Chapter 31: Tea, Tension, and Threads of the Past
The sun was setting beyond the skyline of Delhi, casting long orange streaks over the concrete horizon. I stood silently at the edge of the street, bathed in its mellow glow, watching the city come to life with twilight.
Hailing a cab, I slid into the back seat and gave the driver my destination: the Central Region.
Our house was situated right at the border of East and Central Delhi—close enough to feel the heat of the flame-worshipping, Agni-devoted East, and yet close enough to taste the structured calm and refined order of the Central Zone.
If East Delhi was a roaring forge, Central Delhi was a polished blade.
It was the administrative hub of the capital, a place where guild dignitaries, politicians, bureaucrats, and the upper crust of society gathered like moths to a constellation's flame. Monkey Saint's influence was strongest here, his authority shaping this urban heart into a fortress of power and prestige.
Tall buildings ruled the skyline. Glass skyscrapers replaced the broad bungalows of other zones. There were relics of the pre-Cataclysm era—monuments and memorials—but only a few remained untouched. One of those was my destination: the Red Fort.
After the Cataclysm, it had been converted into a hybrid zone—part historical museum, part military bunker, and now, part residential area. The very garden where Mughal emperors once walked now housed chic cafés and high-end diners.
I stepped out of the cab and looked at the red sandstone walls. They'd been reinforced and expanded during the disaster. Towers bristled with modern mana barriers, and the garden was filled with faint hums of security seals.
Making my way through the path lit by glowing lanterns, I found the café Anaya mentioned.
It was elegant—small, serene, and nestled beneath a thick canopy of enchanted trees that muffled noise. Each table was encased in privacy seals, offering a gentle hum of isolation.
It wasn't crowded. A couple sat under the spell of some romantic aura. A group of merchants argued softly over a deal. And me—awkwardly dressed in a faded shirt and light jacket—waiting.
I hadn't seen her in years.
Anaya Brooks.
We met in the Hunter Academy when we were seventeen. She came from a family with American lineage, though they had been in India for over thirty years. Her roots ran deep in both cultures—discipline from the West, tradition from the East.
The Brooks family had a quiet, elite presence. It was said her uncle once served as a U.S. senator before the Cataclysm. But Anaya herself? She never cared for politics. She was fire and finesse, a lethal mix of gymnastics mastery and battlefield brilliance.
She awakened at eighteen—her physique a Weapon Master Constitution. I didn't know the details, but I knew what it meant: she could wield any weapon with absurd proficiency.
And now, I needed her help.
The bell above the café door chimed.
I turned.
Disappointment crept in—it wasn't her.
"Look at you. Sitting there, staring at the door, waiting for me. You always were dramatic."
That voice. Smooth, teasing, warm.
I turned again. And there she was.
Anaya.
She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous in the traditional sense—but she had something else. A commanding presence. Sharp brown eyes that saw too much. Her hair was tied into a loose braid draped over one shoulder. She wore a fitted maroon blazer over a grey top and black pants tucked into combat boots. Grace and lethality in one package.
And that mana aura… At least Rank 2, maybe more.
"Still good at sneaking up behind people," I muttered.
"You're still bad at sensing people coming," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from me.
I chuckled. "I thought this was going to be a reunion. Turns out it's an interrogation."
She raised a brow. "You awakened. I felt it. Your mana flares like a thunderbolt. You don't reach out for years and suddenly invite me to coffee? I'd be a fool to think it was casual."
"Fair," I admitted. "But also… I did want to see you."
A pause. Then, a soft smile. "Likewise."
The tension broke.
We spent the next thirty minutes reminiscing. Tales of sparring in the training halls. The time we tried to cook mana-infused food and nearly burned down the dorm. The nights we snuck onto the roof to watch constellations.
"I missed this," I said finally.
"Me too."
Then I leaned forward.
"I want your flexibility training regimen."
She paused. No shift in expression. Just silence.
Anaya closed her eyes, considering.
"I want your mother's help," she said finally.
I blinked. "Help?"
"I've been working on a potion recipe. Something radical. Mana-enhancing, but also physically adaptive. I need a top-tier alchemist to refine the base formula. Your mom fits that bill."
Mother, huh? Rank 1 on paper, Rank 6 potioneer in secret. Her hidden stash could arm a squad of domain bearers.
"I can't promise anything," I said. "But I can try."
"Good. In that case, I'll help. But no potions until she agrees. Body training first. That's where the real growth happens. The potions just help you not die from the soreness."
"Sunday morning. My place."
She nodded and stood.
Then, as she turned to leave, she paused.
"Oh. Almost forgot."
"What?"
"A certain princess says hi."
She vanished.
I sat there stunned, her words echoing.
Princess?
I walked home like a ghost. When I finally reached my room, I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the star-filled sky outside.
"Hi to you too," I whispered.
And for the first time in weeks, I smiled without reason.