Kian and Zeyk strolled through the evening market, lanterns swaying overhead.

  Laughter danced in the air, mingling with the scent of something intoxicating and fried—probably food Kian couldn’t pronounce. The city felt alive, humming with magic, music, and mortal cheer.

  Kian grinned. For once, his mood was perfect. After the chaos of the past few days, he felt—dare he say it—rejuvenated.

  A group of children chased each other between stalls.

  A street magician was making Light tricks with some illusion magic.

  A couple of cloaked figures stood stiffly by a baked potato stall.

  Wait.

  Cloaked figures?

  Creepy. Too stiff. Too quiet.

  Kian narrowed his eyes. The crowd swirled around them, but those three didn’t move. His gaze locked onto faint symbols stitched into their hoods—almost invisible in the lantern light.

  A broken scale.

  His chest tightened. Where had he seen that before?

  Then the spark on his arm heated up, a pulse of divine warning.

  Vikarma’s cult.

  His body tensed. Instinct took over.

  “Zeyk,” he hissed. “Come on!”

  He yanked his friend’s arm and bolted through the maze of stalls, winding through startled merchants and confused locals, praying no one followed.

  They didn’t stop until they reached Anvika’s front door.

  Kian slammed it shut behind them.

  Safe.

  He exhaled a shaky breath.

  “You ditched me for dinner!”

  Nahl stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, radiating fury.

  Not safe.

  “I—I can explain,” Kian stammered.

  “You better,” Nahl and Zeyk said in perfect unison.

  “The cult. They’re here,” Kian said. Blunt. Honest.

  Nahl’s expression went blank. Zeyk straightened.

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  “You saw them? In the market?” Zeyk asked, voice suddenly low.

  Kian nodded. “Yes.”

  “Great,” Zeyk groaned, throwing his hands up.

  “So… now what? Do we leave?” Nahl asked, arms crossed but her voice steady.

  Before Kian could answer, a low hum filled the room.

  “No,” came a voice from the corner.

  Anvika stepped forward, her eyes sharp and unreadable. Sparks danced along her fingertips, casting flickers of blue light on the walls.

  “You could start,” she said coldly, “by explaining who you really are. And what your true intentions are.”

  Kian blinked. “Anvika—”

  “I’ve lived in this city my whole life,” she said, tone clipped. “I know when someone’s lying. And you three reek of secrets.”

  More sparks gathered at her palm. The air grew thick.

  Zeyk raised his hands slowly. “Okay. Let’s not fry the furniture.”

  Kian sighed. He looked at Anvika—then at Nahl.

  “She deserves to know,” he muttered.

  Then, louder: “Alright. You want the truth?”

  He straightened, eyes glowing faintly with celestial light.

  “I’m not just some random guy Nahl picked up on the street,. I’m a celestial. So is Zeyk. We’re hundreds of years old.”

  He gestured to the spark on his arm. “And currently we’re trying to stop the end of the universe. And have picked up Nahl along the way”

  There was a long pause. Only the quiet hiss of electricity filled the silence.

  Then Anvika lowered her hand slightly. “...You expect me to believe that?”

  Kian met her eyes. “No. But I’m telling you anyway.”

  Anvika turned toward Nahl, “You knew about this?”

  Nahl shrugged, “I knew most of it, except the Celestial part.”

  Zeyk leaned in, “So do we leave?”

  “I need a cup of tea.”

  ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  Anvika didn’t speak for a long while.

  She paced instead, the soft crackle of her magic the only sound in the room. No one dared interrupt.

  Kian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look harmless—which was hard when you’d just admitted to being a centuries-old celestial with a divine spark fused into your soul.

  Zeyk picked at his sleeve.

  Nahl just stared at the ceiling.

  Finally, Anvika stopped pacing.

  She looked up, eyes flinty. “You can stay.”

  Kian blinked. “Really?”

  “But only until the tournament’s done,” she said, voice firm. “After that, you leave. All of you.”

  Kian opened his mouth. Closed it again.

  “That’s fair,” Zeyk said.

  Anvika pointed a finger at them. “I’m not doing this because I trust you. I don’t. Not yet.”

  She turned, stalking toward the kitchen. “I’m doing this because I can protect myself. And because Nahl, for some reason, hasn’t incinerated you both.”

  Nahl offered a half-shrug, half-smirk.

  Anvika paused at the doorway, glanced back.

  “One wrong move,” she said, “and you’re out before the kettle even whistles.”

  Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Zeyk exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

  “Well,” he muttered, “that went better than expected.”

  From the kitchen came the sharp clatter of cups.

  “Don’t push it,” Anvika called.