The silence in the hut was a physical weight, thick with the unspoken threat of the Law of Essence Continuity.
The seven Sadhakas sat apart, a chasm of newfound suspicion between them.
Roderic, unnerved by the stillness, opened his mouth to speak. "I think—"
His voice was cleanly severed by Ashan's calm, steady question.
"Have any of you killed a living being? Specifically, a human?"
The air left the room. All eyes snapped to him, wide with shock and conflict.
"Ashan... what do you... mean?" Ballio's speech fractured into a stammer.
Ashan signaled to Helma with a glance.
"Get him water."
She moved swiftly, returning with a clay cup. Ballio drank, his hands trembling around the vessel.
After a moment, Ashan resumed, his voice unnervingly even.
"Let me reframe. Have you ever killed anything? An animal? An insect?"
Hesitant glances were exchanged before a round of slow nods.
"What's the point?" Dris asked, a dark look on his face. "Are you saying we should think of human life like an insect's?"
"Yes. And no." Ashan read the room.
Helma and Ballio trembled quietly.
Imla's expression was grim.
Damara had a hand clenched over her heart, her breath measured.
Dris and Rodric were tense but controlled.
'This is the moment,' Ashan thought.
'To be honest, and in doing so, be utterly manipulative. To solidify my place not as a friend, but as their only viable path.'
"Let me tell you a summary of my life," he began.
"I was born on a far-off island, in a house of sluts and lust-drunk men."
Surprised gasps met his bluntness.
"I lived by begging and taking beatings. The first human I killed was a boy my age.
He tried to take my food." He stated it without a flicker of emotion.
"After being brought here, I used two more people to save my own skin."
Dris scoffed lightly. "In that case, shoving that kid from his chair makes me a killer too."
Ashan raised a single finger to his lips, a simple, commanding gesture that silenced Dris instantly.
'Where did he learn that?' Dris wondered, thrown. 'He speaks like a noble but claims a beggar's life... what a letdown.'
"My point is this," Ashan continued, his gaze sweeping over them.
"We have seen the true nature of this world. The world of Sadhana forces choices that betray our deepest beliefs, all for the sake of survival. It is foolish to be on edge against each other now. The reason for this fear is simple: when one of us dies, a Unified Vestige remains."
Wary eyes darted around the circle.
"I will end by saying this: don't trust me. Trust the plan I can devise. I need you all, and you all need me to survive. I am not telling you to become numb to emotion. It is far better to be full of feeling and yet in control of it."
He finished and waited.
Damara was the first to speak, her hand unclenching from her chest.
"You're right. Without you, we wouldn't have survived the trials. I trust your reasoning. Your planning." 'He keeps his barriers up even now... What childhood forged this? We are similar, he and I. I, the daughter of a whore. He, the son of one.'
"Yeah... she's right," Ballio nodded, finding his voice. "I trust you, Ashan!" 'Staying with him is my best chance to survive.'
"I agree with you," Imla said, her jaw tight. 'He's manipulative and thinks ten steps ahead. I have no better option. At least he is brutally honest. 'Outlive everyone,' he says. I believe him.'
"I'm in," Rodric declared, a dark smile twisting his lips. "So what about this disgusting law? We can take vestiges from other Samyama Sadhakas. We survived the trials together. That has to count for something." 'Ashan... just keep us safe. I don't care about morals. Your honesty is enough.'
"Hoh, when did you start making such profound statements?" Dris smirked.
"Oh, shut up!" Rodric snapped.
"Geez, fine. I'm in. You'd have died without me anyway, right, Leader?" Dris smiled at Ashan. 'Honest... too honest, like a surgeon's knife. I'll trust your plans, but not you. Becoming your enemy is a losing game.'
Ashan's eyes flickered with faint, unseen grayish-white hues. Their thoughts lay bare before him.
Trust? he mused coldly. They don't trust me, but the utility I represent. Ballio seeks safety, Helma respects competence, Damara recalls past deliverance, Imla admires the ruthless logic, Dris follows calculated self-interest, and Rodric sees no alternative. This is the only trust that matters—a pact of mutual dependence in the face of annihilation. Anything more is a vulnerability. I showed them the rot inside me to burn away their illusions. We are all killers clinging to the same rock. They see I hold the map to the next one. That is the foundation. It is enough.
"I am happy," Ashan said aloud, his tone softening to a convincing warmth, "and thankful for the trust you have shown."
He stood. The others rose and gathered closer. He brought his clenched fist to the center of their circle. "This is called a 'fist bump'. We are sealing a vow."
"What vow?" Imla asked, confused.
Ashan gave a faint, genuine smirk. "Let's bump first."
Seven fists, young and scarred, met in the center.
"Today," Ashan declared, his gaze firm, "we are no longer just members of Team 7." He looked at each of them in turn. "We are now brothers and sisters, through the thick and thin of life. Do you all agree?"
A shared glance, a collective breath, and then a solemn, unified reply. "We all agree. Today, we are all now brothers and sisters through thick and thin of life."
"Brothers and sisters," Ashan repeated, sealing the pact.
"So, I'm the big brother, right?" Dris asked smugly.
"I'm older than you, dickhead," Rodric retorted.
Dris scratched his head in mock frustration. "How can I be your big brother and your father at the same time? Your choice!"
The resulting profanity-laden argument was cut short by Helma. "Shut up, you two! It's time for Sadhana. Move!"
"You should do something about their fighting, Big Brother," Imla said calmly to Ashan.
He sighed, meeting her green-eyed stare. 'I'm only months older...' "Fighting among siblings is common. It drives them to improve. Let's not waste time, sister." He waved a hand, shepherding them out.
***
Weeks bled into a new, more intense routine. With the theory classes ended, their training became a brutal, focused grind. Three days a week were now dedicated solely to Sadhana, with the others filled with relentless combat drills.
Instructor Yessa demonstrated the next part of the [Broken Stone Kiriya].
"After the fist, the elbow. After the elbow, the leg." He inhaled sharply, and a dark-bluish glow enveloped his elbow. He exhaled explosively, and his elbow strike shattered a stone. He then had a candidate throw a stone at him. Pivoting, he inhaled as he raised his knee, and with a sweeping, glowing kick, he shattered the airborne rock to dust.
'The drills are only going to get harder,' Ashan observed, squinting against the imagined debris.
***
On the third floor, Instructor Inira addressed them for what she promised was the final time. "This is the last common mantra I will teach you."
She whispered the guttural syllables. "𝔖𝔞𝔯𝔲𝔤 𝔢𝔨𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥!"
The transformation was instantaneous and horrifying.
A series of wet pops and cracks echoed as extra, glistening green-black eyes bloomed across her face. Four chitinous, spider-like appendages erupted from her back, tearing through her cloak. Her jaw unhinged, morphing into grotesque, clicking mandibles. The skin of her hands turned black and glistened with a sticky slime.
The sound of retching filled the room as a candidate lost their stomach.
"How unsightly," Instructor Inira screeched, her voice now a multi-tonal horror.