Morning broke over the mountain village in pale gold. Mist clung to the stone paths and low huts, curling like smoke as the first light stirred it. But no warmth came with the dawn.

Wails filled the square. Some villagers dropped to their knees on the very trail they'd been rushing across moments ago. Others collapsed where they stood, sobbing into one another's shoulders. A few beat their chests or tore at their hair, while others hurled curses—at the bandits, at fate, at the stranger in blue who had leapt aside at the last moment and let the shrine crack apart.

"He dodged," one cried. "He let it break!"

"Why couldn't he just stand still—?"

"It was better if he hadn't come. He can't be our saviour!"

No one answered. Not the barefoot youth standing still as stone, nor the four figures just ahead of him.

Karek stood motionless, jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the spot where the box had smashed against the mountain wall. It had split open on impact, then vanished completely beneath a silver flash. Nothing remained—just splinters, ash, and silence.

Beside him, Varen spun toward him, furious. "What have you done?"

"It wasn't me!" Karek snapped. "Why would I—"

"Then who?" Drenval's voice rose. "Among us, only you have lightning affinity!"

"Don't look at me," Karek said, shoving Ghoran with the back of his hand. "Maybe he lost control again. His fiery qi always makes things explode, doesn't it?"

Ghoran winced, his limp arm pressed to his side. "I didn't—my flames didn't touch the shrine. I never aimed there!"

The words piled over each other. Accusations flew. Hands pointed. Voices rose.

But beneath the noise, something colder began to settle. A realization, unspoken but heavy. In the chaos, the shouting, the scattered discipline—they had forgotten.

They weren't here for a fight. They were under orders. Strict ones. The item was not to be damaged. Not even scratched.

And now, it was gone.

If that box had truly held what they feared… the punishment wouldn't pause for explanations.

Varen took a step back. His breath was visible in the morning air, though it wasn't cold.

Drenval looked around—at the villagers, at the shrine, at the youth who stood silent, barely winded—but still breathing like he'd run a mile.

No one spoke again.

They were all trying not to think the same thing.

Please… let it not have been the real item.

But none of them believed that.

The wailing didn't stop. Curses flew like arrows—at each other, at fate, at the stranger who now stood alone among the rubble.

Aaryan didn't move. His chest rose and fell with quiet rhythm, just a bit faster than normal. His hands stayed loose by his sides, but his eyes—his eyes sparkled. They couldn't see it, not the villagers or the four panicking men, but to him, the outcome had already been sealed.

The shrine had crumbled in front of everyone. The silver wave had erased the box. The bandits stood frozen, their leaders too busy turning on each other to notice.

Nobody now would be able to find out that he had taken the orb.

It was a done deal.

His gaze drifted to Vedik, still floating above the trail, coiled like mist above Binay's head. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. That was enough.

Vedik vanished.

One moment, he shimmered in place. The next, the air behind the bandits rippled as if reality had blinked.

Varen opened his mouth to hurl another accusation at Ghoran and Drenval—

A faint shimmer crossed the air behind them, like heat rising off stone. It was gone in a blink.

Then his words died.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of silver—bright, sharp, pure. Karek and Ghoran spun at the same time, instincts flaring. All three lunged aside.

But Drenval wasn't fast enough.

The silver flame licked across his body in a narrow arc. He didn't even scream. Just disintegrated into ash, gone in a blink.

Gasps rippled through the square. Someone shrieked. Another fell completely silent, hands still raised mid-curse. Even the wailing paused for a heartbeat.

The others stumbled back, breathless. Their skin crawled, hearts hammering against their ribs. They hadn't seen what launched the attack. Only felt it. Like death itself brushing past them.

"That silver fire—it's the same as before!" Karek shouted, his voice cracking.

But before he could get a grip on the moment, Aaryan began to walk forward.

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The trio turned. Anger finally overtook the fear.

"It was him!" Varen shouted. "Everything—it's all him!"

They moved to strike.

But the air shifted.

From nothing, a silver tail slammed into Varen's chest. The blow lifted him off his feet and hurled him into a distant tree with a heavy thud.

Karek barely managed to roll aside, lightning sparking beneath his heels. Ghoran turned—only to find Aaryan rushing straight at him.

Dawnshard flashed into Aaryan's hand, pulled from his ring in one smooth motion. His qi surged through the blade. He thrust it forward.

Ghoran met it without flinching. His uninjured hand, wrapped in blazing fire, caught the sword at the guard. He sneered, heat rippling from his grip.

"You're finished."

Aaryan smiled. Just slightly.

The blade's tip clicked.

It shot forward—detaching from the main edge and piercing Ghoran's throat in one clean strike.

The fire vanished.

Ghoran gasped, hand clutching his neck as blood poured between his fingers. He stared at Aaryan in disbelief, lips trying to form a question.

His legs buckled.

With a dull thud, his body hit the ground, blood soaking into the dirt, dark and warm.

Varen and Karek scrambled back, breath ragged, faces drawn tight with fear. The silver tail whipped through the air again—gone before it could be tracked—leaving only shallow craters in the stone where it struck.

Then they head a sound and both froze.

That massive, unstoppable brute—the one they'd brought as insurance—was dead. Just like that.

They planned it all—picked their moment, chose their help. The villagers were weak. The stranger was alone. Ever since they stepped in, the fight had remained tilted in their favour. But somewhere, in the chaos, the tide had turned.

Drenval was now ash scattered in the morning breeze. Ghoran had fallen to a youth who, only minutes ago, looked like he was one blow away from collapse. And now there was this cursed silver tail, striking from nowhere. It didn't swing or lash. It appeared. Varen had already taken three hits, each one more painful than the last—his ribs cracked, something in his shoulder dislocated. Karek had managed to avoid most of them, thanks only to the lightning under his feet.

Varen staggered up, coughing blood. His eyes darted forward—and found Aaryan walking toward him, calm as ever.

His heart sank.

This wasn't the same fight anymore.

A few hours ago, he would've rushed to meet him without a second thought. But now... something coiled in his gut, cold and tight.

Karek saw it too. The fear in his brother's eyes. The stranger's silent approach. Varen wouldn't be able to hold him off.

He moved.

Lightning burst from his soles. Karek lunged forward, faster than before—his entire body humming with qi, arcs snapping off his skin like sparks. He dodged left, feinted right, footwork blurring in a streak of blue—

But the silver caught him anyway.

A hiss—then a scream.

The fire had latched onto his hand. He dropped to one knee, qi flaring wildly as he tried to shake it off—but it crept up his arm, eating through cloth and skin alike.

With a desperate growl, he drew his blade.

One clean strike.

His arm fell to the ground, still alight.

Karek collapsed to the side, clutching his shoulder, screaming through clenched teeth.

Varen didn't see.

He had his own problems.

Aaryan was almost within reach now.

The youth's robes hung torn, streaked with dust and dried blood, but his expression hadn't changed. Calm. Focused. A thin smile on his face, like none of this had pushed him in the slightest.

Varen spat blood and forced himself upright. "So this is it? You're going to kill us all and walk away a hero?"

Aaryan stopped a few paces short, head tilting just slightly.

"I don't need to be a hero," he said. "I just need you to shut up."

He slid the sword back into his ring. His fingers flexed as qi surged through them—colourless, pure, humming with quiet power. He looked up at Varen and smirked.

Then he lunged.

Varen, bloodied and barely standing, summoned a thick brown shield in front of him. It looked like it had been pulled straight from the earth—dense and uneven like packed mud.

Aaryan's fist smashed into it. The texture gave way under his knuckles, soft but stubborn, like punching wet clay. Earlier in the fight, he doubted he could've broken through it. But now? Now he pressed in, pouring all his weight, all his qi into one strike.

The shield cracked.

A breath later, his fist slammed into Varen's chest. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and something cracked beneath his ribs.

Karek watched from a short distance away, kneeling beside the arm he'd severed. His face was pale, twisted with pain and regret. He turned to his brother—barely conscious, blood running down his chin—and muttered a curse.

"This wasn't worth it," he muttered. Then louder, desperate, "Wait! Stop—just stop!"

Aaryan didn't answer, but he didn't strike again either.

"You win. Just—just let us go. We won't come back."

Aaryan tilted his head, smile still faintly on his face. "I could agree," he said, tone casual. "But what about the villagers? Shouldn't you compensate them?"

"Of course," Karek snapped. "We'll pay. A thousand spirit stones."

Aaryan laughed. "That's your opening offer? That's almost cute." He waved them forward. "Spatial rings. Both of you. Now."

Varen spat blood but didn't argue. Karek cursed in his heart, but they obeyed. Two rings flew through the air. Aaryan caught them without looking.

His smile turned warm, almost friendly. The qi faded from his hands. No killing intent lingered—just an air of calm, like he'd just stepped out for tea.

He strolled toward Varen, who was still struggling to breathe. Then he offered a hand.

Varen stared at it, confused. Hesitant.

Still, he took it.

Aaryan pulled him up.

For half a second, it looked like the fight was over.

Then Varen's hand jerked. A dagger appeared, summoned from somewhere unseen. His grip tightened as he drove it toward the youth's chest.

But the moment froze.

Varen looked down.

A blade was already there—sunk clean into his gut. His lips parted in confusion. He looked up at Aaryan, who hadn't even dropped his smile.

"Looks like we both had the same idea," Aaryan said with a chuckle. "But I'm faster."

Varen couldn't believe it.

He'd always looked down on the weak. This boy—this nameless brat—should've been nothing. Yet now, he was dying in his arms.

His body slumped forward, leaning on Aaryan's shoulder. Aaryan let him hang there a moment, then shrugged him off with a flick. Varen dropped like dead weight, landing in the dirt beside his dagger.

Aaryan twirled his sword once. A small arc carved through the air, and the blood on the blade scattered into the wind—gone without a trace.

Karek saw it all.

He didn't shout. Didn't charge.

He turned.

Lightning surged beneath his feet—one desperate flash of escape. But silver flames burst from above him, swallowing him whole before he could take a step.

There was no scream. Just light, heat, and silence.

Gasps rippled through the square. The remaining bandits stood frozen. Their leader—gone in moments. All four—gone.

And the villagers, still grieving the shattered shrine, turned to the youth in azure robes. No one knew if they should cheer or weep. They only knew the fight was over—and nothing felt holy anymore.

Someone finally broke.

"He could've saved it!" an old man shouted. "He was strong—he could've protected the shrine!"

Aaryan's head turned slowly.

Only his eyes were visible beneath the black cloth. Cold. Calm.

The old man met his gaze—and instantly looked away, crouching down as if he hadn't spoken at all.

Aaryan said nothing. His eyes drifted past the crowd, landing on Binay.

The boy stood cradled in Chottu's arms. Both safe. Unharmed.

Aaryan gave the slightest nod.

Then qi wrapped around him and he shot down the ridge trail, vanishing between the trees.

No one stopped him.

The villagers stood in silence, watching the space he'd left behind. One of them opened his mouth, ready to curse him again—

But the words never came.

Because there, on the cliff wall behind the ruined shrine, something glowed.

And every single jaw dropped.

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