Mornings in Devgarh were gentle. The sun didn't burst over the horizon but seeped into the sky, painting it in soft shades of grey and pink. For the first time in this life, Aryan didn't wake to this light with a familiar sense of dread. There was no grogginess, no heavy-limbed reluctance to leave the thin comfort of his bed. He was instantly awake, his mind as clear and calm as a mountain lake at sunrise.
He lay still for a moment, simply feeling his own existence. The night had been spent not in restless sleep, but in a state of deep, meditative cultivation.
He could feel the results humming in his cells. A faint warmth emanated from his dantian the energy center in his lower abdomen a comforting sensation that was entirely new.
His body, once a prison of weakness, now felt like a perfectly tuned instrument awaiting a master's touch. Every breath was deep, every heartbeat strong. It was as if he had spent his entire life underwater and had just broken the surface to breathe true air for the first time.
knock. knock.
A light knock sounded on his door, followed by a soft, feminine voice. "Aryan? Are you awake?"
"Yes, sis," he replied. The door opened to reveal his older sister. Meera was a year his senior, with the same kind eyes as their mother, but with a spark of youth in them. She carried a simple earthenware basin of steaming water. Her face, which usually held a faint cast of worry when she looked at him, was now filled with hesitant curiosity.
"Mother asked me to bring this for you," she said, placing the basin on his small wooden table. "She said... she said you looked different yesterday. Are you really feeling alright?"
Aryan swung out of bed, moving with an easy grace that made his sister's eyes widen slightly. He gave her a small, genuine smile. "I've never felt better."
The words were simple, but coming from him, they were revolutionary. Meera's worried expression melted away, replaced by a smile so bright it seemed to illuminate the dim room. "That's wonderful! Father is waiting in the courtyard. And Rohan-bhai is back from his morning training." She paused, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Come, Mother made your favorite sweet bread."
The family courtyard was a simple, packed-earth space behind the house, enclosed by a low stone wall. It was their main training area. A collection of battered wooden dummies for striking practice stood in one corner, and a line of heavy, rounded stones of varying sizes, used for strength training, rested against one wall.
His father, Vikram, stood with his back to the house, his hands clasped behind him. He was watching Aryan's older brother, Rohan. Rohan was the picture of a promising young cultivator. At twenty, he was already at the 7th layer of the Qi Condensation Realm. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his muscles honed by years of diligent training. He was laying into one of the wooden dummies with his fists, each strike producing a sharp 'crack' in the morning air and making the worn wood shudder. His movements were a display of hard-earned power, muscles contracting and releasing with practiced efficiency the result of countless hours of sweat and effort. He was everything the old Aryan was not.
As Aryan and Meera stepped into the courtyard, Rohan ceased his training, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. He turned, and his gaze fell on Aryan. His eyes narrowed slightly. It was a look Aryan knew well a mixture of disdain and mild annoyance, as if looking at a problem he wished would just disappear.
"Look what the cat dragged in," Rohan said, his tone laced with its usual mockery. "Decided to stop playing dead? You gave Mother quite a scare yesterday. Some of us actually have to train to uphold this family's honor."
Before Aryan could respond, their mother, Priya, emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Rohan, that's enough," she chided gently. "Your little brother is well. Let's eat."
Breakfast was a quiet affair. The Rathore family was not given to idle chatter, least of all Vikram. But today's silence was different. It was thick with unspoken questions. Priya kept piling more food onto Aryan's plate, her face beaming with every bite he took. Meera watched him with open delight. Rohan ate in silence, occasionally glancing at Aryan with a skeptical frown.
Vikram was the most unsettling. He ate with his usual quiet discipline, but his gaze would periodically drift to Aryan, his eyes sharp and analytical, as if trying to solve a complex puzzle.
After the meal, as Priya and Meera were clearing the table, Vikram finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Aryan."