Ansh stood paralyzed for a moment, his mind a storm of calculation.
Who is this phantom?
he raged internally.
Who enters a Grade 5 Sanctum, loots a Queen’s inheritance, and leaves a plaything behind?
But then, a colder thought took hold.
No.
A man that powerful wouldn’t leave literal trash.
If he called it a ‘toy,’ it’s because his level is simply that high.
Even a toy of a god is a weapon for a man.
He looked at Vyan, then back at the hovering needle.
He couldn’t let the boy touch it first.
If this “toy” was the key to the Grotto, it had to belong to him.
“Child,” Ansh said, his voice trembling with a fake, fatherly concern.
“Stay back. Let me go further and inspect this… object. If it is a trap left by that mysterious man, I would rather my old bones take the brunt of it than your young soul.”
Vyan’s heart swelled with a deep, naive emotion.
“Oh, sir… you are too kind. But can you even walk that far? Your leg…”
Ansh let out a soft, heroic chuckle, leaning heavily on his staff.
“I have gotten spoiled depending on your shoulder these last few months, Vyan. But for your safety, I can manage. Stay there.”
He moved slowly, his breath coming in ragged, theatrical gasps, playing the role of the frail martyr to perfection.
But as he drew further away, the “struggle” in his shoulders vanished.
Behind his white beard, his grin widened, stretching into a jagged mask of pure greed.
I am a master, Ansh thought, his eyes locked on the glowing peacock wing.
A great actor for a great prize.
The brat won’t even know what I’ve taken until it’s already etched into my soul.
He reached the final pedestal.
Up close, the needle was breathtaking.
There wasn’t a speck of dust or a hint of rust on its silver surface.
The light-butterflies danced around his fingers, and the peacock wing shimmered like a captured rainbow.
Ansh didn’t hesitate.
He checked left and right—pretending to “look for traps” for Vyan’s benefit—while his heart hammered against his ribs.
Mine.
It’s finally mine.
He lunged, his hand snapping shut like a claw toward the hovering needle.
But the needle didn’t just sit there.
In a move of fluid, sentient grace, it ducked.
It dipped under Ansh’s grasping fingers like a living bird evading a predator.
His eyes went wide as the needle executed a perfect arc through the chamber, trailing a streak of silver light.
It bypassed Ansh entirely and shot straight toward Vyan like a bolt of lightning.
Vyan didn’t even have time to scream.
The needle struck him in the center of the chest, but there was no blood.
Instead, it turned into a liquid silver light and sank into his skin.
For the first time in his life, Vyan felt the sensation of a true Astra etching itself into his Spindle.
It was a cold, piercing tingle that felt like ice-water running through his veins, settling deep into his soul-core.
His eyes flew open, glowing with a faint, peacock-blue light.
Ansh remained frozen at the pedestal, his hand still outstretched in the air.
The silence in the cave was deafening.
He stared at the empty stone, then slowly turned his head to look at the boy.
“Huh?”
The single syllable was all he could manage before the logic of the Grotto shifted once more.
The chamber dissolved into white static, and the weight of the “Fold” returned.
In a blink, the cave was gone.
They were standing back on the basalt ridge outside the Stitched Wall.
The waterfall roared in the distance, and the amber sun was setting, but the world felt fundamentally different.
Vyan stood there, shivering, feeling the “toy” sleeping inside his Spindle.
Beside him, Ansh stood like a statue of salt, his face twitching in the twilight
“Welcome to The Sovereign Of Kaliyuga! New chapters dropping daily.”