By seven, Arav understood something most adults took years to learn.
Silence was never empty.
It carried words that hadn't been spoken yet.
The estate felt busier that season. Not louder—Aaryan would never allow that—but fuller. More footsteps on stone. More pauses in conversation when Arav passed by. More careful glances that pretended not to look.
Vyomar noticed first.
He would lift his head when visitors arrived, golden eyes tracking movements with quiet alertness. Not aggressive. Just… aware.
"Easy," Arav murmured one afternoon, scratching behind Vyomar's ear. "They're just people."
Vyomar flicked his tail, unconvinced.
The visitor that day came with polished boots and a smile practiced smooth.
He introduced himself politely, bowed to Aaryan with perfect respect, and spoke of trade routes and weather patterns and nothing important at all. His aether was neat. Contained.
Too contained.
Arav watched from the edge of the courtyard, hands folded behind his back as Sharanya had taught him. He didn't speak. He didn't move.
He listened.
"Your estate is quiet," the man said lightly. "Peaceful."
Aaryan's reply was calm. "We prefer it that way."
The man laughed. "Of course. Still, rumors travel even where people do not."
Meghala appeared at Arav's side as if summoned by irritation alone.
"Rumors?" she echoed pleasantly. "Oh, those. Yes. We heard one just yesterday."
The man turned, surprised.
"That a merchant from the south tried to pry into family matters," Meghala continued cheerfully. "Lost his trade license a week later. Terrible luck."
The man's smile tightened.
Arav blinked.
Meghala leaned closer, stage-whispering, "Could've been coincidence."
Aaryan didn't intervene.
The visitor left soon after, his politeness intact but his steps quicker.
As the gates closed behind him, Sharanya exhaled softly. "They're getting bolder."
"Because they don't know," Meghala said, stretching. "And not knowing makes people stupid."
Arav looked up. "Know what?"
Meghala glanced down at him, expression softening just a fraction. "How expensive curiosity can be."
That evening, the estate buzzed quietly with preparation—not for danger, but for presence. Servants moved with purpose. Guards rotated shifts. Nothing dramatic.
Just readiness.
The system stirred once, lazily.
[Daily Sign-In Complete]
Reward: Noise-Dampening Slippers]
Arav stared at the footwear in confusion.
Later, when Vyomar tried to sneak up on a bird and failed because his paws made no sound at all, Meghala laughed herself breathless.
"Oh no," she said between gasps. "You've turned him into a professional criminal."
Vyomar looked offended.
As the days passed, whispers sharpened.
Not loud enough to challenge.
Not quiet enough to ignore.
"Did you hear?"
"They say the Ashvathar child doesn't leak at all."
"Impossible at that age."
"Maybe he's sealed."
"Or hiding something worse."
Arav heard fragments.
He didn't ask questions.
Instead, he trained harder.
Not with fire—but with restraint.
One afternoon, while balancing atop a narrow beam, he wobbled. Vyomar tensed below, ready to leap.
Arav steadied himself without reaching for power.
Aaryan nodded once.
That nod felt heavier than praise.
That night, thunder rolled faintly on the horizon.
Arav sat by the window, watching the sky glow briefly before settling back into darkness.
He didn't feel fear.
He felt… distance.
Like something watching from far away.
Vyomar padded over and pressed his head against Arav's knee.
"I know," Arav whispered.
The world was speaking more loudly now.
Not to him directly.
But about him.
And the quiet years were doing their job.
They were teaching him how to stand—
before anyone tried to make him move.