Aaryan stood facing the new set of poles.

They were thicker than the last batch, staked deeper into the earth, their edges stained from previous strikes. He was nearly three times farther than where he'd trained before—just far enough that any minor deviation would send a strike wide. But his control had caught up to the distance. Nine out of ten times, his spears found the mark.

The projectiles were different now, too. Shorter, sharper, thinner than a strand of hair. Each one was carved from the densest, cleanest splintered wood he could find. And when launched, they didn't wobble or bend like before. They zipped forward with a high-pitched whisper and pierced the poles in precise spots. No more explosions, no uncontrolled eruptions of force. Just clean cracks—three or four sharp fractures running through the wood before it split apart and toppled.

Control had come slowly—but it had come.

By the time the sun burned high above the canopy, the light had shifted from soft gold to harsh white. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, breath slowing only when he finally paused. Exhaling through his nose, Aaryan sank into a crouch, sitting back on his heels. The forest was still, save for the occasional chirp or rustle. A breeze passed, and he let it wash over him.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, Dawnshard appeared in his hand.

The blade hummed as it materialized, metal glinting dully in the scattered sunlight. The motion was effortless now—no hesitation, no conscious summoning. His fingers curled around the hilt, and he gave the blade a slow arc through the air. Not a strike. Just feeling. Connecting.

The weight felt right.

His bond with the sword pulsed low in his chest, not loud or fierce, but steady. Familiar.

With a slow breath, Aaryan rose to his feet.

Raising the sword, he brought it up near his eyeline. The blade rested vertically, his grip solid. His shoulders relaxed, but his eyes sharpened. Focus deepened. A bead of sweat traced a line down his temple.

Aaryan inhaled—and began.

Qi flowed into the blade—not in a rush, not in a surge. It moved with care, a thin current sliding through a narrow channel. He felt the blade's interior now—the old lines, the cracks where it had once shattered. One scar ran right to the top, where a jagged shard still clung to the rest.

A shiver ran through the blade as the current deepened The crack at the tip twitched—like a muscle straining under weight.

Light flickered along the crack like a thread being pulled taut. A faint glow spread from the fault, dull at first, then sharper. A breath later, the tip of the blade separated.

But it didn't fall.

It hovered—barely. The broken fragment wobbled in mid-air like a petal fighting gravity. Aaryan's jaw clenched. His mind narrowed. He could feel the connection—not just to the shard, but through it. From his thoughts into the blade itself, and out into that sliver of metal floating in the air.

The thread was thin. Almost too thin.

Still, he held on.

The shard twitched. The bond trembled. For a heartbeat, it almost steadied—

Then it snapped.

His fingers trembled slightly, strain tightening through his wrist. The sword hummed with faint resistance, metal vibrating against his grip. A drop of sweat blurred one eye, but he didn't blink.

The fragment fell and struck the ground with a soft, unimpressive thud.

Aaryan exhaled sharply and dropped to a crouch, panting. His hands rested on his knees as he stared at the ground. Qi control was one thing. But this—this was another level altogether.

Still, it was a start.

He steadied his breath and looked at the shard lying in the dirt. The connection hadn't shattered. It hadn't vanished. It had held for a moment. That was enough.

He reached out, fingers brushing the fragment.

This was only the beginning.

Evening had arrived at some point—Aaryan wasn't sure when. The forest had grown dim, shadows stretching long across the clearing, but his eyes were fixed on the shard.

It hovered inches above the ground, trembling. The detached tip of Dawnshard still responded to him, though barely. Sweat streaked down his face as he gritted his teeth and focused. With a deep breath, he guided it forward.

The fragment wobbled once, then shot ahead, striking the target pole dead centre. A dry crack split the silence. The pole hadn't even swayed when Aaryan summoned the shard back.

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It stuttered mid-air, zig-zagging like a drunk moth—but it came. Bit by bit, it returned to the hilt and settled into place at the top. The blade was whole again.

Aaryan dropped to his knees, chest heaving. His arms dangled limp at his sides. He only realized he'd fallen when he felt the earth beneath him, cool and unmoving.

Vedik launched from a branch above, wings slicing the air in quiet rhythm. He glided down and landed beside Aaryan, claws rustling the leaves. His scaled body nudged against Aaryan's shoulder with surprising force.

"I'm all right," Aaryan muttered, half-laughing, half-breathless, as he reached out to pat his head. "Don't fuss."

Vedik stepped back, cocking his head. Then his eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his claw, he pointed at himself and mimed a growl. He followed it up by puffing his little chest and flexing his limbs dramatically.

Aaryan blinked, then gave a tired grin. "Really? So you're saying if danger comes, you'll handle it?" He chuckled softly. "Bold of you."

Vedik held his pose, tail flicking smugly.

It surprised Aaryan. More than he liked to admit. He knew Vedik cared for him, had sensed it in little gestures. But this was the first time the little beast had outright said it in his own way.

A strange warmth stirred in his chest.

"I know," Aaryan said quietly. "I believe you could."

He paused, brushing dirt from his palm before continuing, "But our journey's just started. The things we'll face from here on won't be the same as forest beasts and some bandits. It's only going to get harder."

Vedik didn't interrupt. He listened—head slightly tilted, eyes steady.

"And besides," Aaryan added, rising slowly to his feet, "I'm the older one. Keeping you safe is my job. Not the other way around. That's why I have to get stronger."

Vedik huffed and gave him a half-hearted swipe on the leg before trotting ahead, tail raised high like a banner. He turned once to gesture back—an exaggerated wave of his claw, as if saying sure, sure, whatever you say, big guy.

Aaryan shook his head and followed, sword vanishing from his grip. The last traces of sunlight filtered through the trees as the two of them made their way back toward the village—one walking, the other dancing between roots and shadows.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The village lay still under the full moon.

Banners fluttered lightly in the breeze, though no one remained to see them. The empty stalls stood like hollow shells—unattended, untouched, as if paused mid-market. Aaryan's steps slowed as he passed them. No laughter. No children chasing after one another. Even the dogs were gone. Not silence born of fear, but of ritual.

They'd likely gone to the shrine.

Two months of seasonal rites where the shrine would be sealed off. Tonight was the last night for offerings. Aaryan could picture it now: villagers gathered under lantern light, whispering prayers, heads bowed before the stone altar. A quiet farewell to something sacred.

He reached Binay's house and found the door unlatched. A simple choice. A quiet trust.

He stepped inside.

The familiar scent of dried herbs lingered in the walls—lavender, basil, crushed bay leaf. It grounded him more than he expected. He crossed the room slowly, unbuckling nothing, saying nothing.

Vedik leapt onto the cot with the ease of a creature that had done it a dozen times before. He curled up in a tight coil, tail tucked close to his belly, eyes half-lidded but alert. The cot creaked under the shift, then settled.

Aaryan walked to the window and lowered himself onto the chair beside it. His arm rested against the sill, fingers tapping once against the wood before falling still. Outside, the moon hung high and round, framed by a scattering of thin clouds. Its silver light spilled down the rooftops, painting the street with a calm glow.

This time, when he'd asked Vedik to stay behind, the little beast had simply tilted his head and walked away. No defiance. Just… his own answer.

But he hadn't stayed away for long.

Vedik had returned between Aaryan's sessions, slipping into the village unnoticed. A flicker in the shadows, a shimmer in the dusk. Making sure Binay and Chottu were safe, keeping watch in his quiet, peculiar way. Then back to the trees before Aaryan could even ask.

It was enough.

Nothing had happened. And though Aaryan hadn't said it aloud, he was grateful.

Today had been a rare thing—a day where everything worked. The villagers had seen what he wanted them to see. His training, painful and exhausting as it was, had shown results. Even a sliver of control meant fewer mistakes. Fewer risks of failure.

He'd felt it. That fine thread of power between him and the blade. And the shard. It wasn't a fluke. It had held, even if just for a heartbeat.

But it still fell short.

He was still too slow. Too weak. Just crossing into Qi Condensation wasn't the solution—it was the start of a much steeper climb. The same techniques wouldn't carry him forward from here. He needed another step. Something faster. Something sharper.

His hand moved without thinking.

He reached into his spatial ring, and his fingers brushed against something familiar. A shape both foreign and intimate. A breath later, he was holding it.

A scale.

It pulsed with a shifting light, soft but restless. Deep blues ran along its surface, rolling into molten golds that faded into ember-red edges. The colours didn't simply sit there—they moved, alive beneath the translucent layers like slow fire caught in crystal.

It didn't burn, but heat rose from it—warm, steady, and strange. Like it could wake at any moment.

Vedik stirred.

He shifted on the cot, lifting his head lazily at first. Then his gaze sharpened. Not at Aaryan. At the scale. He leapt down and padded closer, nose twitching as he sniffed along its edge, his movements cautious but curious. There was recognition there—not just curiosity, but memory.

Aaryan watched him, eyes unreadable.

He still didn't know what Vedik truly was. A descendent? A reincarnation? The Nine-Coloured Mirage Dragon had said nothing clearly, and Aaryan hadn't pressed. But the connection was there. The scale had called to Vedik from the start. It was in his blood—whatever he was.

And in Aaryan's hand, it thrummed softly. Not as a warning. As a promise.

The dragon had told him the truth—this scale held its essence, its unique flame. And now that Aaryan had reached Qi Condensation, he could claim it. Inherit it.

But he wasn't in a rush. Unlike others who jumped at the first sign of elemental affinity, he had spent his time learning to control his qi. It was slow, deliberate, often frustrating—but it meant that when he did infuse it with the flame, he wouldn't collapse under it.

He'd been tested with zero affinity. That didn't matter. He hadn't given up, and he wouldn't now.

Soon, he would attempt the fusion.

And once he did—he'd have two things that no one else around him had: a flame given by ancient dragon, and the right to finally wield the Confluence Codex in its true form.

He tightened his grip on the scale and looked down at Vedik, who was still watching him.

Soon, he'd test himself.

The scale pulsed again, warm against his skin.

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