Aaryan woke before dawn.

The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic—like the lingering breath of an ancient beast slumbering beneath the floating islands. His cave-like dwelling sat at the outermost edge of the Outer Disciple quarters, far from the clustered pavilions where most new disciples had settled.

Silence stretched across the landscape, the mist swirling low over the ground. In the distance, faint lights flickered across the deeper sect islands, where the more powerful disciples had already begun their training. Their world was still beyond his reach.

Beyond the quiet, the sect pulsed with life—blades sharpening, unseen forces pressing against meditating disciples. Strength was currency here. He had yet to earn his first coin. But unlike most, he would invest carefully, ensuring returns left no room for doubt.

But out here?

Out here, it was empty.

For now.

Aaryan exhaled, watching his breath curl into the cold air before dispersing. It was quiet here. Peaceful, even. But he knew it wouldn’t last.

Not in a place like this.

He took a moment to stretch, brushing his fingers along the rough stone walls of his dwelling. The space was bare—just a bed, a meditation area, and silence.

he left his dwelling and began his walk toward the Resource Distribution Hall.

The Outer Disciple quarters were far from luxurious, but they were structured. Unlike the Experimental Disciples’ scattered residences, these islands had proper training platforms, sparring grounds, and cultivation chambers, though none as refined as those deeper within the sect.

Bridges of dark stone connected each island, some lined with inscriptions that pulsed faintly with Urrja, remnants of protective formations. Aaryan walked at a steady pace, passing groups of disciples who had already gathered in hushed discussions.

Some wore fresh robes, their backs straight with uncertainty. Others had garments faded from years of wear, their eyes sharper, their silence heavier.

It didn’t take long before he approached the Resource Distribution Hall—a large, fortified pavilion built from polished black stone, its high archways etched with Evernight Pavilion’s insignia. The energy in the air felt slightly denser here, a quiet reminder of the power that governed this place.

Aaryan entered, his gaze sweeping over the orderly rows of sect attendants behind stone counters, distributing supplies to waiting disciples.

The sect attendants worked with practiced efficiency, their faces impassive. They had seen hundreds of disciples come and go. Today’s newcomers were tomorrow’s forgotten names.

Most of the newcomers had arrived early, forming a loose line. Some whispered amongst themselves.

“So for the first month, our resources are guaranteed…”

“Yeah, but after that, we have to fight for them.”

“Tch. The sect is ruthless.”

Aaryan moved into the line, his mind already calculating.

For now, the resources were safe. But in a month, the fights would begin. Some would rise. Some would fall. And some would simply disappear—swallowed by the sect’s quiet indifference.

Aaryan exhaled, pushing the thought aside for now. He had time. Just not much of it.

Then, the murmurs shifted.

A new presence entered the hall.

Varun entered like a man who had just won a tournament, a bet, and a lifetime supply of arrogance all in one breath. His golden hair caught the dim lantern light dramatically, as if the heavens themselves had ordained his presence. Behind him, his minions followed in synchronized smugness.

But it wasn’t just them.

Several older Outer Disciples walked in beside him, not speaking, but their presence alone made it clear—Varun wasn’t just another new recruit.

“He already has connections…”

“Well, what do you expect? He’s the City Lord’s son.”

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“I heard some of the older disciples already favor him. Must be nice not having to fight for your place.”

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Some disciples tensed. Others quickly averted their gazes.

One of the older disciples flicked a glance at Varun, then immediately lost interest. Another, however, watched with quiet amusement—as if waiting for a good show.

Varun’s eyes swept over the room, pausing briefly as if searching for something.

Then—his smirk widened.

His gaze landed on Aaryan.

And he started walking toward him.

The Resource Distribution Hall buzzed with murmurs as disciples gathered, the scent of ink and parchment mixing with the faint, ever-present hum of Urrja in the air.

Aaryan stood in line, hands in his sleeves, observing the process with quiet patience. It was peaceful—for about three seconds.

Then, of course, Varun happened.

"Aaryan, my dear friend!"

Oh no.

Aaryan didn't even need to turn. The exaggerated cheerfulness in Varun’s voice was already causing his soul to ache.

By the time he finally glanced up, Varun was already upon him, his signature smirk and two minions in tow.

But today, there were more.

Three older Outer Disciples stood behind Varun, watching with the kind of expressions old tavern-goers had when watching a bar fight about to start.

These weren’t fresh disciples like Aaryan. These were veterans of stagnation.

Too weak to become Inner Disciples. Too stubborn to leave. Too bored to mind their own business.

Aaryan sighed. So this was happening.

Varun gestured grandly toward Aaryan, as if unveiling a rare, exotic beast.

"Brothers, this is Aaryan! The miracle recruit! The one who got into the sect with nothing but sheer luck and a slightly tolerable face!"

Aaryan had two options—ignore him and let him feel superior, or press just hard enough to make him stumble. He chose the latter. It was always more fun that way.

Aaryan smiled. "I see you’ve been practicing your introductions, Varun. That one almost stung."

One of the older disciples, a bulky man with a receding hairline and the face of someone who had given up on life decades ago, folded his arms. "This is the kid you were talking about?"

Varun nodded, still grinning. "The very same! Isn't it inspiring?"

The bulky disciple—let’s call him Senior Ravi—grunted. "Hmph. Looks scrawny."

Aaryan nodded solemnly. "I am. But I make up for it by being devastatingly handsome."

Senior Ravi paused. Then he nodded. "Fair."

Another disciple, a wiry-looking man with perpetual dark circles under his eyes, hummed. "Didn’t you say he was arrogant?"

Varun's smile twitched. "Oh, he is. He just hides it behind that infuriating calmness.”

Aaryan blinked, feigning surprise. "You think I'm calm? That’s funny. I think you’re calm. And that concerns me, honestly."

Varun’s smirk twitched. A split second. Barely noticeable. But Aaryan caught it.Good. That meant he was getting under his skin.

Varun frowned. "Why would that concern you?"

Aaryan sighed dramatically. "Because I was hoping you'd take all this pent-up energy and channel it into something productive. Like, I don’t know, cultivation?"

One of the older disciples snorted, poorly disguising a laugh.

Varun's smirk thinned.

But he recovered quickly, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Aaryan, Aaryan… you misunderstand. I’m only looking out for you."

"Ah, yes," Aaryan nodded. "Much like how a cat looks out for a mouse. With love, care, and just the faintest hint of hunger."

Senior Ravi chuckled outright.

Varun's grip on his own sleeve tightened.

But he pressed on, turning back to the older disciples.

"My dear seniors," Varun clasped his hands together dramatically, "I thought it would be wise to introduce Aaryan to you. After all, he’s so new, and—"

"—And he might need help?" Aaryan finished for him. "Guidance? Brotherhood? Maybe a warm hug to remind him that he belongs?"

Senior Ravi choked on air.

Even the wiry disciple rubbed his forehead, shaking his head with a faint grin.

Varun's smile was officially strained.

"Aaryan," he sighed, placing a firm hand on Aaryan’s shoulder. "You wound me."

"Not yet," Aaryan replied. "But I might, if you keep touching me."

A visible twitch.

Before Varun could snap, a calm yet authoritative voice cut through the air.

"Enough."

Silence.

The older disciples stiffened, stepping back instinctively.

From the far side of the hall, a figure descended the steps. He was draped in dark robes, simple yet authoritative, and his sharp gaze cut through the gathered disciples like a blade.

His presence didn’t demand attention. It commanded it. Not with volume, nor with power, but with the quiet, unwavering authority of a man who had seen a hundred arrogant disciples fall—and would see a hundred more.

He was not an Elder, but his position still held authority.

The man paused before the crowd, his eyes sweeping over the group before finally speaking.

"I am Overseer Dharun," he introduced himself, his tone measured but firm. "I oversee matters within the Outer Disciple ranks. That includes resource distribution—and making sure it remains efficient."

His gaze flicked toward the group—not lingering on anyone in particular, but heavy nonetheless.

"If you’re here for resources, get them. If you’re here for pointless posturing, leave."

The older disciples exchanged glances.

Aaryan noticed Varun’s posture stiffen, just slightly.

Ah. He didn’t expect this interruption.

Dharun didn’t wait for an answer. He simply turned, already disinterested. “Enjoy your resources. You never know when they might be your last.” His voice was calm, but it left a shadow behind—one that no one dared to step into.

No one spoke. Even the air felt heavier.

Then, as if released from a spell, the hall resumed its usual noise—but quieter than before.

As soon as he was far enough away—

Varun smirked, folding his arms. “You’re clever with words, Aaryan. But let’s see how long that lasts when you have to fight for your resources next month.”

Aaryan smiled lazily. “Ah, so you admit you can’t beat me in an argument. That’s progress.”

Senior Ravi wheezed.

The dark-circle disciple actually had to clutch his side.

Varun’s face was carefully neutral, but Aaryan could see the tension in his jaw.

As the disciples finally began moving forward to collect their resources, Varun leaned toward Aaryan and whispered, voice low and venomous.

"This isn’t over."

Aaryan smiled pleasantly.

"It never is."

And with that, he walked forward.

Varun’s glare burned into his back, but Aaryan didn’t look back.

The game had only just begun. And Aaryan had no intention of playing by the rules.