The uproar from the crowd rang in Aaryan’s ears, but he remained still. The accusations, the mockery, the disbelief—it was nothing new. Yet, for the first time, something felt different.

He had expected anger. Frustration. But none came. Instead, there was only indifference—an emptiness that neither jeering nor silence could reach.

He had chosen this path, and no amount of noise would change that.

As the chaos spread through the arena, the First Elder’s silver eyes studied him, too measured to be disappointment—perhaps even laced with intrigue. The Fourth Elder, silent until now, finally spoke. “How unusual.” Her ink-dark tattoos pulsed faintly, but she said nothing more.

But Aaryan wasn’t looking at the elders.

His gaze was locked onto Varun.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The golden-haired noble’s smirk remained, but something in his eyes flickered—irritation, confusion, something unspoken.

Aaryan knew why.

Varun had wanted to crush him, humiliate him, erase all doubt that Aaryan’s victories were anything more than luck. But now? There was nothing left to prove.

A victory without a fight was the most unsatisfying victory of all.

Varun’s jaw tightened. He had expected a battle, to carve his superiority into the very foundation of the sect. But now? He had been denied that. His golden eyes gleamed—this wasn’t over.

A gust of wind passed through the arena, scattering dust and carrying away the last echoes of the shouting spectators. Then—the bell tolled.

It was over.

The elders gave their final declarations, but just as Aaryan turned to leave, the First Elder raised his hand, silencing the murmuring crowd.

“All ten selected disciples must gather at the main pavilion in fifteen days. You will then depart for Evernight Pavilion, where your true cultivation journey will begin.”

His voice erased the last remnants of disorder.

Evernight Pavilion.

The true starting point of a cultivator’s path.

Aaryan absorbed the words without reaction, nodding once before descending from the stage.

The city was still buzzing with talk of the tournament, but Aaryan ignored it. His feet moved on instinct, leading him toward Kalyani’s residence, but his mind was elsewhere.

The weight of stares followed him—some amused, some mocking, some confused. A few whispered behind his back.

"He really just walked away?"

"Tch, must’ve known Varun would’ve crushed him."

“Maybe… but then why did Devika fall to him so easily?"

Aaryan ignored them, but the questions lingered.

What did he want?

Strength? Respect? Recognition?

For so long, he had believed power would earn him respect. That if he became strong enough, people would see him as an equal. But respect given under threat was hollow, and admiration built on fear meant nothing.

Would they have treated Varun with the same reverence if he had been weak? Would they still respect Devika if she had lost before she built her reputation?

Did people truly respect others, or did they simply fear consequences?

His fists tightened.

If strength alone defined respect, then was it truly respect at all?

But if not strength… then what was he searching for?

The uncertainty gnawed at him. The answer remained just out of reach, shifting like mist whenever he thought he had grasped it.

But one thing was certain.

He could not afford to remain weak.

Whatever path he chose, whatever answer he sought—it all meant nothing if he didn’t have the strength to walk it freely.

And so, for now, he would keep moving forward.

Until he found his answer.

----------------------------------------

The wooden gate creaked softly as Aaryan stepped inside, the familiar scent of medicinal herbs and damp earth greeting him. The house was the same—weathered yet sturdy, a quiet sanctuary away from the suffocating arrogance of nobles and sect disciples.

Yet, for all the warmth the place carried, his thoughts remained cold.

Respect. Power. Acceptance.

Would he ever find an answer? Or was he chasing something that didn’t exist?

Before he could sink further into his thoughts, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Hmph. Took you long enough to come dragging yourself back here," Kalyani’s voice rang out from the porch.

Aaryan glanced up to see the old woman seated on her usual wooden stool, her keen eyes narrowed at him. The wrinkles on her face deepened as she scrutinized him, her hands busy grinding some herbs in a worn-out mortar.

She didn’t wait for him to speak. “Judging by that look on your face, I already know. You lost, didn’t you?”

Aaryan blinked. “…What?”

“Hah. Don’t ‘what’ me.” Kalyani scoffed. “I can see it all over your face. You got crushed, humiliated, and now you’re sulking your way back here, brooding like a half-plucked crow.”

Aaryan’s eye twitched. Half-plucked crow?

Before he could respond, Kalyani continued. “Not surprising. Cultivators are nothing but a bunch of delusional muscle-brained fools who think waving around their fancy techniques makes them superior.” She gestured dramatically, as if mimicking a sword strike. “Prancing around like peacocks, screaming about bloodlines and destiny... A bunch of muscle-headed brats who’d get lost in their own shadow if you took away their fancy techniques.”

Aaryan exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t lose.”

Kalyani snorted. “Oh? Then what, you ran away? Got scared? Maybe tripped over your own arrogance and—”

“I was accepted into the sect.”

Silence.

Kalyani’s grinding stopped. She slowly lifted her gaze, her expression unreadable.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“…What?”

“I was accepted as an outer disciple,” Aaryan repeated, his voice even.

For a long moment, Kalyani just stared at him.

Then—

“HAH!” A loud, barking laugh burst from her lips. She smacked her knee, shaking her head in amusement. "You? Accepted? Those sect fools must be blinder than I thought!"

Then, her expression softened—just slightly. Pride.

A flicker of warmth.

Then—

"Hmph! Don’t go thinking this means you’re special!" She pointed a bony finger at him. "Joining the sect doesn’t make you some grand hero!"

Aaryan sighed. "I haven’t even set foot in the sect yet."

“And? Do I look like someone who underestimates your ability to be a walking disaster?”

Aaryan rubbed his temples.

This woman…

But somehow, her pride meant more than all the praise in the world.

The night was silent, save for the distant hum of insects and the occasional rustle of wind against the trees. The moon hung high, casting silver light over the small courtyard where Kalyani sat on her usual wooden stool, a cup of tea cradled in her hands.

Aaryan had expected her to be asleep, but instead, she was watching the sky, lost in thought. He hesitated at the doorway before stepping forward.

"You gonna stand there all night or sit down?" she said without looking at him.

Aaryan sat down on the worn-out bench across from her. The tea kettle on the table still let out faint wisps of steam. Without a word, Kalyani poured another cup and pushed it toward him.

For a while, neither spoke. Just quiet company beneath the stars.

Then, she finally broke the silence. "You're leaving soon."

Aaryan nodded. "Yes."

Kalyani took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving him. "So tell me—do you really want to be a cultivator?"

Aaryan exhaled through his nose. He had been asked this question before, but this time, it felt… different.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I used to think I wanted power. That if I became strong enough, people would respect me. But now, I wonder… do they ever really respect anyone? Or just fear them?"

Kalyani hummed, tapping her fingers against the cup. "Smart question for a brat who still smells like blood and sweat."

Aaryan ignored the insult and continued. "Strength changes how people look at you. But does it change what they actually think?" His gaze drifted downward. "Or am I just chasing something that doesn't exist?"

For a moment, Kalyani didn’t answer. The air between them was thick with unsaid words. Then—she let out a sigh.

"You want to know the truth, brat?" she said, setting her cup down. "People will treat you however it benefits them. Some will act respectful because they fear you. Some will praise you because they want something from you. And a few… a very, very few will actually see you for who you are."

Aaryan listened carefully, her words digging into his thoughts like buried thorns.

"But if you waste your life chasing their respect, you’ll never be satisfied. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder, wondering if it’s real." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "So tell me—what’s more important? That they respect you? Or that you respect yourself?"

Aaryan was silent for a long time.

Finally, he said, "...I don’t know yet."

Kalyani huffed. "Tch. Of course, you don’t. You’re eight years old."

Aaryan scowled. "I’m older than that."

"Could’ve fooled me," she muttered, taking another sip of tea.

Aaryan shook his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite himself.

Then, as if remembering something, he turned to her. "Do you have an old box?"

Kalyani raised an eyebrow. "A box? For what?"

"For my old clothes. And my sword."

She frowned. "What for? Just throw them away. They’re torn up, bloodstained, and stink worse than a dead cow."

Aaryan shook his head. "No."

Kalyani studied him for a long moment. "Sentimental fool," she muttered. "Fine, I’ll humor you. Why keep ‘em?"

Aaryan ran a hand over the cloth of his robe, his fingers brushing against the old dried stains. "Because," he said slowly, "they remind me of where I started. And one day, when I look back, I want to remember how far I’ve come."

Kalyani snorted. "Hah! Look at you, talking like some wise old monk. Next, you’ll tell me the wind whispers secrets to you, and the moon is your long-lost mentor."

Aaryan sighed. "Are you going to give me the box or not?"

Kalyani rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll find one. But don’t blame me when you open it later and wonder why you kept the stink of the past locked up like some prized treasure."

Aaryan chuckled softly. "Maybe I will."

And for the first time that night, he felt a little lighter.

----------------------------------------

The morning was bright and crisp, the sun casting long shadows over the small house as Aaryan stood at the gate, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Today was the day when he would leave. He glanced back toward the house, expecting Kalyani to come out and at least say something.

The house behind him was silent.

Too silent.

Aaryan frowned, glancing back at the slightly open door. He had expected something—maybe one last snide remark, at least an exasperated sigh.

But there was nothing.

A few more moments passed.

Still nothing.

Finally, Aaryan sighed and turned back toward the road. Maybe this was her way of—

"OI! You better not be leaving without saying something, you ungrateful brat!"

Aaryan flinched as the door slammed open, revealing Kalyani in all her furious, apron-wearing glory. In one hand, she clutched a wooden spoon like a weapon. In the other—a half-cut radish.

"...Were you just standing behind the door waiting for this exact moment?" Aaryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kalyani scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself! I was cooking. Unlike you, some of us still need to eat, you know." She wiped her hands on her apron and marched forward, eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. "Tch. You actually look like a proper disciple now."

Aaryan smirked. "Starting to miss me already?"

"Hah!" Kalyani let out a sharp laugh. "Miss you? The only thing I’ll miss is the extra food you kept stealing from my kitchen. Maybe now I won’t have to restock my rice every three days."

Aaryan shook his head, but there was something warm in the way she said it.

For a moment, they stood there, neither speaking.

Then, in a much quieter voice, Kalyani muttered, "...You really are leaving, huh?"

Aaryan nodded. "I’ll be back."

Kalyani clicked her tongue. "Hmph. Of course, you will. Knowing you, you’ll get kicked out within a month for causing trouble."

Aaryan smirked. "I’ll make sure to send word if that happens."

Kalyani snorted. "Tch. Don’t bother. Just show up if you're still alive."

Aaryan exhaled, a rare softness crossing his features. "Alright."

Kalyani eyed him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then—with absolutely no warning—she grabbed him and pulled him into a crushing hug.

Aaryan froze.

This… was new.

"Grandma

"Shut up."

Aaryan blinked as she squeezed him tighter.

Then, just as suddenly, she shoved him away and coughed loudly, pretending as if nothing had happened.

"I was just checking if you had any food hidden in your robes," she muttered. "Can never trust a brat like you not to steal something on the way out."

Aaryan huffed, rolling his eyes. "Right. Of course."

Kalyani crossed her arms. "Now, go on then. Off with you."

Aaryan turned toward the road, taking his first steps forward.

"Aaryan."

He paused.

"Don’t die."

Aaryan turned back slightly, offering her a small, lopsided smile.

"I'll be back before you run out of rice, grandma."

Kalyani snorted, waving him off. "Tch. Brat."

And with that, he walked away.

Kalyani watched him go, arms still crossed, a frown still on her face.

The morning felt… too quiet.

She huffed and muttered under her breath, "Damn brat… couldn’t even let me be happy about getting some peace before making it all sentimental."

Then—she turned back toward the house, only to freeze mid-step.

A wooden box sat neatly by the door.

Aaryan’s old, bloodstained clothes were inside, carefully folded. His first dull, chipped sword rested on top, the same weapon he had fought with during his early struggles.

Kalyani stared at it.

Then, after a moment—she carefully picked it up.

For a long time, she just stood there, running a hand along the edge of the box.

Then, she sighed.

"…Damn brat."

And with that, she took it inside.

----------------------------------------

Aaryan’s footsteps were measured as he walked toward the place where it had all happened. The same arena, the same people—but he was different now.

The air carried a strange weight, whispers laced with speculation.

A familiar voice, smug and expectant, sliced through them.

"Look who finally decided to show up."

Varun stepped forward, golden eyes filled with their usual condescension. "Tell me, how does it feel to be a disgrace? Do you think forfeiting makes you untouchable? The sect won’t protect you forever."

Aaryan didn’t respond immediately. He simply looked at Varun.

Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke.

"You keep looking ahead, expecting to see me in your way. But what happens when you realize I was never on the same path to begin with?"

Varun’s smirk stiffened—so quick most wouldn’t have noticed—but Aaryan did. The briefest flicker of unease, buried beneath arrogance.

He turned away before Varun could mask it.

"Tch."

A scoff from the side.

Devika crossed her arms, disdain written across her face. "You act composed, but we all see the truth. You forfeited because you were afraid. In the end, that’s all you are—a coward who—"

"If that helps you sleep at night, keep telling yourself that."

Aaryan’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—not of hostility, but of quiet certainty.

For a moment, her fingers twitched—but then, her gaze hardened.

Before she could speak again—

"Enough."

A commanding voice silenced the crowd.

A figure clad in Evernight Pavilion’s robes had appeared at the entrance, their presence alone shifting the atmosphere.

"The ten chosen disciples—it’s time to leave."

The weight of finality settled over the gathering. Devika stilled. Even Varun said nothing as reality sank in.

Aaryan took a slow breath. This was it.

He turned away from them, not out of dismissal, but because he had already made his choice.

It wasn’t about them anymore.

As he stepped forward—toward the sect, toward the unknown—his thoughts echoed in the silence of his mind.

Do they fear me? Do they respect me? Do they hate me?

Or does it even matter?

Respect without power is hollow. Power without purpose is meaningless. And acceptance? Nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

No—what I need is something greater.

And I will find it.