The sun had climbed higher, casting long streaks of gold across the valley. Dew still clung to the grass, glinting like scattered shards of glass, but the chill had begun to lift. The air was fresh, the breeze light and indifferent. Morning had arrived in full—quiet, ordinary, untouched by the storm that had passed moments ago.

To the sky, it was merely another day.

But below, the earth had changed.

All four leaders had fallen. Two lay motionless, bodies exposed on the blood-soaked soil. The other two had been scattered—nothing left but ash, bone dust, and silence. The kind that echoed louder than any scream.

Among the bandits, what few remained stood frozen. Not a word. Not a sound. Wide eyes, blood-drained faces, and fists clenched tight with tremors they couldn't suppress. Some stared at the bodies. Others looked away entirely, muttering half-remembered prayers to gods they'd long since abandoned. Their bravado had vanished, stripped down to fear and raw instinct.

Then, without warning, they bolted.

No orders. No farewell.

Only the sound of boots and bare feet pounding across the earth as they vanished into the woods like startled animals. None looked back. None dared.

From the villagers came no cheer. No shout of triumph. No rallying cry.

Only stunned breath, drawn in tight, as the youth in blue robes vanished down the ridge trail in a streak of light, qi swirling faintly behind him. He didn't turn. Didn't speak. Just disappeared into the winding trail—silent, swift, untouchable.

And only then did the village exhale.

"That bastard—"

"He destroyed the shrine!"

"He—!"

But the words trailed off, unfinished.

Gasps followed. Eyes lifted.

Where the shrine had once stood—now reduced to blackened stone and crumbling rubble—a shimmer had begun to stir. At first it was faint, almost imagined, like sunlight dancing through mist. But then, it solidified.

Words.

They bloomed against the mountain wall, behind the shrine's ruin, drawn in glowing silver strokes. Not carved. Not painted. It was… there. Suspended in the air as if etched by something unseen. Ancient. Gentle. Divine.

They held the crowd in quiet awe.

The villagers crowded closer, drawn in by awe and quiet reverence. Children clung to their mothers. The elders leaned forward, eyes glistening.

The words read:

Believe first in your hearts, let courage arise, Then trust in your kin, with truth in your eyes. Stand side by side, let your burdens be shared, Don't wait for the gods—be the ones who dared. Though the shrine may crumble, its stones turned to dust, The faith lives on in your bond and your trust. For blessings don't fall from heavens above— They rise from your strength, your will, and your love.

No one moved.

No one dared breathe too loud.

Some fell to their knees. Others clasped their hands to their chest, blinking back tears they couldn't quite explain. The anger had melted from their bones, leaving only quiet wonder. It wasn't the shrine they had lost, they were realizing—it was their belief. And now, it had returned. Not through a divine relic, but through something older. Truer.

Binay stood at the edge, adjusting Chottu in his arms. His gaze lingered on the script—reading it once. Then again. And again.

A soft smile touched his lips.

Without turning, he looked toward the trail where the blue-robed youth had vanished. The smile stayed—not joyous, not grateful—just… right. As if something long unsettled had quietly fallen into place.

The glowing script pulsed once in the morning light.

Then, like mist surrendering to the sun, it faded.

The wall stood bare.

The valley held its breath.

And the day, at last, moved on.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The leaves barely rustled, but Aaryan heard them. Faint cries and distant cheers carried on the morning wind. Weeping, too. Not grief—something more like relief. His back rested against the trunk of the tree, one leg hanging off the thick branch, the other bent. The village lay some distance behind, yet the sounds carried even here.

A small smile touched his face. Not smug. Not victorious. Just… relieved.

So it really worked.

He hadn't meant to destroy their faith—only nudge it toward something else. And when he'd walked away, it hadn't been chance. Vedik had known what to do. The illusion on the mountain wall had been his final gift to Brackenhill.

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He'd given what he could. That was enough.

A flicker of qi stirred the air. Leaves trembled. Vedik landed beside him, claws quiet on the bark, scales catching the light in shifting tones of bronze and gold. He looked far too pleased with himself—chin high, tail flicking like a banner.

Aaryan didn't even glance at him. "Don't act proud."

Vedik tilted his head, offended.

"Your illusions always fall apart the moment you start fighting," Aaryan said. "And why is it always your tail that sticks out? One job."

The dragonling's claws twitched into a frantic gesture-storm—scraping, jabbing, pointing as if pleading his case. His tail thumped the branch like it was the branch's fault.

Aaryan snorted. "Fine, fine. You did good."

Only then did Vedik settle beside him with a satisfied huff. He still muttered silently, eyes narrowed in mock indignation, but the glow in them gave him away.

And maybe he deserved the praise.

Aaryan glanced at him. "You know," he said, "I've never once seen you train."

Vedik looked up, sharply.

"But you've done more than me. That illusion. Destroying the box. Killing two. Wounding the third."

He reached over and patted Vedik's head. The dragonling blinked, then eased in, resting his snout on Aaryan's lap with a soft thrum.

Minutes passed in quiet. The wind played through the leaves, brushing against skin and scale alike.

Then Aaryan lifted his head.

Footsteps—light, steady—moved through the underbrush.

He didn't tense. His eyes softened.

Finally he came.

He'd been waiting for this.

Some things deserved a goodbye.

The branch gave a soft creak as Aaryan jumped down. He landed light, knees bent, the forest shifting around him in a hush. Vedik shimmered faintly as the illusion took hold again—his small form now just a tiny spirit snake, barely larger than a bracelet, coiled tight around Aaryan's wrist.

Aaryan took off through the jungle.

Leaves parted, roots blurred beneath his bare feet, and soon the trees thinned enough for him to see a familiar figure. Binay stood by a thick-trunked tree, Chottu bundled against his chest. His head turned side to side, eyes scanning the jungle, hopeful but unsure.

He didn't notice Aaryan until he was nearly behind him.

Binay flinched, then turned—and smiled. Not the weak kind people gave to strangers. This one was steady, warm, tired but full of something unspoken.

Aaryan raised a brow. "What are you smiling at? I didn't do it because you asked me to, okay?"

Binay didn't stop smiling. "Then why did you save them?"

Aaryan shrugged, pointing lazily at his wrist. "He was worried about the kid. That's all."

Binay glanced at the small snake. Vedik tilted his head, tongue flicking out, eyes glinting faintly. For a moment, Binay said nothing, but something in his gaze sharpened. The memory of silver flames, the bandit leaders clawing at shadows, the shrine erupting in rubble—he felt that it all circled back to this strange little creature.

Maybe others were too stunned to think clearly. Maybe they'd question things later. But Binay had enough clarity to ask now.

He looked back at Aaryan. "Thank you… for what you did. Not just fighting. That message—it might actually steer them right."

Aaryan waved a hand. "Don't make a big deal of it. Just a whim."

Then, almost smirking, he added, "Honestly, I just couldn't stand the idea of you two staying with people that dense. Would've bothered me."

They both laughed, brief but real.

"You leaving?" Binay asked.

"Yeah."

Binay went quiet for a beat. Then: "I don't know what that orb is, but I think it's made of some rare metal. If you're not headed anywhere in particular… maybe try Steel City."

Aaryan's gaze narrowed slightly. Steel City? That was the place—the one tied to the man who hired those bandits.

Binay went on. "They say it's where the best Spirit Forgers are. If anyone can tell you more about that orb—or improve your sword—it's them. Not that I've been there. Folks like me don't get in."

Aaryan said nothing for a moment, thinking it over. Then he nodded.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a small spatial ring. Holding it out, he pressed it into Binay's palm.

Binay looked confused. "What is it?"

"There are a thousand spirit stones inside."

Binay stiffened. "That's… that's—too much. I can't—"

"Keep it," Aaryan said flatly. "Most of it's for him." He gestured at Chottu. "If he starts cultivating, he'll need resources. That should be enough, at least in the early stages. Use the rest however you want. I know you'll help the village if you can."

Binay swallowed. Mist clouded the corners of his eyes, but he turned away slightly, pretending to adjust Chottu again.

Aaryan took a step back. "I've got one last thing to handle. Then I'm gone."

Vedik slithered up his arm and settled onto his shoulder, his small form almost invisible among the folds of cloth.

Without waiting, Aaryan turned and walked away, disappearing into the jungle like a breath fading into the wind.

Binay stood there for a while, staring into the trees.

Then he bowed, low and wordless, before heading back toward the village.

No one in Brackenhill would ever truly know what had happened that morning. The bandits, the shrine, the divine words—it would all blur into stories, rumour, and awe.

But Binay knew.

And so would Chottu.

That was enough.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Two days had passed since the battle in Brackenhill.

At the Iron Wolf gang's headquarters—tucked between blackened cliffs and rust-stained hills—a tense quiet lingered, broken only by low murmurs and clinking weapons. Inside the main hall, a long table sat half-burned, and the once-proud banners of the gang drooped in torn strips from the rafters.

A stocky man lounged in the leader's seat, legs spread, one arm resting on the jagged edge of the armrest. His grin hadn't left since the moment word of Karek's and Varen's death reached him. Second-in-command no longer. The chair was his now. The gang's survivors—barely a dozen—stood around the room, many bruised and bandaged, but obedient.

The new 'leader' lifted a jug of wine, took a long gulp, then leaned back smugly.

That's when the air changed.

A faint pulse. A shift in presence.

His eyes snapped forward—and there, between one blink and the next, a figure was walking toward him. Silent. Steady. Masked.

The stocky man jolted upright, nearly dropping the jug. He stumbled down from the chair and bowed low, voice tight. "S-Sir. We… we weren't expecting—"

The masked figure didn't reply. He stopped just short of the throne, gaze drifting across the chamber. A suffocating stillness followed him in.

The leader stepped forward, throat dry. "We… we found it. In a village. The previous commander tried to take it, but there was some kind of explosion. Might've destroyed the orb."

He hesitated, then spilled everything he'd pieced together from the survivors—disjointed accounts, half-burnt words.

Silence.

The masked figure didn't move. Didn't gesture. Didn't breathe, or so it seemed.

And yet, the air thickened.

Tension coiled through the chamber, slow and tight.

He didn't need to speak—his silence was a noose.

Then, without warning, the masked figure turned his head—slowly—to the left.

And in the same motion, a sword appeared in his hand.

The air shrieked as the blade moved—too fast to follow.

The leader's voice caught in his throat, cut off with a wet gasp.

A moment later, his body hit the ground—headless.

The corpse twitched once, blood already spreading dark across the stone floor.

The others didn't move. Didn't breathe.

But the masked man did.

He took one slow step forward.

Then another.

A whisper of movement—and the room turned red.

No screams. Just wet, soft sounds. Throats opened. Limbs collapsed. Bodies fell one by one, as if death were passing silently from shadow to shadow.

When the blood stopped spilling, there was no one left to speak.

He stood among corpses, white mask untouched, blade humming faintly in the quiet.

Then he turned.

And vanished—like he had never been there at all.

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