"Arya, stop!"
The voice rang out sharp and commanding behind her.
Arya's fingers stilled mid-air.
Her head tilted ever so slightly, that sly smile never fading from her lips.
Everyone turned.
A man approached from the shaded walkway beneath the carved stone arch. His long white robe bore the insignia of the Temple Guardians, and his presence exuded quiet strength.
It was Liang Ren, the First Disciple of the Grand Monks—and the only person Arya ever truly paused for.
He walked up, unfazed by the tension in the air, and positioned himself in front of her, shielding the boys behind him.
"Arya," he said gently, "if you barge in again, even I won't be able to protect you."
Arya's eyes softened for a heartbeat.
But then her hand dropped, and she turned her back on the frozen students without a word.
The boys released the breath they didn't realize they'd been holding, their tense shoulders sagging with relief., watching her retreat down the steps.
Only Liang Ren remained, his gaze following her as if knowing too well—
She stopped.
And in one fluid motion, Arya spun back.
Before anyone could react, her staff moved like lightning—gripping it with lethal precision, she hooked it behind Mikhail's legs and twisted. His body was lifted clean off the ground, crashing against one of the courtyard statues with a sickening thud.
Mikhail gasped, coughing hard—nearly spitting blood.
"Arya!" Liang Ren's voice cracked with shock.
The other four froze in place. Takuma stepped back instinctively, Elric cursed under his breath, and Miguel looked like he might bolt.
Liang Ren moved to intervene—but he wasn't fast enough.
Arya's staff whirled again, this time aimed straight for him.
She didn't speak.
She didn't warn.
Her eyes gleamed like a blade unsheathed.
Liang Ren drew a deep breath, stepping forward as he pulled out his long whiplash weapon—reluctantly.
"Arya, don't—" he tried once more.
But it was too late.
Her staff collided with his defense, the crack of wood and energy shaking the courtyard.
The clash was fierce and fast, both of them disciples of the Grand Monks, their skills honed by years of training—but Arya fought like she had something to prove.
Every strike of hers was calculated chaos.
Liang Ren blocked, parried, deflected—but she kept pushing. Her moves grew wilder, sharper—until she suddenly spun, leaped, and struck down with enough force to split stone.
Liang Ren barely deflected in time, the hit grazing his shoulder and forcing him back, making him fall on the floor.
Then Arya smirked beneath her veil—and launched a dangerous arc meant to break his guard completely.
Just as it was about to land—
A crisp snap echoed through the air.
A fan flew between them, striking Arya's staff mid-swing. The impact jolted the weapon from her grip and sent it clattering across the stone floor.
Everyone turned.
Two figures walked calmly across the courtyard, flanked by a few robed attendants whose quiet steps seemed to still the chaos.
One was cloaked in pale blue, his face serene, eyes carrying a timeless calm—Second Elder, Master Devak Atriyaan.
Beside him strode a taller, broader man in dark crimson robes embroidered with silver thread—Fourth Elder, Master Igor Malkov. His sharp eyes scanned the wreckage of the courtyard, then fixed on Arya with open disbelief.
The attendants paused behind the elders, hands clasped, expressions neutral—trained to observe, not intervene.
Liang Ren, still breathless, lowered his weapon and stepped back.
Arya turned to face the elders, calm as ever, hands clasped behind her back. There was no guilt in her posture—only the mischievous spark in her eye.
Elder Malkov arched an eyebrow as he looked at Arya standing amid fallen students and a breathless Liang Ren.
With a sigh that carried more exasperation than surprise, he gave her a look. It clearly said: If you needed to blow off steam, there's a perfectly good practice room. Did you really have to redecorate the academy with bodies?
With a wry tilt of his head, Elder Malkov said dryly, "Was it really necessary to cause this much havoc, Arya? If you wanted something, you could've just sent a message."
Still veiled, Arya smiled beneath the cloth, her eyes gleaming with defiant amusement.
"I thought I'd deliver the message in person," she said lightly. "You did call for me, after all."
Even Elder Malkov blinked at that.
Liang Ren turned toward Arya in stunned confusion. The four young men who had tried to block her path looked even more lost.
Elder Devak Atriyaan stroked his chin, his placid smile never wavering. "Ah… I see now," he murmured, as if the final piece of a puzzle had clicked into place.
"You're saying I summoned you?" Elder Malkov narrowed his eyes.
"You did. Yesterday," Arya replied sweetly. "You just never said when I had to come. So… I came now."
Elder Malkov was stunned—until the memory hit. This brat had made him wait the entire day yesterday. And now she showed up today, without the slightest hint of remorse.
Elder Malkov's nostrils flared. "You—! You did this on purpose!"
One of the attendants winced subtly, as if bracing for another storm.
Before Elder Malkov could explode, Elder Atriyaan raised a single hand. "Enough."
"But—!" Elder Malkov tried.
Elder Atriyaan placed a calm hand on his colleague's arm. "Peace, Brother Malkov. This isn't unexpected. You forgot Arya's distaste for temple summons, didn't you?"
Igor Malkov muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.
Behind them, the four young men—Mikhail still groaning on the ground—looked completely baffled. This was not how they expected things to go.
Elder Atriyaan turned to them and the scattered disciples. "You're dismissed. This matter is no longer yours to handle."
The boys exchanged uncertain glances, then quickly obeyed, relief written across their faces.
As they disappeared into the inner corridors, Takuma whispered, "She's not getting away with it this time."
"She's totally getting away with it," Elric muttered back.
Liang Ren, still clutching his ribs, was helped to his feet by one of the attendants.
"Take Liang Ren to the infirmary," Devak Atriyaan instructed. "Make sure he's properly treated."
Liang Ren gave a slight bow before being led away, his gaze lingering on Arya—a silent warning in his eyes.
Elder Malkov watched them go, then turned back to Arya with a long-suffering sigh. "Behave."
Arya's eyes glittered. "Depends on my mood."
As soon as they left, Elder Atriyaan finally turned to Arya. His smile had faded, replaced by something colder, older—sharpened by knowledge and purpose.
"Come with me."
Arya tilted her head but said nothing, falling into step beside him.
Elder Malkov frowned. "I'm coming too—" clearly ready to protest, but Elder Atriyaan cut him off gently.
"No," Elder Atriyaan said without looking back. "You have an emergency meeting with the other Pavilion Masters, remember?"
Elder Malkov hesitated, glaring at Arya one last time like a father warning a wayward daughter.
She met his gaze, unbothered, raising a brow in playful defiance.
With a dramatic sweep of his robes, Igor Malkov stormed off, his attendants trailing behind.
Elder Atriyaan waited until the courtyard had fallen silent again.
Then, in a voice that discarded all calm:
"I need to speak with you—now. It's serious."
Arya blinked. The teasing light vanished from her eyes.
Without another word, she followed him into the shadowed hallway beyond the Court of Crimson Lotus.
***