone in the echo of her presence, tea cooling between his hands.

He stared at the place where she'd stood, confusion rising in his chest like smoke.

Again? What did she mean by that? What was truly hidden behind the Trial?

Outside, the wind stirred the leaves. And somewhere, Mount Veinsunder waited—silent, sealed, and watching.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Seeing that Aaryan was still quiet, eyes lowered, and brows drawn together, Dharun leaned back on the worn bench beside him and released a loud, theatrical sigh—one that was far too deliberate to be genuine.

"Why are you sulking like the trial has already begun and you're halfway up Mount Veinsunder?" he said, tone laced with mock annoyance.

Aaryan didn't answer. But his shoulders twitched slightly.

Dharun's voice wasn't truly annoyed—Aaryan could tell. Beneath the gruffness lay something gentler, intentional. Dharun wasn't pushing him to speak. He was coaxing him, in his own roundabout way. The old man had never been good with overt concern, but he tried, and somehow that made it all the more human.

"And didn't that mysterious expert give you a jade tablet?" Dharun continued, waving a hand vaguely, like the matter should've been obvious from the start. "If things go to hell, just shatter it. That's what it's for, isn't it?"

Aaryan's lips twitched. A breath escaped him—half a laugh, rough and short, but real.

Only for him, he thought. Dharun would never waste effort like this on inner disciples, even for elders. But for a nobody who'd wormed his way under an old man's patience? Somehow, that was different.

"I am planning," Aaryan said at last, sarcasm curling back into his voice like a blade re-sheathed. "And yes, I have the jade… but come on, it's not exactly a foolproof plan. It's more of a bet. What if she doesn't come? Or can't? Or maybe she saw how pathetic I looked and handed it over out of pity. Could be she's long forgotten I even exist."

He hurled the words fast, defensive, like stones thrown before anyone else could strike. But as they settled in the space between them, a different weight clung to the last line.

A memory stirred, soft and stubborn.

Maya's expression, earnest beneath the veil. Her eyes steady, like she was speaking to someone who mattered. The way her voice carried warmth, not just politeness. A kind of belief. The kind Aaryan rarely let himself receive.

His gaze dropped. "…Probably not that last one," he muttered.

Dharun smiled faintly. Not a smirk. Not mocking. Just… amused, and maybe a little proud.

He'd seen this before—Aaryan's instinct to doubt, to turn every kindness into a trick. It was his armour. But even armour cracked sometimes.

"You really are something," Dharun said. "Experts don't hand out jade tokens just to tease some stray disciple they felt sorry for. In this entire sect, maybe the Sect Leader could give one out—and even then, I doubt he would."

Aaryan didn't respond immediately, but something in him shifted. The tight line of his jaw loosened. His shoulders eased back, just slightly. The guilt hadn't vanished, but it had ebbed—just enough to let him breathe.

And Dharun noticed.

The sarcasm was back. The silence was broken. The weight still clung, but it wasn't crushing him anymore.

It wasn't healing, not yet. But it was a step. A moment of stillness before the storm.

And sometimes, on the long road of life and cultivation, a step forward—no matter how small—was enough.

After speaking with Dharun for a while longer—words turning to silence, silence to quiet comfort—Aaryan eventually rose.

Dharun didn't stop him. He only grunted in his usual way and muttered something about not overthinking like some self-important ascetic. Aaryan managed a faint smirk, gave a nod, and walked off.

By the time he returned to his courtyard, dusk had already spilled across the sky, bleeding red into violet. The outer walls of his small house seemed quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just his mind, settling.

Inside, he crossed the stone floor without a sound, stepping past the shelves and his bedroom until he reached the training room.

He shut the door behind him.

Exhaled.

Then sat cross-legged for a few long breaths until his heartbeat slowed and the heaviness in his chest dulled into a low thrum. The Soul Anvil Technique wasn't something he could attempt in a stormed mind.

He steadied his breathing and activated the method.

The world flickered.

And then it shifted.

Darkness took him—not oppressive, but vast. Endless.

Before him stood the Soul Anvil.

A mountain of black-gold metal suspended in the void, unmoving and eternal. Around it was veins of molten gold and ember-red fire pulsed through the void like slow-burning rivers, alive with some primordial rhythm. The Anvil of Kalagni. The place where pain carved permanence, where intent was tested against the weight of creation.

Aaryan's soul form stood more solid than it had the last time. Still faint at the edges, but clearer, firmer. The long hours of torment were yielding something, if not yet mastery.

He stepped forward. No hesitation now.

And landed upon the anvil.

Instantly, the great hammer began to descend—slow, inevitable. Its size dwarfed mountains. Its head gleamed with a cold brilliance that spoke of judgment, not mercy.

BOOM

The first strike landed.

His soul screamed without a sound.

Agony lanced through him, not pain of flesh, but something deeper—pure and scouring. His very self buckled under the weight, but he held.

Barely.

BOOM

The second strike.

His form wavered, flickering. Fragments of memory surged up—his mother's face, the scent of blood, the laughter of Rudra turning cold. He clenched his fists, anchored to the anvil by will alone.

The third strike began to rise.

But before it could fall, his soul form retreated from the anvil.

He was thrown back from the anvil, spiralling through the void, gasping in the waking world.

Aaryan jolted upright in his training room, drenched in sweat, chest heaving.

He didn't scream. He never did. But the tremble in his hands told the story.

Still, there had been progress.

He couldn't yet take the third strike, but he had lasted longer. The herbs he'd bought worked—they shortened the time his body needed to recover.

But they did nothing for exhaustion. Not the kind that clung to thought and breath.

He attempted it a few more times.

But eventually, he couldn't take it anymore.

Mind and spirit weary, Aaryan dragged himself to bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, eyes already half-closed.

A cold prickle ran down his spine just as his eyes shut— but by then, sleep had already taken him.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

And something stirred.

He wasn't in his courtyard anymore.

Wasn't even in his bed.

When his eyes opened, he found himself standing.

Alone.

The air was wrong. Too vast. Too silent.

He looked around and saw…

A place he'd never seen.

A place that could not exist.

Massive, boundless, ancient beyond reason. The ground beneath his feet shimmered like liquid obsidian, each step rippling as though it remembered being a sea. Colossal stone pillars rose into an unseen sky, carved with markings too old for memory—neither script nor symbol, yet they thrummed with power.

Far ahead, something vast moved.

Aaryan tensed.

The dream had begun.

But somehow, it didn't feel like a dream at all.

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