The rain had stopped two days ago.
But the cold remained.
Aaryan walked alone along a cracked dirt road that cut through thinning farmland and scattered villages. His steps were uneven now. His breathing had grown shallow. Hunger twisted inside his stomach like a dull blade that refused to leave.
He had not eaten properly since the night of his exile.
Dust clung to his torn cloak. His noble boots were scratched and caked with mud. Blisters had formed on his feet. His lips were pale and cracked.
Still…
He walked.
Because stopping meant dying.
By afternoon, he reached another small village.
Smoke rose from chimneys. The smell of cooked rice drifted through the air.
Aaryan stepped toward the nearest inn.
The moment the door opened, warm light spilled onto his face.
The innkeeper looked at him once—then frowned.
"We don't feed beggars."
The door shut.
At the next place, someone muttered, "Thief."
At the third, a woman waved him away with disgust.
Aaryan stood still for a long moment.
Then quietly stepped away from the main street and sat on a stone near the edge of the village.
Not far from him, beneath a tree, a small family of commoners sat together on a mat. They were laughing as they shared a simple meal.
The father tore bread and handed it to his wife.
The mother gently wiped crumbs from her daughter's cheek.
The little girl laughed brightly.
Aaryan looked away.
But his eyes slowly returned.
He remembered Kamala-ji's cooking.
He remembered warmth.
His stomach growled loudly.
The little girl heard it.
She looked up—and noticed him staring.
Instead of fear… she stood.
She walked toward him with small, careful steps.
She couldn't have been older than him.
She held out a piece of bread.
"You look hungry," she said softly.
Aaryan immediately straightened his back.
"I already ate."
His stomach betrayed him with another loud roar.
The girl blinked.
Then giggled.
Her younger brother burst into laughter from behind her.
The father smiled gently but said nothing.
The girl stepped closer.
"I'm Rani," she said. "It's okay. You can have it."
Aaryan hesitated.
No one had spoken kindly to him in days.
"I… I don't have money."
Rani shook her head.
"My mother says sharing food makes the gods happy."
Her mother nodded warmly from behind.
"Come sit with us," she added.
Aaryan's chest tightened.
Slowly… carefully… he accepted the bread.
"…I'm Aaryan," he said quietly.
"Just Aaryan."
He sat with them.
They did not ask about his clothes.
They did not ask about his past.
They did not look at him with judgment.
They simply shared.
And for the first time since exile…
Aaryan felt human again.
After the meal, he stood.
"Thank you."
Rani smiled brightly.
"Will you pass through here again?"
Aaryan looked toward the road ahead.
"…When I become stronger."
She tilted her head.
"Then promise you'll come back and tell me how strong you became."
Aaryan hesitated only a second.
"…I promise."
Then he walked away.
He did not see the family watching him with quiet concern.
By sunset, he had crossed three villages.
None welcomed wandering children in torn noble clothing.
Night slowly descended.
The road narrowed into forest.
The wind grew colder.
Aaryan leaned against a tree, trying to steady his shaking legs.
That was when he smelled it.
Rich.
Heavy.
Warm.
Cooked meat.
His body reacted before his mind did.
He followed the scent deeper into the forest, stepping carefully between roots and shadows.
Then he saw it.
A small clearing.
A fire.
And beside it—
An old man.
A large boar rotated slowly above wooden stakes. Fat dripped onto the flames, crackling softly.
The old man hummed as he turned the meat.
Long silver-gray hair tied loosely behind his back. A messy beard. Simple traveling robes patched many times.
Aaryan stood at the edge of the clearing.
Watching.
The old man spoke without turning.
"You're staring hard enough to burn holes into it, boy."
Aaryan stiffened.
The old man glanced over his shoulder, sharp eyes catching the moonlight.
"You want some?"
Aaryan swallowed.
"No. I have nothing to give in return."
The old man blinked slowly.
Then chuckled.
"It's food. I'm not opening a royal restaurant."
"I don't take charity."
"Strange pride for someone about to faint."
Aaryan looked away.
"It must have been difficult for you to hunt that at your age."
Silence.
Then—
The old man burst into laughter.
"Difficult? Kid, I dragged that boar down a mountain cliff after it tried to stab me with its tusks."
Aaryan blinked.
"…That sounds dangerous."
"It was. The boar was extremely rude."
"…Boars can be rude?"
"This one refused to die politely."
For the first time in days—
A tiny smile appeared on Aaryan's face.
The old man sliced a thick portion and placed it onto a wooden plate.
He walked over and held it out.
"Eat. If you collapse here, wolves will eat you. I dislike wolves stealing my potential dinner guests."
Aaryan's pride fought one last time.
Then lost.
He accepted it.
"…I will repay this someday."
"Repay me by not dying."
After a while, the old man casually placed his hand on Aaryan's shoulder.
The moment he touched him—
His eyes narrowed.
Deep inside the boy…
Something was sealed.
Cold.
Twisted.
Ancient.
The old man withdrew his hand slowly.
"Who are you, boy?"
"Aaryan. Level One Wind Mage."
He paused.
"…Not strong now. But I will become strong. I will enter Vidya Magic Academy."
The old man studied him.
"Show me a wind spell."
Aaryan froze.
"…I'm still training."
ask your companions to help then.
"I'm travelling solo. There is no one beside us right.
The old man sighed.
"…Children."
He lazily waved toward the dark forest.
"The wind has been restless since you entered."
Aaryan turned sharply.
Three masked figures stepped out from the shadows.
Blades gleamed under moonlight.
Cold killing intent filled the clearing.
The assassins laughed.
"We thought we could enjoy watching you struggle longer," one said.
"But this old man noticed us."
Another tilted his blade.
"Sorry, Aaryan. Madam's orders."
The third chuckled darkly.
"We already sent the people who helped you ahead. That little village family? They're dead."
The world stopped.
Rani's smile flashed in Aaryan's mind.
The bread in his hands.
The promise.
His knees trembled.
"…It's my fault…"
Tears blurred his vision.
He stepped in front of the old man instinctively.
"Leave. This is my problem—"
The fire flickered violently.
A gust of wind passed through the clearing.
The assassins froze.
Completely.
Silently.
Then—
All three collapsed.
Lifeless.
No wounds.
No struggle.
Just death.
Aaryan stared.
"…Are you a mage?"
The old man returned to turning the boar casually.
"No."
"That's impossible."
The old man pointed toward a dark mountain peak towering beyond the forest.
"I live there."
Aaryan followed his gaze.
"There's a spring near the top. Old bones struggle to carry water daily."
He glanced sideways.
"If you carry water for me each day… I'll give you food."
Aaryan narrowed his eyes.
"And training?"
The old man shrugged.
"If you survive the climb… maybe."
"Do you know magic?"
The old man stood.
His joints cracked loudly.
"Come to the mountain and find out."
The next moment—
He vanished.
Like mist swallowed by wind.
Aaryan stood alone in the clearing.
Three corpses lay around him.
The mountain loomed in the distance.
For the first time since exile—
He felt something new.
Not fear.
Not pain.
Possibility.
Far above the clouds—
The wind howled across the mountain peak.
As if watching.
As if guiding him toward something far greater than revenge.
And Aaryan… took his first step toward it.