Aaryan didn't bother with detours today. No loops. No pretending to stray before circling back. He walked straight toward the clearing.

What Ramy had said hadn't stung. Not really. But it confirmed something Aaryan already knew. No matter how much he tried to stay quiet, stay out of the way, there would always be someone trying to stir trouble. It wasn't about avoiding them anymore—it was about being ready when they came.

He reached the clearing soon enough. The soft thud of his feet on dirt felt familiar now. Some wooden poles still stood staked in the ground. A quick flick of his fingers sent a Qi-infused spear into one—clean, precise. The pole didn't even shudder as the spear punched clean through.

His control had improved.

A small smile crept across his face. The method he came up with—self-made, instinct-driven—it worked.

He moved through the drills for an hour, maybe two. Breath steady. Movements sharp. Sweat coated his back but didn't slow him. Eventually, his rhythm slowed. A thought flickered in his mind, and in response, the Dawnshard appeared in his hand.

Still cracked. Still looking like scrapped iron left in the rain.

It was almost funny—he had a strange, ancient cultivation method, three rare techniques, and not a single attack technique. Not even a basic one. Nothing but instinct and a hunger to grow.

He studied the blade. This wasn't like before, when he only needed to swing at the right moment. That might've worked once. But now… this felt different. Like he had to understand the sword—think with it, not just wield it. There was something in the weapon. Not just a trace of power, but something deeper. A presence.

He'd never seen anyone use a sword like this. Not even Meera. Her fiery whip—dangerous and beautiful—had elemental force, sure, but nothing sentient.

He remembered the casual flick of her wrist that turned a crescent moon mark into a full one. The memory pulled at something inside him—soft and hard at the same time. He didn't let it linger.

Aaryan pushed the thought down and raised the blade.

He began slow. No Qi, just motion. Sharp arcs, steady thrusts—until the blade moved like his own arm, he began to send Qi into it. Not coating it—channelling it inside.

He wanted to know how it flowed. How it filled the cracks. How it moved from hilt to edge.

Bit by bit, he let the energy trickle in. Too much, and he might damage it. That's why he'd trained so hard to improve control first. So he could do this—learn the sword without breaking it.

Time passed. He didn't count it.

Only when the sky softened and the air cooled did he stop, breath evening out with the wind. A shadow moved from a nearby branch.

Vedik.

The dragonling slipped from the trees with a rare fruit in each claw. He landed soft, then glided toward Aaryan. When Aaryan looked, Vedik nudged one of the fruits into his hand, then slithered up his shoulder and sank into his own share.

Aaryan laughed quietly, took a bite, and started walking back to the village. The fruit was sweet and cold—like water in a dry throat.

The village came into view as he walked down the familiar path, the fruit's sweetness still faint on his tongue.

He hadn't even reached the first row of huts when the stares began. No whispers. Just eyes—watchful, cautious. Some familiar, most not, but all heavy with the same weight.

Somu was still on the stairs of his house, hugging his knees and chewing something. He straightened when he saw Aaryan.

Aaryan walked up to him. "What's with the looks?"

Somu hesitated, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "After you left, Binay and Ramy got into it."

Aaryan raised an eyebrow. "Over what?"

"Well... Binay uncle was furious. Said how could Ramy insult his guest like that. Ramy said he was just stating facts." He paused.

Aaryan folded his arms. "Stating what facts?"

Somu looked away. "That… maybe you're with the bandits. A mole. A spy."

Aaryan didn't react. His face stayed the same, unreadable.

Somu went on, a bit quicker now. "Binay uncle got really mad. Like, red-mad. I've never seen him shout like that. But a few people stood with Ramy. They said, even if it's unlikely, they can't ignore the chance. That shut Binay uncle down. He just left with Chottu."

Aaryan glanced toward the priest's house.

"He came out for noon prayers," Somu added. "Then went back in. Hasn't come out since."

Aaryan sighed. The villagers could think what they wanted. But if Binay had to carry the weight of it, that wasn't something he'd ignore.

"Thanks, Somu." Aaryan gave him a light nod and turned toward the house.

He knocked softly. The door creaked open a second later.

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Binay stood there, face grim—until he saw who it was.

His features eased. "I was wondering when you'd come."

Aaryan smiled faintly. "Didn't go far."

He stepped inside. Washed up. When he came into the inner room, Binay had already set the plates.

They ate in silence for a while, the clink of metal on clay the only sound between them.

"Somu told me," Aaryan said at last. "You don't have to worry too much. It's not worth it."

He picked at a piece of flatbread. "Besides, I've already stayed long enough. I'll leave tomorrow."

Binay froze mid-chew. He looked at Aaryan.

"If it was any other day," he said quietly, "I might've let you go. But not after today. If I can't even stand by the man who saved me and my grandson... then we're no better than spirit beasts."

Aaryan looked up, wanting to argue—but stopped.

There was something in Binay's eyes. Not fire or pride, just certainty. He had already decided.

They finished their meal in quiet understanding. Later, Aaryan saw Binay leave the house, his robes straight, his posture steady. Off to the shrine again, as always.

Aaryan watched from the window. Even after the looks and the talk, Binay still went. No bitterness. Just duty.

That was rare.

A man who held the trust of the village in his hands, and never once used it for himself. Not even to silence them.

Aaryan leaned back from the window, eyes thoughtful.

The stares had meant nothing. This—this meant something.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Binay returned sometime after. His footsteps were soft, but Aaryan didn't turn. He was still sitting by the window, watching the quiet village.

"Can't sleep?" Binay's voice came from behind, light with amusement.

Aaryan smiled faintly. "No, nothing like that. Just thinking."

Binay stepped into the room and sat down. "Mind sharing?"

Aaryan hesitated, eyes still on the night outside. "I was wondering why you stay here."

Binay looked at him, curious.

"You're not like them," Aaryan said. "You don't wait around. You don't follow blindly. So why tie yourself to people who do?"

That drew a short laugh from the old man. He leaned back, exhaled slowly. "Because I can't leave."

Aaryan glanced his way.

"My family helped build this village," Binay continued. "My ancestors are buried here. I was born here. I'll die here. Leaving just because the others don't see the world the way I do... would be turning my back on their teachings."

Aaryan said nothing for a while. His fingers tapped against his knee.

"But isn't that unfair to Chottu?" he asked quietly.

Binay's expression stilled. For a moment, he didn't speak. His gaze drifted inward, toward the corner where Chottu lay asleep under a thin cloth.

"Maybe," he said at last. "But just like a son inherits a father's name or land... sometimes he has to inherit the burdens too."

Aaryan followed his gaze. Then, after a pause, he asked, "The shrine closes for two months every year around this time, right? Why don't you and Chottu come with me? Just for a little while. A change of view. You can come back after."

Binay rose slowly, brushing his robes straight. He looked at Aaryan with a hint of surprise.

"So... you're quite interested in the shrine," he said.

Aaryan blinked. He hadn't expected the question to give him away. His mind scrambled for something to say—an excuse, anything to shift the attention—but Binay didn't press.

Instead, the old man gave a knowing nod. "You're right. After tomorrow night's prayers, the shrine will close. Chottu and I usually visit some relatives during that time anyway. We'll go with you."

He gave a small smile. "Good night, Aaryan."

And with that, he turned and left the room.

Aaryan sat there, staring at the place where Binay had stood. The confirmation should've lifted his spirits. And it did. If the shrine closed tomorrow, he could take whatever was in that box and leave by morning.

But the thought of Binay lingered.

The man didn't owe him anything. And yet, he stood by him—quietly, stubbornly.

When Binay found out about it... would that loyalty turn into regret?

His hand had curled into a fist without him noticing.

He flexed his fingers, slowly, like trying to let the weight slip through them.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan wasn't sure when sleep finally took him. The weight of last night's thoughts had stayed with him long after Binay left. But at some point, exhaustion won.

A soft knock pulled him from a light sleep. He blinked and sat up, eyes adjusting to the dim morning light. Binay stood at the doorway, holding two clay cups of tea.

Aaryan quickly got up from the cot and took the cups from his hands, setting them down on the table. "You didn't have to."

Binay chuckled. "Seems like you didn't sleep too well. Something bothering you?"

Aaryan kept his expression calm. "It's nothing. Just the usual. Pushed a bit too far yesterday."

Binay didn't press. He sat down and took a sip. "You should ease up now and then. I don't know what's driving you, but kids your age should enjoy life a little—no matter how hard it is or how hard it might get."

Aaryan paused mid-sip. Then silently continued drinking.

Binay stood, brushing off his robes. As he turned to leave, he stopped at the doorway. "If you're worrying about us," he said, not looking back, "don't. Everyone has their part to play. You just make sure you do yours."

He left without waiting for a reply.

Aaryan watched his back disappear down the corridor. He didn't know if Binay had ever cultivated. It didn't matter. His words didn't come from strength—they came from years. From seeing everything, and surviving anyway.

He didn't train that morning. Instead, he wandered the village with Somu, who had taken it upon himself to give him a tour of every field, tree, and mildly interesting rock within a two-mile radius.

They were chatting outside a grain shed when a commotion stirred near the village edge. Aaryan turned in time to see five or six figures limping in. Clothes torn. Faces bruised. One man was being helped by another, and blood stained the hem of more than one robe.

The villagers rushed over. Water and cloth were brought. Questions filled the air, but no answers came until the group had been seated and given time to breathe.

An old man finally stepped forward. "What happened to you all?"

A younger man, maybe in his thirties, wiped his mouth and answered hoarsely, "Bandits. We were traveling back from the northern trail when they attacked."

Gasps spread through the crowd. Another bandit attack—already?

The man nodded grimly. "They've been raiding village after village. I heard they've already burned three to the ground. If you're smart, you'll pack and run for the nearest city."

A few murmurs of fear followed, but an elder scoffed. "We have nothing to fear. The shrine protects us."

"The shrine protects us," others echoed. It rolled through the crowd like a chant.

But then, a nervous voice cut in—too young, too honest. "But... isn't the shrine closing for two months? Will it still protect us?"

Everyone turned. A boy, barely seventeen, stood frozen. The man next to him smacked the back of his head.

"Idiot! You don't speak of shrine matters in front of outsiders!"

The boy shrank back, wide-eyed. But the question had landed. Doubt cracked through the crowd's earlier bravado like a stone dropped in still water.

A group of elders, including Binay, stepped aside and whispered among themselves. A few tense minutes passed before they returned.

Binay raised a hand. "The shrine will remain open until this danger passes."

There was a pause. Then someone clapped. Another joined. Relief spread fast. Cheers rang out. Faces lit up. The atmosphere lifted in seconds.

All except for Aaryan, who stood among them, lips twitching. His face twisted like he'd swallowed a fly. Somu looked at him, confused.

"You okay?"

Aaryan gave him a flat look. "Perfect."

Somu blinked. "You look like someone kicked your lunch into a ditch."

Aaryan said nothing. He turned away, brushing past a hanging grain sack, fingers trailing across the rough weave.

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