The world was nothing but water—cold, dark, and unforgiving. Aaryan’s body was battered, dragged beneath the violent current. His limbs were numb, his head a dull throb of pain, and his breath came in sporadic, ragged gasps. His eyes remained closed, too heavy to open, too tired to fight the overwhelming pull of unconsciousness.
He didn’t know how long he was submerged. Time had lost all meaning, stretched out into an endless blur of water and pain. Every now and then, the current would shift, and he’d feel himself slamming into rocks or being spun around, but it wasn’t enough to pull him back to full awareness. It was as if the river itself was trying to claim him, to drag him into the depths where he would never be seen again.
But something kept him afloat. It wasn’t hope. It wasn’t willpower. It was the sheer instinct of survival—the raw, animal need to live, to fight, to breathe. And so, despite everything, he kept drifting.
Until… a shift.
The current suddenly slowed, the wild churn of the water dimming, as if it had released its grip on him. The frantic tug of the water felt distant, like it was no longer trying to drag him under, but simply carrying him. His limbs were still numb, but the danger, the immediate threat of drowning, seemed to ease. His body floated, weightless, his chest rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths. The cold seeped into his bones, but it was different now—it wasn’t the suffocating grasp of drowning. It was just... cold. An aching numbness, but one he could survive.
Am I—alive?
His eyes flickered open, just a sliver at first. The world was a blur of blue and gray, and for a moment, he didn’t recognize anything. His mind was foggy, disoriented, the memories of the battle, the village, the fall into the water slipping through his fingers like sand.
The sound of rushing water still filled his ears, but it wasn’t as deafening as before. He was on a narrow bank, the river now flowing past him with a gentler pull. The realization hit him like a splash of cold water—he was still alive.
Aaryan’s breath hitched, his chest tight with the effort to stay conscious. His body screamed in protest, the cuts and bruises across his skin making every movement feel like agony. His limbs were weak, uncooperative. He could feel the blood from his wounds soaking into his clothes, the sticky weight of it clinging to him like a reminder of how close he had come to dying.
He tried to lift his head, but the world tilted dangerously, the ground beneath him swaying as if it were a ship tossed by waves. It was hard to tell where the ground ended, and the air began. The world spun around him. His vision darkened, and for a moment, the weight of exhaustion threatened to pull him under again.
Focus. Focus.
With a grunt of effort, Aaryan forced himself to sit up, his muscles trembling with the strain. His arms shook as he pushed himself into a crouch, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. He braced himself with one hand on the wet earth, fingers digging into the muddy ground. His breath came in uneven gasps, but he refused to stay down.
Each movement was an act of defiance against his own body, against the fatigue that clawed at him. He couldn’t stop now. Not when he was so close to freedom.
The riverbank was slippery, the rocks sharp and unforgiving beneath him, but Aaryan didn’t care. He forced his unsteady legs to move, one step, then another. Every inch felt like a battle, but he managed to pull himself closer to the edge of the water, away from the churning current. His bloodied sword hung loosely at his side, the weight of it a constant reminder of everything he had fought through to get this far.
Just a little more.
Finally, with a heaving breath, he managed to pull himself fully out of the water, collapsing onto the wet ground. His body shook uncontrollably, and his lungs burned as he gasped for air, but he was out. He had made it.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, trying to regain his breath. His chest rose and fell in shallow, frantic gasps, but the cold, biting air felt like a lifeline.
I’m alive.
Aaryan's mind drifted in and out of consciousness like the ebb and flow of the river he had barely escaped. His body felt foreign to him—heavy and broken, each breath a struggle. The world around him seemed to blur at the edges, the sounds muffled, like he was submerged beneath the surface once more. He could hear the distant rush of the river, the wind cutting through the air, but everything else was vague, uncertain.
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And then—footsteps. Soft, cautious, as well as the constant hubbub of chattering approaching from his left. Aaryan's eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t summon the strength to open them. He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled, too weak to support him. He felt himself sway, as if the world itself was trying to tip him over.
“Seems like there are others here.” His heart filled with vigilance.
The evening sun cast long shadows over the riverbank as a group of strangers stood gathered, their eyes fixed on the unconscious figure of Aaryan. He had been washed ashore like a broken doll, his clothes torn and bloodied from his ordeal, his body barely clinging to life. The group was silent, the only sounds the rush of the water and the quiet murmur of the wind through the trees.
“Is he… dead?” one of them asked, a man with a weathered face, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
Aaryan’s eyes flickered open, just enough to make out the form of a woman kneeling beside him.
The old woman’s face was a mask of sternness, her sharp, calculating eyes narrowing as she assessed the scene before her. Her lips were pressed into a thin, unwavering line, showing no trace of emotion, only determination. Her posture was rigid, her shoulders squared, exuding a quiet authority that demanded attention. Her silvery hair framed her face like a crown of wisdom and severity, and there was a weight to her gaze, as though she had seen much in her long years, none of it easily forgotten.
Aaryan wanted to speak, but no words came out from his sore throat. All he could do was smile, his very own smile, and then his vision darkened again as he finally got lost in the pain and exhaustion.
“Huh…” the old lady gasped, but soon the stern look manifested again, though there were traces of gentleness in the deep corners of her eyes.
The group exchanged uneasy glances. They had come to the riverbank to wash their clothes, and they had no business in helping a boy they didn’t know. But something about the scene before them—about Aaryan’s battered body and the way he had been pulled from the river’s grip—felt like a calling they couldn’t ignore.
“He was in the water… alone,” one of the men murmured, his voice filled with disbelief. “How did he survive?”
“What do we do with him?” asked someone else.
The old lady looked towards the group, her gaze stopping at a boy.
“Take him to my house,” she instructed, her tone brokering no dissent.
“Since when did this old coot become so kind?”
The young man hesitated but soon gave in under the stern eyes of the lady. He moved to Aaryan’s side, kneeling carefully to lift him. His hands were strong but gentle as he cradled the boy’s limp body, feeling the heat of fever rising from him. He struggled slightly under the weight, but his determination was evident.
With that, the group began to move, slowly but steadily. The young man carried Aaryan in his arms, the young woman walking behind him, keeping a watchful eye on the boy. The others followed at a distance, keeping watch over the riverbank, their faces still filled with confusion and worry.
----------------------------------------
When Aaryan awoke again, it was to the scent of herbs and the warmth of a fire. His body ached, but the pain felt distant, more like a shadow than a reality. He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was the old woman sitting beside him, her sharp eyes watching him with quiet patience.
“You’re awake,” a flicker of relief crossed her features.
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Three days.”
“So, it’s been at least three days since I escaped. I hope I’m far from them. I wouldn’t survive if they find me in this condition.” As the thought crossed his mind, he tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest, forcing him to lie back down. He groaned, his throat still sore.
“Easy now, just where do you think you’re going? Although your injuries aren’t as bad as they looked, you still need to rest well before you can leave.”
He glanced around, taking in the small, simple cabin. The walls were made of wood and stone, a warm fire crackling in the hearth. The room was dim, lit by the soft glow of a few candles.
“I—” he started, but his voice failed him again. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Where… am I?”
“You’re in my home,” she said. “I found you on the banks. You looked half-dead, I’ll be honest, but I’ve patched you up as best I can.”
“You pulled me out of the water,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
“I did,” she confirmed. “And you owe me a debt now, whether you like it or not.” Her voice was teasing, but there was no malice in it. “But we’ll worry about that later.”
Aaryan tried to sit up again, this time managing to prop himself up with his elbows. The world was still a little dizzy, but clearer now. “I—thank you,” he managed, the words feeling foreign, like something he hadn’t said in a long time.
“No need for that. Kind words wouldn’t pay for all the herbs I’ve used up. You can work for me to pay the debt,” she said, her voice still teasing, but without malice. “But we’ll worry about that later.”
Aaryan didn’t argue. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had eaten or slept properly, but he knew one thing: he would never forget the kindness of this stranger. The world outside was a dangerous place, but in this moment, he felt as though he was in the hands of someone who cared.
For the first time in his life, Aaryan allowed himself to close his eyes, without any worry for the future, as the warmth of the fire and the safety of the woman’s presence lulled him into sleep.
Unbeknownst to him, far away from where he was, the search for him had been called off as the villagers rushed back to Kamplapuri. Something had occurred, to which he had nothing to do with, but yet was connected to him—consequences of which he would have to face in the near future.