The night outside was still. The moon hung low behind drifting clouds, casting a pale light over the trees. Crickets sang in intervals, but their sounds barely touched the shrine. Inside, the air was colder—sharp, silent. The kind of cold that pressed into skin and waited.

Aaryan scanned the three drawings again. Nothing new. He studied it longer than necessary, tracing the fall of the star, the figures that surrounded it, but found nothing else. No markings. No inscriptions. Just the same jagged shapes.

He turned his eyes to the centre of the shrine.

A black, seamless pedestal rose from the stone. And atop it rested a box—ten inches long, six wide, four tall. Perfectly rectangular, maybe made of the same dark stone as the walls.

Aaryan crouched slowly, examining the surface, then the edges. No glyphs. No latches. No wires. He circled it once, hands steady, then leaned in. Only when he was certain it wasn't rigged did he touch it.

The instant his fingers made contact, a violent chill shot through his palm. It raced up his arm, hungry and fast. His breath caught—but his qi surged in time, racing through his meridians before the cold could freeze them.

The box pulsed faintly under his hand, like something inside had stirred.

In his ring, Dawnshard snapped awake. Its presence surged forward like a shout in his mind, pushing, clawing—desperate to come out. Aaryan gritted his teeth.

"Not now," he said under his breath. "Settle."

For a second, Dawnshard resisted. Then, with a reluctant thrum, it sank back into silence.

Aaryan exhaled and focused on the box. He tried to lift it, first with one hand, then both. Nothing. He infused qi into his arms. Still nothing. It barely shifted. There was a small hole in the front—round, precise. A keyhole.

He pried at the lid, then gave it a sharp tap. No give. No cracks. It was as if the box refused even the idea of opening.

Vedik, who had been watching in silence, slithered up behind him. His tail raised, twitching with intent.

Aaryan caught the motion and snapped, "Don't."

Vedik froze mid-swing, tail hovering above the box.

"I know it worked last time," Aaryan added, already seeing the protest in his eyes. "But that was different. If I'd known about your intentions, I wouldn't have let you smash that jar."

Vedik narrowed his eyes, muttering with a low trill.

"We'll come back," Aaryan said. "With the key."

The dragonling gave a reluctant flick of his tail and backed off.

Aaryan tried once more—hands pressed, qi channelled—but the box didn't move. With a short breath, he stepped away.

"Let's go."

Vedik shimmered beside him, illusion spreading over them both. The air blurred as colour drained from their bodies. In the hush that followed, they opened the door just wide enough to slip out.

Aaryan stepped into the night.

Screams pierced the air.

He froze.

The sounds came from the village—shouting, crashing, panic. Distant but real. Shadows flickered near the treetops in the far distance. The quiet night was gone.

Chaos had arrived.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The night had started like any other. The villagers were deep in sleep, curled under worn blankets, unaware that their lives were about to change. In just a few hours, they would have risen to begin their routines—drawing water, lighting stoves, preparing for another quiet day.

But this night would not end quietly.

Shouts shattered the stillness. Metal clashed. Doors banged open. Most didn't wake—they jerked awake, half-falling from their beds, stumbling to their doors with hearts hammering.

Then they saw.

Near the village entrance, seven or eight men stood in the open, bare-chested and broad, muscles knotted and glistening in the moonlight. They didn't speak, just stood there, daring anyone to blink.

Closer to the houses, two more raided the nearest homes. They dragged families outside—mothers clutching children, old men yelling in confusion—tossing them like sacks in front of a single figure seated in the centre. The one in charge.

By the time the screams reached the far end of the village, nearly everyone had gathered in the square. Lanterns flickered weakly. People stared at the invaders, silent and still, as fear rippled through the crowd, unspoken but loud. What do they want? Why are they here?

Then the last of the raiders returned, dragging an old man by the neck. He fought back—clawed, cursed—but the leader rose with a snort and kicked him.

The old man's body flew like a kicked barrel, bounced once, then went still.

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No one moved. No one spoke.

No one even breathed.

The leader's gaze swept across the crowd. He was tall, scarred across one cheek, with hair cropped close and eyes like dull steel. A cruel smile pulled at his lips as he turned to one of the men behind him and asked something under his breath.

The man answered with a shake of the head.

A faint frown appeared on leader's face. Then his gaze returned to the crowd. He didn't look at them. He looked through them, like they didn't matter.

The villagers, already frozen in place, somehow grew even more still.

The scarred man stepped forward, boots scraping against the gravel.

"Is this village called Brackenhill?" he asked, his voice low and cold.

Nearly every head in the square nodded. Some twice. Some too quickly.

The man smiled.

It stretched his scar, making it twitch grotesquely across his cheek like something trying to crawl free. The villagers flinched at the sight.

"Did a stranger come here," he continued, "one or two days ago? Said his village was raided by bandits?"

Another round of nods. This time slower. Uneasy.

"Where is he?"

An old man near the front answered in a trembling voice, "He was here yesterday... but no one saw him after sundown."

The smile vanished.

His brow creased as a younger bandit leaned in to whisper. "Could our info be wrong? Maybe he went to the next village. Or—he got the item and ran?"

The leader stared ahead, silent.

Then he shook his head. "No. He wouldn't run. Not with something like that. He knew it was impossible to escape with it, even if he tried. And if he didn't have it yet... he would've waited here. Just like we agreed."

"Then?" the minion asked.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Something happened to him. He's probably dead."

He glanced around the crowd.

"But who could've killed him here? No one in this village looks capable of that. There aren't even high-level beasts in the area."

His eyes moved from face to face—narrowing, calculating. Then his voice dropped lower.

"Unless…" he murmured, almost to himself. "This place hides something. A weapon, maybe. Strong enough to kill a seventh-stage cultivator."

His voice wasn't accusing—but thoughtful. Curious. As if he were trying to solve a puzzle with blood on its edges.

The villagers stood still—utterly still, like silence was the only thing keeping them alive.

Behind him, the minions stiffened too. They exchanged glances, uneasy now in a way they hadn't been before. Most of them were around the same level. And if a hidden weapon had taken down one of their own…

His eyes flickered. His jaw shifted slightly, like something had clicked into place in his mind.

Then he stepped forward again. Still smiling—but this time, it didn't reach his eyes.

His eyes drifted slowly across the villagers, expression unreadable. Cautious by nature, he trusted no one—least of all frightened peasants. He didn't think they had the power to kill one of his own men. But if they did, and if he got injured… he knew what his men would do. No loyalty was stronger than survival. He had no intention of testing that tonight.

So, he chose the safer path.

"We're looking for something," he said, voice flat. "A certain mysterious item. If you have it, give it up. Quietly."

No one responded.

No nods. No whispers. Just silence.

His eyes narrowed. Then, without warning, he snatched a wailing baby from its mother's arms.

The child fell silent the instant it touched his chest—and didn't make another sound.

The mother screamed. A full-throated, cracking sound. Then she collapsed, limbs limp, hitting the dirt in a heap.

A few people flinched. One man, Ramy, opened his mouth—the same one Aaryan had nearly broken earlier.

"We—we don't know anything about it. If you want—"

He was cut off.

"There must be some misunderstanding," Binay said. Calm, careful. "As you can see, we don't have anything valuable. Most of us struggle for two meals a day. If we did have something like that… we'd have offered it. Treasures belong to the strong. If the weak hold onto them, it only brings disaster."

The scarred man studied him.

Broad shoulders. Clear voice. Not defiant, but not trembling either. Binay didn't meet his gaze directly—but he didn't look away completely. A practiced submission. The kind that bought time.

The leader didn't speak.

Then he raised a hand.

His minions moved, grabbing the villagers nearest the centre—six in total, including the woman who had fainted—and dragged them toward the cart outside. None resisted. Some cried out, others staggered. They were forced to sit in the cart, huddled together.

One minion turned to Binay and asked. "You got family?"

Before Binay could reply, Ramy blurted, "He has a grandson—!"

Then froze.

As the words left his mouth, he slapped a hand over it, face twisting with guilt. He looked at Binay but couldn't meet his eyes.

The minion grinned.

A child was forced to lead the way. A few minutes later, they returned—with Chottu.

The boy had been sleeping. Now he was sobbing.

Binay lunged.

He didn't get far. A backhand sent him sprawling in the dust. The blow wasn't meant to kill—but it made a point.

Chottu was placed with the others in the cart. A village woman wiped his tears, whispering something, her own cheeks wet with silent streams.

The scarred man turned back to the crowd.

"We're heading to Green Moss village. You've got three days. Bring us the man, or the item. If not—we kill all seven. Including the boy."

He gave no time for response.

Turning sharply, he walked away.

The others followed. The cart rattled behind them.

Silence returned to the village.

A few villagers moved to help Binay up. Others still stood frozen. The sky had begun to pale at the edges.

But no one had imagined dawn would come like this.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan moved fast.

He slipped around the left side of the shrine, fingers brushing the stone. Vines clung to its surface—damp, coarse, perfect for grip. He placed his foot into a narrow crack, shifted weight, and pulled himself upward. Slow, deliberate. Moments later, he crouched on the roof, body flat against the dark tiles. The tiles were cold beneath him, slick with dew. A faint breeze stirred his hair.

From here, the village was barely visible. Hazy outlines. Shadows moving.

"They came quick," he muttered, more to himself than Vedik. He hadn't expected them to act this fast. Not so soon.

He couldn't hear much from this distance, but the movements told their own story.

Bodies dragged. Someone dropped. Arms flailing, then still.

A child held in the air. A woman on the ground.

Below, Vedik waited at the corner of the shrine, just inside the dark. Aaryan's voice was quiet when it came.

"Return the key. To the guard."

Vedik turned. The guards hadn't run—still hidden, still watching. He didn't move to help. Neither did Aaryan.

Some places demanded silence, even in chaos.

Aaryan kept watching. The scarred man kicked an elder aside. Grabbed a child.

Gestured, and six villagers were taken.

No emotion crossed Aaryan's face. He had no connection to them. Their pain wasn't his.

But then something shifted.

A small figure—a child—led one of the men away. Toward Binay's house.

Aaryan's gaze flickered.

The door was opened. The man stepped inside. Seconds passed, then he came out again—this time with Chottu in his arms. The boy was crying.

Vedik saw it too. A quiet, low sound escaped him. Then he started forward.

Aaryan caught him by the shoulder.

"Don't," he said. "Nothing will happen."

Vedik froze, but tension coiled tight in his limbs. His eyes didn't move from Chottu.

Neither did Aaryan's.

The man tossed Chottu into the cart like a sack. One of the village women pulled him close, whispering something Aaryan couldn't hear.

Then they left. Just like that.

Aaryan didn't blink. His eyes followed the cart as it rattled past the trees and vanished into the dark.

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