Aaryan stopped cold.

For a heartbeat, he simply stared.

He'd seen corpses before. Bloodied disciples. Shattered bones. Twisted expressions frozen in death.

But this—

This wasn't death.

Not yet.

Suspended on the altar like a discarded offering was a figure so gaunt, so motionless it could've passed for a statue. Blood had pooled beneath them, dried in thick, tar-like sheets. Skin so pale it seemed almost translucent under the flickering light.

But there was breath.

Shallow. Strained. Fragile.

Just enough to prove it wasn't over.

Yet.

He'd never seen anything like it.

Something twisted in his chest—raw, unbidden.

Pity? Rage?

He didn't let it finish forming. He smothered it. Ground it down.

Because pity was a luxury he couldn't afford.

They were still chasing.

He moved.

But the moment his foot touched the altar, everything changed.

Not pressure—no.

Worse.

It was like walking into a cage of rotting breath.

A sinister aura wrapped around him, slick and cloying. The air turned foul, rancid. It stabbed at the back of his throat, turned each breath into something wet and heavy. He could taste the decay, even with his mouth closed.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't even curse.

It wasn't spiritual pressure.

It wasn't killing intent.

It was something older.

Hungrier.

His knees threatened to buckle. His limbs screamed to retreat.

But he didn't stop.

He bit down hard and forced his limbs to obey.

Every step dragged like he was walking through mud. The altar pulsed faintly beneath his soles—like it was alive.

The closer he got, the more the scene peeled itself open.

The figure's injuries weren't random.

This wasn't simple torment.

This wasn't just cruelty.

It was methodical.

The cuts followed patterns.

The bruises marked restraint, not rage.

Whoever had done this hadn't lost control—they'd known exactly what they were doing.

And they'd done it for a long, long time.

Pain carved deep into the flesh. Sleeplessness burned into the bones. The marrow-deep exhaustion that clung to the figure wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. Like their very soul had been scraped hollow.

And yet—

They were breathing.

Alive, somehow.

Not broken.

Not fully.

He crouched beside them.

Close enough now to see the curve of a face under the grime. Faint lashes. Hollow cheeks. A jawline barely visible under crusted blood and tangled hair.

Not a man.

A girl.

His brows twitched. His breath caught.

Then he saw the pattern on her robes. Faint. Torn. But unmistakably from the Evernight Sect.

His heart stuttered once.

Recognition hit like a punch to the gut.

'No… it can't be.'

His voice didn't leave his throat. His thoughts barely held together.

'Was this…? The missing niece of Fourth Grand Elder Shiela? Isn't she missing for fifty years? The weight of it slammed into his chest. A disciple gone for half a century—kept alive like this?'

He swallowed, mouth dry. The back of his neck prickled, not from the lingering aura—but from the implications.

What in the hell had this mountain been hiding?

And what kind of people were chasing him?

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Some distance away from the valley, twilight had deepened into gloom, the sky a bruised shade of purple. The wind cut sharp between the cliffs as two figures stood atop a narrow ledge overlooking the winding paths below—robes dark, expressions darker.

The Second and Third Grand Elders had rejoined after hours of fruitless searching. Frustration coiled around the Third Elder's face like a second skin.

"He's a damn rat," he snapped, voice laced with venom. "Where in the hell has he gone? Even our spiritual sense can't find a single trace!"

His aura flared in agitation, sending cracks skittering along the nearby stone.

The Second Elder remained still, arms folded behind his back, his gaze cold and thoughtful. "He must possess some kind of treasure," he said at last. "Something capable of concealing his presence. Perhaps even masking him from spiritual sense entirely."

The Third Elder scoffed. "Convenient."

"Temporary," came the reply. "Even with such a treasure, he's trapped. He may delay us… but he won't escape. There's no way off this mountain without triggering the formations—and the moment that happens, we'll know."

His voice held calm certainty.

The Third Elder's eyes narrowed. "You think he's still nearby?"

"He's not a fool," the Second Elder murmured. "He hasn't risked everything yet. No formation's been triggered. He's hiding. Waiting for an opening."

And just as the words left his mouth—his eyes lit up.

He turned sharply. "There."

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Deep within the mountain, a subtle shift whispered through the web of spiritual formations. A cave—previously dormant—had stirred. A pulse, so faint it would've gone unnoticed to anyone else, spread like a ripple across still water.

The Second Elder's lips curved into a smirk.

The Third Elder bared his teeth. "Fool. He walked into it himself."

His killing intent surged.

"Now let's see where you run to."

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

Aaryan didn't have time.

Didn't have backup.

Didn't even know if he could escape himself.

He was being hunted. Trapped.

And now, this.

The girl hung from chains—three from above, two below—each ending in a sharp, cruel hook buried into her wrists, ankles and collarbone. Her limbs thin enough that the hooks looked like they were holding up bones, not a body.

Aaryan stared for a moment. Then cursed under his breath.

She was alive. Somehow.

Barely.

He didn't have time. And even if he did...

She couldn't run. She couldn't even move.

There was still a chance—just a flicker—that he might escape if he went alone. A one in a thousand chance. Or maybe less.

He let out a long breath. Looked at her again. The curve of her shoulder. The dried blood. The sunken chest.

So, it came down to a choice.

And he already knew which one he'd made.

A tired grin tugged at his lips.

"Well... From slim chance to suicidal. Story of my life."

And with that, he crouched beside her.

The first hook was sunk deep into her ankle, the metal black and veined with pulsing red light It wasn't just holding her—it was feeding on something deeper. Something that pulsed inside the metal like it had a thirst. The runes writhed as he touched them, sensing foreign interference.

"Easy now," he muttered, placing two fingers on the base of the hook. "Let's not bite the new guy."

He moved carefully, rotating and lifting the hook out with the least resistance. Still, it tore skin. Blood, thin and dark, welled from the wound. Her body jolted from the pain.

A soft gasp escaped her lips.

Her head stirred.

She opened her eyes—just barely—and blinked at him. There was no joy in her gaze. No fear either.

Just the kind of emptiness that doesn't come from silence, but from acceptance.

Aaryan froze, his hand still gripping the hook on her second ankle.

She looked at him like she was seeing something unreal. A dream, maybe. Or a hallucination her dying mind had conjured.

Her cracked lips parted.

A whisper escaped—barely audible, as though each word had to claw its way up her throat.

"Kill me... please."

Aaryan blinked. He had just freed one ankle and was about to move to the other when he heard it.

His hand paused mid-air.

Her voice wasn't a plea. It wasn't even desperate.

It was flat. Empty. As if hope wasn't just lost—it had never existed to begin with.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

Didn't know if anything could be said.

The silence pressed down on him.

Then—

"Well, ouch," he said lightly, forcing a grin back onto his face. "I know I'm not the most handsome guy around, but is it really that bad? You take one look at me and ask to die?"

She didn't react. Not a twitch.

Just kept watching him, those hollow eyes tracking his movements as he removed the hook on the second ankle.

The chain made a soft click as it came loose. Blood—thin and slow—leaked from the wound.

He moved on to her wrist. Then the other. The runes along the chain pulsed faintly with each release, but Aaryan didn't notice. He was focused on the girl—on getting her free before she collapsed entirely.

She hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just watched him, hollow-eyed and silent. That same blank, motionless gaze, fixed on the boy who was removing the very chains that had pierced her flesh fifty years ago. The same hooks that had drunk every drop of hope she ever had.

One by one, they fell.

Finally, the last one slid free.

A fresh stream of blood leaked from all five wounds. Thin. Watery. Barely red.

Aaryan caught her as she slumped forward, more bones than flesh. She weighed almost nothing in his arms. A scarecrow wrapped in rags and pain.

He held her gently, scanning the cave walls. Cracks, old tunnels, anything. Some kind of exit. Anything but the way he came.

"Alright," he whispered, adjusting her so her head didn't droop, "you've been stuck here for half a century, and the second you get out, you collapse into the arms of a total stranger. Don't worry, I'll try not to take it personally."

Still no reaction.

He gave a faint chuckle. "You know, usually when I save someone, I at least get a thank-you or a slap. You're making me feel underappreciated here."

He glanced toward the only gate. The chains might've been removed, but the real trap was still closing in.

"You don't happen to have a teleportation talisman, do you?" he muttered. "No? Of course not. Worth a shot."

Still no reply.

Just her hollow stare.

Aaryan sighed. "Alright then. Let's get out of this damn place before your ex-landlords catch us red-handed."

He adjusted her weight against him and cast a quick glance around the chamber, eyes darting from shadowed walls to the cracks above, searching for any way out.

But unknown to him, the alarms had been tripped long ago. And now, the hunters were already moving.

Aaryan's eyes kept scanning the chamber, searching for another exit. But the room was bare—just ancient stone walls, cold silence, and the still-burning lamps around the altar.

Then—

Footsteps.

Soft, deliberate… echoing.

His heart sank.

'They're coming.'

Without a word, Aaryan turned and bent down awkwardly, lifting the girl into his arms. Her body felt too light, almost unreal. Yet those half-open eyes made his skin crawl.

No cover. No shadows. Nothing.

The only structure in the room was the altar itself, and that was already too exposed. Gritting his teeth, Aaryan darted to the far end of the chamber—opposite the gate he'd entered from—and gently placed the girl down against the wall.

She didn't resist. Didn't even blink.

Sat with her back to the stone, she just stared at him.

Aaryan hesitated for half a breath, then turned to face the entrance again. His robes fluttered behind him as he positioned himself between her and the sound of danger growing louder.

And behind him, the girl… watched.

The blur of the world in her mind began to slow, then sharpen. Slowly, her scattered thoughts circled around the lone figure standing in front of her. That boy, spine straight, chin high, legs steady despite the weight of what approached. As if the entire world could collapse on him and he'd still be there, smirking at the rubble.

Something stirred in her—dull at first, then piercing. A single tear slipped from her eye and tracked down her cheek.

The stone doors slammed open.

A gust of unnatural wind swept through—thick with killing intent, like a blade brushing against skin.

Second Grand Elder.

Third Grand Elder.

Their robes whipped behind them as they stepped into the chamber, eyes sharp as blades. But their gazes immediately dropped to the altar.

Empty.

For a moment, their faces drained of colour.

The Third Elder whispered something under his breath—an oath, or a prayer. The Second's hands curled into fists. Shock flickered in their expressions, then something deeper: fear.

Then they saw him.

And her.

Relief hit them like a breath stolen too late. Their eyes widened. The girl was there and Aaryan stood before her like a bodyguard or a wall.

The Second Elder's jaw tightened. His brows lowered like stormclouds.

Aaryan tilted his head and gave a low whistle. "You know," he said, voice casual, "this game of tag's getting dull. Old age really is slowing you two down."

The Third Elder narrowed his eyes, but it was the Second who reacted.

The usually composed elder took a step forward, voice cracking like a whip: "I'll make your condition worse than Meera's, you insolent brat."

Aaryan's smirk didn't vanish. Instead, he glanced behind him at the girl. She was still—unnaturally still—but her tear-stained hadn't left him.

"So your name is Meera," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. He offered a quick, almost childlike grin. "Pretty name. Suits you."

Then he turned back to face the elders.

The grin sharpened—no longer playful. Cold. Final. A smile that cuts—because it knows what comes next.

The Second Grand Elder moved first.

His fingers flashed through the air, forming mudras too fast for most to follow. The temperature in the chamber spiked instantly. With a deafening roar, a massive fiery claw burst into existence, wreathed in crimson-gold flames, and lunged toward Aaryan like a beast unchained.

Aaryan stepped forward—not recklessly, not like last time. He moved with grim focus.

At the last possible moment, he met the claw with a punch, a surge of raw force behind his strike.

The impact cracked through the chamber like a thunderclap.

Aaryan's body was flung backward like a broken arrow, slamming into the stone wall with bone-rattling force. Dust exploded around him as he collapsed to the ground, unmoving for a breath.

Then two.

A wet cough broke the silence.

Blood splattered onto the ground—and this time, it wasn't for show.

Aaryan grimaced, pain flashing in his eyes as he slowly forced himself upright. His chest ached like it had been split open. The bones hadn't broken... but they were on the edge. Too close. Each breath felt like it scraped against fire.

And she saw it.

Still leaning against the wall where he'd left her, the girl—Meera—watched. A flicker of something old, something buried, stirred behind her gaze.

Not sorrow for herself.

But for him.

A pain she hadn't felt in decades curled behind her ribs.

The Second Elder narrowed his eyes. "Still standing?"

There was disbelief in his voice. That claw hadn't been weak. He hadn't held back much—not this time.

He had meant to cripple Aaryan in one blow. End the farce.

But Aaryan had survived. Again.

Suppressing his surprise, the elder exhaled slowly. "Still think we're playing the same game, boy?"

Aaryan didn't answer. He didn't even look up.

Instead, he stared at his right hand—the one that had struck the claw.

It was charred black. The skin blistered and cracked, smoke curling from the fingers like meat left too long on a flame. The pain wasn't just sharp—it was alive, gnawing at him with every heartbeat.

He might not last much longer at all.

And still… he didn't fall.

He didn't run.

But he did reach into his robe with his left hand, his fingers brushed the spatial ring, already reaching for the jade token Maya had given to him. His thumb hesitated on its surface.

Another attack was coming.

The elder raised his hand again. The air shuddered as another fiery claw, even larger than the last, tore into existence and hurtled toward Aaryan.

He readied himself to crush the token—

And then a shadow stepped in front of him.

A wave of silver light swept across the chamber. A half-moon blade, elegant and precise, sliced through the fiery claw mid-air.

Both forces collided—

And vanished.

The opposing Qis devoured one another, leaving only scorched air and silence in their wake.

A clear voice rang out—calm, cutting, and laced with quiet fury:

"So this is how low the sect has fallen? Attacking your own disciples like thugs. Anything left to say?"

The Second and Third Elders stiffened. Their eyes widened.

That voice.

That presence.

Shiela.

The Fourth Grand Elder.

They hadn't seen her since her outburst in the sect's council hall. She had vanished without a word.

And now here she was—between Aaryan and the claw that should've ended their task right here.

Before either of them could speak, Shiela turned toward Aaryan. Her expression softened as she opened her mouth to speak—

Then she saw the girl.

A few paces to his right. Slumped against the wall. Watching them.

And Shiela froze.

The breath left her lungs.

Her eyes widened—not in confusion, but something far rarer.

Something far more dangerous.

Recognition.

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