About an hour passed before the quiet shifted again.

Footsteps echoed faintly along the trail as the villagers began returning, scattered in small groups, their voices low and tired. A few carried torches—small flames flickering as dusk swallowed the ridge. Most just walked with heads bowed, cloaks drawn tighter against the mountain air. They moved like shadows returning home.

Aaryan stayed by the window, unmoving, one arm resting on the sill. Vedik had dozed off on his shoulder again, tail coiled neatly around his hand. The dragonling didn't stir as Aaryan's eyes followed the last group fading into the village.

Binay showed up a little later. His cloak was dusty, boots scuffed, and his face still held the weight of wherever he'd just come from. He spotted Aaryan through the open doorway and gave a small wave as he stepped in.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud. "Should've warned you about the trail. It's not personal. They're just... set in their ways."

Aaryan waved it off, pushing back from the chair. "You apologising to a kid doesn't look great, old man."

Binay gave a dry chuckle, rubbing his temple like the day had caught up to him.

"It's no big deal," Aaryan added, shifting his weight against the table. "Place must mean a lot to them. That kind of silence only comes from people who take things real serious."

Binay nodded slowly. "There's a shrine up on the ridge. Been there since before the village even stood. People here believe no danger can touch Brackenhill as long as it stays standing."

Aaryan tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. "That's… confident."

Binay didn't react, just kept staring at the table like he wasn't sure whether to keep talking or stop there.

"So," Aaryan said, glancing toward the dark ridge outside the window, "what's in the shrine?"

The silence didn't hit right away—but it sank in like a slow breath held too long.

Binay didn't look at him. His fingers tapped once on the table, then went still.

Aaryan cleared his throat. "You don't have to answer. Just asked casually."

Binay stayed quiet for another beat, then finally said, "Our ancestors left clear words. No outsider is to know what lies inside. Not ever."

Aaryan gave a short nod. He didn't press. Didn't joke either.

Binay exhaled, stretching his back. "It's been a long day. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sleep tight," Aaryan said, already turning back toward the front room.

He lay down again, Vedik curling beside him this time. But sleep didn't come—not with the shrine still on his mind.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The moon hung high, silver and still. Night had settled over the village, cool and quiet.

Aaryan waited until the last footsteps faded and the final lantern dimmed. Only when the villagers had gone still did he rise from the mat, careful not to wake Vedik curled at his side.

He moved soundlessly to the door and stepped out into the cold.

The trail waited ahead, faint in the moonlight, winding up toward the ridge.

He walked slowly at first, letting his footsteps blend with the wind. The air was thin, edged with frost. His gaze climbed the dark slope where the shrine stood—hidden, secret, guarded.

First the sword had stirred. Then Binay had clammed up the moment he asked about the place. That kind of reaction didn't come from nothing. Whatever lay up there had weight. And Aaryan wanted to know why.

He'd told himself he'd only sneak up if Binay gave him no answers. Well—he had his answer.

As the path curved into the hillside, Aaryan stopped and ducked behind the trunk of a wide tree. Bark scraped softly against his shoulder as he leaned out just enough to look.

His eyes narrowed.

There were people on the ridge. Not many—three, maybe four—but they weren't moving like villagers out for air. Too still. Positioned deliberately.

Guards.

That hadn't been part of the plan.

Lucky they weren't hidden. If they'd taken cover instead of standing in the open, he might've walked straight into view.

Aaryan exhaled slowly through his nose, unmoving.

He could feel it—the faint pulse of Dawnshard in his ring, alert and aware.

Even after breaking into the Spirit Awakening realm and gaining soul sense, there were limits. His range was wide—wider than most at his stage. Nearly what the Second or Third Grand Elder once held. But not enough to scan the whole ridge from here.

No clean way through. No blind spot to exploit. No quiet path around.

He clicked his tongue and backed away from the tree.

By the time he slipped through the door again and shut it behind him, the night had grown colder.

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He sat by the window, eyes fixed on the far ridge.

This wasn't over. Just not tonight.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Morning in the mountains had its own rhythm—crisp, quiet, and almost too still. Mist clung low to the rooftops like it didn't want to let go, and the sky above glowed soft with early sun. Smoke curled from chimneys. Distant chatter drifted on the breeze, broken now and then by the clatter of tools or a rooster trying its best to be heard over the hills.

Aaryan woke to an empty mat. The warmth beside him was gone, and so was Vedik. Typical. The dragonling likely slipped out before dawn to hunt for something that wriggled or bit back.

He sat up, stretched the stiffness from his arms, and took a minute to rinse his face at the washbasin by the corner. By the time he was done, Binay's voice called from the next room.

"Come eat before it gets cold."

The food was simple but warm—flatbread, stewed root vegetables, and a mug of something sharp that woke him up faster than he liked. Chottu was sitting near the hearth, legs swinging off the stool, drinking his morning milk with both hands like it was a full-time job.

They had just finished when the noise started—shouting, hurried feet, a low rush of voices from outside. Binay exchanged a glance with Aaryan and rose. Aaryan followed without a word.

By the time they reached the village square, a crowd had already formed. Dozens stood clustered in a loose ring, murmuring, shifting, peering toward the centre.

There, slumped against the stone base of the well, was a man—mud-splattered, bleeding from the arm. He drank like it was the only thing keeping him upright, breath still ragged from whatever storm he'd outrun.

A wiry man stepped forward. "What happened?"

The man didn't answer right away. Just wiped his mouth, looked around with eyes wide and haunted. Then he spoke.

"Bandits," he rasped. "They hit our village just before dawn. No warning. Just fire and screaming. We tried to fight, but they were too many. Most ran. Scattered."

Murmurs turned to gasps.

"They weren't just after supplies," he continued. "Heard some of them saying they'd already hit other villages nearby. Same thing. Burn, steal, move on."

A heavy silence followed. The kind that stretched long and thin over every face in the square. Most of these villagers had barely reached the second or third stage of Body Tempering. A bandit raid wouldn't just be dangerous—it'd be a massacre.

Before anyone could speak, an old man from the back raised his voice.

"We're protected," he said firmly. "The gods have blessed Brackenhill. The shrine watches over us. We have nothing to fear."

Heads turned. Fear didn't vanish—it just knelt to faith, quiet beneath belief.

Aaryan let out a slow breath and scratched the back of his neck.

'Right. Who needs weapons when you've got blind faith and a building full of secrets.'

Someone offered the wounded man a place to rest. Another brought a blanket. Slowly, the crowd began to thin, feet shuffling away with less weight than before.

But Aaryan's eyes lingered on the man by the well for a moment longer. Something wasn't sitting right.

He didn't move until Binay touched his shoulder. They walked back in silence.

Inside the house, they chatted a while before Vedik returned from wherever he'd wandered off to. Aaryan stepped toward the door, adjusting the collar of his robe. "I'll head out," he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.

Binay raised an eyebrow. "Leaving already?"

Aaryan nodded. "Don't want to overstay."

"You're not." Binay stepped aside but didn't move far. "Stay a few more days."

Aaryan tilted his head slightly. "That for my sake or yours?"

Binay didn't smile, but his tone stayed even. "Call it caution. Things are tense. No harm in staying where it's quiet."

Aaryan exhaled, glanced at the floor, then at the window. "I'll think about it."

Binay gave a nod and stepped out of the way. "Just don't vanish without a word."

"I'll be back before sunset," Aaryan said, already turning to leave.

He didn't say where he was headed. Binay didn't ask.

Aaryan didn't take the usual path. Once he was far enough from the village's edge, he veered right, tracing a slow arc through the forest. The detour was deliberate. Part scouting, part instinct. He had no map, but his steps were steady. If there was another way to the ridge, he'd find it. And if not—he'd still need space to train.

It took some time, but he found it.

A narrow clearing sat tucked between thick jungle and a jagged wall of stone. It was quiet here. No sounds but birds and wind.

He got to work.

Aaryan gathered poles, each about the width of his thigh, and planted them deep into the earth. A few at the centre, one on either end, another closer to the back. He used a sharp rock to mark them—some at eye level, some lower near the base, one or two high near the tips.

Next came the finger-length spears. Thin, sharp, brittle-looking. He crafted a dozen from leftover wood slivers, each no longer than his palm.

He stepped back a few paces from the nearest stake.

Vedik was already perched high on a branch, watching with wide eyes. Tail swinging. Mouth curled the way it always did when he found something amusing.

Aaryan ignored him.

He inhaled once, slow and controlled. Then exhaled. A finger spear slid into his grip, coated in a thin layer of qi. He raised his arm, eyes narrowing on a mark near the middle of the first post.

The throw was swift.

The spear hit just below the mark. Not far—but not exact either.

And the outcome was more violent than expected.

The pole exploded with a sharp crack. Splinters sprayed in every direction, bouncing off trees, leaves, even the cliff wall behind. One shard stuck into the ground near Vedik's branch. The dragonling's eyes went wide—and then he made a faint wheezing sound that might've been laughter.

Aaryan sighed. "Glad you're enjoying this."

He turned back to the next stake, already drawing another spear.

Another breath. Another mark. This time, he didn't blink.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

He didn't stop until the sun dipped behind the mountain, bleeding orange across the treetops. Sweat soaked through his robe. His arms were heavy. His breath had long since gone ragged. He wasn't sure what gave out first—the spears or the poles. In the end, both were gone.

He sat down on a flat rock near the edge of the clearing, wiping his face with his sleeve. A dozen shattered poles lay scattered across the ground. He'd lost count of how many times he'd replaced them.

It was the only method he had.

There was no manual. No one to tell him how to control the qi in his attacks. So he made one up: hit the mark cleanly, without destroying the target. Too much qi, and the poles exploded. Too little, and the spears bounced off or barely scratched them.

Simple in theory. In practice, maddening.

It wasn't progress anyone could see. But it was his.

A breeze stirred the clearing. Aaryan closed his eyes and let his breath settle. That was enough punishment for one day.

A soft rustle came from the branches. Vedik dropped down beside him, landing lightly on all fours. He didn't chirp or fidget—just pressed his warm snout against Aaryan's arm and stayed there, silent.

Aaryan didn't move at first, but his hand eventually found Vedik's head, resting there for a moment.

After a while, he stood again and headed toward the general direction of ridge.

The long route around the village took him deeper through the forest, bare feet brushing aside roots and damp leaves. He moved quietly, eyes scanning the slope ahead. No one saw him leave. No one would see where he was going.

It took time, but then he saw it—a narrow gap between two tall trees, almost hidden behind a curtain of vines. The path beyond sloped upward, winding into the rise. A branch lay broken near the entrance, fresh. Someone had passed through not long ago.

Aaryan crouched beside it, fingers brushing the splintered edge. He moved carefully now, footsteps light as he stepped into the path.

The way up wasn't smooth. It wasn't even a real trail—just bits of stone, ledges, and roots forming a jagged climb that curled around the side of the mountain.

Then he saw movement ahead.

A figure stood farther up the path, half-shadowed by the ridge's curve. Their back was to him, unaware. Aaryan's eyes narrowed, and a quiet smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth.

So he wasn't the only one curious.

And he wasn't alone on the path.

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