The sky was still dark, but the black had begun to thin. A faint silver edged the eastern horizon—not sunrise yet, just its distant promise. The full moon hung low, pale and heavy, ready to vanish behind the hills. A chilly breeze slipped through the quiet village, stirring dry leaves and making old shutters creak softly. Rooftops glinted faintly with dew. No footsteps. No voices. Only the wind, and the soft whisper of night holding on a little longer.

Aaryan stood at the door, facing his room. But he hadn't moved yet.

His soul sense had flared the moment he returned. Someone was inside. Waiting.

He didn't need to guess.

Vedik stirred on his shoulder. The dragonling had just finished yawning, his slender body still draped lazily around Aaryan's collarbone like a band of scaled silk. But the change was immediate. His frills drew in. His gaze sharpened. Every part of him stilled.

He'd sensed it too.

Aaryan exhaled through his nose, quiet and steady. The cold slipped past his skin, but he barely felt it now.

No avoiding it.

He stepped inside.

The wooden floor didn't creak. His steps were slow, measured, the kind taken by someone who had already made peace with what they'd find. Around the narrow bend, past the modest hallway, his door came into view. He reached for it and pushed it open without pause.

As expected—Binay.

The old man sat by the window, his posture straight, hands resting on his knees. The moonlight touched the lines on his face, made the white of his beard gleam faintly. He didn't look surprised. He didn't speak either.

Without flinching, he met that steady, unreadable gaze and said, voice flat, "I couldn't sleep. Went out for some air."

Still, Binay said nothing. The silence stretched. Then a soft sigh broke it.

"You were really after that."

Aaryan paused. The words weren't angry. Maybe tired. But they left a taste that he didn't like. "So you knew?"

Binay nodded, slow and thoughtful. "I had a hunch. But I wasn't sure."

Aaryan looked at him for a long moment. "Then why let me stay?"

Binay's smile was faint—worn, but warm in its own way. "You saved my grandson. That means more to me than anything in this world. How could I not offer you shelter for a few days?"

He glanced out the window. The night wind made the curtain flutter softly beside him. "And as for the orb… even if I wanted to stop you, I couldn't."

Silence returned, but it wasn't heavy now—just cold. The kind that settles after something has shifted, even if nothing more is said.

Aaryan broke the silence.

"I would've never taken it by force."

Binay didn't move. His voice came back calm, but flat.

"Why? Because you spent some time here? Grown attached to them?"

Aaryan didn't answer. He didn't need to—they both knew what Binay meant. That if he'd wanted to, he could have taken the orb. Crushed anyone who stood in his way. The villagers wouldn't have lasted seconds. And even Binay—wise as he was—wouldn't have been enough.

Aaryan looked down at his open palm. It was steady. It always had been. That was the problem.

He let out a breath.

"No," he said. "Because that's not in my nature. I don't kill innocent people."

Binay finally turned his head, ever so slightly. Enough to glance at him from the corner of his eye. Moonlight caught Aaryan's face—young, but already hardened. Not by time. By choice.

"Yes," Binay said quietly. "I know."

The quiet deepened again. And then Binay turned and began to walk.

His steps were soft on the floor, barely a sound. Yet each one echoed louder than they should've, as if dragging something behind them.

Aaryan didn't speak. Not yet.

Anger would've made sense. Shouting. Accusations. Something. Anything. But Binay didn't offer even a word of blame. He hadn't called him a thief. Hadn't called him anything at all.

There wasn't even a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

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And somehow, that stung worse than if he'd spat in his face.

As the old man neared the door, Aaryan's voice stopped him.

"It's just an orb, you know. Something that fell from the sky."

Binay paused. His back to Aaryan.

"It's not… whatever blessing of the gods you believe it to be," Aaryan said, his tone quieter now. "And I'm sure you know that. Better than anyone else."

For a moment, Binay didn't respond. The room held its breath. Then: "Who said it isn't?"

His tone wasn't sharp, but there was weight behind it. Something old. Something rooted.

He took a step forward but didn't leave.

"To those villagers," he said, "it is a blessing. A sign. A promise that something greater watches over them. Maybe it isn't divine. Maybe it isn't even special. But to them—it means something."

Aaryan looked down. The floor. The shadows. Anywhere but at the old man.

Binay's next words came slower.

"And let's say you're right. Let's say it's just an orb. Just a thing. Does that make it yours to take?"

He didn't turn. Didn't raise his voice.

Only the wind responded, threading its way through the cracks in the wood, brushing past them both like a ghost unsure of where to settle.

Aaryan didn't reply right away.

No clever remark. No sarcastic grin. Just silence.

Because Binay was right.

Whether the orb was sacred or not didn't matter. Whether the villagers were deluded or not didn't matter. Even if it had been glowing with divine symbols, humming with ancient power, or blessed by some higher realm, it wouldn't have changed a thing.

Because Dawnshard wanted it.

Everything else—the speeches about truth, the doubt, the quiet guilt that lingered just beneath his breath—it was just a mask. Something to make the decision easier to swallow. Not more right. Just more bearable.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but it carried weight.

"What should I have done then?" he asked. "I need that orb for something important. And there was no other way for me to get it."

His eyes drifted toward Binay's back, unmoving in the moonlight.

"If I'd asked nicely, would they have handed it over?" he continued. "If I'd brought them anything they asked for—gold, medicine, spirit stones—would they have even considered it?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Just shook his head.

"No. They would've chased me out. Or tried to."

Binay didn't hesitate. "You're right. They wouldn't have given it to you."

"Exactly," Aaryan said. "So what choice did I have? Sneak in. Take it quietly. That was the only path that didn't end in blood."

He stepped forward, slow and quiet. The floor was cold underfoot, but he barely noticed.

"And you know as well as I do… bandits are already looking for something. Something rare. Something mysterious."

He hesitated, then added, "They're looking for this orb."

Still, Binay didn't respond. But Aaryan didn't need him to. The silence between them had already become its own kind of dialogue.

"If I hadn't taken it, they would've come eventually. A day from now. A week. Maybe longer. But they'd come. And when they did, they wouldn't knock. They wouldn't offer trades. They wouldn't show mercy."

He looked down, tracing the gaps between the floorboards with his eyes.

"They'd demand the orb. And if the villagers refused, they'd kill them and take it anyway. If the villagers gave it up… they'd still die."

His hands dropped to his sides. Relaxed. But his voice tightened.

"So me taking it now—quietly, cleanly—it's better. Maybe the village avoids all of it. Maybe the bandits look elsewhere."

He wanted to believe that. That this had been the right way. Or at least, the least wrong

Binay finally turned. Slowly. His face was unreadable. Calm, but not cold.

No anger. No praise. Just that same quiet presence that always made Aaryan feel like he was being weighed, not judged.

"Do you really believe," Binay asked, "that if the bandits come… and don't find what they're looking for… they'll simply leave?"

Before Aaryan could speak, Binay cut in. His voice held warmth, a quiet gratitude—but beneath it lay something steadier. Duty.

"Or maybe," Binay said, "saving me and Chottu was enough to ease your guilt."

Aaryan didn't flinch. He wasn't surprised Binay had seen through him.

He stayed quiet. And that, in itself, was an answer.

Binay sat back in his chair, the wood creaking under him. "What if I were willing to trade for it?"

Aaryan crossed the room and sat on the edge of the cot, watching Binay's calm face.

"You could trade for it?" he asked. "Would the villagers even agree to that?"

Binay shook his head. "Never. But they don't need to agree. You already took it, didn't you?"

Aaryan's lips twitched into a silent smile. "So you want to bargain for something that isn't even in your hands anymore."

"Yes," Binay said, unbothered. "You can walk away with it now. Or you can take it after fulfilling a single condition. That way, you'll leave with peace… having paid your price."

Aaryan's fingers tapped against his knee. He didn't reply immediately.

"What's the condition?" he asked.

Binay's answer came with no hesitation. "When the bandits come, you stay. You protect the village."

Outside, the first hint of morning touched the sky. A soft gold scattered across the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled.

Aaryan stood and walked to the window, his back to Binay.

"No," he said. "I won't."

His voice stayed calm, but there was something clipped beneath it. Frayed.

"I hate being forced to fight just because someone else wants me to. Yes, I wish to take you and Chottu away. Because you were kind. You fed me. Treated me with respect. But I don't owe this village anything."

He exhaled, slow.

"And as for guilt…" His hand curled loosely at his side. "In my short life, I've already come close to death three times. And every single time, it was because someone wanted something, and I either stood in their way… or was the weapon they used. I won't do it again. I'll fight when I choose to. Not as some hired sword."

Binay listened. He didn't interrupt.

He knew this boy—this quiet storm—had walked through more than he let on. The strength he had didn't come from talent alone. It had been carved out through pain, through isolation, through a thousand fights no one saw.

Aaryan turned and walked toward the door.

He was almost at the threshold when Binay spoke again.

"You're right," he said. "You don't owe the village anything. And you can leave with the orb."

Aaryan didn't stop.

"But Chottu and I won't be going with you."

That made him pause, just slightly.

"I won't run," Binay said. "Not when danger's about to fall on all of them. I won't teach him to run either."

Aaryan kept his eyes forward. "So you'll let him die?"

Binay's voice was quiet, but firm. "If that's his fate… then so be it."

Aaryan's jaw clenched. Hard. But he didn't turn.

A breeze stirred the trees as he stepped out into the morning chill, rustling leaves like a whispered farewell.

He walked to the gate—

His hand hovered near the post. Just a breath. Then dropped.

He didn't look back.

He walked past the last hut, until the village was behind him.

Binay watched his back vanish into the pale light, wind tugging gently at his sleeve. He didn't say another word.

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