It had been nearly two months since Aaryan returned to the Evernight Sect.

Two months of silence.

Two months of sweat, cracked bones, and fading spirit stones.

Despite pouring every breath into his cultivation, the breakthrough to the Spirit Tempering Stage remained just out of reach. He'd long since exhausted the last of his spirit stones—each one lost in pursuit of a higher plane that refused to open. Now, every training session left him aching and drained, the recovery painfully slow. Without external resources, progress had become a crawl.

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

The dragon egg within his core—dormant since the night of that dream—remained hidden, silent. A part of him feared it had vanished, dissolved into nothing more than memory. Yet deep within, in that place no technique could reach, he knew.

It would hatch soon.

The Soul Anvil technique, however, did not wait. Its toll was relentless. Each use left his mind torn and seared as if someone had hammered it against burning steel. The backlash left him shivering, vision spinning, sometimes even hallucinating—but he forced himself onward. Every morning, he rose before the sun and dragged his weary body into the training room again.

The Dominant Tyrant Physique had shown minimal progress. Herbs did nothing. Pills were useless. Pain was the only path forward. His bones had to earn each transformation. Each rune tattoo came only after enduring punishment that would cripple a normal cultivator. Still, that only made him want it more.

Harder meant stronger.

And Aaryan was done being weak.

His only real gains came through his cultivation base, which had surged forward—he now stood at the very peak of Body Tempering, on the edge of Qi Condensation. One final push, one clean moment of clarity, and the barrier would break.

The Heavenly Silken Mask Art had also begun to unfold. His aura manipulation had become sharper, almost deceptive. His improved Silken Shadow could now mimic the energy signatures of others. If someone wasn't actively locking onto him, they could mistake him for a passing servant—or vanish entirely beneath his projected cloak. With a little refinement, even elders would find it hard to notice him unless they were watching directly.

But none of that dulled the aching crawl of time. The bruises of stagnation. The way each night seemed darker than the last. He hadn't spoken to anyone for days. Maybe weeks.

He sat cross-legged in the dim training chamber of his courtyard, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, mind pulsing with heat from his last round of cultivation. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. A single misstep had nearly caused a backlash, leaving his arms trembling and his vision blurred. The Soul Anvil's echo still pulsed behind his eyes.

Then—footsteps.

Not light ones. Not the shuffling of a servant or a timid junior.

Sharp. Measured. Heavy with purpose.

Aaryan opened his eyes and slowly stood, joints cracking. A moment later, the stone doors to his courtyard creaked open—and Elder Dharun stepped in.

But something was wrong.

The usual serenity that clung to the elder like a second skin was fractured. Dharun's face was a storm barely held back—worry, anger, and something else... urgency.

Dharun stepped fully into the room, his presence quiet but weighted, like a thundercloud pressed down into human shape.

Aaryan didn't waste time.

"So… it's begun?"

The elder gave a slow nod, though the lines on his face didn't ease. If anything, the gloom hanging around him thickened. "The summons just came. All core disciples are to gather in the main hall. I suspect… they'll announce the trial."

Then, just as he turned to leave, he stopped. His lips parted—hesitant, almost reluctant. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

"Aaryan... are you ready?"

Aaryan tilted his head, a glint of that usual crooked grin tugging at his lips despite the sweat still drying on his brow. "I've been trapped long enough. Better to join their little party than keep chewing through the walls."

He pulled on his outer robe, smoothing the creases with one hand. A second later, he was beside Dharun, moving with that same casual air he always carried—like the noose wasn't already dangling overhead.

As they stepped past the threshold of his courtyard, Aaryan spoke again, tone clipped, almost conversational.

"If I'm selected… you'll move immediately."

It wasn't a question.

Dharun's gaze flickered sideways. There was a beat of hesitation—just one— but the silence between them had weight—like something just beginning to splinter. Then he gave a faint nod. "If your name is called, I'll act. Everything is in place."

Aaryan's smirk returned, this time tinged with steel. "Good. They won't make any sudden moves until I step inside Mount Veinsunder anyway. Too public. Too risky. That gives us time."

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Dharun's fingers twitched at his side. He didn't like it. Not the silence. Not the boy's resolve. Not the feeling that this wouldn't end cleanly. But he knew it would be messy.

He didn't reply right away.

He watched the boy walking a step ahead of him, dark hair brushing against the collar of his robe, back straight, hands tucked calmly behind him.

There was no fear in his gait. No shakiness in his breath. Not even a second glance toward the path he walked.

It was like he wasn't heading into a trial built on deception and danger.

No—he was walking toward it like someone heading out to meet old friends.

Dharun's throat tightened.

Aaryan knew the trap was real.

And he was still going anyway.

To protect Kalyani.

To protect himself.

To finish what they'd started.

Neither of them spoke after that. The weight between them was too old, too deep for more words. Their footsteps echoed through the stone walkways of the Evernight Sect—unhurried, unwavering.

And soon, the towering doors of the main hall stood before them.

Closed.

Waiting.

The heavy doors groaned open, and Aaryan stepped in beside Dharun.

Despite the sheer size of the main hall—its ceiling vaulted high with hanging lanterns flickering like distant stars—it was brimming with people. Not overflowing, but close. The air buzzed with low whispers and tightly-held anticipation. Aaryan's sharp gaze swept the room.

Almost all the sect's pillars were here.

Core disciples stood gathered in a neat crescent near the central platform. Behind them loomed the robed figures of inner disciples. A few outer disciples lingered near the edges of the crowd, clearly out of place but desperate to witness history. Elders filled the higher dais, speaking quietly among themselves. And higher still, the thrones meant for the Grand Elders and the Sect Leader waited in silence.

Dharun gave Aaryan a final glance, then moved to join the other elders, his robes swaying with quiet authority.

Aaryan made his way to where the core disciples stood.

The moment he moved, eyes followed.

Admiration. Envy. Jealousy. Wariness.

Some bowed their heads slightly in acknowledgment. Others didn't bother hiding their stares.

He was almost like a myth now—that outer disciple who became a core member in under a year, who'd killed three elders, who walked away from certain death.

On his way forward, a ripple of recognition stirred a group to the right.

Familiar faces.

Varun.

The same Varun who had once surrounded him with his little clique, mocking and beating him until Aaryan collapsed. The memory was distant now, like a cracked mirror from another life.

As he passed, most of them looked away.

Avoided his gaze.

A few even lowered their heads out of reflex, like prey sensing a predator.

But not Varun.

Varun stared at him—expression unreadable, stripped of the mockery and scorn he once wore so easily

Just that strange tightness in his jaw, that flicker of something he didn't understand. Not yet. Aaryan could see the question in his eyes. How? How had this zero-affinity nobody becomes a core disciple even before he could become an inner disciple?

Even Varun's father—the mighty City Lord of Green Veil—would have to act courteous if they crossed paths.

Aaryan didn't spare him more than a glance.

They weren't worth much anymore. Gnats from a past life. And right now, he had far heavier burdens pressing on his shoulders.

He took his place among the core disciples, settling in near the left end. A few glances came his way. Some curious, others guarded. None dared speak.

A few minutes passed in stillness, broken only by shuffling robes and whispered speculations.

Then—Vayu arrived.

Calm. Composed. He made his way to the core disciples, gave Aaryan a small, respectful nod.

Aaryan returned it with a quiet one of his own.

A few steps behind came Nitish.

His arrival, as always, was slower, more deliberate. Eyes smug. His mouth curled into a familiar mocking smirk the moment he saw Aaryan. It practically screamed I'm watching you.

Aaryan didn't even blink in his direction.

He turned slightly, kept his gaze forward.

Let the clown perform. The stage wasn't his to hold for long.

Then—

A sharp voice rang out near the hall's entrance. Loud. Crisp.

"All rise for the arrival of the Sect Leader and the Grand Elders!"

The murmur of conversation died instantly.

All disciples stood straighter.

Even the quiet murmurs among the elders fell silent.

And from the inner sanctum, the heavy doors began to part again—this time, not to admit a mere elder or disciple, but the very weight of the sect's will—draped in silence, cloaked in power.

Four figures entered, their presence like a shift in gravity. Robes trailing, eyes sharp, their footsteps echoed with purpose rather than pomp.

The Sect Leader, clad in ink-dark robes edged with silver thread, walked with the ease of absolute authority. Beside him, the three Grand Elders followed—each a pillar of the sect in their own right. Murmurs began but quickly died as the four climbed the steps to the elevated platform. They took their seats high above the disciples and elders— All but one.

Vayu's brow creased. He noticed it immediately.

The fourth chair, high and carved in the shape of a lotus sun, remained empty. Untouched.

It was his aunt's chair.

Where was she?

A chill pricked his neck. It wasn't like her to be absent from something this important. She had never missed a major sect event—not once. And lately… she hadn't been herself.

Calm, serene, detached—that was the Fourth Grand Elder's nature. But in recent weeks, she'd seemed agitated. Rushed. There was that strange moment just days ago when she had quietly urged him to look after Aaryan.

"If you can, help that boy, Aaryan."

Why?

His gaze drifted toward Aaryan.

But Aaryan wasn't looking at him.

He stood still, his eyes locked on the dais—on the Sect Leader and Grand Elders, unmoving, unreadable. His expression didn't shift, but there was a faint tension in his jaw. As if he'd felt the winds shift long before anyone else noticed.

And then—another pair of eyes.

Rudra.

Not glaring. Not mocking.

Just… watching. That same complicated look he'd worn since that meeting in this same hall.

A hush spread through the hall as the Sect Leader stepped forward.

He didn't raise his voice, but it carried to every corner.

"I'm sure many of you have heard the rumours," he said, hands folded behind his back. "About the Trial for the Mani Disciple."

Murmurs rippled like a wave. Even the elders seemed to tense.

"But let me assure you—this is no rumour."

The silence snapped into sharp focus.

"After fifty years, the trial shall be held once more. And its winner… shall be awarded the title of Mani Disciple of the Evernight Sect."

Gasps broke out. Someone sucked in a sharp breath behind Aaryan.

"Along with that title," the Sect Leader continued, "will come two thousand spirit stones and—" his gaze swept across the inner disciples—"a single Qi Condensation Pill."

It was like a spark dropped into dry grass.

Eyes widened.

Hands clenched.

The words Qi Condensation Pill hung in the air like a divine treasure. Even among the inner disciples, silence deepened. Most understood its worth. But only a few truly grasped what it meant— A pill that could shatter bottlenecks, rewrite fates.

For inner disciples still caught below that fabled wall, it was nothing short of salvation.

Vayu blinked, taken aback.

Rudra stiffened slightly beside him, lips parted.

Even the elders shifted in their seats.

The remaining core disciples didn't speak, but something shifted in their eyes. A gleam. Something unspoken and unreadable. Not surprise. Not greed. Something... deeper.

Something that made the air feel heavier.

Aaryan stood still amidst them all, untouched by the tide.

His face, carved in calm.

His eyes, distant.

He didn't stir. Didn't react. But as the words settled around him like iron chains, he whispered under his breath—so faint that only someone standing beside him might've heard.

"So… it really began."

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