The village of Brackenhill wasn't large, just barely two dozen homes, each built from rough timber and stone, tucked against the foot of the mountain like they were hiding from the sky. Smoke drifted from chimneys, curling into the open air. The scent of burning wood hung low, tangled with moss and loam. Voices carried: vendors calling, doors creaking, children chasing squawking hens.

Evening crept closer, but the village hadn't slowed. People moved with purpose: hauling sacks, tending fires, shouting across fences.

That's when someone noticed.

A shape at the edge of the path. Then another. Then three.

"Is that… Binay?"

Heads turned. Tools were set down. A pot clattered somewhere.

Binay walked steadily, Chottu still fast asleep in his arms. A boy followed just behind him—barefoot, quiet, with tousled hair and a faint edge of blood darkening the hem of his sleeve. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His presence alone drew every pair of eyes.

By the time they reached the village square, a small crowd had gathered. Some leaned on tools. Others stood back, arms folded, watching. One woman dropped to her knees and gently took Chottu from Binay, checking his face and limbs with trembling fingers.

"He's alright. He's alright," Binay said quickly, raising a hand. "Just tired."

"What happened?" someone asked. "What took you so long?"

Binay gestured toward Aaryan, who stood a few paces back, arms loosely folded.

"This boy," he began, his voice carrying, "I was ambushed by beasts. Three wolves—larger than any I've seen this side of the jungle. They cornered me. I couldn't have fought them off. Not even in a dream."

Gasps. Murmurs. Some looked sceptical.

"I thought it was over. But then… this one dropped in out of the trees like the forest itself had sent him. Killed all three. Quick. Clean. Before I could even understand what was happening."

Now all eyes turned to Aaryan.

He didn't react. Just gave a polite nod. Hands in pockets, gaze somewhere distant. Inward.

A tall man near the front, broad-shouldered and streaked with soot, cleared his throat. "Binay. You sure about that?" he asked, frowning slightly. "You're saying this boy—what is he, twelve? Thirteen, maybe? Took down three wild beasts by himself?"

"I saw it with my own eyes," Binay replied, jaw tight.

"Hm." The man didn't argue, but his tone said enough. A few others exchanged uncertain glances.

No one challenged Aaryan directly, though the weight of their stares lingered—some in awe, some in doubt.

A few offered thanks. Quiet words. Respectful nods.

Aaryan returned the gesture with the same silence. Nothing more.

Because his focus wasn't on them.

It was on the sword in his ring.

Dawnshard had gone still again. Finally. But it wasn't the calm of rest. It was the silence after shouting. Heavy. Waiting. Like whatever had stirred it was still nearby.

He shifted his stance, eyes flicking once toward the buildings that ringed the square.

Aaryan's thoughts were elsewhere when Binay's voice cut through them.

"This way, come."

He blinked, returning to the present. Most of the villagers had already dispersed, drifting back to their homes and work. Chottu in one arm, Binay beckoned Aaryan and started down a narrow path that curved along the edge of the village.

They passed a few homes, some with carved doors and tidy porches. Binay's wasn't one of them. His stood farther down the path, quieter and a little apart from the others. The wood was older, the stonework less even. A small crack ran through one of the windowsills, and the roof looked like it had weathered too many storms.

Binay unlocked the door and pushed it open. "It's not much," he said with a smile, "but it's home."

Aaryan stepped inside. The house smelled of dried herbs and dust. Binay led him through a short hallway into a small room at the front. A narrow bed, a wash basin, and a window that faced the village road.

"You can rest here," Binay said. "There's still some time before dinner. I'll call you when food's ready."

Aaryan nodded. He splashed water over his face, ran fingers through his hair, and changed into a clean tunic. When Binay called out a little while later, the sun had dipped lower, casting the room in long orange light.

In the main room, Binay had laid out a few clay dishes. Flatbread, roasted roots, and a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like mashed berries. Chottu sat on the floor nearby, wide awake now, though he kept stealing glances at Vedik with a mix of curiosity and caution.

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Vedik, or rather the illusory sliver of him, slithered in lazy loops just out of reach, flicking his tail like a cat teasing prey. After a few hesitant grabs, the boy finally broke into quiet laughter.

"He likes him," Binay said, sitting down across from Aaryan.

Aaryan gave a faint shrug. "Vedik doesn't mind either."

They ate in relative silence, broken only by Chottu's occasional giggles and Binay's soft humming. When the plates were cleared, Aaryan stood and made his way back to the front room.

Vedik followed, curling loosely around his shoulders. But his flicking tail and stiff posture made his mood clear.

"No food for you?" Aaryan asked without looking.

Vedik raised his snout and made an exaggerated sniffing gesture toward the room they'd just left.

Aaryan raised a brow. "You ate half the monster cores I've collected in the last six months. The same ones I could've sold for enough to buy this village twice. And you're sulking over a piece of bread?"

Vedik made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a snort. His form shimmered slightly, as if offended.

He started inching down Aaryan's arm.

"Fine. Drama queen."

He reached into his ring and flicked out a faintly glowing monster core—red, smooth, and swirling with traces of a miniature wolf-like spirit inside.

Vedik's eyes lit up. His illusory form coiled tight, and in a blink, the core vanished—swallowed in his true mouth, hidden beneath the surface.

A quiet rumble followed. Satisfied, Vedik perched himself like a monkey on Aaryan's right shoulder and immediately fell still.

Aaryan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the last light of day flickering through the window.

"Better?" he murmured.

Vedik let out a faint puff of smoke, nose twitching once.

Aaryan closed his eyes, lips tugging into a tired smile.

He was about to take a quick nap when the quiet shifted.

The village, which had steadily fallen into silence as the sun dipped lower, suddenly came alive again. Doors opened. Voices rose. Feet hurried over stone.

He moved to the window.

Evening had thickened, but night hadn't fully arrived. In the fading light, he saw nearly all of them gathering in the village square. Then, moving as one, they began heading toward a winding trail that curved into the mountain, not far from where he stood.

Curious, Aaryan stepped outside. The air had cooled, shadows stretching long across the path. From here, he could see clearly: the trail led toward a ridge carved into the mountainside. And the narrow road wound right past Binay's house—no other way in or out.

He followed.

A few villagers glanced his way. Some hesitated, mouths parting like they meant to speak—but nothing came out. One man looked as if he wanted to raise a hand, then quickly lowered it. Aaryan kept walking.

Just as his foot was about to touch the start of the trail, a hand rose to block his path.

The tall, broad-shouldered man from earlier—the one who'd questioned Binay— stood with his palm out, jaw clenched.

Aaryan slowly lifted his gaze, letting it settle on the man's face.

It was subtle, maybe even unintentional, but something in Aaryan's eyes shifted—just for a breath. A flicker of killing intent slipped through the cracks of his usual calm, cold and sharp as a blade.

Then it was gone—brief, but enough.

The man didn't move. He didn't speak. Just stood frozen, sweat already beading on his brow despite the mountain air.

A few villagers nearby noticed. Their steps slowed. Some backed away.

Then Binay arrived, hurried and smiling, voice loud enough to carry.

"Ah! Wait, wait. He's new here," he said, stepping between them. "Outsiders aren't allowed past this. It's village custom. Nothing personal."

Aaryan gave a small nod, no argument. He turned, casting one last glance at the ridge before walking back, never sparing the man a glance.

Only once Aaryan was gone did the man finally exhale. His shoulders sagged. He wiped his face with his sleeve and muttered under his breath.

"I just got stared down… by a kid?"

His ears turned red.

Behind him, a few people exchanged glances but said nothing.

The mountain trail remained quiet.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan returned to the house but didn't lie down.

Instead, he sat by the window, arms folded, gaze fixed on the ridge beyond the village. The chair creaked faintly under him as he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

That structure. The one at the top of the trail.

He hadn't seen it clearly, not with the crowd swarming the path and the light starting to fade—but the moment his eyes had caught its outline, Dawnshard had stirred again. Not in panic. Not in defence. Just… movement. A faint pull. Like a slow breath turning sharper with every step he took toward it. The closer he got, the more the blade responded. He could feel the weight of it inside his ring, restless. Alive.

He didn't know what it meant—whether it was warning him or calling to something in that place.

But when the man had stepped in his way, when his foot had stopped just short of the trail…. No wonder the poor man had nearly pissed himself. The irritation hadn't been at the man. Just the pressure, caged too suddenly.

Aaryan sighed and reached into his ring.

The sword appeared with a shimmer, worn steel catching the last of the evening light. He set it on the table in front of him, keeping his hand on the hilt like he might with an old friend he didn't quite trust.

"I don't know what you're feeling," he murmured, voice low. "If you want something, or if you're afraid. I'll help you with it. But you've got to work with me, not jump at every damn whisper like you've got a will of your own."

The blade lay still.

Its surface was dull, cracked near the base, and chipped along the fuller. Jagged marks ran along the length of it like it had once been struck by something too strong to bear. No one would give it a second look in a forge. It looked like junk. Scraps.

But Aaryan knew better.

And the sword answered.

A soft hum—not even sound, more like vibration. Just enough to say it had heard. Then stillness again.

He brushed his thumb across the hilt, slow and careful, like calming a child after a nightmare.

Vedik shifted on his shoulder. The dragonling tilted his head, tail flicking once, then jabbed a lazy claw toward the sword. His expression made it obvious: You're seriously talking to that thing?

Aaryan didn't look at him. "Says the one who growls and waves his claws to communicate. At least the sword hums."

Vedik blinked. His snout scrunched, ears twitching. Then both front claws went up, flailing in dramatic offense. He pointed at the sword. Then at himself. Then puffed out his chest like he was about to pounce.

Aaryan raised a brow. "Don't even think about it. You'll trip over your own tail again."

Vedik froze. Huffed. Then turned away with a sulky flap of his wings and curled tighter around Aaryan's shoulder like a scarf with feelings.

Still grinning, Aaryan slid the blade back into his ring. The light faded with it.

The house went still again. Aaryan leaned back, eyes on the ridge. Waiting. Whatever gathering the villagers had been part of was now out of sight.

Binay still hadn't come back.

Aaryan waited.

Only Binay might have the answers he needed.

But whether the old man would answer... that was another question entirely.

Aaryan exhaled and settled in, eyes on the window.

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