Eklavya remained seated on his bed long after the door had closed behind Anshvi, his posture unmoving, his back straight, and his breathing slow and measured like someone cultivating rather than resting. Yet no ki circulated through his Channels, and no technique flowed through his channels.

  His mind was loud, far louder than any battlefield, and every passing second felt heavier than the one before it. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of a spirit lamp resting near the corner, its light casting long shadows across the walls that seemed to stretch and shrink as though alive. He did not lie down, nor did he rise. He simply sat there, eyes open, staring at nothing in particular, allowing time to pass without resistance.

  The rest of the day slipped by in the same manner, silent and undisturbed. When evening arrived and the sky outside darkened, his mother approached his room carrying a simple meal prepared with care, knocking gently on the door as she always did. There was no response from within.

  She knocked again, softer this time, calling his name in a low voice filled with concern, but still the door remained closed. After waiting for several moments, she placed the food beside the door and left quietly, her steps heavy despite her attempt to mask them. Inside, Eklavya heard everything, yet chose to remain still, his hunger suppressed not by cultivation but by something far more persistent—by resolve.

  Outside his room, the Rudra Clan moved forward despite the scars of battle. Alchemists worked tirelessly through the night, their hands stained with medicinal residue as they treated the wounded lining the hallways, corridors, and courtyards.

  The air carried the sharp scent of herbs, spiritual ki liquids, and blood, blending into an atmosphere that was neither peaceful nor chaotic, but something painfully in between. By the time dawn approached, most of the critically injured had been stabilised, and the alchemists, exhausted yet relieved, withdrew to rest, knowing that their task, at least for now, had been completed.

  As morning arrived, the clan began preparations for the festival, an event that had been scheduled long before war had darkened the mountains surrounding Trapura City. Despite everything that had occurred, no one spoke of cancelling it. After all, this was an Eternal Festival, which is celebrated all around the world.

  Decorations were brought out, lanterns hung, colored lights woven across streets and rooftops, and firecrackers stacked in neat bundles near courtyards and gates. To an outsider, it would have appeared as though the city had simply turned a page and chosen joy over grief, as though the Marwah Clan and the Taraj Clan had never existed at all.

  But everyone knew the truth.

  The truth was that both clans had been erased, their names destined to fade into history, spoken only in hushed conversations and written records. The truth was that the Rudra Clan now stood at the centre of attention, whether they desired it or not.

  By nightfall, news would spread beyond Trapura City, carried by messengers and cultivators alike, racing toward the Royal Capital of the Mati Empire. Two new Spirit Warriors had emerged, their existence undeniable, their power witnessed by too many to suppress. Where there had once been twelve Spirit Warriors under the Empire’s banner, there were now fourteen, excluding those belonging to the great sects. The balance had shifted, subtly but irrevocably.

  Inside his room, Eklavya remained unaware of the decorations being hung, the laughter echoing faintly through the city, and the growing excitement outside his door. He did not open it even once throughout the entire day. No one disturbed him, not because they did not care, but because they understood.

  After everything he had endured, after witnessing his father collapse, and the battlefield drowned in blood, silence was the only gift they could offer him. They all knew that a boy who always sought power had witnessed a battle where he was powerless.

  It was already evening when Ashish finally stood before Eklavya’s door, raising his hand and knocking with firm resolve rather than hesitation.

  “Eklavya,” he called out, his voice steady. “Open the door. I want to talk to you.”

  Inside, Magha stirred faintly within Eklavya’s consciousness, his presence calm but attentive.

  ‘Go speak to him, Magha said. Today is the festival. At least let them see you before you leave the clan tonight for the forest.’

  Eklavya’s fingers curled slowly, then relaxed. ‘At what time are we leaving? he asked internally.’

  Magha paused briefly, considering the flow of the night beyond the walls.

  ‘Midnight’, he replied. ‘Just after the festival ends.’

  Eklavya rose from the bed at last and walked toward the door, opening it to reveal Ashish standing outside, arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral.

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  “Yes, big brother,” Eklavya said with a forced smile. “What is it?”

  Ashish stepped inside, glancing around the room briefly before sitting on the chair near the small round table. He poured himself a glass of water, drank it slowly, and exhaled, as though gathering courage rather than quenching thirst.

  “What do you think about festivals?” Ashish asked casually. “Don’t you want to take a round in the market like always? You used to be the most excited one. Bursting crackers, dragging me around everywhere. What happened this time?”

  Eklavya sat opposite him and smiled faintly. “Of course I want to, but—” Ashish interrupted him gently, misreading the hesitation. “Don’t worry about Father. He’s fine. He would be disappointed if we didn’t celebrate.”

  After a brief pause, Eklavya nodded. “Alright. I’ll go.”

  Ashish’s face brightened instantly. “I knew my little brother wouldn’t deny me.” He retrieved a folded garment from his storage ring and placed it on the table. “Change into this.”

  The outfit was elegant—red and white fabric interwoven with golden patterns that caught the light even in the dim room. It was festive, refined, and unmistakably chosen with care.

  After washing and changing, Eklavya stepped out toward the clan’s main gate, where Ashish was already waiting. Before joining him, Eklavya greeted the elders, his mother, and briefly checked on his father. Only after fulfilling those obligations did he walk toward Ashish.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Ashish studied him closely, mistaking the practised smile for genuine recovery, unaware that Eklavya was simply allowing himself one final moment of normalcy. “Wait here,” Ashish said suddenly. “The one who bought your clothes isn’t here yet.”

  Eklavya frowned slightly, then followed Ashish’s gaze as Anshvi approached.

  She wore a light blue–purple dress, its fabric flowing like mist under moonlight, subtle patterns shimmering with every step. For a brief moment, Eklavya’s gaze lingered, then he turned away, offering only a polite nod.

  Ashish, satisfied, took the lead and allowed the two of them to walk together behind him. The market was alive with light and sound, glowing lanterns lining every street, firecrackers bursting in bursts of colour, laughter echoing between stalls and bridges. For a city that had bled only days before, it looked impossibly alive. At the edge of the market, near the artificial water stream that crossed through the city, Ashish stopped.

  “You two enjoy,” he said. “I forgot something important.” With a knowing smile and a quick thumbs-up toward Anshvi, he disappeared back toward the clan.

  …

  They walked in silence, side by side, their footsteps blending into the rhythm of the festival-filled streets as if they were merely two more figures swallowed by the crowd. Lanterns of crimson, gold, and warm amber hung in long chains above the road, swaying gently in the night breeze, their reflected light shimmering across the polished stone beneath their feet.

  Firecrackers burst intermittently in the distance, scattering sparks into the sky like brief, defiant stars, followed by laughter and cheers that echoed between the buildings. Yet despite the life surrounding them, an invisible distance stretched between the two of them, thicker than any crowd, heavier than any sound.

  Eklavya walked with measured calm, his posture relaxed, his expression composed, outwardly no different from the countless nights before when festivals had filled him with restless excitement. But inside him, every step felt deliberate, as though he were memorising the path beneath his feet, storing away sensations he knew he would not experience again for a long time.

  The warmth of the lights, the faint scent of oil lamps and sweet snacks drifting through the air, the sound of children laughing without fear—each detail pressed quietly against his heart, not painfully, but insistently, like a reminder of something already slipping away.

  Anshvi walked beside him, matching his pace without effort, her presence drawing glances from passersby who mistook her calm grace for serenity rather than restraint. She noticed his silence, the way his gaze drifted forward instead of toward her, and though she said nothing at first, the unease in her chest grew with every step.

  This was not the comfortable silence they once shared, the kind filled with teasing glances and unspoken understanding. This silence was closed, guarded, as if he had already placed a barrier between them that she could sense but not see.

  When they reached the bridge that arched gently over the artificial stream cutting through the city, the noise softened. Water flowed beneath them, catching fragments of lantern light and breaking them into wavering reflections that drifted downstream. The moment felt suspended, isolated from the rest of the city, and perhaps because of that, Anshvi finally spoke.

  “You’re looking good today,” she said softly, her voice nearly blending with the murmur of water below.

  Eklavya turned toward her, and for a brief instant, the lantern light caught his face just right, illuminating a smile so natural, so perfectly shaped, that it betrayed nothing of the storm beneath it. It was the same smile he had worn before, practised not in deception, but in survival. “You too,” he replied evenly.

  The words were simple, unembellished, yet they struck her more deeply than she expected. A faint warmth spread across her cheeks, subtle but undeniable, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that perhaps she had been overthinking things, that perhaps he was simply tired, weighed down by the aftermath of battle and loss.

  And yet, even as she smiled back, she sensed something distant behind his eyes, something unreachable, as though his gaze was already fixed on a horizon far beyond the bridge, far beyond the city itself.

  They did not speak again.

  By the time they returned to the clan’s mansion, the courtyard was alive with sound. Ashish stood at thecentrer, surrounded by children, laughing as he lit one firecracker after another, their explosions painting the night sky with flashes of red and gold. The children cheered and ran in circles, their joy unrestrained, their laughter untouched by war or loss. Elders watched from the sides, some smiling faintly, others simply relieved to see life continuing.

  Eklavya stopped a short distance away and watched the scene unfold. Slowly, realisation settled into him—not as surprise, but as quiet understanding. This was no coincidence. The clothes, the timing, Ashish’s sudden disappearance in the market—it had all been arranged. A final attempt to anchor him here, to remind him of what he was leaving behind.

  ‘It looks like she’s giving up on you, Magha said quietly within him, his voice devoid of mockery, observing rather than judging.

  Eklavya exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on Anshvi for a fraction of a second longer than intended before turning away. ‘It’s better that way, he replied, the words heavy but resolute. ‘Better for her not to wait.’ Better for her not to be pulled into the path he was about to walk.

  The festival burned itself out gradually, laughter fading, lanterns dimming, until midnight arrived and silence reclaimed the clan like a returning tide. Doors closed, footsteps vanished, and even the wind seemed to still, as though the world itself were holding its breath.

  In his room, Eklavya moved with quiet efficiency. He removed the festive clothes and changed into unfamiliar garments woven from silver silkworm fabric—light, durable, and devoid of any clan insignia. Over them, he draped a black robe, its fabric absorbing light rather than reflecting it. He covered his face with the mask Anshvi had once given him, pulling the hood low, concealing not just his features, but the identity he was leaving behind.

  He stood by the window for a moment, looking back at his room and memories.

  “It’s after midnight,” he murmured, his voice barely audible even to himself. “It’s time to leave.”

  And without hesitation, without looking back, he stepped into the night.