When Ankit and Sanya reached the garden, they saw Root Clone standing alone among the trees, hands folded behind his back. He met their eyes, then silently gestured for them to follow.
Neither sibling questioned why he was alone or where their parents had gone. Root Clone's presence never meant danger inside the fortress, so they simply trailed after him.
He led them straight to the glass‑roofed greenhouse at the centre of the garden, the cozy place where they usually lounged when they wanted a bit of "outdoors" without leaving the underground.
The moment they stepped through the door, the world vanished.
Darkness rolled in like ink, swallowing the greenery, the benches, even the faint glow of the formation lamps. Sanya's vision went pitch black, but her breathing stayed calm.
Months of practicing the Mortal Foundation Scripture had trained her to breathe steadily and hold her mind still, and more importantly, her brother's hand was wrapped around her wrist.
Ankit, on the other hand, immediately recognised the feel of the darkness. This wasn't an attack; it was a cloak of shadow Essence, neat and familiar.
Only he or his clones could shape something like this inside the fortress. The moment it descended, his senses spread out on reflex—and through that invisible sense, he "saw" everyone clearly.
Kamal and Neelam were standing to one side, trying very hard not to laugh. Solar and Sacral Clones lurked near a long table. Root Clone had stepped behind them. The table itself was piled with dishes and cakes, and the greenhouse was decorated with glowing vines and soft, hanging lights hidden by the darkness.
In that instant, Ankit understood.
Birthday.
He and Sanya shared the same birthday—28 February—and they had always celebrated together. This year, between cultivation, terrorist chaos, and fortress construction, both siblings had completely forgotten. Their parents, however, clearly had not.
Ankit's first impulse was to keep using his senses… then he stopped. If he kept "cheating," the surprise his parents had worked so hard on would be pointless. He deliberately pulled his sense back, let the darkness feel like real darkness, and stood still, just another "normal" person waiting.
A few heartbeats later, the shadows thinned like mist in the sun.
Lights blossomed across the greenhouse; the fragrance of food flooded out. Kamal, Neelam, and the three clones shouted in unison, "Surprise! Happy birthday, Ankit and Sanya!"
Sanya's eyes went round. Then she squealed, all calm forgotten. "Birthday! I—I totally forgot!" She bounced in place, happiness bubbling out of her.
Ankit widened his eyes a fraction and drew in a stunned breath, playing along. His acting wasn't perfect, but his parents were too pleased to notice. Only the clones, sharing his memories, knew he had seen everything early—and they kept quiet.
Everyone gathered around the table. They ate, laughed, and shared stories; for once, no one talked about terrorists, formations, or cultivation theory. After the meal, they lounged in the greenhouse, listening to the distant hum of the fortress.
Then came the gifts.
Kamal and Neelam produced wrapped packages: books, clothes Sanya had once admired, a sturdy watch for Ankit, a simple pendant, a few small things that would look ordinary to outsiders but carried years of thought. None of them were magical, but both siblings accepted them with genuine smiles and thanks.
Once the parents were done, Sanya turned to her brother with sparkling eyes. "Brother, where is my birthday gift? And I want something special this time, okay?"
Ankit chuckled. "You always want something special."
"But today I have an excuse," she said seriously. "It's my birthday."
He pretended to think for a moment, then nodded. In truth, he had already decided. "Fine. Give me until dinner. I'll prepare something for you."
Sanya beamed, instantly satisfied. She knew he wouldn't hand over his cultivation system yet, but she also knew he never broke promises. If he said it would be special, it would be.
The rest of the day passed in easy enjoyment. At one point, Kamal suggested going up to the surface to feel real wind and sunlight, but Ankit shook his head.
"Even if the terrorists are gone, the people up there are still scared," he explained. "The city is still under lockdown. Streets are half‑empty, everyone's on edge. There's no point going there just to make the soldiers nervous. Let them calm down first."
Kamal and Neelam exchanged a glance, then agreed. There was no rush; they had an entire hidden fortress to enjoy.
Night fell. They ate a light dinner in the greenhouse, candles and Vyuha‑lights painting soft colours on the glass. After they finished, Sanya leaned forward, chin on her hands.
"Brother. Gift."
Ankit smiled. "Alright. Sanya, from today onward, I'll teach you a movement technique I made just for you. It's called Butterfly LeafFootwork."
Her eyes lit up immediately. "Footwork? A real technique?"
"A real technique," he confirmed. "It's still at the mortal level, so you won't be drawing Essence yet. But if you master it, your movement will already surpass most adults. And when I finally let you cultivate, this will turn into a proper movement art."
Sanya straightened in her seat, all traces of sleepiness gone. "Tell me! Tell me!"
Ankit raised a hand, sketching a pattern in the air.
"Listen carefully. Butterfly Leaf Footwork has three parts."