The afternoon sun cast a burnished glow over Steel City's heart. The plaza outside the Ember Spire bustled as always—apprentices darting past cultivators, merchants haggling under shadecloths. But beneath it all hung a strange stillness, like the city itself was holding its breath.

Aaryan stepped out of the tower's gate and squinted into the daylight. The golden gleam bounced off armour and polished stone, but his gaze sharpened not at the light—but at the figure walking toward him.

Babita.

The way she moved—measured, decisive, braid swaying with each step—drew more than a few passing glances. She was alone, but walked like someone used to being followed. Her expression unreadable, mouth a line drawn too tight.

Aaryan smiled, hands loose at his sides. "How are you, Madam B—"

"You're coming to the Megh estate tonight," she interrupted, her tone impatient, almost clipped. "Dinner. You've been invited."

Aaryan's grin held, casual and effortless—but a flicker passed through his eyes. He was drained, physically and mentally. His robes were still faintly stained with soot, and he hadn't even had time to wash the forge's tang from his skin. He'd stepped outside seeking a moment of breath—not another demand.

Still, she was the first familiar face. So he tried.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to," he said, smile never wavering. "Got other things to handle. but, thanks for the invite."

Then he stepped past her, not waiting for permission.

Babita froze. One heartbeat. Two.

Her hand twitched at her side.

She had extended a personal invitation—she, Megh Babita. No servants, no messengers. And been turned down… like a common street hawker.

Her cheeks flushed, not from heat, but from the sting of something she didn't want to name. Shame. Then, rapidly—anger.

"You—" she hissed through clenched teeth, pivoting sharply.

But Aaryan didn't stop.

She didn't even realize she'd summoned it until it was already lashing out. A shimmer of green light curved through the air—sharp and fluid—manifesting as a whip bristling with thorns, sharp and green as envy, snapping toward his retreating back.

Crack.

Gasps rang out across the plaza. Heads turned. A merchant dropped a crate of nails.

Aaryan spun mid-step, his eyes narrowing.

In a blur, his arm lifted—silver Qi flared, coiling around his forearm like liquid metal solidifying mid-motion. The whip struck, but instead of slicing through flesh, it wrapped around the silver-clad limb with a violent snap.

The crowd gasped as the whip coiled, tight and furious, writhing like a serpent ensnared. Aaryan's feet dug slightly into the stone as the whip pulled taut.

He yanked.

The movement was sudden—sharp.

Babita staggered forward two, three steps, her balance thrown by the force. Shock flashed across her face.

The whip shuddered between them, caught in a silent tug-of-war.

Then, with a final jerk, Aaryan tore it from her control. The green qi shattered in his grip, revealing the true lash—emerald, alive, and writhing. He flicked his wrist, and it hit the stone at her feet with a venomous hiss.

His smile was gone now.

The plaza had gone dead silent.

Even the Ember Spire's brazier flames seemed to flicker slower.

Babita stood still, eyes wide—not at what she had done, but at how he had stopped it.

Just... his hand.

He looked at her, not with anger—but disappointment.

And then turned again, walking into the crowd without a word.

Babita stood there, shoulders stiff.

She turned and walked away. No one looked at her—none dared. Her face flushed—not just from fury, but the sting of being seen.

Aaryan's bare feet moved silently over sun-warmed stone. He wove through narrow lanes like a man wandering—but every turn was precise.

He walked past shuttered doors and cracked plaster walls, heat radiating from the stone like a second sun pressing against his skin. A distant clang of metal echoed from a forge block, dull and rhythmic, like a heartbeat behind the bricks.

He stopped near a collapsed stairwell tucked into a crumbling alley.

The alley ahead was empty save for a pair of slumped drunks leaning against opposite walls, too lost in their stupor to notice the breeze, or the boy in shadows. A loose breeze rolled through, carrying dust and the scent of iron.

Didn't turn.

Aaryan's voice broke the silence—soft, calm, laced with weariness. "You've been following me for a while now."

No response.

He turned slightly, not enough to expose his back, but just enough to glance past his shoulder. His fingers flexed loosely at his sides, knuckles faintly pale. "Shouldn't you introduce yourself? It's rude, you know."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

A pause.

Then a sound—a soft tap above.

A figure dropped from a nearby rooftop, landing in a crouch. No flourish. No words.

Danger hummed in the air like a taut string.

Aaryan exhaled, gaze steady. "Finally. Care to explain why you're following me?"

No reply.

Figures. Can't even be bothered with a name.

Only silence—and then motion.

The masked figure shot forward, a blur of ghostly speed. Steel flashed into being mid-dash—like smoke turned solid. Aaryan's reflexes answered. Qi surged, coiling silver around his knuckles as he met the blade with a punch.

Clang!

The alley reverberated.

He was thrown back, feet sliding across the stone, skin scraping against warm grit. He caught himself after ten dragging steps, arm throbbing from palm to shoulder. The masked man had barely shifted.

Aaryan shook out his hand. His fingers trembled slightly.

'I just wanted to sleep.'

Then he breathed in—and changed.

With a pulse of golden light, the Dominion Tyrant Physique awakened. Nothing changed outwardly—no bulging muscles, no warping limbs. But the air around Aaryan thickened. Pressure sank into the alley like an unseen weight, subtle yet suffocating. Each breath seemed heavier, the world slightly dimmer, as if the light itself hesitated to touch him. Deep within his body, buried under skin and bone, ancient runes stirred—interlocking in a pattern half-remembered by the blood, not the mind. The ground beneath his bare feet felt firmer now, as though it feared to shift beneath him.

His right arm was completely done—runes carved from shoulder to wrist, etched into bone. But on his left, only the fingers and palm bore the ancient script so far—half-formed, ancient and incomplete.

Still, it was enough.

A beat later, his Smoulder Vein Art roared to life. His Qi surged like wildfire through his meridians—faster, fiercer than ever. His body temperature climbed, but the usual flush of heat didn't rise to the surface. This time, it burned inward, refined.

No wasted energy.

No wasted motion.

Aaryan smiled—a small, tired thing.

Again.

And then he moved.

He burst forward with the force of a collapsing wall, the stone beneath his feet cracking on impact. His fist cut through the air like a comet, trailing silver light. His opponent met him with a sweeping arc of the sword, mask catching golden gleam of sun as their clash sent a thunderous boom through the alley.

Dust curled around Aaryan's bare feet, disturbed by the force of his stance. The masked man skidded back—six, seven dragging steps, his heels carving a harsh trench into the gravel-strewn alley. The sharp scratch of boots against stone echoed in the silence like a blade being unsheathed.

Aaryan didn't wait.

His foot shifted.

The world snapped forward.

A downward strike, heavy as a falling star, the anvil strike, the blow landed—not on skin, but mind. There was no visual flare, no sound. Just weight.

And resistance.

He felt it immediately. Not the usual ripple of a soul recoiling in pain. Not the splintering collapse of will. No—this was like slamming into seasoned wood. Not a tree, but something carved and cured. Dry, silent, rigid.

Anchored.

Aaryan's breath hitched. That wasn't normal.

The man's body jerked from the impact, a delayed tremor running through him—eyes wide behind the mask, limbs twitching, his soul sea caught in a silent convulsion.

Yet he stood.

Still breathing. Still conscious.

Impossible.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed. There was no room for hesitation.

He lunged forward.

His fist met flesh. A crack rang out like a branch snapping in winter, and the mask spiralling through air before clattering to the stones.

The man's head snapped sideways. Blood smearing his lip. His eyes, dazed, blinked in raw confusion—like someone who had just realized a nightmare was real.

And then he ran.

Turned without grace or poise, stumbling into flight.

But Aaryan had already seen.

A flash of a face. Brief. But it struck him like a hook behind the ribs.

His body stilled.

'Doesn't he look like—'

The thought broke apart, unfinished. Cold unease coiled in his chest. A memory trying to reach him from behind a veil.

He didn't pursue.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, watching the man vanish into the maze of buildings, the sound of retreating steps soon lost in the quiet of the alley.

The breeze stirred. Light filtered through the rooftops—slanted, gold, painting his dust-smeared skin. The fight was over, but something else had begun—unseen and unfinished.

Aaryan flexed his fingers once, the faintest tremor still lingering in the knuckles of his punching hand. His gaze lingered on the spot where the man had disappeared. There was more to this—more than an ambush, more than a masked thug.

'Seems like things are about to escalate.'

Then he looked down at his feet, dusted with grime and gravel.

"But first… I need to sleep."

Without another glance, he turned, bare feet silent against the stone, and vanished into the drowsy afternoon haze of Steel City.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The midday sun filtered through the slatted bamboo canopy of the Megh herb garden, casting shifting patterns on the moss-covered stone paths. The gentle rustle of leaves and the lazy drone of bees filled the air, mingling with the occasional chirp of sparrows. Among the serene green, four figures moved—two in front, two behind.

Megh Pramod walked with hands behind his back, his expression as unreadable as carved jade. Beside him, the Green Fairy glided barefoot, her green robes brushing lightly against the lavender bushes lining the trail. A soft breeze played with the ends of her veil.

Behind them, Shravan walked animatedly, a smile, different from his usual one. The young woman beside him—Simmi—was dressed simply in blue, her expression gentle but elusive. She lacked the Green Fairy's flamboyant beauty, but carried an unshakable stillness—like moonlight over still water. When she smiled back at Shravan, her gaze never quite fully met his, though her laughter was soft and genuine.

"Thank you, cousin Simmi, for coming on such short notice," Shravan said, his voice light with warmth.

"How could I not," she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "when Aunt herself summoned me?"

Their conversation was broken by a sharp sound—hurried steps stomping over gravel.

All four turned.

The Green Fairy's eyes narrowed, just slightly. Her hand paused mid-step above the lavender. One glance at Babita's flushed face, and her veil stopped swaying—caught on a breeze she no longer noticed.

Babita stormed across the courtyard path, fists clenched. Her breath hitched, barely audible, steps louder than necessary.

Shravan stepped forward quickly, brows furrowed. "Didn't you go to see if Vidyut had come out yet? What happened?"

Babita's voice cracked, more frustration than sadness. "I saw him! He came out of that damn tower—and I asked him to dinner—" she sucked in a breath, trembling. "But he brushed me off! Said he had 'other things to do' and walked away like I was... no one!"

Simmi blinked slowly but remained silent. Her gaze, once casual, now weighed the scene carefully.

Pramod's brows drew together. The Green Fairy frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Shravan, however, looked most affected. His smile had vanished completely. "That's not like him. Brother Vidyut wouldn't dismiss you like that without reason."

Babita whirled toward him. "So I'm lying now?!"

"No, that's not what I—" he began, but the Green Fairy raised her hand gently.

"Babita," she said, her voice as calm as flowing springwater. "Tell us exactly what happened. Word for word."

The weight of the moment made Babita hesitate, her jaw tight. But she relented and recounted everything—how the whip had been caught, the look in Vidyut's eyes, the way he had walked away without sparing her another glance.

As she spoke, Pramod's face darkened, and Shravan's grew pale with rising discomfort.

When she finished, Shravan sighed.

The silence stretched a second too long. A breeze stirred the lavender, soft and strange

"I only asked you to inform me if he emerged… not to act on your own."

"So now it's my fault?" Babita's voice broke slightly.

The Green Fairy nothing—but one step brought her just a little closer to Babita. The instinct to protect had never left her. Simmi's gaze lingered a heartbeat longer on Shravan, then shifted to the wilting basil leaves at her feet.

"Interesting," she said, as if taking note for later.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.