The first strike did not land.
That, more than anything else, was what saved the Solar Gardens.
Kritav Mrityujayaal lunged forward with the reckless certainty of a child who had never been denied, never corrected—confidence stitched together from borrowed authority and inherited arrogance. His fist cut through the air, clumsy but fast, driven by humiliation sharpened into rage.
Aditya did not retreat.
He stepped aside.
The punch met nothing but sunlight and space, Kritav's momentum betraying him as his foot slid against marble. He stumbled forward, balance breaking, dignity cracking before his body ever touched the ground.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the watching nobles.
Aditya could have struck.
He did not.
Instead, one hand settled lightly on Kritav's shoulder—not forceful, not cruel—and guided him forward. Kritav fell onto the grass, palms slapping earth, pain minimal, humiliation absolute.
For a heartbeat, the gardens forgot how to breathe.
Then—
"Get him!"
The shout came from behind Kritav, high and panicked, and the spell broke. Three boys rushed forward, emboldened by numbers, by pride, by the belief that chaos favored the loud.
That was when the triplets moved.
Not as children reacting.
As something trained to act together.
Sasi stepped first, slipping into the space between attackers with practiced grace. His body angled just enough, redirecting one boy into another. A wrist was caught, turned—not painfully, just precisely—and released. The boy yelped, more shocked than hurt, retreating instinctively.
Aryan moved where balance failed.
A third boy tried to circle wide, eyes darting, arm raised. Aryan placed his foot down—once—calm, exact. The stone beneath responded, not violently, not loudly. The ground tilted by a breath, a whisper.
The boy fell backward, breath torn from his lungs as he struck marble.
Gasps erupted.
"Stop this at once!"
The command came too late.
Kritav was already standing again.
His face burned—not with pain, but with the raw ache of having been made small before witnesses. Crimson eyes flicked from brother to brother, to the watching adults, to the triplets who had not even broken formation.
"You think you're better than me?!" he screamed. "You think dirt training makes you nobles?!"
He reached inward.
Too fast. Too deep.
Something answered him that should not have.
The air shuddered.
Aditya felt it instantly.
So did Sasi.
So did Aryan.
Unrefined power leaked outward—Stage One, unstable, uncontrolled. Grass beneath Kritav's feet darkened, curling inward as if recoiling from his presence.
The gardens stiffened.
Children were not supposed to do that.
High above, Crown Prince Rudra Suryavrin rose slowly from his seat, maroon eyes narrowing—not in fear, but in sharp, sudden focus.
Below, the triplets did not panic.
That was what unsettled him most.
Aditya inhaled.
Slow. Deep.
He stepped forward—not aggressively, not challengingly—and stopped. The pressure met him and flowed around him, like wind bending around a cliff. He did not resist. He did not clash.
The energy dispersed.
Kritav hesitated.
Only for a breath.
That breath cost him everything.
Sasi moved in, palm settling against Kritav's chest—gentle, controlled—and guided the chaotic flow downward. The withering stopped instantly, as if the garden itself exhaled.
Aryan followed.
His foot touched the ground again.
This time, thin vines burst from between the stones, fast-growing and green, wrapping around Kritav's wrists and ankles. Not tight enough to hurt.
Tight enough to end the matter.
Kritav froze.
Silence fell.
The vines released at once.
Aryan stepped back.Sasi withdrew his hand.Aditya lowered his stance.
The fight ended without a final blow.
Kritav dropped to his knees, shaking—not from injury, but from the shock of being restrained without cruelty, defeated without dominance.
From the dais, Queen Devashri sat utterly still.
King Arkaindra's gaze hardened.
Duke Kaalasena Mrityujayaal stepped forward, smile erased."Enough."
Sarvani arrived like winter wrapped in silk.
She did not shout.She did not accuse.
She simply looked at Kritav.
Then at Kaalasena.
"Your son initiated violence," she said calmly. "He invoked unstable power in a royal garden. My grandchildren restrained him without injury."
Her eyes sharpened.
"That is mercy."
Varesh Vyomtara stepped forward beside her."Shall this be escalated?" he asked politely.
The question carried no politeness at all.
King Arkaindra raised a hand."That will not be necessary."
His gaze settled on the triplets."Return to your parents."
They bowed.
Perfectly.
As they turned away, Kritav staggered backward—straight into another presence.
"Brother."
The word cracked.
A tall boy stepped forward.
Thirteen years old.Broad-shouldered.Obsidian hair bound tight.
Crimson eyes cold and assessing.
Vayun Mrityujayaal.
He had chosen his Path a year ago.
The Path of the Ashen Fang.
Predation. Suppression. Dominance.
He did not look at Kritav first.
He looked at the triplets.
"You hurt my brother," he said calmly.
"We restrained him," Aryan replied. "He lost control."
Vayun smiled faintly.
"That wasn't your place."
Then he released his power.
The air bent.
A crushing presence slammed outward, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on bodies and wills alike. Children screamed. Nobles finally moved—too late.
Aditya felt his knees dip—
Then stop.
Sasi exhaled.
Aryan stepped forward.
Their chakras responded together—not explosively, but stably. The pressure struck them and shattered, dispersing like mist against stone.
Vayun's eyes widened.
Impossible.
He lunged.
Aditya met him head-on—not with rage, but timing. A shoulder check redirected the charge. Sasi swept low, precise. Aryan placed his foot down.
The ground rose.
Vayun struck marble hard.
Before he could rise, Aditya knelt beside his head, fist hovering inches from his face—not striking.
Showing.
"You're strong," Aditya said evenly. "But you're sloppy."
Silence.
Vayun laughed once, strained."This isn't over."
"No," Sasi replied gently. "It's done."
Guards finally arrived.
Shouts echoed.
But the moment had already passed.
The triplets stepped back together, breathing steady.
From above, Crown Prince Rudra Suryavrin watched them go—not as rivals, not as threats.
But as something else entirely.
They are not children who play at strength, he realized.They are children who know when not to use it.
The sun still shone over Arkavaira.
But its shadows had learned restraint.
And the world had learned a name it would not soon forget.