The first few days after Aaryan woke up were a blur. Each time he stirred, the world around him seemed clearer. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting soft flickers of light on the stone walls. He was no longer in the cold grip of the river’s pull, and for the first time in what felt like ages, his body was at rest, though not entirely healed.

The old woman who had found him on the riverbank tended to his wounds with quiet efficiency. She fed him soup made from herbs and meat, forced him to drink bitter teas that burned his throat but eased the fever. Her care was practical, no-nonsense, and devoid of the warmth he had expected from someone who had saved his life.

Aaryan had tried to leave on the third day, his body too stiff to move with any real strength, but the old woman’s steely gaze stopped him.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” she said, her tone as firm as a boulder. “Sit down and eat. You won’t get far in your condition, not unless you want to end up back in that river.”

“But I—” Aaryan had begun, but the sharpness in her eyes silenced him.

“No arguments. The more you fight me, the longer you’ll stay here. Trust me, you won’t like it.”

As the days wore on, he began to notice things—the small details of the old woman’s home, the way she moved with quiet efficiency, and how her eyes, though often cold, softened for just a moment when she thought no one was looking. She had a certain strength about her, an air of someone who had lived through hardships, made her own decisions, and lived with their consequences.

On the sixth day, when Aaryan could finally sit up without his chest burning in protest, the old woman entered the room with a pot of hot tea in hand. She placed it down beside him and looked at him with a sharp, appraising gaze.

“You look better,” she said, her voice gruff but not unkind. “Still weak, but better.”

Aaryan nodded, careful not to overexert himself. “Thank you… for everything.”

She grunted in response, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude. “Don’t thank me yet. Your injuries haven’t healed completely. And I don’t need your thanks. You think I just saved you for the good of my heart? I’ve been around long enough to know that it’s better to have someone in debt to you than to leave them to die. Who knows, maybe I’ll need you for something later. You’ll be useful, even if it’s only to haul some firewood or carry a heavy sack of grain.”

Aaryan’s face twitched, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“I—thank you, really,” he said again, his voice stronger now. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

The old woman waved her hand dismissively, but her lips twitched ever so slightly, as if she were holding back a smile. Then she turned away and busied herself with some task in the corner.

“You can stay as long as you need,” she said over her shoulder, her voice still firm, but there was a subtle shift in her tone—a softer edge that Aaryan couldn’t quite place. “But don’t think for a second that you’ll be some charity case. I’ve got enough to do without babysitting someone who can’t take care of themselves.”

Aaryan’s chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from the pain of his wounds. It was the recognition that, despite her gruff exterior, the old woman had seen his struggle and hadn’t turned him away.

He stared at her for a moment, his voice still hoarse from his near-drowning, as he muttered, "You know, you don’t have to pretend like that…" His tone was teasing, just a little, but with an edge of honesty he couldn’t quite suppress, accompanied by that silly smile of his.

Her eyes hardened slightly, a quick flicker of irritation flashing across her face, but he could see the hint of something else—something softer, maybe just a crack in the mask she'd been wearing for too long.

“Don’t get smart with me, boy,” she snapped, though the edge in her voice was slightly less sharp than before. “Just focus on getting better. I didn’t do this for you to turn into some ungrateful pup, so don’t go thinking you owe me any sort of gratitude.”

Aaryan wanted to laugh, but he stifled it, not wanting to provoke her more. Instead, he simply nodded, still half-smiling to himself. He was beginning to realize that the old woman’s care was as much a part of who she was as her stubbornness. She was offering him shelter, food, and care, but her words didn’t match the kindness in her actions.

Maybe it wasn’t about words. Maybe she just didn’t know how to say it.

“I can help,” Aaryan said slowly, testing her reaction. “I am used to working for my own food.”

The old woman froze for a moment, her back still turned, but Aaryan caught the faintest flicker of something in her posture—something like hesitation. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, and she turned back to face him with a scowl.

She watched Aaryan as he lay propped up against the wall of the small cabin, her gaze sharp and calculating, as always. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the dim light flickering across her face, but there was no warmth in her expression.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows around the small cabin, and for a moment, Aaryan almost thought she might ask him to do some impossible task—like climbing a mountain with a sprained ankle or fetching water from the well while blindfolded.

But no, she just handed him a crumpled list of supplies. “Take this to the market,” she said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “And don’t come back without everything. If you do, I’ll be forced to assume you’ve learned nothing and are completely ungrateful. Don’t make me regret helping you.”

Aaryan glanced at the list. It was the kind of list that would make a grown man cry—groceries, herbs, dried meats, a few trinkets. If there was a way to make shopping sound like a life-or-death mission, the old woman had mastered it. He looked back at her, his face blank.

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“Thanks for the warm welcome,” he muttered to himself, but she either didn’t hear or didn’t care. She was already rummaging through the cabinet, completely unfazed by the fact that he had been lying half-dead a few days ago and was still trying to figure out how to keep his limbs from falling off.

“You’ve got two legs. Use them.” She tossed a small coin pouch at him, which he caught clumsily, nearly dropping it in the process. “Don’t spend it all on sweets or frivolous things. I need those herbs, not your poor taste in snacks.”

Aaryan blinked. “Right, no sweets. Got it.”

As he started to leave, she shot him one more look. “And don't try to slack off. I’ll be watching you. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

He nodded obediently. “Sure, sure. I’ll get everything.”

He walked out of the cabin, and the brisk air hit him like a slap to the face. “What is it with these people? Harsh as a stone, but somewhere beneath it, there’s... kindness? Maybe? No, she’s probably just practicing some ancient form of torture.”

As he made his way toward the market, he tried to ignore the constant complaints his body made at every step. “Oh, my legs feel like they’ve been replaced with tree stumps. This is a person’s reward for nearly drowning, just some list of annoying chores. Well, fine, no one ever said heroes get pampered. Maybe I’ll start a new career as a professional shopper.”

The market was some distance from the cabin, as it was on the outer edge of the city. It was bustling with people shouting prices, children running around, and the smell of bread and roasted meat wafting through the air. It wasn’t so different from the villages he’d been to before, but something about it felt... off. Maybe it was the unusual number of heavily armoured men lurking in the shadows, or the nervous glances exchanged between some of the merchants. “Not sure if this is a market or an impromptu meeting of the ‘Why I Love Chaos’ club,” he thought, but he wasn’t about to stop for a sociological analysis.

He scanned the list again, mentally counting the number of things on it he had no idea how to buy. Herbs? He could manage. Dried meats? That was a safe bet. But there were a few other things—things that looked suspiciously like they could involve haggling, which Aaryan had never been great at. “Ah, yes. Perfect. One of these days, I’ll learn how to negotiate. Probably when I'm an old man with a beard that reaches my ankles.”

He made his way from stall to stall, trying to look like he knew what he was doing while internally panicking over the list. But even in the chaos of the market, something kept gnawing at him: Grandma Kalyani.

That was the old woman’s name.

Despite her rough words, despite her constant reminders that he wasn’t here for her charity, there was something in her actions that spoke volumes. She didn’t have to save him, didn’t have to offer him shelter, or even feed him. She could’ve just left him to die in the river and gone on with her life. But she hadn’t.

Aaryan’s lips twitched slightly as he grabbed a bundle of herbs from one stall. “She’s annoying, no doubt about that. But I guess... she’s been kinder than most people. Tough love, or just plain love? Guess I’ll never know with her. If I ask, she’ll probably hit me with a broom or something.”

He moved to another stall, where a young woman with a kind smile handed him some dried meat. "You seem new here," she said, her voice soft.

Aaryan forced a smile. "Just visiting," he said, though it felt like a lie. He wasn’t sure if he was visiting at all. "At least she won’t make me feel like I’m failing life for five seconds,” he thought, but then quickly reminded himself that he had to finish his errand. "Focus. Get back to that list. There’s no escape.”

The air was thick with chatter and the sounds of vendors shouting their wares, the clink of metal, and the scent of spices and fresh produce filling his senses. But amidst all the noise, something caught his attention—an unusual gathering around a wooden post in the center of the square. People were clustered in tight circles, whispering to each other, their eyes fixed on a large scroll pinned to the post.

Curiosity piqued, Aaryan made his way closer, his feet dragging a little from his lingering exhaustion. As he got closer, the hushed murmurings grew louder, and he could catch fragments of conversation.

"Did you hear? The Evernight Pavilion is choosing new disciples, right here in our Green Veil City."

"Fifteen days! The selection trials are soon. Do you think we have a chance?"

“Who knows? I heard they will choose only one or two disciples per city.”

As he pushed his way through the crowd to get a better look at the notice, his hand subconsciously went to the hilt of his sword, a habit born from the dangers he had faced in the past few days. His fingers brushed over the bloodstains still faintly visible on his clothes, and he sighed, feeling his weariness settle deeper into his bones.

The notice was written in elegant, flowing script. It was a call to those with potential—an opportunity to be tested, judged, and chosen for The Evernight Pavilion’s next group of disciples.

The words seemed to dance before his eyes as he read them again. It was like a door opening in front of him—a door to something beyond his wildest dreams. But he quickly shook his head. He had no formal training, no mentor, no real understanding of what the trials would involve. How could he—someone who had barely scraped by in life—ever hope to qualify for something like this?

The crowd around him was growing thicker now, with more and more people stopping to read the notice, their voices rising in excitement.

"Think I have a shot?" one man muttered to his companion; his voice filled with doubt.

"Why not? We’ve all got a chance. They choose based on potential, not what we’ve already mastered," the other responded.

Aaryan felt a sudden pang of insecurity. How could they be so confident? What if they were right? What if, deep down, he had what it took?

But just as quickly, doubt settled in again. He had nothing. No training. No cultivation techniques. Just a bloodied sword and a past full of mistakes. His only experience was fighting to survive, and even then, he’d barely made it out alive. Could a person like him really stand a chance against others who had been training their whole lives for opportunities like this?

"Fifteen days..."

"Can I even make it? What do they want from a disciple, anyway? Am I even ready? I can barely get through a full day without wanting to collapse."

A sigh escaped his lips as he turned away from the crowd, his heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty. The idea of becoming a disciple of The Evernight Pavilion seemed so far out of his reach, but the thought of the possibilities—of training, of becoming something greater—lingered in the back of his mind.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a way for him to get there. Maybe if he could just hold on a little longer, things would change.

But for now, he turned his back on the notice, his mind full of swirling thoughts. It was not a time to make hasty decisions.

As he made his way back to the cabin, he pushed the worries about the selection to the back of his mind, the weight of the bags in his arms suddenly feeling much heavier. It was almost like the old woman had planned for him to struggle a little with this. Like she knew he’d be just fine once he got out there. But of course, she’d never admit that.

When he stepped through the door of the cabin, she glanced at him with a raised brow. “You got everything?”

Aaryan looked down at the pile of items in his arms. “Yep. Got your herbs, your meats, and your random bits and bobs.”

She didn’t smile, but her eyes softened for just a moment. “Good. Now, get yourself cleaned up. I’m not running a charity here.”

“There it is,” Aaryan thought, rolling his eyes. “She’s probably melting inside, but you’d never see it. Still, I guess... maybe I can stick around here a little longer.”

“Thanks, old lady,” he muttered, though he didn’t know if she could hear the faint gratitude in his voice.

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, though her tone was softer than usual.

“My bad, Grandma…” Aaryan chuckled as he set the items down. He couldn’t help it.

“Maybe she does care, after all.”