The palace did not sleep after the envoy left.
It pretended to.
Lanterns burned late. Guards doubled their patrols. Councilors whispered behind carved doors, their shadows stretching long across marble floors like guilty thoughts.
Arjun felt it the moment he woke.
The air was heavier.
Blade stretched beside him, yawning wide.
"Bad-feeling morning," Blade muttered.
"Lots of watching eyes."
Arjun rubbed his face. "Yeah. Same."
A knock came—firm, official.
When Arjun opened the door, two palace guards stood at attention.
"By order of the Royal Council," one said, carefully neutral, "you are summoned to the Arena of Accord."
Arjun's chest tightened.
Arena.
That word never meant tea and conversation.
The Arena of Accord lay at the heart of Nandivana—an ancient circular coliseum carved into the palace grounds. Its stone seats rose in layered rings, each etched with symbols of judgment and unity.
Today, every tier was full.
Nobles in silk.
Warriors in armor.
Priests with ash-marked brows.
Whispers rolled like distant thunder.
Arjun stepped into the arena floor, Blade at his side, Tara following half a step behind him.
He felt smaller here.
Exposed.
The Ashkiran sigil pulsed faintly, as if sensing scrutiny.
Maharaja Shantiraj sat high above, flanked by the council.
Rudra stood near the edge of the arena—arms crossed, expression grim.
Krish leaned against the stone wall, unreadable.
Vedanth was absent.
That worried Arjun more than anything.
A councilor rose—elderly, sharp-eyed, draped in blue and gold.
"Arjun Ashkiran," the man intoned.
"You stand accused of destabilizing the realm."
The words struck like thrown stones.
Murmurs erupted.
Tara stiffened. "This is—"
"Order," the king commanded, voice iron.
The councilor continued.
"You possess power of unknown origin. You draw the attention of cults and rival kingdoms alike. And worse—your control over that power remains… uncertain."
Arjun clenched his fists.
"This council proposes a test," the councilor said.
"To determine whether you are a shield… or a threat."
The arena fell silent.
Arjun looked up. "What kind of test?"
The councilor's lips thinned.
"A public trial."
Tara turned sharply. "You cannot be serious."
"You will face a sealed construct," the councilor said. "A relic designed to provoke, not destroy. You will be ordered to unleash your power—"
"No," Tara snapped. "That's madness. He is still learning control!"
"That," the councilor replied coolly, "is precisely the point."
Arjun felt something cold slide through his chest.
They wanted to see him lose control.
They wanted proof.
Proof to exile him.
Or worse.
The king's gaze met Arjun's—heavy, conflicted.
"This is not punishment," Maharaja Shantiraj said slowly.
"This is necessity."
Arjun breathed in.
Out.
Blade pressed against his leg.
"They poke the fire," Blade said quietly.
"Fire bites."
Arjun lowered a hand, steadying him.
"I'll do it," Arjun said.
Tara spun toward him. "Arjun—"
"If I don't," he continued, voice steady despite the pounding in his ears, "they'll never stop questioning me. Or you."
Silence swallowed the arena.
The king nodded once. "Begin the trial."
The ground trembled.
Stone plates slid apart at the arena's center, revealing a circular dais inscribed with runes—old, dense, layered.
A construct rose from beneath the stone.
It was humanoid—taller than a man, forged of dark alloy and crystal veins glowing faintly red. Its face was smooth and blank.
Cold.
Unfeeling.
"Restraint construct," the councilor announced. "Designed to absorb and reflect unstable energy."
Arjun swallowed.
That meant if he lost control…
It would push back.
Harder.
Krish muttered under his breath, "Bastards."
Tara's hands shook at her sides.
"Begin," the councilor ordered.
Arjun stepped forward.
The construct's eyes flared red.
It moved.
Fast.
A heavy arm swung toward Arjun's head.
He dodged on instinct, rolling across the stone as the strike shattered the ground where he'd stood.
Gasps echoed.
Arjun scrambled up, heart racing.
Control, he reminded himself. Not force.
He called the light—carefully.
A golden glow formed around his hands.
The construct reacted instantly—its crystal veins blazing brighter, reflecting the energy back in a shockwave.
Arjun staggered, pain lancing through his arms.
The darkness stirred.
Use me, it whispered. I will make them kneel.
"No," Arjun hissed.
The construct charged again.
Arjun ducked, slid beneath its swing, struck its knee with a focused burst of light—not explosive, just precise.
The metal dented.
The construct adapted.
Its movements shifted—mirroring his rhythm.
Learning him.
The crowd leaned forward.
Sweat streamed down Arjun's face.
Think.
He glanced upward—caught Tara's gaze.
She wasn't afraid.
She was believing.
Something steadied inside him.
He didn't push more power.
He refined it.
The light condensed—thinner, sharper.
When the construct lunged again, Arjun stepped into the attack, redirecting the force instead of opposing it.
The construct stumbled.
Arjun struck again—targeting joints, seams, weaknesses.
Not overpowering.
Outthinking.
The construct reeled, systems overloading.
Its glow flickered.
The councilor frowned.
"This is not sufficient output—"
"Enough," the king said quietly.
The construct froze mid-motion.
Silence crashed down.
Arjun stood panting, light fading from his hands.
The arena erupted—some cheers, some angry whispers.
The councilor looked displeased.
"You did not display the full extent of your power," he said sharply.
Arjun looked up, meeting his gaze.
"No," he said. "I displayed control."
The king rose slowly.
"You have your answer," Maharaja Shantiraj declared.
"The Ashkiran is not a weapon. He is a will."
Tara exhaled shakily, relief washing over her.
Rudra nodded once—respect clear.
Krish allowed himself a small, grim smile.
The councilor sat back, defeated.
Later, in the quiet shade of the garden, Arjun collapsed onto a bench, muscles screaming.
Blade hopped up beside him.
"You did good," Blade said.
"Didn't burn anyone."
"High praise," Arjun muttered.
Tara approached slowly, then sat beside him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she said softly, "Thank you… for trusting yourself."
He looked at her. "I trusted you."
Her breath caught.
The garden felt very still.
Very close.
Blade lay down between them, sighing contentedly.
"Survived," he announced.
"Again."
But far from the garden's peace, in a chamber lined with mirrors of water and shadow, a distant observer smiled.
The test had failed.
Arjun Ashkiran had not broken.
Which meant the next move would not be subtle.
It would be cruel.