Aaryan’s consciousness drifted at the edges of wakefulness, caught between the fading grip of the dream and the cold reality pressing in around him. His breath came slow and shallow, each inhale tinged with something heavy—something missing.
He could still feel it.
The storm. The weight of unseen hands. The echo of a voice, hoarse and final.
But the more he reached for the details, the more they slipped away, dissolving like mist in the morning light.
His chest tightened.
What was it?
The thought clawed at him, desperate and relentless, but no answer came. Only the lingering sense of loss, of something just out of reach. Something that should have mattered.
Aaryan exhaled sharply, willing himself to push past it. He flexed his fingers against the cold stone beneath him, seeking an anchor to the present. But as he did, a strange unease crept up his spine. His skin prickled, as though something had just left him—some warmth that had no right to be there in the first place.
He swallowed, staring blankly at the cave’s ceiling. The dream still clung to him like a second skin, refusing to fade completely. A flickering sensation ghosted over his forehead—so faint, so brief, he almost believed he imagined it.
Had it really been just a dream? The storm, the voice, the weight of unseen hands—it had felt real. Too real. As if some part of him had lived it, not just seen it.
His fingers twitched against the stone. Would anything be different if he looked around?
The thought unsettled him more than it should have. He clenched his jaw.
No. It was just a dream. Nothing more.
But was it? He had woken from dreams before—this felt different. More like a memory than a dream, a truth buried beneath layers of fog. He exhaled sharply. No. He couldn’t let himself think like that.
The sharp ache in his ribs flared as he shifted, pain lancing through his body. Every muscle screamed in protest, stiff and battered from the battle. The effort of sitting up made his breath come in short, controlled inhales. The wounds on his arm burned, his shoulder throbbed, and the bruises across his torso pulsed with dull agony.
Reality had returned in full force.
The cave was silent, save for the faint sound of his own breathing. The usual damp chill clung to the air, but tonight, it felt different. Stifling. Heavy.
It wasn’t just the quiet—it was the way the air sat too still, as if something unseen lingered just beyond his senses. The walls felt closer than before, the darkness pressing in, thick and unmoving.
Aaryan exhaled slowly, his breath barely disturbing the space around him. The weight of the silence coiled around his chest, taut and expectant.
He wasn’t in danger. Not yet.
But something was wrong. The air was too still, as if expecting something.
Aaryan’s gaze swept the dim interior, his instincts prickling.
His body told him he was alone.
And yet, some part of him—some quiet, lingering instinct—whispered that he wasn’t.
A faint sound.
Soft. Barely there. Like the quiet drag of fabric against stone.
Aaryan’s breathing slowed.
Then—a shift. A shadow flickered near the entrance, just enough to be noticed. Not the wind. Not his imagination.
A soft exhale. Not his own.
His fingers twitched. The exhaustion in his body screamed at him to ignore it, but his mind had already sharpened.
Aaryan stayed completely still, listening. The sound had stopped—but the air remained thick with presence. Then, the faintest flicker at the entrance—a shadow shifting, breaking the stillness. Not the wind. Not his imagination. His fingers curled slightly. Someone was there.
The instinct to move—to act—flared in him, but he crushed it. He was in no condition for another fight. Instead, he straightened, forcing his posture into something composed, impassive. His expression smoothed over, unreadable.
If they expected to find him vulnerable, they would be disappointed.
The steps slowed near the entrance. A shadow flickered against the cave wall, elongated by the dim moonlight.
A moment later, a silhouette stepped inside, movements unhurried, deliberate. Unbothered. Familiar. It was only when the figure shifted closer, moonlight catching on his robes, that Aaryan recognized him.
Ravi.
Aaryan’s fingers twitched before he forced them still.
Ravi’s gaze swept the cave—just once, quick, assessing—but he wore his usual easy expression, unreadable in its own way. His hands were empty, posture relaxed, but Aaryan knew better than to take that at face value.
A quiet moment stretched between them before Ravi broke it.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused. “I know you’re injured.”
Aaryan didn’t react.
He simply met Ravi’s gaze, cold and unyielding.
Ravi sighed, stepping further inside. “No need to look at me like that. I’m not here to start trouble.” He pulled something from the folds of his robe—a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “Actually, I brought you something.”
Aaryan’s eyes flicked to the bundle. He didn’t recognize it immediately, but the faint, earthy scent that drifted from it told him enough. Herbs.
The faint, earthy scent drifted toward him. His gaze sharpened. He didn’t recognize them immediately, but something about them felt… off. Too valuable for someone like Ravi to give away so casually.
His gaze snapped back to Ravi, sharper now.
Ravi must have noticed the hesitation because he let out a light chuckle. “You don’t trust gifts, do you?”
Aaryan’s voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but edged with steel. “I don’t trust anything freely given.”
Ravi tilted his head, as if considering the words. Then he took a step closer, crouching just enough to set the bundle on the ground between them.
“You fought hard today,” he said simply. “You’ll recover faster with these.”
There was no obvious threat in the words, no immediate angle, but Aaryan wasn’t naïve enough to take them at face value. His mind turned over the possibilities. Ravi wasn’t the type to waste effort. If he was helping, there was a reason.
And yet, ignoring the herbs would mean dragging out his recovery—maybe for weeks.
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.
Aaryan didn’t look away from him. He could hear the easy sincerity in Ravi’s tone—but that only made him more wary.
“You had no reason to bring this.”
Ravi sighed. “You always make things so complicated.” He stood up, dusting off his robes. “Take it or don’t. I’m just passing by.”
Aaryan glanced at the bundle again, his thoughts churning. The herbs were real. Useful.
And yet—
Nothing in this world came free.
He looked back at Ravi, who only smiled, as if amused by Aaryan’s caution.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.
Finally, Aaryan reached for the bundle. But he didn’t take his eyes off Ravi.
Aaryan’s fingers hovered over the bundle for a heartbeat longer than necessary. His instincts screamed at him—nothing in this world came without cost. But right now, his body had no room for pride.
Ravi’s smile didn’t falter, but something unreadable flickered beneath it
Aaryan’s gaze lingered on the bundle of herbs, his fingers unmoving. His mind churned, weighing the choice before him.
The scent of damp stone and faint traces of blood still clung to the air. His body ached with the aftermath of battle, each breath scraping against his ribs like a dull blade. His shoulder throbbed in protest, a relentless reminder of the blows he had taken. He had forced himself through worse, but forcing himself through this would cost him precious time—time he couldn’t afford to waste.
Without treatment, his injuries would fester. Recovery would take weeks. That was a luxury he didn’t have.
But accepting these herbs meant stepping into an unknown game—one where Ravi had already made the first move.
His jaw tightened.
Nothing came free. Aaryan knew this better than anyone. No matter how easily Ravi had handed the bundle over, no matter how casual his words had been, there was always an angle. A price yet to be named.
Still, he had no choice.
Exhaling slowly, he reached for the herbs. His fingers worked with practiced precision, unwrapping the bundle and sorting through the leaves. The sharp, earthy scent filled the air as he rubbed them between his fingers, feeling the fine powder break apart.
They were real. Good quality.
That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
But as he sifted through the bundle, his fingers brushed against something… off.
A different texture. A different scent.
His brows furrowed as he picked out a single, slender stalk wrapped in a separate fold of cloth. Unlike the rest, this wasn’t for healing.
This was for training.
His grip tightened slightly.
This wasn’t something the sect handed out every month—not even to outer disciples. Even inner disciples wouldn’t have easy access to a herb like this. It wasn’t the kind of resource one simply “found.”
Aaryan’s jaw clenched.
Was this a mistake? Had Ravi slipped it in without thinking? No, that wasn’t his style. Ravi was careful. Smooth. He didn’t do things without reason.
So why?
Aaryan turned the stalk between his fingers, rolling it absently. The faintest tinge of bitterness clung to his skin, but underneath it, something lingered—something raw. Not heat, not cold, but a weight. A presence. It settled deep into his fingertips, not fading as quickly as it should have.. If he used it, even a small amount would push his training forward.
His instincts screamed at him that this wasn’t normal. That it was too much. Too convenient.
But he was already at his limit.
If he refused to use it out of sheer suspicion, he’d only be harming himself.
Exhaling slowly, he ground the leaves into a coarse paste, pressing it against his wounds. The moment the paste touched his skin, a cooling numbness spread through his flesh, dulling the fire of torn muscle and battered ribs. The ache deep in his bones lightened, tension unwinding from his muscles.
Aaryan exhaled slowly, relief settling over him like a tide pulling back from shore.
Then—
His stomach twisted, the sensation too sudden, too unnatural. For a fleeting second, his body felt weightless—not in a way that signaled rest, but in a way that mirrored the hollow absence from his dream. Like warmth leaving him. Like something being taken.
His fingers twitched against the stone. The weight of unseen hands. The hoarse echo of a voice.
He clenched his jaw, forcing his thoughts away. This was real. The pain, the medicine, the cave.
The dream—whatever it had been—didn’t belong here.
Even as his body welcomed the healing, his thoughts remained tangled.
Why?
His fingers brushed the rare herb again.
Why would Ravi give him something this valuable? Even if he had found it, he shouldn’t have handed it over so casually.
A mistake? No. Ravi didn’t do things without reason. But what reason?
Aaryan turned the stalk between his fingers, rolling it absently. The faint bitterness clung to his fingertips, a sign of its potency. The sect controlled herbs like these tightly.
For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind—had Ravi given this to him because he expected something in return?
Not a favor. Not a trade.
A test.
And that made it more dangerous than anything else.
Aaryan exhaled through his nose.
“If there’s a debt to be paid,” he murmured to himself, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll deal with it later.”
His mind didn’t rest, even as he leaned back against the cave wall, allowing the medicine to take effect.
Strength always came at a price.
If Ravi thought, he was buying something with this…
Then Aaryan would make sure the one paying wasn’t him.
Aaryan’s steps were slow, deliberate, his body still protesting each movement despite the medicine’s effects. The dull ache in his ribs remained, a constant reminder that while the herbs had helped, he wasn’t fully recovered. But right now, his injuries weren’t his concern.
He needed answers.
The Hall of Echoing Arts loomed ahead, its towering stone pillars etched with worn patterns, their grooves deepened by time and touch. The air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and ink, laced with the musty stillness of a place more often abandoned than used. The torches flickered low, their light barely pushing back the dim hush of the chamber. It wasn’t a true library—not in the way scholars might envision—but it held records, manuals, and texts on various topics, including alchemy and herbs.
He stepped inside, keeping to the edges. The hall was mostly empty, as expected. Most disciples preferred training their bodies over expanding their knowledge. That suited him just fine.
His fingers brushed the aged wood as he moved past cultivation techniques, bestiaries, and forging manuals. Alchemy and Herbology—that was what he needed. He scanned the titles, selecting a well-worn scroll titled “Compendium of Medicinal Flora”. It was thick with knowledge, the ink slightly faded from years of handling.
Settling into a secluded corner, he unfurled the scroll and let his eyes trace the careful illustrations, the meticulous notes.
He skimmed the scroll, eyes flicking over entries. For a moment, nothing stood out. Then—a familiar shape. Thin, silver-veined leaves, curling slightly at the edges. His breath slowed as recognition settled. Silverleaf Balm.
His eyes moved over the description:
"A rare wild herb found in shaded, damp environments. Known for its potent regenerative properties, it is often sought after by healers and alchemists. Silverleaf Balm accelerates the recovery of external injuries, numbing pain while strengthening damaged tissue. It does not grow in abundance, and successful cultivation requires precise conditions."
Aaryan frowned slightly.
So Ravi hadn’t just stumbled across this. Even if it was not the rarest herb, it was certainly not something one could pick up casually. A controlled environment was needed to grow it properly, meaning it had to come from a cultivated supply.
But from where?
His fingers pressed against the parchment as his thoughts turned. The sect had its own herb gardens, but access was regulated. This wasn’t something an outer disciple could easily obtain.
Why did Ravi have it?
And why had he given it away so freely?
Aaryan exhaled, forcing himself to keep his posture neutral. The Hall was still empty. No eyes watched him from the towering shelves, no shadows moved between the columns. And yet, the quiet felt heavier now, pressing in around him.
He shifted slightly, intending to turn the page, but a sharp pull in his ribs stopped him short. A faint wince flickered across his face before he stifled it. Even now, his body reminded him of its limits.
He let his eyes linger on the entry for a moment longer before turning the scroll, searching for the second herb.
The silence had weight. Not the ordinary stillness of an empty hall, but something thicker—something expectant. As if the air itself was waiting for him to piece together what he wasn’t meant to know.
He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. No one was here. No one was watching.
And yet, for the first time since stepping inside, he wished someone was.
This one took longer to find.
The pages detailed numerous medicinal and cultivation-enhancing plants, most of which he skimmed over. Then—a familiar name.
The name sat on the page like a warning. Aaryan’s breath slowed, his fingers curling slightly, nails pressing into the parchment’s edge. His mind pulled taut, something beneath his skin telling him—this was wrong.
His chest tightened—not from pain this time, but from recognition. The faint throb in his ribs barely registered now, drowned beneath the rising tide of unease.
Emberthorn Root.
A carefully drawn sketch showed a wiry, deep-red root covered in fine, sharp spines. Unlike Silverleaf Balm, this wasn’t for healing—it was for strengthening. His eyes flicked over the text:
"A rare and highly valued root, known to stimulate qi refinement in the early stages of cultivation. Its properties allow for greater energy absorption and endurance, making it particularly sought after by young cultivators looking to temper their foundation. Due to its scarcity, it is typically reserved for those with sect backing or significant personal wealth."
His grip on the scroll tightened, the parchment crinkling slightly under his fingers. For a moment, the hall around him felt too small, the walls pressing in just enough for him to notice.
His fingers brushed the dried herbs on his sleeve again. This time, they felt different—less like medicine, more like a message.
This wasn’t something any outer disciple should have access to.
Even inner disciples wouldn’t acquire this easily unless they had earned it—or bought it.
The sect controlled resources like this too tightly. It wasn’t something handed out in monthly distributions, nor something that could be stolen without consequence. Even disciples with backing had to fight for a share.
And yet, Ravi had it. Not just had it—gave it away.
A resource this rare wasn’t meant to be discarded so casually. Either Ravi had more of it than he needed… or he had never needed it in the first place.
He closed the scroll, his grip on the edges tightening slightly.
This wasn’t luck. It wasn’t coincidence.
Silverleaf Balm was already a strange thing to give away. But Emberthorn Root? That was something else entirely.
Aaryan slowly placed the scroll back onto the shelf, the questions circling in his mind like vultures over a fresh kill.
Why?
Even if Ravi had a reason for this, it wasn’t just him acting on a whim. A move like this—it wasn’t the kind of thing done lightly. This wasn’t Ravi’s play. He didn’t need this herb. He didn’t need to hand it over. Which meant… someone else did.
And if that was the case, then Aaryan wasn’t just a recipient of someone’s generosity.
He was a piece being moved across the board.
Aaryan exhaled, but the unease remained. It wasn’t just suspicion—it was something deeper. Like warmth leaving him. Like something slipping away before he even knew to grasp it.
The sensation from his dream ghosted over him, unshaken even by wakefulness. His fingers flexed involuntarily, as if expecting to feel something there—but there was nothing. Only the parchment beneath his fingertips, thin and crinkling under his grip.
He clenched his jaw. No. This was real. This was tangible. The dream—whatever it had been—was not.
And yet, the cold feeling in his chest remained."
The quiet hum of the Hall pressed against him as he stepped back out into the night air. His fingers brushed absently against his sleeve, where traces of dried blood still clung to his skin.
This wasn’t generosity. It was a move. And no move came without consequence.
And until he knew whose game he had stepped into, he would treat it as a threat.