Chapter 32: Quiet Years, Steady Hands
The trip beyond the estate did not repeat itself often.
That first dungeon visit—brief, controlled, and watched from every angle—remained exactly what Aaryan had intended it to be.
Exposure.
Nothing more.
In the months that followed, Arav did not return to dungeons. Not even the shallow ones. Instead, life folded back into a slower rhythm, deliberate and measured.
At five years old, Arav learned that power did not begin with force.
It began with stillness.
Every morning, before the estate stirred fully awake, he sat in the inner courtyard with Sharanya. His legs were crossed, his back straight—though it took effort—and his hands rested lightly on his knees.
"Breathe before you feel," Sharanya reminded gently.
Arav obeyed.
The flame inside him stirred, eager as ever, but now it waited. It listened.
Some days it behaved.
Some days it didn't.
On the days it didn't, the air around him wavered faintly. The stone tiles grew warm. Once, a clay pot cracked cleanly down the middle.
Arav flinched every time.
Sharanya never raised her voice. She only placed her palm against his back and said, "Again."
And again he tried.
Aaryan's lessons came later in the day.
They were quieter—but heavier.
Footwork across uneven ground. Balance drills on narrow beams. Standing still under pressure while Aaryan's presence bore down on him like a mountain.
"Fear makes power loud," Aaryan said once. "Control makes it sharp."
Arav remembered that.
At six, his steps stopped trembling.
Not because he wasn't afraid—but because he'd learned how to move anyway.
Meghala visited often during those years.
Sometimes to train.
Sometimes to tease.
Sometimes just to disrupt the peace.
"You're telling me this kid walked into a dungeon once and now you're grounding him?" she complained loudly one afternoon, sprawled across the courtyard bench.
Aaryan didn't look up from his tea. "He wasn't grounded."
Sharanya smiled. "He was introduced."
Meghala snorted. "You make it sound like a formal dinner."
Arav sat nearby, carefully brushing Vyomar's fur with a small wooden comb.
The white lion cub had grown too—still young, still soft, but sturdier now. His paws were larger. His movements more confident. Golden eyes watched everything with quiet curiosity.
He tolerated the comb.
Barely.
Vyomar flicked his tail and bumped Arav's hand when the strokes grew too slow.
"I'm almost done," Arav murmured.
The cub yawned dramatically and flopped over, clearly exhausted by the effort of existing.
Meghala pointed. "See? Already a menace."
The system stirred faintly that evening.
Nothing dramatic.
Just… present.
[Daily Sign-In Complete]
Reward: Self-Cleaning Training Wraps]
Arav blinked at the simple cloth in his hands.
Later, when Meghala splashed mud on his sleeves "by accident," the wraps cleaned themselves in seconds.
Meghala stared.
"…I hate your luck."
The outside world continued to move, even if Arav stayed mostly within the estate.
Caravans passed more frequently now.
Visitors spoke more carefully.
Rumors drifted in pieces:
"They say the Ashvathars are hiding something."
"A child, maybe."
"No, a beast."
"I heard thunder answered fire somewhere far away…"
Arav heard those whispers sometimes.
He didn't understand all of them.
But he felt their weight.
One night, close to his sixth birthday, he stood on the balcony with Aaryan, watching lanterns bob along the distant road.
"Father," Arav asked quietly, "why did you take me outside that one time?"
Aaryan was silent for a moment.
"So you would not fear the world," he said at last. "And so the world would not surprise you."
Arav thought about that.
"Will I go again?" he asked.
"Yes," Aaryan replied calmly.
"When?"
"When you are ready."
Arav nodded, satisfied.
Behind them, Vyomar padded out onto the stone floor, sat beside Arav, and looked up at the stars.
Somewhere far away, thunder murmured.
This time, Arav didn't tense.
He only listened.
The quiet years were shaping him.
And when the noise returned—
he would know how to stand.