Dusk gathered at the edges of the city.
Not abruptly—no horns, no alarms—just the slow lengthening of shadows as the sun dipped low enough to paint rooftops in amber and copper. The great gates stood open, guards leaning on spears, watching with the idle curiosity of men who thought the day was over.
It wasn't.
Shaurya stepped out first.
Hands in his pockets. Crimson robes loose. Hair slightly unkempt, like sleep had won a small battle and he hadn't bothered to retaliate.
He yawned.
Then stopped.
So did everyone behind him.
He laughed softly at something Lin Shu said beside him, the sound easy, unguarded. She bumped her shoulder lightly against his, smiling up at him, her expression relaxed—as if this were just another evening stroll and not the moment seventy lives were about to change direction.
The contrast struck harder than any display of power.
The disciples watched him pass with wide, searching eyes.
Shaurya didn't look at them.
