In the dim lobby of the Royal Treasury, silence held its breath.
Marble floors shimmered under moonlight seeping through stained glass windows—ancient, intricate patterns that cast dancing shadows across the polished stone. The light fell in geometric patterns, creating pools of illumination separated by stretches of deep shadow. The guards had just completed their rotation, their footsteps echoing down adjacent corridors and fading into the distance. For the next precise window of time—approximately eight minutes based on the rotation schedule—the main corridor would be unsupervised. A perfect time for sneaky business.
A perfect time for theft.
Not that Aryan was sneaking well.
Creak.
The sound of his sandal brushing against the marble floor echoed like thunder through the vaulted chamber, ricocheting off walls and ceiling, announcing his presence to anyone within a hundred meters. His heart jumped into his throat.
'Why is this place so quiet? Is this how palaces sound?' Aryan wiped the sweat from his brow and peeked around a massive pillar, his small form pressed flat against the cold stone. He used Insight to scan the corridor ahead—no guards within immediate range. Clear. For now.
SYSTEM: "I've said this before, and I will say it again until the heat death of the universe—I want a refund. You're the only user I've ever seen who trips over silence. Most thieves understand basic stealth. You sound like a drunk ox in a pottery shop."
'You're just mad because I didn't ask your permission to break into a royal vault.'
SYSTEM: "Permission? Son, I wasn't built to babysit juvenile delinquents committing crimes in luxury palaces. I was built to guide geniuses! Geniuses who don't announce themselves with the grace of a falling boulder."
Aryan sighed quietly, creeping forward along the edge of the wall where the shadows were deepest. His objective was crystal clear in his mind: acquire a 1st Chakra Level 1 good-quality cultivation manual—enough quality to push him from Novice to Perfection stage within that level. Once achieved, he'd aim for First Chakra Level 2 to get the foundational boost he needed to actually compete in the world of cultivation. That was the plan. Short. Illegal. Straightforward.
Except…
From the corner of the room—from a ceiling vent that should have been sealed—a small figure in a sleek black outfit dropped silently, moving through the air with grace that suggested years of training.
She landed in a perfect crouch, her body absorbing the impact without a sound. Her long braid, bound with silver cord, flicked over her shoulder like a whip as she scanned the vault chamber.
Princess Roshni, fifth daughter of King Rudrayan, age six, prodigy-level cultivator, and a 1st Chakra Level 3 martial artist trained since birth—was here for a completely different reason. Unlike Aryan, who'd been sent by a drunk old man hoping to acquire basic resources, Roshni had come to this vault with surgical precision and singular purpose: to steal the manual of a 1st Chakra Level 4 cultivator—powerful enough to unlock new techniques for the upcoming martial arts tournament. She refused to participate in that tournament at her current level. Refused to be seen as just another royal child coasting on her father's name. She was a warrior.
She narrowed her eyes as she noticed a boy already inside the vault chamber.
A spy? A rival noble's assassin? A dumb guard's child playing dress-up in the treasury?
She didn't wait to ask politely.
Aryan turned toward a slight sound—the faintest whisper of fabric moving—and barely ducked a foot flying toward his head with lethal intent.
"Wh—Whoa!" he yelped, rolling backward just in time, his instincts screaming danger even as his body obeyed.
The punch that followed missed his nose by a whisper—so close he felt the air displacement, the heat of her chakra discharge. Aryan, by sheer instinct—or perhaps Luck manifesting in its most chaotic form—shifted his stance entirely and raised an arm in a defensive position. Her knuckles crashed into his forearm with enough force to send pain blooming through his small bones.
SYSTEM: "What are you, the luckiest cabbage in the garden?! That block had no technique, no timing, no understanding of proper defense—and yet it worked?! This defies every principle of combat I understand!"
The girl spun low, sweeping his legs with calculated force. Aryan jumped instinctively—pure survival instinct, nothing practiced. A knee came flying up toward his chest with brutal efficiency, but he twisted sideways, letting it graze past him, feeling the heat of her chakra-enhanced strike pass inches from his body.
Strike. Her fist came from the left.
Dodge. He weaved right, barely in time.
Block. Another punch—he raised his arms crosswise.
Duck. A spin kick aimed at his head—he dropped low.
Aryan's breath quickened, his heart hammering in his ribs. He wasn't fighting—he was surviving. There was a critical difference. Fighting implied skill and strategy. Surviving implied panic and luck working in tandem.
Princess Roshni leaped back, her breathing steady and measured—the breathing of someone trained and controlled—her small fists raised in practiced martial form. She studied her opponent, reassessing.
"…Who are you?" she asked coldly, her voice carrying the weight of someone accustomed to obedience.
Aryan wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple, his own breathing ragged and panicked. "I could ask the same thing! Why are you kicking me?! I didn't do anything!"
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not wearing a guard uniform. Which means you're not supposed to be here. Which means you're either a thief or an infiltrator."
"Yeah? Neither are you!" Aryan shot back, his fear transforming into defensive anger. "So if we're going to accuse each other, let's start with—"
SYSTEM: "Ah, perfect. Two small criminals arguing about the jurisdiction of their joint felony. Let's just hope the dragon doesn't decide to mediate this philosophical debate about proper breaking-and-entering protocol."
Roshni didn't move for a long moment. Her sharp gaze scanned Aryan with the analytical eye of someone trained to read opponents. His balance during those blocks—imperfect but effective. His reflexes—raw but present. His timing—terrible technically, yet somehow landing. They weren't polished. They weren't refined. But they had landed. He'd blocked every attack she'd thrown at him, even the ones she'd launched at full force assuming he'd break immediately.
Impossible. Unless—
"You're here for the Elixir of Agni Flame, aren't you?" she asked finally, her tone shifting from hostile to calculating. "The cultivators mentioned those vials specifically. That's what you came for."
"Huh?"
"Or maybe the Silver-Forged Chakra Ointment?" She tilted her head, studying him. "I heard the inner vault has exactly two vials left. Rare stuff. Expensive. The kind of thing a serious cultivator would risk palace security for."
Aryan blinked, completely confused.
SYSTEM: "Say yes. Say something intelligent. Say something that makes you sound competent instead of like you stumbled in here by accident. Say something smart—"
"I… I'm here for a manual."
SYSTEM: "You absolute walnut. A manual. Not a rare elixir, not mystical ointment that enhances cultivation speed by 200%, just a manual. Of course."
Roshni tilted her head, her expression shifting from confusion to something approaching respect. "What manual?"
"Just a Level 1 good-quality one," Aryan mumbled, embarrassed by how pedestrian his theft goal was compared to what he assumed she was after. "Nothing fancy. Just... something to help me improve."
Roshni stepped back, eyeing him with renewed curiosity. "You must already be in a Chakra stage if you're here hunting for cultivation materials. That means you've already broken through the barrier. That means you're not some random street rat."
Aryan felt heat rise to his face and blushed deeply.
'I barely made it to First Chakra… and she thinks I'm some kind of prodigy?'
SYSTEM: "You know what? I'll allow that delusion. Let her stay delusional. Misconceptions about your power level are actually advantageous in a life-or-death situation."
After a long moment of silence—filled only with their slightly elevated breathing and the ambient hum of the vault's preservation enchantments—Roshni sighed.
"Well, I'm not here to stop you," she said finally, with a reluctant shrug that suggested she'd done some rapid tactical calculation. "I was planning to get something stronger myself. But since you seem... competent," she said, with clear reluctance, studying his movements one more time, "I have a proposal."
Aryan blinked. "A proposal?"
"Temporary alliance," she stated matter-of-factly. "You don't slow me down. I don't slow you down. We both acquire what we came for and leave quietly. No guards alerted. No complications. Clean extraction."
SYSTEM: "This is how great friendships are forged across history. Through violence, mutual suspicion, and felony shared between two children stealing from royalty. Beautiful. Truly beautiful."
Aryan looked at her extended hand, hesitating for only a moment. He clasped it firmly, trying to project confidence he didn't possess.
"Deal."
As they tiptoed down the corridor together—moving with newly coordinated stealth, their footsteps synchronized to minimize sound—Roshni began whispering casually, as if they were colleagues on a normal mission rather than two child thieves inside a royal palace.
"Did you know the Martial Arts Tournament is next month?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
"No?" Aryan replied, shaking his head.
"It's held every five years. A grand event," she explained, her eyes scanning ahead for guards. "Everyone under the age of ten can participate—so long as they've entered a Chakra stage. That's the requirement. Even princes from other kingdoms join. They come with their royal entourages and cultivation masters. They're strong, Aryan. I heard one of them already reached First Chakra Level 6."
Aryan whistled low, the sound barely escaping his lips. "That's… intense. Level 6? That's basically at the top of the first stage."
"If you place in the top ten, you get a guaranteed spot in the University of Nalanda," she added, glancing at him sideways. "You probably already knew that. Most serious cultivators know about Nalanda by heart."
Aryan grinned awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.
'I didn't even know what Nalanda was until three seconds ago. I've been cultivating for approximately three days.'
SYSTEM: "Good news! You've learned more about the cultivation world in five minutes with this girl than in five entire days with your drunk mentor. That's either a testament to her teaching ability or a harsh indictment of your master's methods."
Aryan scratched his head nervously. "You think I'll qualify? For the tournament, I mean. To even place?"
Roshni gave him a side-eye smirk—the kind of smirk that suggested she was weighing her response carefully. "Considering you blocked my attacks without breaking a sweat and managed to dodge strikes aimed at your vital organs... yes. Definitely. You have potential. Raw, unrefined potential, but it's there."
Aryan coughed awkwardly.
'I almost peed from fear. She definitely noticed my legs shaking.'
Just as they reached the large circular chamber housing the vault—a massive circular door of reinforced steel and cultivation-enhanced materials, sealed with glowing runes—the air itself seemed to change.
A deep rumble shook the walls.
Dust rained down from the ceiling. Fissures appeared in the ancient stone. Both froze mid-step, their eyes going wide.
A slow heat crept through the air like an invading presence, warm and oppressive and utterly unnatural. The lanterns lining the walls—powered by perpetual cultivation enchantments meant to burn indefinitely—flickered out one by one, swallowed by darkness.
Then—
ROOOOAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!
The sound was primal, ancient, and devastatingly loud. It echoed through the treasury like the death cry of a god, reverberating through stone and bone alike.
From the shadows behind the inner gate—the sealed chamber within the sealed chamber—a monstrous shape stirred. Eyes opened. Glowing red eyes that burned like molten suns, illuminating the hallway with an ominous, bloody light that painted everything in shades of crimson and shadow.
The ground beneath them cracked.
A scaled claw—each talon the size of a man's arm—slammed forward, gouging deep furrows in the marble floor.
Taarask, the Chakra 2 Stage 7 Dragon-Half Beast, uncurled its massive form from where it had been coiled around the vault's protective altar like a guardian made flesh. Its body was a horrifying mixture of draconic and reptilian features—scales that shimmered like burnished copper, wings that folded and unfolded with the sound of thunder, a tail that could level buildings.
Its teeth glistened with flame—actual fire coating the crystalline fangs.
Smoke coiled from its nostrils like the breath of the underworld itself.
Aryan's legs trembled. Not shook. Not vibrated. Trembled—the involuntary response of a body recognizing a predator far beyond its survival capacity.
Roshni's face went pale, her bravado evaporating instantly.
SYSTEM: "…Well, congratulations. We are now locked in a vault—a sealed vault—with a giant fire-breathing lizardwho definitely skipped breakfast and is looking remarkably hungry. This is what I like to call a 'catastrophically unwinnable scenario.'"
Aryan gulped, his mouth suddenly dry as bone.
"Any bright ideas?" he whispered desperately.
SYSTEM: "Yes. Step one: Don't die. Step two: Regret every life choice that brought you to this precise moment. Step three: Try not to get incinerated. In that order."
The dragon's eyes—those impossible, burning red eyes—locked onto them. Recognition flickered across its ancient, terrible face.
It saw them.
And it was hungry.