The celebration didn't end until long after darkness had claimed the sky. Lanterns swung from rope lines, music drifted lazily through the air, and laughter drifted from the square like smoke from a hearth. The villagers danced, drank, sang. Some wept with joy. Most didn't even glance toward the edges of the crowd.

Aaryan never joined them.

After speaking with Binay, he had walked straight toward the house without another word. No one stopped him. No one called him over. Perhaps they didn't notice. Or maybe they did—and simply chose not to care.

Strangers, after all, had no place in their happiness.

He sat beside the window, eyes half-lidded, watching the flickering lights in the distance. The warmth of the room didn't touch him. Vedik lay nearby, quiet.

For a moment—just a flicker—an odd thought surfaced in his mind. He didn't know where it came from.

Which path was better?

Theirs—a life handed over to some god they couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't even name. All their hopes, their survival, their safety pinned to a prayer and a lantern's glow.

Or his.

He had fought since his first memory—bled and clawed forward alone, just to one day stand on his own feet and never be dragged by anyone again.

The question hung for a breath.

Then he let it go.

What others did wasn't his concern. He had chosen. He didn't want to bow to anything. Didn't want to hope something else would come save him.

He just wanted control. Safety. A life where he wasn't always one careless second away from losing everything again.

The room had grown quiet. His head rested against the wall now, eyes shut without him realizing.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Vedik padded closer, nose nudging gently against Aaryan's side. He rested his snout gently against Aaryan's chest, feeling the slow rhythm of his breathing. The dragonling sensed it—the heaviness in Aaryan's chest, the silence in his thoughts. So he curled up beside him, warm and still, like a child trying to comfort a parent.

When he saw Aaryan's face ease just a little in sleep, Vedik closed his eyes too.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Morning crept in quiet and soft. The scent of wet soil drifted through the air, and the chirping of birds filled the sky. Aaryan stirred, blinking against the pale light. Judging by the damp breeze, it must've rained a little during the night.

Vedik was still curled beside him.

That, more than the weather, surprised Aaryan.

"You're not out hunting already?" he asked, stretching. "What, ate too much last night?"

Vedik flicked his tail and raised his head with a low grunt, clearly offended. He gestured something vague with his claw, as if to say don't push it.

Aaryan's smile widened.

Vedik gave one last look, seeing Aaryan back to his usual self, then padded toward the door and disappeared beyond the porch.

Aaryan got to his feet, freshened up, and made his way to the main hall.

Binay was already there, arranging breakfast on a wooden tray. He looked up the moment Aaryan stepped in. His shoulders stiffened when he saw Aaryan.

"About yesterday... I didn't mean to leave you out. None of us did. I only realised after you were already gone. With everything going on... the raid, Chottu... I just—"

Aaryan waved a hand mid-step and sat down, calm as ever. "It's fine. I wouldn't have joined anyway."

Binay opened his mouth, then closed it. The words were simple. But final. He studied the boy across from him.

Still so young. But in that stillness, in that voice—no trace of complaint, no sulking, no expectations. Just quiet acceptance. No kid should be like that. No kid should have to be like that.

How much had he gone through to turn out like this?

So calm. Like water that had seen a storm and learned not to ripple again.

Binay didn't realize he was staring until Aaryan glanced up from his plate.

"What?" Aaryan asked between bites.

Binay blinked, startled from his thoughts. "Nothing," he muttered, reaching for his own food. "Eat up."

They finished in silence. Once done, Aaryan rose, brushing crumbs from his fingers.

He needed answers. He wouldn't stay here longer than needed. And for that, he needed the key.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan didn't linger in the house once breakfast was done. The air outside still held that after-rain scent, and the village had already returned to its usual rhythm. People moved between homes, voices called out, and smoke curled from a few hearths. In the square, remnants of yesterday's fair remained—scraps of torn cloth, empty cups, wilting garlands tossed aside.

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There were more people than usual. Some still chatted about the celebration, laughter echoing between houses. A group of kids raced past the well, feet slapping against the damp ground.

Aaryan's gaze drifted and then stopped.

Near the edge of the square, not far from the village gate, a boy sat alone on the steps of a quiet house. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Shoulders hunched, head low, back against the doorframe.

Aaryan recognized him. The same boy from yesterday, the one the bandits had taken hostage. He remembered seeing him afterward, crying even after being returned, an old woman holding his hand as they walked home.

He stepped over without a word and sat beside him on the stone steps.

The boy blinked, red-rimmed eyes shifting to the side. He saw Aaryan but didn't react. His face was pale, eyes swollen—he hadn't slept. Maybe hadn't stopped crying.

"You okay?" Aaryan asked quietly.

The boy didn't answer right away. Then, after a few seconds, gave a small nod.

Aaryan leaned back, glancing at the house behind them. The door hung slightly open. Inside was dark. Silent.

Only two had died in the raid: a child, and an old man.

"That old uncle who died…" Aaryan started, but the words caught in his throat as the boy's chest heaved.

Tears spilled again. His voice came out low and raw.

"He was my grandfather," he whispered. "Now I have no one."

Aaryan said nothing for a moment. He didn't offer empty comfort or say it would be okay.

He knew what it meant to be left behind. Knew what came after the silence.

When he finally spoke, his words were steady. Not pitying—just real. Simple, honest. The kind of truth that lands softly but stays.

The boy—Somu, he later learned—listened. There was something in Aaryan's voice, in the way he didn't pretend to understand but still somehow did. It settled in deeper than anything the villagers had said since yesterday.

They'd cremated his grandfather in a rush, eager to prepare for the shrine prayers and fair. No one had sat with him afterward. No one had asked how he felt.

He'd cried alone in that house while the village danced outside.

But now, beside this stranger, he didn't feel as alone.

Aaryan stayed with him, speaking little. And slowly, Somu began to talk. One word at a time. Aaryan listened—and gently shifted the conversation. A question here. A casual remark there. All tucked between steady words and quiet pauses.

And Somu, grateful just to be heard, answered without thinking.

Aaryan listened. Watching the path ahead unfold, one detail at a time.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

They talked for over an hour.

Somu didn't seem to mind. If anything, he looked relieved—grateful to have someone listen.

Aaryan, meanwhile, learned more than he expected.

The shrine, for one, had been here long before the village ever formed. That part he already knew. But what caught his attention was the rest—the walls, for instance. According to Somu, no one in the village knew what they were made of. The tiles on the roof and the carved gates had been repaired over the years, but the walls? Untouched. A few cracks, some weathering—but still standing. Just... there.

"They don't even know what it's made of?" Aaryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Somu shook his head. "Only the priest and elders are allowed inside. We can't go in unless the priest invites us."

"And how often does that happen?"

"Almost never."

Aaryan frowned. "You've never been inside?"

"No. But I did peek once... during evening prayer." Somu hesitated, as if confessing a crime. "There was a box. On a pedestal in the centre."

Aaryan had seen the box.

He kept his expression neutral and continued asking questions. He learned about the prayer routines—three times a day unless there was a festival. The villagers gathered outside, and only the elders and priest entered the main hall.

That's when Somu mentioned the priest's name.

"Binay."

Aaryan blinked. "What?"

"Binay uncle. He's the priest."

That didn't make sense. Aaryan had been living under the same roof, and Binay had never once acted like a priest—no sermons, no shrine talk, just meals and small talk.

Either he had chosen not to mention it… or he had assumed Aaryan wouldn't care.

Maybe he wasn't wrong.

Still, it caught Aaryan off guard.

He pressed further, his tone sharpening slightly. "What about that light? The one people talk about—during the full moon?"

Somu's eyes lit up. "Oh, that! Every year, the shrine closes for nearly two months. When it reopens, the first prayer is held at midnight, under the full moon. And that night, the whole ridge glows—shimmering curtains of green, red, sometimes violet."

Aaryan leaned forward. "Do you know where the glow comes from?"

Somu hesitated. "No. I asked Grandpa once. He told me not to ask again."

That confirmed Aaryan's suspicion—the item wasn't ordinary.

He was about to ask another question when Somu stiffened slightly.

Aaryan followed his gaze and looked toward the square.

Four men were walking toward them.

And leading them, wearing that same too-wide grin and heavy footsteps, was Ramy.

The group walked slowly, boots squelching against the damp earth. They stopped right in front of Aaryan and Somu.

Ramy's eyes settled on Aaryan first—just for a second—then drifted to Somu. "You alright, kid?" he asked, voice light. "If you need anything… you can always come to us."

Somu gave a stiff nod but didn't answer.

Ramy's attention slid back to Aaryan, who was still seated, watching him calmly with that same unreadable smile.

Something about that look tugged at Ramy's memory—the way Aaryan had stared at him the other day when he'd been stopped at the trail. That same stillness. That same weight. A flicker of fear passed through him, quickly replaced by irritation and a flush of shame.

"You seem to have a lot of free time," Ramy said, the edge in his voice hard to miss.

One of the men behind him—tall, bony, with twitchy fingers—chimed in like he'd been waiting for the cue. "What do you mean by that, Ramy?"

Ramy shrugged. "Just saying. He saved Binay and Chottu, yeah, but it's been what… four, five days now? And he's still here."

Another man chuckled under his breath.

"Either he really likes our village," Ramy went on, "or maybe he just enjoys free food and free stay. Must be nice."

A laugh rang out. Then another. All four of them burst into snickers like they'd just heard the best joke in years.

Aaryan stood up.

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't glare. Just took a single step forward.

Ramy flinched. So did the others.

No words had been spoken, but something about the way Aaryan moved made the air feel heavier. Around his wrist, the tiny serpent coiled tighter, head rising just a fraction. No sound. No hiss. Just a flicker of movement—quick enough to go unnoticed by most. But Ramy's gaze flicked to it. And for a moment, his smugness faltered.

Then a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"How dare you!"

They turned. Binay was storming toward them, Chottu in one arm, fury written across his face.

But before he could say more, Aaryan raised a hand.

"It's fine."

Then he turned to Ramy and met his gaze.

"You don't need to worry about whether I stay or leave," Aaryan said, voice quiet but clear. "Because you can't do anything to stop me if I leave. And you can't stop me even if I decide to stay in your house."

Ramy's face flushed red. He opened his mouth but said nothing.

His friends stood still now. Not a sound from any of them.

Aaryan turned to Binay casually. "I'll be back by evening."

Then he looked at Somu and gave him a small nod.

Somu stood and returned it, hands cupped at his chest.

Ramy's jaw clenched tighter, his face darkening with the gesture.

Aaryan didn't look at him again. He walked past the group and headed toward the village gate.

Behind him, no one followed. No one spoke.

They just watched him leave.

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