The garden had begun to change colour.

Evening crept in slowly—stretching amber fingers through the foliage, glinting off dewdrops that had not yet evaporated. The swing let out a faint groan under Babita's slight form, swaying with the occasional breeze. It was carved of sandalwood, its arms inlaid with flowering vines of brass that caught the fading sun like scattered embers. Silk cushions, pale green and gold-threaded, softened the seat. Jasmine petals littered the ground below.

Babita sat barefoot, one leg tucked under the other, head resting against the curve of the swing. Her eyes were distant, chin tilted slightly upward as if searching the clouds for answers they refused to give.

The faint rustle of silk preceded someone's arrival.

She did not speak immediately. She moved with her usual grace, the scent of vetiver trailing in her wake. Her robe shimmered softly in the dying light—no ornament, yet regal in the way moonlight is regal, quiet and complete. She sank onto the swing beside Babita, the wood groaning slightly in protest. One slender hand rose and gently stroked Babita's hair.

"Are you still upset?" she asked, her tone low and lilting, more observation than question.

Babita didn't answer. She looked instead toward the far path that wound out of the garden, toward the edge of the estate walls. Shravan had still not returned.

He hadn't even looked back when he left.

Of course, he hadn't said where he was going—but everyone knew. He had gone to the inn. To him. Again.

And despite herself, Babita's chest tightened with heat.

Green Fairy's fingers paused. As if reading the thoughts that twisted behind her daughter's silence, she murmured, "My poor child… if your brother holds that young boy in such high regard, then there must be something more to him than what just meets the eye, don't you think? Else you believe Shravan would have considered him as a helper for the competition?"

Babita's brow furrowed. Her lips parted to respond, but no sound came.

The competition. That had weight. Stakes. Even Father had admitted that their clan's future standing could shift depending on the outcome. Shravan, who was always cautious, had spoken that boy's name with confidence.

But still—her pride hadn't healed.

Babita straightened. "He acted like I was beneath him," she said, brushing hair behind her ear with a sharp motion. "I invited him. And he—"

"You ordered him," came a voice, light but firm.

A soft footfall on the garden stone. Neither woman turned.

Megh Pramod stood a few paces away, a folded scroll in hand, though it dangled forgotten by his side. His expression held no judgment, only curiosity.

"From what you told us," he continued, "he began with a respectful greeting. And then you commanded him to attend dinner. When he declined, you struck."

Babita opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Her father raised an eyebrow, gentle but unyielding.

"It's true," he said, "that most would consider even your command an honor. But this Vidyut… doesn't seem like most."

Silence descended again, broken only by the creaking of the swing and a distant chime stirred by the wind.

Green Fairy gave a small, wry smile and resumed stroking her daughter's hair. "Don't worry," she said softly. "If you truly feel wronged, I'll see that he apologizes to you."

Babita gave a small snort, eyes narrowing. "He won't. He's too arrogant for that."

Green Fairy chuckled faintly, a bell in the dusk.

"I think," she said, her voice gliding like silk over stone, "you'll be surprised when the time comes."

The swing rocked gently on, shadows lengthening behind them.

Elsewhere in the city, dusk settled like hushcloth across the rooftops.

Evening had spread like honey across the skies by the time Aaryan descended the inn's staircase. Shadows curled in the corners of the common room, soft and long, and the golden lamplight flickered against aged wood and drifting motes of dust. The scent of fried shallots and cardamom tea hung in the air, warm and welcoming.

His steps were light, bare feet making no sound against the polished stone floor, but heads turned all the same. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Someone at the far end of the room nudged their companion. Eyes lingered—not hostile, not reverent, but curious. Observant.

Aaryan didn't acknowledge them. His gaze was steady, his posture calm as a mountain breeze. He chose a seat near the open lattice windows, where the faint murmur of the streets mixed with the chirping of crickets and the low hum of evening life. He signalled the waiter and ordered tea and a few side dishes. The server bowed lower than usual. His hands trembled slightly as he set down the ceramic cup.

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Aaryan arched a brow, just a flicker, but said nothing.

The silence fractured as a commotion erupted outside—hooves clattered, voices gasped, and someone shouted. The door to the inn swung open with a rush of dry summer air. Standing at the threshold was Megh Shravan.

His presence alone shifted the room. Pale green robes, embroidered in silver thread, billowed faintly behind him. His jade hair ornament gleamed under the flickering lanterns, and the emblem of the Megh clan flashed across his chest.

Murmurs followed him as he stepped inside. To these outskirts, a young master of one of Steel City's elite clans might as well have been royalty.

Shravan's eyes found Aaryan at once. His expression, a mix of relief and intention, softened as he crossed the room in long, confident strides.

"Mind if I join, Brother Vidyut?" His voice was smooth, deferential.

Aaryan smiled faintly. "Not at all, Brother Shravan. Please."

Shravan took the seat across from him. The chair creaked slightly—as if bending beneath the sudden weight of eyes now drawn to their table.

"I'm glad I found you," Shravan said. "But first… I must apologize on my sister's behalf. Her behaviour earlier was—unreasonable. I hope you won't take offense. She is… pure of heart, if a bit fiery."

Aaryan regarded him, quiet for a moment. The tea between them steamed gently. Then he smiled. "What are you saying, Brother Shravan? It was nothing."

The tension in Shravan's shoulders visibly eased. "It was I who sent her, actually," he continued, "to check if you had emerged from training. When she returned… well, I decided I'd better come myself. You'd asked the innkeeper not to disturb you, so I waited. Asked them to inform me the moment you came down."

Aaryan now understood the strange stares—the rumours must have spread quickly. He chuckled softly. "So Brother Shravan was looking for me. Is there something I can help with?"

Shravan hesitated, then lowered his voice. "There is. But I'm not at liberty to discuss it here. If you are free…, would you honour the Megh estate with your presence tonight?"

Aaryan leaned back, his gaze distant in thought. Vedik and Soot were still away. The invitation itself was telling—Shravan wasn't just being courteous. Something deeper stirred beneath the surface.

He nodded. "It would be my honour, Brother Shravan."

Soon, Shravan and Aaryan left the inn in a dark green carriage marked with the Megh clan's emblem—a pair of clouded wings coiled around a drop of rain. Only after the wheels faded down the lane did the tension around the inn ease, the whispers dispersing like mist burned by sunlight.

Inside the carriage, Aaryan sat quietly, hands resting on his lap, eyes half-lidded. He looked calm, almost bored. But behind that stillness, his senses were sharp, cataloguing every turn they took, every rise and fall in the path, every glimpse of high walls beyond the carriage slits.

The road widened.

Then came the gates.

A pair of towering jade pillars loomed ahead, engraved with curling storms and vines. As they opened, Aaryan blinked slowly. Beyond the gate, the Megh Estate unfolded—not just large, but vast. It was a whole world inside walls. Gardens, stone pavilions, courtyards blooming with glowing spirit flora. Even The Green Veil City, with its tangled streets and many roads, would have seemed smaller in comparison.

Shravan didn't speak much, as if letting Aaryan take it in. The carriage slowed. After weaving through a garden shaded with silver-leaved trees, they halted before a crescent-shaped stairway.

Shravan stepped down first. Aaryan followed.

The stone beneath his feet was warm from the evening sun, the air filled with the scent of crushed pine and distant incense. Guards in grey and green armour stood at each threshold. They bowed slightly as Shravan led the way forward, their eyes flicking to Aaryan.

The main hall waited ahead.

Aaryan stepped inside—and for a moment, forgot to breathe.

The hall was vast yet quiet, like a forest clearing. Pillars curved upward like ancient trunks, carved with ivy and wind symbols. Green-tinted glass overhead filtered the last golden light of day, casting leafy shadows on polished obsidian tiles. The scent of pine resin hung faintly in the air.

At the centre, sat a tall man in his carved seat—half a step above the others. He wore the expression of a gentle patriarch—but Aaryan could feel it: the quiet pressure of someone formidable. Stronger than anyone he'd met since Maya.

To the man's right sat a veiled woman. Though her face was hidden, her presence pressed down like a coiled storm. Her gaze, unreadable yet piercing, landed on Aaryan as if peeling him apart layer by layer. His breath stilled instinctively.

To her right, Babita sat with folded arms, her eyes flicking toward him and then quickly away. Stubborn, unreadable.

The three elders beside them nodded faintly as Shravan approached with Aaryan, though none spoke. Their auras were restrained, but unmistakable—like boulders hidden under moss. A test, perhaps. A reminder.

And then his eyes found the woman in blue.

She was older, maybe same age as Shravan or younger, but there was something almost ethereal about her presence. Graceful—not soft, but composed, deliberate. Her robe shimmered faintly under the green light, and though she said nothing, the air around her felt... ordered, like still water reflecting moonlight. She observed him with a mild smile, but her attention was precise. Not evaluation, not suspicion—just a quiet recognition of someone worth noticing.

Shravan cleared his throat lightly.

"Father. Mother. Elders. This is Brother Vidyut—the one I told you about."

A pause followed.

Aaryan stepped forward, bowed with open palms and said evenly, "Junior greets seniors. It is an honour to be received in the Megh Clan."

The room was quiet again. Not cold—curious.

The Green Fairy's voice was the first to break it.

"So this is the boy who made my dear daughter upset."

Aaryan bowed slightly. "I had no such intention, senior. If I've upset Madam Babita in any way, I sincerely offer my apologies."

The hall fell still, as if surprised by the formality.

Babita's eyes snapped toward him, blinking once. That wasn't what she'd expected. She'd pictured a cold snort, maybe even a smirk—not calm words, not that slight bow of the head.

The Green Fairy gave a soft chuckle. "Oh? You're full of surprises."

She leaned back slightly, watching him the way one watches an unfamiliar tea steep—wondering if it will bloom sweet or bitter.

"How gracious, you hear that, daughter?" she said, amusement threading her voice like wind through chimes. "He's already more well-mannered than half the city."

The Green Fairy—her lips barely visible beneath the edge of her veil—smiled.

A subtle ripple of air passed through the hall, unnoticed by most—but felt by Aaryan. Not spiritual pressure, not hostility—just presence. Controlled. Poised. Dangerous in a way that didn't need to be loud.

Pramod's expression didn't change, but his silence weighed heavier than before.

Then finally, he inclined his head.

"Sit, child. You're our esteemed guest."

Aaryan stepped forward, the soft thuds of his bare feet against the polished stone floor echoing like distant drums. Each stride deliberate, quiet—not deferent, but not confrontational either.

He took his seat without flourish, posture straight, eyes calm. The faint scent of pine still hung in the air, mixing with the cold of moonlight spilling through the stained glass above, casting shifting green hues across the chamber—like leaves stirred before a coming storm.

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