Aaryan lingered only a moment after sealing the Heaven-Burning Eclipse Slash within his ring. Elder Nema offered no farewell, no further words to soften the silence between them.

  When Aaryan stepped out of the Copper Circle Building, the air felt thick—as though the walls had exhaled and the weight clung to his shoulders.

  Inside, Elder Nema sat unmoving. The cup in his hand rose and fell in slow rhythm, steam curling into pale ghosts before vanishing against the muted light. His gaze, however, was distant—fixed beyond the green grass, toward a grove of trees scattered with crimson blossoms. Their faint shimmer caught in his eyes like memories he could not set down.

  A few breaths passed before Deacon Puru returned. His boots echoed once against the stone, then stilled. He stood there—jaw tight, eyes shadowed—struggling between restraint and rage.

  “Why didn’t you let me kill that bastard?” His voice was low, bitter, a knife dulled by obedience. “You think that kid has a better chance?”

  Nema sighed. The sound was weary, almost fragile, as if it carried the weight of years spent bending beneath unseen chains.

  “Like me,” he said quietly, “you’re bound as well. Even if you struck him down, my enemies in the headquarters would not forgive it. They’d shun you; not call you criminal, perhaps, but make you one in all but name.”

  He set the cup down. The faint clink seemed to seal the thought.

  “I’ve already lost one,” he added, voice turning softer. “If something happened to you too… who would be left to bury these old bones?”

  Puru’s reply never came. Only his eyes moved, following the empty doorway—tracing the path where Aaryan had vanished.

  ?? — ? — ??

  Outside, the wind rustled faintly.

  Aaryan stood in the centre of a vast blackstone plaza, the world stretched wide, eerily quiet. Before him loomed the Ember Spire, its runes faintly pulsing like a sleeping heart, each glow brushing light across his face.

  He exhaled slowly, thoughts drifting back to the tower—his final condition, a month of preparation now felt already like a half-kept promise. Uncle Soot, true to his own unpredictable whims, had cast him out far sooner.

  Aaryan hadn’t questioned it. Few things ever made sense when it came to Soot.

  That last moment still lingered—a calloused hand pressed to his forehead, the sudden flood of light and sound within his mind. Countless forging patterns, half-formed visions of glowing anvils and burning Qi threads, had seared through his thoughts before fading into a haze he could barely grasp.

  Only later, in deep dreams, did they unfold—memories not his own settling like pieces of an ancient puzzle.

  His eyes stayed on the tower but the people around him stirred. He wasn’t a stranger anymore.

  Once, this plaza had been a stage for his clash with Viyom—quite a spectacle in this restless city. But now, every eye in Steel City had seen him turn the tide—forcing the scales toward the Meghs and Kaleens, shaking the balance of power that had stood for decades.

  Whispers had followed him ever since. Yet Aaryan paid them no mind.

  A soft breeze stirred his azure robe—the same one he had long abandoned upon entering the city, its colour catching faint glints beneath the midday sun. Barefoot, he felt the blackstone’s warmth press against his soles, grounding him in a place that had never truly been home.

  He cast one last glance across the square. Then turned to leave.

  But the air shifted.

  A slow ripple spread through the plaza as measured footsteps echoed across stone. Aaryan stopped, his gaze narrowing as a procession approached—an entourage marked by authority and grace. At its head walked the Green Fairy, robes flowing like water over jade; beside her, Babita and Shravan, the latter’s injuries now little more than fading shadows. Even the First Elder, Subhash, followed in silence, his presence lending the group a quiet weight.

  “Brother Vidyut!” Shravan’s voice broke through the stillness. His smile was broad, genuine, carrying a warmth that disarmed the formal air. Quickening his pace, he stepped out ahead of the others. To any onlooker, the sight would have seemed almost familial—two brothers reuniting after victory.

  Aaryan returned the greeting, lips curling in faint amusement. “Brother Shravan.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He turned, cupping his hands respectfully toward the Green Fairy and Elder Subhash. “Senior Fairy, Elder Subhash.”

  Behind them, Babita’s posture stiffened. A small ache bloomed in her chest—sharp, unexpected. He hadn’t greeted her. He never did. Looking back, she realized it had always been that way. Ever since their first encounter—since the moment she’d lashed out in pride—he’d kept a careful distance.

  The Green Fairy’s eyes flicked toward her daughter, the faintest curve lifting her lips. “Vidyut,” she said, tone lilting between jest and warning, “you’ve done much for us. But if you slight my daughter again, I’ll be forced to punish you.”

  Her words lingered, teasing, yet edged.

  Aaryan’s smile deepened. “I wouldn’t dare.” He turned and bowed lightly to Babita. “My greetings, Miss Babita.”

  Elder Subhash stepped forward, his voice low. “So, you’re truly leaving?”

  Aaryan nodded.

  Shravan clasped his shoulder. “Brother Vidyut, if you ever pass through again, come to Megh Manor. I’ll be waiting.”

  Aaryan’s laughter was brief but sincere. “You have my word.” Then, quieter, his tone steadied. “But be cautious. The storm hasn’t passed. It’s only shifted.”

  The words settled like dust after battle.

  The Green Fairy and Subhash exchanged a glance—one of quiet respect.

  They had seen his strength, his wisdom. Now they glimpsed something rarer still—foresight.

  The Green Fairy’s gaze deepened. “Why would you say that?”

  Aaryan’s laughter came quiet, almost careless, yet his eyes told a different story. “If Senior insists on hearing it aloud—despite already knowing—then I’ll obey.” He paused, breath steady, tone cooling into something measured. “The Dravhals have lost this round, but men like them don’t bow quietly. If they can’t claw their way back, they’ll burn the ground beneath everyone’s feet. I believe they’ve already begun.”

  A faint ripple crossed the group—an unease none voiced.

  “They’ve contacted the Crimson Hell Sect,” he continued, “and they’ll do whatever it takes to survive, no matter the cost.”

  The Green Fairy’s composure wavered for the first time. “They’ve reached out to Crimson Hell Sect? For what purpose?”

  “To report the death of their disciple, Rivan.”

  The words struck like a dropped blade. Silence fell, sharp and immediate. Even the breeze seemed to pause.

  “Rivan... is dead?” Shravan’s voice broke the stillness, disbelief edging each syllable.

  Aaryan inclined his head. “That’s what they told the sect.”

  The Green Fairy’s tone gentled, though her eyes gleamed with intent. “Little friend, speak plainly. What is happening here?”

  “You remember the white-masked man Simmi captured?” Aaryan asked. “That was Rivan.”

  A collective breath caught.

  Babita’s lips parted, but no words formed. Even Shravan’s expression faltered—shock, then dawning realization.

  “Don’t worry,” Aaryan said quietly. “He’s not alive... at least, not in the usual sense. More like a puppet. And I suspect Aran’s behind it.”

  Murmurs died before they began. The revelation hung in the air, heavy and strange.

  “That’s why Varesh backed down,” Aaryan went on, voice low. “The secret weighed too much. But now? It seems Aran’s punishment turned into opportunity. He’s dragged his father into it too—pinning Rivan’s death on me. Perhaps they plan to weave similar traps here, against Steel City... and against you.”

  A stillness settled—long, uneasy.

  Shravan was the first to speak, his tone edged with concern. “Then why leave? If the Crimson Hell Sect believes their lie, they’ll send hunters.”

  “Yes,” Babita added softly, eyes narrowing. “Brother Vidyut, stay. At least until we can find a way.”

  Aaryan’s smile was faint, tinged with weariness. “I can’t. There’s too much yet undone. And if I remain, I’ll only drag you into their storm. I won’t do that.”

  Elder Subhash’s brow furrowed. “Boy... you realize what it means to be hunted by the Crimson Hell Sect.” His voice, though rough, carried a thread of worry beneath its weight.

  Aaryan met his gaze. “It’s easier to hide one flame than a forest fire. Don’t worry for me, Elder. I’ll move in shadow, and they’ll chase smoke.”

  Babita tugged softly at her mother’s sleeve, her eyes shimmering, on the verge of spilling over. The Green Fairy’s sigh came deep, heavy with the ache only a mother could know. She had already begun thinking—searching for some way, any way—to keep Vidyut in Steel City. She knew her daughter’s heart well; if the boy left, the radiance in that gentle bloom would surely dim.

  Her lips parted to speak, ready to weave some reason strong enough to anchor him—

  —but a voice slid through the air, low and ancient, curling directly into her ear.

  Don’t try to contain the sea within walls.

  Her eyes widened. Beads of cold sweat gathered along her brow. Uncle Soot.

  Still, she did not back down. Her fingers tightened over her sleeve, chin lifting in quiet defiance. “I’ve tamed many seas before,” she whispered beneath her breath, “one more for my daughter’s sake is nothing.”

  A laugh followed, rough and unrestrained, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.

  You take him for an ordinary storm? the voice rumbled, each word edged with distant thunder. He’s a tide that shifts the world’s course. If he’s buried, all tied to him will share his grave. And if he rises, he’ll stand above nations—surrounded, but never yours to claim. Either way, your daughter suffers. Remember, Fairy—better a dog’s head than a lion’s tail.

  Had anyone else spoken so of her daughter, she would’ve struck them down without hesitation. But against this madman... she could only stand silent.

  Her gaze drifted to Aaryan—about to leave, offering quiet farewells. The calm of a storm not yet broken. The silence before a great wind.

  “Very well,” she said at last, her voice carrying a grace both warm and distant. “If ever you need aid, know Steel City’s gates will remain open to you. And Megh Manor... will always have a room waiting.”

  Aaryan inclined his head, a faint nod of gratitude, and turned.

  His steps fell against the blackstone, steady and unhurried, carrying him farther from the group. None followed. They only watched—each pair of eyes reflecting something different: pride, sorrow, admiration... and a trace of fear.

  He didn’t look back.

  Though his time in Steel City had been brief, the trials here had tempered him in more ways than one. He had grown—his strength, his will, his mind—all sharpened by fire. Dealing with men like Megh Pramod, Dravhal Varesh, and the enigmatic Green Fairy had tested not just his might, but his understanding of people—their ambition, their deceit, their worth.

  He had weathered these storms barely intact. And beyond this city, another awaited.

  Not of politics.

  But of blood.

  Fellow Daoists,

  Destiny Reckoning has stirred your Dao heart even a little, I humbly invite you to leave behind a few traces of your passage — a comment, a follow, or even a favorite. These gestures may seem like mere pebbles, but to this wandering author, they are spirit stones paving the road forward.

  review would be as treasured as a heavenly-grade soul fruit — rare, potent, and deeply nourishing.

  Patreon gates stand open. Tread boldly... but beware the cliff’s edge.

  The Silent Monarch. His story unfolds in the same universe as Destiny Reckoning. Unlike Aaryan’s blazing rise, the Monarch’s path is cold, ruthless, and silent… yet destined to cross with Aaryan’s one day.

  follow The Silent Monarch as well, and be there when their worlds finally collide.

  and thank you — sincerely — for walking this path with me. ???