The grand doors of the main hall creaked open as the meeting adjourned. Elders murmured among themselves, disciples shifted restlessly, but Elder Dharun stood still for a long moment—long enough that someone might've thought he was contemplating one final word.

He wasn't.

Without sparing even a glance at Aaryan, Dharun turned and walked out. His pace was steady, his back straight, his robes undisturbed by hesitation. But his eyes, in that fleeting moment as he passed beneath the threshold, told another story altogether.

They carried the weight of silence—a deep, dull sadness veiled by the discipline of decades. Worry simmered beneath it, the kind that lingers like smoke long after the fire is gone. Most of all, there was helplessness, bitter and corrosive, the kind no cultivator's strength could dispel.

He was an elder of the Sect. A man who had fought through wars, weathered betrayals, and mentored disciples who went on to shake the foundation of provinces. Yet in this moment—this quiet, cruel moment—he could do nothing for the one person he wanted to protect most.

Aaryan.

It should have been him shielding the boy, not the other way around. It should have been Dharun dragging him out of danger, standing between him and the sect, not sitting idly as decisions were made under the farce of fairness. But if he had stayed even a moment longer, if he had so much as looked at Aaryan with the weight of emotion he carried… it would've weakened the boy's position. They were circling him now—those old snakes. He could see it.

So Dharun did the only thing he could.

He walked away.

His footsteps echoed down the silent corridor like a slow dirge. One after the other, firm and final. He cast the guilt aside like a worn-out cloak—but it clung to him all the same. Every corner of this sect held memories. Every stone remembered his steps. Yet none of it made him feel like this was still home.

He reached the outer gate, where two guards stood with spear staves crossed. Their expressions straightened as they recognized him, but they didn't speak. Protocol demanded that any elder or disciple intending to leave the sect grounds be verified by the Mission Hall first. But… there were always exceptions.

A few elders, now and then, left for brief excursions—visits to old friends, inspection of outer posts, quiet cultivation in isolation. Most returned within a day or two. The guards had seen this before.

They exchanged a glance—just for a second—as if sensing something deeper. But they didn't ask. Just stepped aside.

Dharun offered no explanation. No casual lie, no polite nod. He simply passed between them, gaze fixed ahead, as if the road had already been decided for him. Perhaps it had. Perhaps this was the only way left.

The moment he cleared the gate, he reached into his sleeve and retrieved a blackened token carved with ancient runes—his personal teleportation sigil. A flick of silver Qi made it pulse faintly in his palm, like a dying heartbeat.

He turned, just once.

From here, the Evernight Sect spread behind him like a painting faded by time. The scattered islands, the layered courtyards, the soaring towers—each one steeped in memory—stood in solemn silence. He had taught hundreds here, watched many bloom and wither. He had laughed on these grounds, bled on them, sworn loyalty that once felt unshakable.

And now he was leaving.

Not a hero. Not a coward. Just… leaving.

His eyes lingered on one of the outer islands—where the Resource distribution hall sat. That was where he first noticed Aaryan. That unruly, clever brat—too much defiance, far too much potential. A boy who should have died nameless in a crowd, yet kept surviving, and surviving, and now… now stood alone before a storm that should've never touched him.

Dharun's hand clenched the token harder.

He wanted to protect him.

But to do that now would only hurt him more.

"Forgive me," he muttered, though no one was there to hear it.

With a final breath, he released the token. Light enveloped him in a spiral of violet mist, and his body began to fade—first the feet, then the hands, the shoulders, the sorrow-lined face.

When the light vanished, so did he.

And so Elder Dharun left the Evernight Sect.

Not with honour

Not with fanfare.

Only with silence.

And perhaps, never to return.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan didn't turn around.

Even as Elder Dharun exited the main hall with solemn, unhurried steps—even as the elders began to murmur and shuffle, and the oppressive atmosphere gradually loosened its grip—Aaryan stood rooted in place. Motionless. Unblinking.

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He hadn't expected a glance. Dharun hadn't expected one either. That was the plan.

The moment the meeting ended, Dharun was to leave the sect. No lingering. No final conversation. No farewell. Just silence.

And Aaryan would remain behind.

He closed his eyes briefly, listening to the echo of Dharun's departing footsteps fading down the corridor. His hand twitched, just once, but he forced it still. This wasn't a time for sentiment. They'd already said everything that needed to be said—days ago, in the quiet moments few others had noticed. The plan was simple in its outline, complicated in its execution: Before they even left Green Veil City for the Sect, they'd instructed Kalyani to quietly relocate to a nearby city once they were gone—Dharun would find her later and take her somewhere safe, far from Evernight's reach.

He opened his eyes and exhaled through his nose, a quiet, tired breath. His body ached—still raw from his previous training. And yet his mind felt sharp. Uncomfortably sharp, like a blade kept on edge by fear more than discipline.

The next stage was his trial.

Survive it.

Escape—at any cost.

And if, somehow, he managed that… there would be no thread left for the sect to pull him back in. No leverage. No hostages. No bait. They could brand him a traitor, condemn him in absentia, send hunting parties—but without a weakness to exploit, even Evernight's reach would falter.

At least… that was the plan.

Aaryan let out a slow, bitter sigh and turned away from the fading voices behind him. He left the hall without a word, ignoring the curious and excited glances from the elders and disciples remaining. His face showed nothing—no fear, no sorrow, no regret. Only quiet, steady resolve.

He moved down the stone corridors toward the core disciple residences. The sky was already darkening, long shadows creeping farther than usual—as if the Sect itself sensed an ending.

He entered his courtyard without hesitation and went straight into the training room. No pauses for food or rest. No distractions. Just straight ahead.

A week remained before the trial began. Seven days. His only chance.

If he could break through to Spirit Tempering in that time—then he could truly fight.

No more barely holding on. No more relying on tricks while his body throbbed, raw and bruised from relentless training. Spirit Tempering would give him the foundation to stand against a Qi Condensation cultivator without collapsing. Maybe not to win—but to survive. And that was all he needed.

Just survive.

He sat down on the worn mat at the centre of the chamber. The room was dimly lit, quiet save for the distant rustle of wind and the occasional creak of old wood. Here, the world felt far away.

He steadied his breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

He pushed the guilt away—the memory of Dharun's retreating back, the image of Kalyani's stern face quietly slipping into obscurity. It was all necessary. He had accepted that.

And now, it was his turn.

The trap was already set. Every move they had made in the past weeks, every show of defiance, every clever insult and confrontation he threw in the meeting, all of it had funnelled toward this point. They thought they were drawing him into their game.

But he was already inside the trap.

He closed his eyes.

The trap had sprung.

Now, all that remained was silence—

until blood answered it.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

While Aaryan shut himself away in his training chamber, chasing the fragile edge of breakthrough, another quiet gathering unfolded deep within the sect's heart—one that carried no traces of sweat or strain, only whispers and shadows.

Within a secluded side chamber, the Second and Third Grand Elders sat across from one another. A solitary lantern burned between them, its dim flame barely brushing the carved walls with light. The air was still, thick with the scent of incense and quiet calculation.

"He's too cunning for his own good," the Third Elder said, voice calm but edged with amusement. "The way he speaks, the way he acts... always calculating something. Always baiting us to respond."

The Second Elder snorted lightly. "A rat with tricks is still a rat. Even if he knows there's a trap, he has to walk into it."

A slow chuckle passed between them, low and dry.

"But that's the beauty of it," the Third mused. "Knowing there's a blade under the table, and still sitting down to eat. It's admirable, in a pathetic sort of way."

Just then, the door creaked open, and Elder Kiyan stepped inside with a hurried bow. His face was unreadable, but his voice carried a hint of urgency.

"Elders. Dharun has left the sect."

The flicker of a smile vanished from the Second Elder's face. His eyes narrowed to slits as he turned to the Third. No words passed between them, only a shared silence heavy with implication.

The Third Elder raised a hand and waved Kiyan away. "You may leave."

As the younger elder bowed once more and exited, the Second Elder exhaled sharply. "That boy... what is he trying to do by sending Dharun away now?"

Before the Third could answer, an eerie voice echoed from the darkness behind them—smooth, cold, and just slightly too quiet to be natural.

"To make sure we don't use Dharun as leverage."

Both elders immediately stood and turned, bowing low.

From the shadowed corridor stepped a man cloaked in black, his face obscured beneath a deep hood. His presence was chilling, almost unnatural—like a ripple through the stillness of reality. The room seemed colder with every step he took.

"Clever boy," the cloaked man murmured, his voice curling like smoke through the chamber. "Still underestimated him, even now. He's playing a longer game than we thought."

He turned slightly, gazing somewhere distant—as if seeing through walls and time.

"If you'd given him another year or two, he might've become a real threat. Dangerous, even. But now…" His voice lowered to a hum. "Now he's still too weak. No tricks will save him."

He chuckled softly—quiet, but sharp—and turned back to face the elders.

"He steps into Mount Veinsunder… and never returns. That's already ensured."

The laugh that followed was quiet, but it seemed to gnaw at the edges of the room. The lantern flame flickered in response, as if recoiling from the sound.

"Still," the cloaked man added, "send someone to tail Dharun. Quietly. We can't afford any variables."

Both Second and Third Elders bowed again. "As you command."

Without further discussion, they turned and departed, robes swishing behind them in solemn obedience. The cloaked man remained where he stood, unmoving.

He muttered softly, more to himself than anyone else.

"First it was Fourth Grand Elder Shiela… and now Dharun. Both abandoning the sect so conveniently. Don't tell me they're colluding."

His voice dropped lower. "But it doesn't matter. We will succeed. No matter what."

He stepped back into the shadows—and disappeared as if he had never been there.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Elsewhere, far from the whispers and shadows of the elders, a different silence gripped the sect.

A silence born of strain, solitude, and a trial that would soon begin.

Time passed.

In the depths of the training chamber, Aaryan sat still. His breathing was steady, his body soaked in sweat, yet every muscle remained taut—like a blade suspended mid-swing.

Seven days of pain, focus, and quiet desperation—yet the breakthrough never came.

He opened his eyes.

Today was the day.

The Mani Disciple Trial.

If he survived the trial, he would vanish.

And if not?

Then this would be his burial ground.

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