The wind stilled.

Aaryan felt it before it began—the tremble, the hum, the silence that wasn't silence. Time itself seemed to hesitate.

And then the cave shimmered.

Not to the others. To them, it remained a cracked stone maw on a lonely cliff, untouched and mundane.

But to Aaryan—

The world broke open.

Colour erupted from within the cave, not in beams or blinding flares, but in threads—fine, spectral lines of rainbow light that danced like spider silk in moonlight. They curved through the air with a grace too precise for nature. Each strand glowed with a hue that didn't have a name—violet tinged with memory, crimson laced with sound, gold woven with sorrow.

A song without voice stirred in his chest.

No one else saw it. They couldn't. Something ancient and selective cloaked the moment in secrecy—a spiritual veil layered deep in the soul. Whatever had awakened... had chosen its witness.

And that witness was Aaryan.

Then came the roar.

It cleaved the sky—not beastly, not thunderous, but something between a hymn and a scream. It bypassed the ears and clawed straight at the spirit. The bounty hunters recoiled. Some stiffened. Even the elders subtly narrowed their eyes. They heard something… but none of them could name it.

Aaryan staggered one step back, eyes wide.

From the heart of the rainbow-lit cave, something stirred. A shadow first, then form—hovering like a forgotten truth.

It emerged slowly, reverently.

A creature, no larger than a large hound, glided out on unfurled wings of living aurora. Its serpentine body shimmered with silver scales, each etched in faint glyphs that pulsed with a rhythm too old for time. From its back flowed wings of translucent fire—twilight incarnate, streaked in violet, sapphire, amber, and gold. They breathed with soft flickers, like the heavens themselves exhaled with every beat.

Its eyes held galaxies.

Twin vortexes of starlight and silence, of truths too vast to bear.

Aaryan's mouth dried. His chest rose and fell once—twice—then stilled.

The dragonling's head tilted, scanning the field below. Dozens of cultivators stood scattered across the rocks, some bruised, some tense. Bounty hunters gripped their weapons. Elders stood rigid, their gazes sharp.

But the creature saw none of them.

Its gaze moved as if guided by fate.

And stopped—on Aaryan.

Straight and certain.

The baby dragon glided toward him. Not fast. Not aggressive. Almost curious. It hovered inches from his face, eyes gleaming.

The silver in its gaze sparkled with an iridescent glow, soft and molten, with hidden flecks of violet, blue, and emerald dancing just beneath the surface. The colours shifted gently, like magic dreaming itself awake.

Aaryan could only stare.

If he'd been a girl, he might've already squealed and clung to it. Fortunately, he wasn't. Unfortunately, the awe still stunned him into silence.

The dragon studied him closely—then huffed. Somehow, its expression softened. A flicker of amusement curled the corner of its mouth. Then came something unexpected:

Pride.

A grin—small, smug, satisfied.

It turned away from him and glanced toward the five elders in the distance, who stood unmoving. The rest of the cultivators stirred restlessly, feeling unease for reasons they couldn't name.

Aaryan blinked and snapped out of it. "Hey… hold on," he whispered, unsure if it would even understand him. "Don't be reckless. There are five of them. I don't even know their cultivation stage. Maybe… fifth? Sixth Qi Condensation?"

The dragon didn't respond.

Its gaze darkened.

The playfulness in its silver eyes faded, replaced by something colder—instinctive and protective. It wasn't mindless, wasn't angry. It understood. And it had already chosen its side.

The air shifted again.

Aaryan suddenly felt weightless, as though some unseen veil had wrapped around him. His skin tingled. Everything muted—colours dulled, sounds turned hollow. As if he stood outside of time, watching through glass.

The dragon twisted mid-air. Its body folded inward—light condensed, flickering with glyphs that pulsed faster.

Then it flared.

A single burst of silver flame. No heat. Just pure, cleansing light.

And where the creature had been… stood Aaryan.

An exact replica.

Same face. Same clothes. Same defiant posture. But the eyes were wrong. They shimmered faintly with silver—and held no human warmth. No breath. No soul.

Just stillness.

The copy faced toward the elders, shoulders rolling back in eerie silence.

Aaryan stood frozen, still the only one who could truly see what was happening.

Behind him, the others only felt the disturbance—an odd wind, a shift in pressure, a subtle dissonance in the air. They had no idea the creature had come. No idea it now walked among them in his skin.

The five elders narrowed their eyes. Aaryan hadn't moved since for some time now. He stood there, muttering.

Elder Jitu scoffed, his voice loud and derisive. "Hah! Look at him. The brat's scared stiff. All that bravado and now he won't even twitch."

A few of the surrounding cultivators chuckled. But the laughter died a half-breath later.

Because Aaryan moved.

Except—he didn't move. He was standing one moment, and then, just... farther forward. As if space had skipped a frame. As if the world blinked and misplaced him.

"What—" Elder Komal muttered, frowning.

The eyes of the five elders snapped into focus. Aaryan—or what looked like Aaryan—stood a few paces ahead now, shoulders relaxed, expression calm.

But something was wrong.

Very wrong.

A shimmer flickered behind him—and then it appeared.

A tail.

Not of cloth or illusion. A silver tail, long and fluid, swayed gently behind him, gleaming with the same light that had wrapped the dragon.

Hidden under a clever weave of illusion, the real Aaryan facepalmed.

'Seriously? Of all the things to forget—a tail?'

So much for being smug and mysterious.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The impostor—Aaryan Two—paused. His expression twitched. Even he had just noticed the tail. For a moment, his silver-flecked eyes blinked in sheepish recognition, a small, awkward smile flickering onto his face.

Then, just as quickly, he dropped it for a more familiar grin—tilted, cocky, like he'd meant to do it all along.

He cracked his neck, snapped his tail once like a whip, and began walking forward.

Toward the five elders.

"This must be some kind of body transformation technique," the Second Grand Elder muttered, eyes narrowing with suspicion—and something else. Greed.

The others felt it too. That unmistakable hunger cultivators could never hide when faced with a mysterious power.

If we can get this technique…

They moved.

Elder Jitu and Elder Komal rushed forward with coordinated strikes, one igniting a flaming fist, the other condensing a sharp blue spear from watery qi. Simultaneously, the Second and Third Grand Elders flanked from behind, ready to end the boy with a pincer assault.

But Aaryan Two was faster.

Too fast.

A blur, a ripple of silver light, and he appeared next to Elder Vani before anyone could blink.

Her eyes widened.

He punched.

Desperate, she summoned her green qi, forming a thorn-covered shield—layers of defensive wood and spiritual vines.

It didn't matter.

The punch shattered it like dried leaves. Her body crumpled as she flew back, blood erupting from her mouth, crashing into a rock with a sickening crunch.

A gasp rippled across the battlefield.

"Wasn't he supposed to be exhausted?" someone whispered. "Did he… take a forbidden pill?"

The others didn't wait to speculate.

Elder Jitu and Elder Komal lunged in, the air bursting with fire and water essence. From behind, the two Grand Elders surged in.

But Aaryan Two's tail moved first.

With a flick—whip-crack!—it lashed backward.

The Grand Elders were flung aside mid-air, crashing into the stone wall like sacks of rice.

Aaryan Two turned to meet Jitu's flaming punch and Komal's blue spear. Silver energy burst from his fists—BOOM!

Rings of argent light exploded across the elders' bodies. Their faces twisted, knees buckling. The sensation—like their meridians were rattling apart—drew dry heaves and panic.

The tail struck again.

Snap! It coiled around Jitu's throat—another snap!—then Komal's.

Aaryan Two pulled.

Crack. Crack.

Two bodies dropped, limp, necks bent at unnatural angles. Jitu's eyes were wide in disbelief, Komal's mouth hung open, as if mid-curse.

He vanished.

Reappeared beside Elder Vani, who hadn't yet risen. Her lips were still painted red with blood, trembling. Her eyes locked on his—wild, pleading.

She didn't even get to scream.

One punch.

Her chest caved in like clay under a hammer.

She died before her body hit the stone.

In less than a dozen heartbeats, three elders had fallen.

From his hiding spot, Aaryan winced.

He hadn't expected it to hit that hard.

Panic erupted.

The remaining rogue cultivators turned to flee, scrambling like ants from fire.

Some screamed. Others dropped their weapons. A few tried to vanish using low-grade movement techniques. It didn't matter. They weren't targets anymore.

Only two remained.

The Second and Third Grand Elders stood paralyzed.

They had underestimated him. Mocked him. Now, they were prey.

"This isn't right," the Third Grand Elder whispered, taking a shaky step back. "This isn't… possible."

But Aaryan Two gave no time to think.

He struck again.

A flash of silver light—another blink—and he was behind the Third Grand Elder. A hand through the spine. A fist through the chest.

Dead.

Just like that.

The Second Grand Elder tried to run. Truly run.

But the silver tail caught his ankle and dragged him back through the dust.

He was hoisted into the air, hanging like meat from a hook.

Face pale, he struggled, coughing blood. "H-How? You're using qi techniques. You broke through… you…"

His voice trembled. "Did you already reach Qi Condensation? That's… that's not possible!"

The silver-eyed doppelganger said nothing.

He raised a fist.

"Wait—"

The punch tore through his abdomen, a hole the size of a bowl appearing in his gut.

Blood streamed. Breath weakened.

The Second Grand Elder's body sagged, his eyes dulling.

But then, he grinned.

A dying, spiteful grin.

"You won't… escape. You hear me?" he rasped. "We already found him. Dharun. He's being hunted now… won't be long before he joins me."

His head lolled.

And the last breath left his lungs.

Hearing this, Aaryan Two didn't flinch.

But the real Aaryan clenched his fist.

The once-crowded jungle had fallen into eerie silence.

Where moments ago, chaos and killing reigned, now only the rustling wind stirred the blood-stained leaves. Amidst the twisted bodies and shattered earth, just three figures remained breathing.

Aaryan Two—the beast that had ravaged the elders —stood over the crumpled corpse of the Second Grand Elder. With a flick of its tail, it flung the limp body aside like it weighed nothing.

And then… the air shimmered.

The real Aaryan now stood at the centre of the ruined clearing, right where the beast had been moments ago. His posture relaxed, one hand loosely at his side. Perched on his right shoulder, the baby dragon gave a tired huff, eyes half-lidded. Its tail lazily coiled around Aaryan's forearm like a sentient sash.

Of course, to anyone else, Aaryan looked like he was just standing alone—patting his own shoulder.

"You did good," Aaryan murmured, voice low.

The dragonling smirked, eyes glinting with smug satisfaction before it finally closed them and tucked itself into his neck like a lazy cat.

Footsteps crunched nearby.

Rudra approached first, half-supporting Vayu, whose robe was torn at the sleeve and stained with blood. Both stared at Aaryan as if he had grown a second head. Or perhaps... lost one.

Their expressions were hard to read—somewhere between awe and wariness.

Aaryan glanced at them but didn't speak. His gaze had already turned north, toward the hills. Toward Dharun.

"He's alive," Vayu said quietly. "That Grand Elder… he mentioned it."

Aaryan didn't respond.

Vayu took a breath, voice firmer now. "Aaryan. Come to my clan. My grandfather—he said we'd help you."

Aaryan turned slowly, brows raised. "...Should I know about this?"

Vayu didn't hesitate. He told him about the meeting between his grandfather and the sect leader.

A flicker passed through Aaryan's eyes. A pause, and then a bitter laugh.

"If I go," he said, "they'll simply hand me over in exchange for Elder Shiela. That's the deal, isn't it?"

Vayu flinched. "No. That's not what he meant."

"But it's what they'll do." Aaryan's tone was quiet, but absolute. "They didn't fight for their own blood. Will they risk a war for a stranger?"

Vayu opened his mouth, but no words came.

Aaryan didn't wait. He beckoned instead, walking briskly to the spot where he had left her. Vayu and Rudra followed, confused—until they saw the figure hiding within.

Meera.

Still curled in a nest of leaves and branches, arms drawn around her knees, she looked up warily as strangers approached. Her eyes, however, found Aaryan first—and they softened. He gave a nod of reassurance, kneeling beside her.

"It's alright," he said gently. "He's... your brother."

Meera blinked. Then slowly, her gaze turned to Vayu.

He froze.

She didn't look like the paintings. Her face was thinner, her eyes tired. There was no aura of elegance, no flawless smile. But Vayu knew.

He had seen that nose in the portraits. That stubborn chin. The silence.

He swallowed hard, stepping forward, unsure of whether to reach for her or fall to his knees.

Aaryan stood up, brushing the dust from his sleeves.

"I have to go."

Meera's hand shot out, grasping his wrist weakly. "No…"

He crouched again, cupping her hand in both of his. "I'll come back. I promise."

She didn't reply, but her lips trembled.

As Aaryan pulled away, her grip lingered for a second longer—then let go.

Rudra looked away, as if sensing this was not his moment to speak. Vayu knelt beside his sister. Meera leaned toward him hesitantly, still watching Aaryan as he turned and broke into a sprint, vanishing between the trees.

She blinked rapidly.

And only when he was out of sight did the tears begin to fall.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The sun hung low behind drifting clouds, casting long shadows across the fields outside a remote village nearly a hundred kilometres from Green Veil City. Aaryan stood at the edge of the overgrown path, his cloak torn, his breath uneven. The baby dragon lay hidden beneath the folds of his collar, sleeping off its exertion. Aaryan's eyes were fixed on the collection of huts and smoke trails ahead, his heart pounding—not from exhaustion, but dread.

This was the place.

The fallback point Dharun had whispered to him long ago.

A place so nondescript, so forgettable, that it should've stayed hidden for years.

And yet… they'd found it.

He clenched his fists.

Used as bait. Just like he'd feared.

Without hesitation, Aaryan began to move. His steps quickened into a jog, then a full sprint, the wind tearing at his robes as he passed cracked fences and abandoned homes. His body was worn thin from three days of nonstop travel—no rest, no sleep, not even a full meal—but there was no time for that now.

He just hoped they were still alive.

As he reached the village centre, his pace slowed. There, under the withered remains of an old temple arch, stood a crude cage of ironwood stakes and spirit-forged locks. Inside it, slumped against one corner, was Dharun.

Even in such a state, his presence was unmistakable. But the sight of him stopped Aaryan cold.

Dharun's robes were shredded. Dried blood caked his beard, one eye swollen shut. His left arm hung limp at a sickening angle. But he was breathing. His body, though battered, hadn't given up.

He fought.

He fought hard.

Even now, the broken remnants of attackers littered the ground—some buried, some burned, all lifeless.

But what had overwhelmed even him…?

The answer sat waiting—calmly, silently—on a broken stone slab near the cage.

A man draped in black robes, hood low over his eyes, head bowed as if asleep. Yet there was a stillness around him that didn't feel natural—like the calm of a vulture just before it tore flesh.

A breeze passed.

The figure's head snapped up. Slowly, deliberately. His eyes opened—two cold slits of pale grey.

Then he grinned. A crooked, joyless thing.

"Incoming," he rasped, voice low and gravelly. "Looks like the prey is here."

From behind the rubble, footsteps echoed.

Aaryan entered the clearing, escorted by nearly a dozen masked warriors. They surrounded him loosely, their weapons lowered but their tension high, as if unsure whether to guard him or flee from him. Some bore wounds—burns, slashes, scorched armour. Signs of a skirmish he had already survived.

Aaryan barely noticed them.

His gaze locked immediately on the cage.

"Dharun," he breathed, but there was no sign of Kalyani. His eyes swept the clearing again. Still no sign of her. His stomach twisted, dread turning sharp and cold. Had she…? No. Not now.

The old man raised his head with effort. One eye blinked open fully now. When he saw Aaryan, something broke in his expression—a flicker of guilt, of gratitude, and something else. Something older. Warmer.

Family.

But before a word could pass between them, the figure in black finally stirred. He stood slowly, unhurriedly, like a man rising from a pleasant nap. He turned, the cloak parting to reveal a lean face marked by faded scars and a thin-lipped sneer.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed.

There was something familiar in that face.

Something from a darker corner of memory.

The man chuckled, the sound hollow and wrong.

"Remember me?" he said.

And then he smiled.

Too wide. Too cold.

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