For a moment, silence held the chamber hostage.

Dust swirled in the air, suspended like time itself. Meera's dazed gaze shifted toward the figure standing a few meters from her—a woman staring at her with a sorrow so raw, it carved through the air like a blade.

That woman… why did her eyes feel so familiar?

Meera blinked, confusion dancing behind her tears. Her heart beat faster, struggling to catch a rhythm it hadn't known in years. She didn't understand it—this ache, this warmth, this unbearable pull—until the fog in her mind parted, and her voice cracked out in a whisper too fragile for the world.

"…Aunty?"

Shiela staggered.

In the next instant, her figure flickered, vanishing from where she was and reappearing beside the broken girl. Her composure shattered.

"Meera!" she breathed.

She knelt down, hands trembling as they cradled Meera's frail form. The moment Meera clung to her, the dam broke. Their sobs mingled, echoing through the hollow chamber, soft but endless, like a forgotten lullaby rediscovered too late.

Shiela held her tight, as if she could shield her from the world, from the pain, from time itself. Her fingers trembled as they brushed the girl's filthy hair, her mind reeling from the weight of what had been done.

Behind them, no one dared move.

The Second and Third Grand Elders stood frozen, faces drained of colour. They looked like men who had seen their tombs suddenly built behind them—each block carved by their own hands.

If this got out... if Shiela's clan discovered this...

It wouldn't just be war. It would be extinction.

A sect that sacrifices its own disciples? Every small and large sect would rise in righteous fury. The heavens themselves might answer.

A sharp voice sliced through the tension.

"Touching reunion and all," Aaryan muttered, quickly spreading healing liquid over his right hand, "but you two might want to cry somewhere that's not a sacrificial altar surrounded by people who've tried to kill you."

He gestured lazily behind them. "Just saying."

Shiela's head snapped up, red fury blooming in her eyes. The tears had dried, but something far more dangerous had taken their place. She turned—slowly, like a blade unsheathing—to face the elders.

Her killing intent surged like a tidal wave.

The Third Elder raised both hands, voice hurried but still laced with desperation. "Wait! This… this is a misunderstanding. We're on the same side, are we not? Surely… surely there's still room to talk. There's no need to turn on each other."

The Second Elder's voice, calm but calculating, followed swiftly after. "You may take the girl and leave. Return to your clan. We will swear on our names to never speak of this again. If you take an oath—one of silence—then everyone can mind their own business. No bloodshed."

Shiela's eyes didn't even flicker.

Without a word, her fingers moved—mudras flaring to life as the air cracked around her—and without warning, a blade of silver light materialized behind her. Taller than a man, impossibly sharp, it gleamed with a purity so fierce it hurt to look at.

Then it lunged.

The blade tore forward like lightning, screaming through the air toward the elders.

Both men reacted instantly.

The Second Elder's hands flashed through his own mudras—summoning a massive fiery claw, its heat distorting the chamber.

The Third Elder followed, weaving a green sigil that unleashed a thorned vine, thick and wet with poison, lashing toward the incoming silver blade.

The powers collided mid-air.

A violent explosion tore through the chamber—flame, silver light, and poisonous wind erupting in every direction. The shockwave cracked the stone floor, splitting it wide…

Yet the altar didn't bear a single scratch.

Shiela shielded Meera with one arm, hair flaring in the gust.

As he stepped forward, something made him freeze.

His gaze snapped to one of the altar's pillars—

Just for a second, something had… appeared.

Shiela didn't hesitate.

Her hands weaved through the air, seals flashing. Light rippled across her body as she lunged again, silver blades spinning to life, arcs of lethal energy tearing toward the elders like judgment.

But it was clear.

She was fast. Her fury was blistering. Yet… she was losing.

The Second and Third Elders moved in tandem—fire and poison twisting around her strikes, their techniques clashing and countering with cold precision. The chamber trembled under their might, but they had the edge. Age, cultivation, and ruthless coordination—these weren't mere elders. They were predators who had worn down countless challengers.

And yet…

Neither of them looked calm.

Even with the upper hand, both men fought like cornered animals, their eyes flicking constantly to the slightest shift in her stance.

"She is still that prodigy." The Second Elder muttered, unable to meet her gaze.

Because they knew—if she staked her life, if she chose to die with them—they would not leave this chamber alive.

"Shiela!" the Third Elder barked mid-clash. "You've proven your point! Let's not waste more blood. Stand down, and we can talk—"

"Don't do this," the Second Elder followed, his tone calmer but edged with unease. "You'll only force both sides into ruin."

Shiela didn't reply.

Instead, she twisted mid-air, kicked off a floating shard of stone, and landed beside Aaryan and Meera in a blur of motion.

Without a word, she tossed him something.

A black jade, its surface shimmering like a pool of night.

Aaryan caught it without blinking.

"When the moment's right," Shiela said, her voice steady despite the chaos, "crush it. Get her out of here. Take her to the clan. Keep her safe."

She knelt briefly and pressed Meera's forehead to hers. "You'll be alright," she whispered. "You will."

Then she rose, back straight, eyes blazing.

"Wait," Aaryan muttered, fingers tightening around the jade. "Before we go… could you maybe—create a distraction?"

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Shiela arched a brow. "You want what?"

"There's something I need to do. Won't take long. Probably." He gave her a lopsided grin.

She stared at him for a heartbeat.

Then sighed. "Fine. Ten breaths. Don't waste them."

Her seals shifted.

A pulse rippled out from her body. Her aura swelled—then erupted, not like light, but like judgment. The air twisted around her, runes crackling down her arms as if the heavens had marked her as their weapon.

The Second Elder's eyes widened. "She's using it—her clan's secret art. The Sealed Vein Technique!"

"Stop her!" the Third Elder shouted, drawing blood from his palm for a hastened spell.

But they were already too late.

Shiela exploded forward, blades now glowing with a terrifying lustre. Her strikes tore through their defences, her every move relentless and wild, like a goddess of vengeance descending through the storm. The elders reeled back, barely fending her off, caught off guard by her sudden burst in power.

Dust. Wind. Stone. Magic.

It was the perfect storm.

Aaryan slipped into the chaos.

He darted through the swirling debris toward that pillar—towards the thing that had appeared, just for a second.

He skidded to a stop, scanning it.

Nothing.

His brows furrowed. 'Was I wrong? No. There was something here. I'm sure of it.'

He closed his eyes.

One breath.

Two.

Then, suddenly, he struck—not the pillar, but the air just above it, where no one else would've looked.

The air rippled.

A flicker.

A jar—like a spirit urn—appeared for the briefest heartbeat. It hung suspended in the void, chained to something unseen.

Then it vanished again.

"A cloaking formation," Aaryan muttered. "Of course."

He struck again, harder this time.

The jar snapped into view, a translucent chain gleaming—connected to the altar itself. Without wasting a breath, Aaryan grabbed the jar and yanked.

The chain resisted. Then—crack—snapped free.

He shoved the artifact into his spatial ring and sprinted back toward the altar. Shiela's attack had pushed the elders back, buying him just enough time.

He nodded at her.

She nodded back.

And he crushed the black jade.

The shard shattered like glass, and a blinding portal flared open behind him, its edges crackling with unstable energy.

The elders reacted instantly.

"No—STOP HIM!" the Second Elder roared, lunging forward.

But Shiela was already in motion.

Her arm swept out. A storm of silver slashes erupted around her, a whirlwind of light and death that slammed into the elders with brutal force. They stumbled, blood misting from the edges of their robes, caught in the maelstrom.

Aaryan scooped Meera up.

"No—She will die—!" she protested weakly, tears spilling down her face.

But Aaryan didn't stop. "You can yell at me later."

He stepped into the portal—

And vanished.

The chamber fell into chaos behind him.

Shiela stood alone, blades whirling, fury undiminished.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The moment Aaryan and Meera vanished into the portal, a terrible silence swept across the chamber—brief, but suffocating.

And then, the Second Elder roared.

"You fool! You've doomed us all!" he bellowed, hurling himself at Shiela with a vicious blast of crimson fire. "You've forced our hand!"

The Third Elder followed, his palms glowing a sickly green, weaving poison into the flames. "We could have salvaged this! Do you think this ends with their escape?!"

Shiela didn't answer. She met them head-on—her blades carving through fire and venom with relentless grace. Every strike rang with fury. Every step pushed them back.

They clashed, thunder cracking through the air as stone and spirit alike trembled.

Still, the elders pressed on. Desperation gave them fuel, but it wasn't enough.

Shiela's blades shrieked as they tore through a spell formation mid-cast. Sparks exploded. The Third Elder staggered, blood spraying from a fresh gash on his shoulder.

The Second Elder coughed, wiped crimson from the corner of his mouth, and narrowed his eyes. "That technique of yours… it won't last. Once it fades, you'll be drained. You can't kill us both—and then what? How will you escape?"

He stepped forward, palms still lit with venom. "Work with us. Help us catch the boy. It's not too late to set things right—"

Shiela's only answer was a surge of silver light.

She spun, blades flashing like falling stars—and a storm of slashes ripped through the chamber.

The elders screamed as they were flung back, smashing into the wall behind them. Dust and debris rained down. Their robes were torn, blood dripping from half a dozen wounds.

She wasn't holding back.

"She's mad," the Third Elder rasped, eyes wide. "She actually means to kill us."

The Second Elder didn't respond. His face was pale. His breathing ragged. His left arm hung limp at his side.

They looked at her—and for the first time, truly saw her.

Not just a protector. Not just a peak cultivator.

But a woman who had cast away every shred of self-preservation… just to end them.

Another attack surged forward—dozens of condensed blades, swirling and shrieking toward them like a silver tide.

And then—

BOOM.

The blades halted—frozen midair, like raindrops just before the fall.

A single punch had shattered them.

The sound echoed like a divine bell.

From the smoke and silver light stepped Sect Leader Pryag—a towering figure, now cloaked in black robes, eyes like dull embers.

The remaining fragments of Shiela's blade technique scattered around him like harmless dust.

He looked once around the chamber.

No Meera.

No Aaryan.

And then his gaze snapped toward the pillar.

A flicker of aura, a trail too faint for the untrained eye—but not for him.

The jar was gone.

His face darkened like a storm.

"You've gone too far, Shiela," Pryag said, voice calm, cold, deadly.

Shiela laughed—wild and sharp. "Too far? That's rich—from the man who uses his own disciples like pigs for slaughter."

A pause.

Pryag didn't respond.

He didn't need to.

Instead, he turned his eyes to the broken and bloodied elders. "Follow them," he ordered. "Bring them back. If you fail—"

His words dropped like knives.

"—you won't like what happens next."

Both elders shuddered.

They bowed low—fear naked in their eyes—and stumbled to obey. Blood trailed behind them as they limped toward the chamber's exit.

But they hadn't gone five steps before a whistle tore through the air.

Shiela attacked.

A final strike—no warning, no restraint. She meant to stop them.

But Pryag moved first.

One motion—barely a blur—and her blade collided with an invisible wall of force.

The strike shattered midair.

The elders didn't hesitate.

They ran.

Fled down the stone corridor, vanishing toward the Transformation Altar at the mountain's base.

Shiela turned on Pryag, breath ragged, face alight with fury and pain. Her veins still shimmered with residual silver, the last remnants of the Sealed Vein Technique burning through her like fire.

"You even used a high-grade teleportation treasure," Pryag said, voice edged with disdain. "To bypass the formation around this peak… that must have cost you dearly. Or was it your clan? Did they give it to you?"

Shiela's eyes narrowed. Her silence wasn't empty—it burned. Then, she raised her hand.

Another silver blade roared to life.

And hurled it at him.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Space shimmered—and two figures crashed into the teleportation altar, blood-soaked and gritting their teeth. The Second and Third Elders stumbled forward, coughing, battered from the clash with Shiela but very much alive.

"Guards!" the Second Elder roared, his voice sharp enough to split stone. "Seal the sect! No one in, no one out!"

The Third Elder wiped blood from his chin and added, "And deploy every squad you have. Detain anyone suspicious. Especially that boy—Aaryan!"

The black-armoured sect guards, already stationed nearby due to the earlier Mani Disciple Trial, sprang into motion without hesitation. With practiced coordination, they fanned out in every direction. Several leapt into the air, flashing movement techniques, while others activated formation nodes embedded into the sect's walkways. Alarms began to toll—deep, urgent gongs that had not rung in decades.

The elders, ignoring their wounds, marched toward the central plaza. The crowd still lingered there—disciples, elders, and even some mortal servants, all murmuring about the recent chaos and the sudden disappearance of the newly selected Mani Disciple.

The moment the elders arrived, bloodied and storm-eyed, silence spread like wildfire. All heads turned.

"He's a spy!" the Second Elder declared, voice booming with authority.

"A traitor planted in our ranks!" the Third Elder followed. "Aaryan was never just a disciple. He was sent to infiltrate the sect… and with the help of Elder Shiela, he's stolen the protective treasure from our inner vault!"

Gasps erupted like thunder.

'That can't be right,' someone whispered. 'Didn't he just earn the Mani title?' Another shook his head, already backing away

Disciples staggered. Several looked to each other in disbelief. Even some elders froze, eyes wide, brows furrowing. The Mani Disciple—a spy? The Fourth Grand Elder—a traitor?

"It's not true!" someone shouted.

It was Vayu.

He pushed through the crowd, eyes fierce, voice shaking. "Elder Shiela would never betray the sect! And Aaryan—he just passed the trial! He—!"

"Silence!" the Second Elder snapped. "Guards! Detain him. Until we sort this out, he is not to leave your sight."

Vayu's eyes widened. Two guards surged forward, but before he could react, a hand gripped his shoulder. Firm. Calming.

Elder Kiyan had arrived.

He stepped beside Rudra—who had also looked ready to speak—and subtly shook his head. His gaze, usually calm and warm, now carried a quiet warning.

Not now.

Rudra clenched his fists, but stepped back. Vayu, too, gritted his teeth and allowed the guards to take position on either side of him.

Around them, chaos brewed.

The disciples broke into murmurs and frantic speculations. Some looked afraid, others confused. A few even began inching away from those who had once stood close to Aaryan.

That confusion was cut short as a group of guards sprinted back into the plaza, breathless.

"No sign of him!" one shouted. "We've scoured every building—checked the pavilions, the halls, the northern wing. Nothing! He's not in the sect!"

The elders' faces twisted.

"Impossible," the Third Elder growled.

"He must still be here," the Second spat. "We just haven't looked hard enough."

He stepped onto the central platform and flared his aura, drawing every gaze once more.

"From this moment," he declared, voice thunderous, "all activities are suspended. No more cultivation. No more classes. Until the traitor is found—every disciple, elder, and servant is to search the sect grounds."

The Third Elder raised his hand. "Whoever captures Aaryan—dead or alive—will be rewarded handsomely. A promotion. Resources. Anything you can dream of."

A beat of silence.

Then the plaza exploded.

Dozens of disciples took off in every direction, some walking, others sprinting. Groups formed instantly, theories spreading like wildfire. Even inner court elders looked to each other and began issuing commands to their own followers.

The hunt had begun.

And in its wake, trust began to fray.

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