Aaryan slipped through the jungle canopy, feet skimming branches with unnatural ease. Bark flaked, leaves rustled—yet no sound betrayed his motion. Each leap carried him farther, faster—his senses sharpened, his blood humming with the faint thrum of Qi.

He didn't know how long he'd been running, only that something urged him onward. The faint pressure from his recent breakthrough still lingered beneath his skin, unsteady but alive. It wasn't strength—not yet—but it was a beginning.

Up ahead, sunlight pierced through the dense jungle, breaking open into a small clearing. He paused mid-leap, crouching on a thick branch, breath held.

Below, three wolves prowled the edge of the open ground—larger than the ones he'd fought earlier, their dark fur bristling, fangs bared in anticipation. But it wasn't the beasts that caught his eye.

At the centre, a hunched, gaunt man stood barely upright. One arm cradled a small boy—no older than three or four—tightly to his chest, the other gripped a crooked walking stick that looked more brittle than threatening. He swung it blindly whenever the wolves crept too close, desperation clinging to every trembling motion.

The boy stayed quiet, perhaps too young to grasp the danger. His tiny fists clutched the old man's robe as he tried to bury his face in the man's chest.

Unlucky for them, the beasts had been sent after him—but stumbled onto easier prey.

The wolves didn't attack. Not yet. They circled with eerie patience, pacing slowly, letting the fear stew. Tails twitched. Eyes gleamed with cruel intelligence. They were waiting for the old man to falter—waiting for the child to slip free.

Aaryan watched in silence.

Then he turned away.

He dropped to a lower branch, ready to vanish into the trees. This wasn't his fight. He owed them nothing.

His foot shifted.

A sound cut through the air—sharp, shrill, aching.

The boy's cry.

Aaryan stopped.

He didn't move for a moment. The wind stirred his hair. His jaw tensed.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Idiot," he muttered to no one.

Then, silently, he turned back toward the clearing.

The wolves were drawing closer now. One lunged forward, snapping at the man's leg. He staggered, barely holding his ground.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed. His right hand curled into a fist, pale mist coiling faintly around his knuckles.

"Fine," he said, voice low.

And then, without a sound, he stepped off the branch—dropping into the heart of the clearing like a falling blade—silent, fast, final.

Aaryan landed squarely between the old man and the lunging wolf, just as the beast snapped forward again. No hesitation. No warning. His right fist shot out, a streak of pale mist curling behind it.

CRACK.

The wolf's skull collapsed with a sickening crunch. Bone split. Blood sprayed. The beast's momentum died mid-air, its body thudding to the ground—limp, twitchless, dead before it understood what hit it.

For a breath, everything froze.

The other two wolves skidded to a halt, ears flat, eyes locked on the figure that had just erased one of their own in a single blow. The old man stumbled back a step, pulling the child in tighter, eyes wide in disbelief.

Aaryan straightened, rolling his neck with a faint pop. Calm. Cold.

Then he glanced at the wolves and let a slow, dry smile curl on his face.

"You were looking for me, right? Found me. Congratulations."

One of the wolves crouched low, lips parting. It drew in a sharp breath, ready to howl—to call reinforcements.

It never made a sound.

Its body sagged mid-motion, eyes dulling in an instant. No struggle. Just silence and then a thud, its corpse crumpling to the dirt like a puppet with cut strings.

The third wolf didn't hesitate. It turned, bolting for the trees.

Too slow.

Aaryan was already moving. A flicker. A blur.

Another punch—precise, unrelenting. His fist connected with the back of its head, and the beast dropped like a stone, limbs folding underneath with a heavy crash.

Three bodies. Six breaths. Over.

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Silence returned to the clearing, broken only by the faint, shuddering whimper of the child.

The old man stared.

His arms were still wrapped around the boy, but his gaze was fixed on the youth who now stood among the corpses. There was something haunting about him—barefoot in the blood-soaked grass, mist still clinging faintly to his knuckles, not a scratch on his skin. There was no relief in his eyes. No pride. Just the eerie calm of someone who'd done this before.

The old man opened his mouth … then shut it.

He looked, tried to speak—but the words caught in his throat. It wasn't fear that stopped him—it was disbelief.

He still wasn't sure if what he saw had really happened.

Aaryan finally turned, the tension in his shoulders easing. His gaze fell on the old man, still clutching the boy like he might vanish if he let go.

"You alright, old man?" Aaryan asked, brushing specks of blood off his knuckles. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

The old man blinked, as if waking from a fog. "Y-Yes… Yes! Thank you. If not for you… I—I don't even want to think what would've happened."

Aaryan nodded once, already turning away. "Then don't."

He started walking, bare feet sinking into the damp loam. Twigs snapped softly beneath his feet, and for a second, it seemed he'd vanish as quickly as he came.

"Wait!" the voice behind him rang out, shaky but clear.

Aaryan paused, casting a glance over his shoulder. "What is it?"

The old man stepped forward cautiously. "Please… Come with us. My village is close. Let us offer you a meal, a place to rest—something."

Aaryan raised an eyebrow. "That's not needed."

The old man didn't budge. "It is to me. You saved my life. My grandson's. I can't just let you walk off like it meant nothing."

Aaryan sighed, already halfway turned again—but stopped. His hand ran through his hair, pushing strands back with a quiet exhale.

For months, he'd been alone, hunting, dodging beasts, training bitterly. His only company was Vedik, who, despite being a dragonling, had the communication skills of a rock with mood swings. A flick of the tail meant 'hungry.' A snort? 'I disagree.' A low growl? 'Don't talk to me.'

Conversations usually ended with Aaryan muttering to himself and threatening to throw something at the poor thing.

"…Alright," he muttered. "Just for a bit."

The old man's face lit up, lines creasing around his eyes. "Thank you, young man. Truly."

Aaryan gave a small shrug. "Don't make it weird."

With the boy still curled tight against his chest, the old man nodded and turned, stepping into the treeline. Aaryan followed, hands sliding into his pockets, gaze sweeping the treetops one last time.

Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the kid. Or maybe, just maybe, he was tired of pretending he didn't miss having someone to talk to.

For once, he didn't mind the company.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

They'd been walking for nearly an hour before the jungle finally began to thin out. The trees gave way to patches of open grass, the light filtering more freely now. Up ahead, a rocky slope framed the horizon—one long stretch of stone and soil rising toward the clouds.

The old man pointed toward it. "Not far now. Just at the base of that mountain."

Aaryan stared at the peak, then at the man, then back at the peak.

"...Just?" he muttered. "If that's 'just,' I'm terrified to know what counts as 'far' around here."

Still, he followed without complaint—mostly. Roots gave way to loose stones. Narrow trails clung to the hillside like afterthoughts. Not impassable, but definitely not friendly. A single misstep could send someone tumbling.

Which made it even more annoying that the old man—Binay, as he'd introduced himself earlier—walked like he was on a paved street. Not a single stumble, not even a wobble. Just one steady foot after another, as if gravity politely stepped aside for him.

Aaryan, on the other hand, had to adjust his weight constantly, shoulders tilted, arms half-raised to stay balanced.

He clicked his tongue. "Figures. Old sack of bones probably grew up climbing cliffs."

Binay glanced back with a smile. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing," Aaryan said flatly. "Just admiring how the elderly are built different around here."

They pressed on.

The boy, Chottu, had fallen asleep in Binay's arms somewhere along the way. Turns out it wasn't a nickname—it literally meant 'small'. Aaryan had to suppress a snort when he heard it. Still, the kid had gone through enough not to be judged for his name.

During their short journey—if it could even be called that—they'd exchanged names. Binay had shared that he'd ventured into the jungle looking for a rare herb meant to break fevers. The catch? It had to be applied within an hour of being plucked.

"There was no way to make the trip in an hour," he'd said quietly. "So I brought Chottu with me. Foolish, I know. But I didn't have much choice."

Aaryan had only shrugged in response. He understood the logic, even if it was reckless.

Nearly three hours later, the village that had once been a speck on the horizon finally came into full view. A small cluster of wooden houses nestled near the mountain's base, smoke rising gently from chimneys, the faint sound of chatter drifting through the trees.

Aaryan exhaled, half a breath of relief, half sarcasm.

"So this is what passes for a quick trip around here," he muttered. "Note to self—if anyone in this region says 'not far,' run in the opposite direction."

Vedik slipped ahead from time to time, tail flicking as he looped back to sniff at the boy before gliding forward again. The dragonling had taken a peculiar interest in Chottu—curious, cautious, and oddly gentle. Every so often, it circled the sleeping boy, head tilting as if trying to make sense of the tiny human.

Binay's eyes kept flicking toward the spirit snake, his grip on the boy tightening each time it got too close.

Aaryan noticed. "Relax," he said without looking back. "If Vedik wanted to bite him, he'd have done it before we made it out of the jungle."

"That... doesn't make me feel better."

"He won't harm your grandson," Aaryan said more firmly. "If anything, he's probably more confused than you are."

Binay gave a reluctant nod but still kept Chottu close. Vedik, oblivious or just uninterested in the tension, returned to his pacing and quiet watching.

They were just steps away from the entrance, still chatting, when Aaryan suddenly stopped.

Mid-step, mid-sentence—frozen.

Binay turned. "Something wrong?"

Aaryan didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly, though his face remained calm. Inwardly, he was focused.

Something inside his spatial ring was... shifting. Restless.

He felt it again—subtle, but unmistakable. A faint vibration that pulsed through his ring like a distant warning. His fingers twitched at his side.

Dawnshard.

The sword wasn't just awake—it was unsettled.

As they walked, he noticed it more clearly: the closer they came to the village, the more the sword trembled. Not danger. Not recognition. Something else—longing, maybe. Or hunger.

He masked the unease and kept moving, one step at a time.

By the time they reached the village's entrance, the pressure in his ring had peaked. The hilt of Dawnshard buzzed like a storm held in a bottle.

Aaryan paused just before crossing the threshold, eyes scanning the quiet buildings ahead.

What's gotten into you…?

He didn't speak the words aloud. Just reached into his awareness, brushing the edge of the sword's hilt with his mind.

But there was no answer—only that steady hum, growing louder.

Puzzled, Aaryan stepped into the village. The trembling didn't stop.

It hadn't stirred like this since the day Pryag died by it.

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