The wind howled.

High above the clouds, where birds dared not fly and the sky turned a deeper shade of blue, a solitary peak pierced the heavens. Jagged and ancient, it stood like the spine of the world itself. And upon its narrow summit, two figures faced the horizon.

One stood in silence, her white robes fluttering like breath against the wind. A thin veil obscured her face, but the slope of her shoulders hinted at unease.

Maya.

The other, older and broader in frame, shifted his stance slightly. A gust kicked up his cloak, revealing flashes of deep blue and silver embroidery. Sampoorna's eyes narrowed—not at the view, but at the girl beside him.

"You left young master alone," he said, voice light but edged with something sharper. Not accusation. Not anger. Just… concern.

Maya's hands tightened around her sleeves. She nodded—slow, reluctant.

"I didn't mean to," she began, but the words tangled in her throat. She'd prepared an explanation—how it was his idea, how she'd refused, how it hadn't felt right to walk away. But then the news of Sampoorna's plans had reached her, and—

"It doesn't matter," Sampoorna said, sighing. "There's no need to blame yourself."

Maya blinked. Guilt hung beneath her veil, heavier than the wind tugging at her robes. She hadn't expected forgiveness—especially not this easily.

Sampoorna glanced down at the clouds churning below. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

"He wouldn't grow into what he's meant to be if we kept him safe all the time. You know that, Maya. Maybe only by walking the path alone will he reach his true potential."

Silence stretched between them.

Eventually, Maya stepped to the edge, her veil fluttering in the updraft. "He's not alone," she said softly. "Not really. He's doing better than I expected. Stronger. Smarter. He's… different now."

She turned toward him. "You should've seen how he handled it all—his foes, his choices, even me. I barely lifted a hand until the very end. He didn't need it."

Sampoorna listened, shoulders still, gaze locked on her every word like they were puzzle pieces he'd been waiting for. When she finished, he didn't respond right away.

Then a faint chuckle rumbled in his throat. Not mocking—amused, almost proud.

"A dragon, huh?" he muttered, looking westward, where the land of Panchvati sprawled beneath the clouds.

His lips curled into the barest smile.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The roar of the waterfall drowned everything else.

It crashed down from a towering cliff, a silver pillar of fury that had carved the surrounding rock into jagged monuments of resistance. Beneath it, seated on a flattened stone slick with moss and pressure, Aaryan sat cross-legged, his body rigid, eyes shut.

The water slammed against his shoulders like hammers, crushing down with a weight that wanted to fold his spine, shatter his ribs, and drag him into the torrent below. His bones creaked. His vision pulsed in bursts of red and white behind closed lids.

But he endured.

It had been nearly six months since he'd begun this regimen. Back then, he could barely last a few breaths beneath the cascade before being flung like a ragdoll into the churning pool. Even sitting had been a battle—skin tearing, joints locking, lungs refusing to obey. But each time, he crawled back.

Now… two hours without moving. Still hell. Just manageable hell.

The pressure didn't just batter his body—it gnawed at his will. But that was why he was here.

The Dominion Tyrant Physique had refused to move forward since he left Maya and went to Green Veil City. Back then, with her formations guiding and accelerating his growth, every breath felt like progress. After that? It felt like stagnation. Like something in him had gone to sleep.

He focused the endless pressure into his limbs. Let it grind away weakness. Compressed strength until it hurt. Especially his right arm. The muscles there had torn more times than he could count. But now, it gleamed faintly beneath the water, etched in shifting runes that pulsed like breathing ink.

Primordial Tyrant Bone.

The first true transformation. His entire right arm—from shoulder to fingertips—had evolved, hardening into something ancient and unyielding. The runes weren't just marks. They interlocked like a language he couldn't yet read, flowing and flexing with every twitch of muscle.

Stolen story; please report.

Progress, yes. But it hadn't come clean.

Bones snapped. Skin split. Some nights, he blacked out under the torrent and woke coughing on shore. If not for the patch of bloodroot and bonestem growing near the eastern rocks—herbs with potent healing properties—he might not have made it through the first month.

Even with them, the pain had never truly left.

And yet… he was still here.

Still sitting beneath the waterfall like a fool possessed.

A deep breath. Then another.

Suddenly—something shifted.

It wasn't the waterfall. Not the wind. Not even the ache in his bones. It was deeper. Inside.

Like a heartbeat, but not.

A tug. Faint. Coiling.

His eyes snapped open, a smile tugging on his lips.

He moved. Fast.

In a single breath, he surged out from under the waterfall, body moving in blur, droplets flinging off him like sparks. He landed on a flat boulder just off the shore. His legs folded beneath him, but his mind was already preparing

Then he shut his eyes again.

It had finally arrived.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

For months, Aaryan had lived in the shadow of potential, his body aching for the surge that would lift him beyond mortal limits. Yet his meridians—the hidden channels carved through flesh and bone—remained sealed, like ancient tunnels choked with rubble. Qi, the lifeblood of cultivation, had no path forward. His dantian lay barren, a hollow chamber untouched by power.

Now, the moment had come.

His mind locked in grim resolve, Aaryan summoned every ounce of will. The barriers quivered—then shattered with a violent snap, leaving behind a void where resistance once reigned.

At once, a pale, colourless mist seeped into him. Fragile as morning fog yet unwavering, this was Qi—raw, unshaped, and eager to fill the emptiness inside.

It crept along his meridians, brushing against brittle, hardened walls. Pain bloomed as the inner channels resisted, scraping and clawing shut. It wasn't pain of flesh alone, but of something deeper—as if his very being fought the change.

His breath thinned. Sweat prickled. Muscles tensed. The mist pressed onward, swirling through narrow tunnels like a silent invader, steady and relentless.

A sharp throb pulsed through his ribs, arms trembling—but he didn't move.

Slowly, the resistance faltered. The rigid walls softened, the way stone erodes to sand. The mist thickened, no longer drifting but flowing with purpose, seeping deeper with every breath.

Within the dantian, something stirred. The emptiness began to take form. The mist gathered there—delicate, unstable, but alive. It pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of something newborn.

Aaryan felt it move—cool and weightless—sliding through his veins and sinews. Not fire. Not thunder. Just a quiet breath, the beginning of something vast. Holding it was like clutching smoke—fleeting, fragile, yet real.

But containment was war.

His body buckled under the strain; flesh and spirit resisting in tandem. The mist sometimes recoiled. Tunnels narrowed. Blood trickled from his nose. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached. Doubt whispered—was this progress or desperation?

Still, he endured.

Breath by breath, he forced stillness into chaos. Slowly, the Qi calmed, its currents finding rhythm. The meridians, once stone, pulsed with reluctant acceptance.

The dantian was no longer still. Qi swirled inside, a drifting storm held in fragile glass. Each pulse sent subtle sparks down his limbs, waking muscle and nerve.

It wasn't dramatic—but it was real.

He had crossed into Qi Condensation, not through divine explosion but through painful, persistent carving of emptiness into something new. The mist within him was the first thread—a colourless tether to the wider world.

As resistance faded, Aaryan opened his eyes anew.

The air was sharper. Colours, richer. His body, no longer a cage, felt like a vessel—still fragile, but now brimming with potential.

The breakthrough hadn't been glorious. It had been raw, jagged, uncertain. A victory earned, not gifted.

But it was enough.

The path ahead remained long, the Qi still too faint to command. Yet now it flowed—a colourless mist coiled in his dantian, waiting for the day it would ignite into a storm.

And in that silent fog, Aaryan found the beginning of his destiny.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan moved through the jungle with newfound ease, each step lighter, more assured. The same wolf-like beasts that had once circled and snarled now lingered at the edges of the clearing, their eyes—once bright with hunger—flickering with caution. Even the second and third-stage beasts, which had made him wary just days ago, kept their distance. They sensed it too—the quiet, raw pressure that hung around him like a coiled storm. A line had been drawn, invisible but absolute.

His hands moved in fluid, precise strikes—each blow landing with a sharp crack, clean and final. Two beasts collapsed, then a third, their howls cut short like a snapped chord. Their bodies hit the ground with a dull thud—broken branches falling from a tree in a storm—and still, Aaryan stood unmoved, solid as stone, his breath steady and calm.

A sharp snarl sliced through the air, low and warning. The Direwolf had arrived.

Unlike before, when fear had pulled him back, Aaryan's feet dug into the earth and propelled him forward without hesitation. His right hand shimmered faintly, coated in a pale, colourless Qi—raw and unformed, but undeniably potent. He didn't know how to channel it into a proper attack yet; all he had was the sheer force of his will and the strength born from his breakthrough.

The Direwolf lunged, a beast of primal fury. It snarled and unleashed a sudden fireball, blazing with fierce orange light, streaking toward him like a comet blazing across a dark sky.

Aaryan didn't flinch. His right hand, wrapped in that strange, misty Qi, collided with the fireball midair.

BOOM.

The world erupted in a deafening blast. Smoke and ash billowed thick and heavy, swallowing the vibrant greens and browns of the jungle in a choking gray haze. The ground trembled beneath his feet.

When the smoke finally cleared, the jungle stood silent—and Aaryan was gone.

The Direwolf's howl tore through the clearing—sharp, guttural, filled with rage and frustration. It paced restlessly, eyes scanning for its vanished foe.

Deep in the jungle, Aaryan sprinted, weaving swiftly between the towering trees. His breath came easier now, and with every heartbeat, the exhilarating rush of newfound power surged through him like wildfire. The roar of the distant waterfall grew louder, a steady drumbeat marking his path.

He laughed—a raw, wild sound that carried his defiance and freedom into the thick, humid air.

Then, suddenly, a scream ripped through the jungle.

Aaryan froze, muscles coiling like a spring. His heart hammered in his chest, every sense sharpening.

No longer rushing blindly, he shifted direction, following the desperate cry. The jungle closed in around him, shadows deepened around him as he moved toward the source of the scream.

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