Mohit did not return to the tunnel that night.
The memory of the hidden presence lingered in his mind — not as fear, but as a strange sense of connection. Whatever existed in those depths had not shown hostility. Instead, it had responded with cautious awareness, almost like a living consciousness testing boundaries.
That alone made the encounter dangerous.
And valuable.
The next morning, Mohit woke earlier than usual. His body felt slightly heavier, yet his mind felt unusually clear. He sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes, quietly sensing the faint thread of energy inside him.
It was still weak.
Still unstable.
The reverse cultivation defect continued draining it slowly, like water leaking through invisible cracks.
But something had changed.
The energy felt… calmer.
More responsive.
When he guided it gently, the flow no longer scattered immediately. It resisted less, adapting to his intent with faint obedience.
Mohit opened his eyes slowly.
"So the encounter left an imprint…" he murmured.
Not power.
Not strength.
Just understanding.
At school, his perception sharpened even more. He noticed subtle details he would normally ignore — the rhythm of footsteps in hallways, the tension in voices during conversations, the tiny delays in human reactions. His senses processed information faster, smoother.
During lunch break, he sat alone beneath a shaded tree near the playground, observing quietly.
Two students were practicing a casual sport nearby. One moved slightly faster than normal — not enough to draw attention, but enough for Mohit to notice the imbalance in air pressure around him.
Spiritual residue.
Weak.
Untrained.
Hidden.
Mohit's eyes narrowed slightly.
So awakenings are spreading… slowly.
The world was shifting beneath ordinary routines, and most people remained unaware.
That evening, while returning home, Mohit paused near the edge of the same abandoned zone — not entering, just observing from a distance. The strange pull was still there, faint but persistent.
Not calling.
Waiting.
He respected the boundary.
Some connections needed patience.
Instead, he focused on refining his control. He practiced stabilizing his breathing, syncing it with the faint energy flow inside him. Every small improvement mattered.
Even survival was progress.
As night fell, Mohit stood by his window, gazing toward the distant mountains barely visible beneath the moonlight. A quiet resolve formed in his eyes.
Whatever awaited him ahead — hidden creatures, unknown cultivation paths, dangerous awakenings — he would face them calmly.
Not with brute strength.
But with clarity.
And patience.