The first few days after Aaryan woke up blurred together. Each time he surfaced from sleep, the world sharpened bit by bit. The scent of burning wood filled the air, and the soft crackle of the fire reached his ears before his vision fully adjusted. Shadows flickered across stone walls, stretching and shifting with every gust of wind. He wasn’t drowning anymore. The river’s relentless pull was gone, replaced by aching limbs and stiff bandages wrapped around his body. He was still alive. That alone felt strange.

  The old woman who had dragged him from the river tended to his wounds with an efficiency that left no room for softness. She didn’t coddle, didn’t soothe. When she spoke, her words were blunt, her voice edged with the weight of years. She forced bitter brews down his throat, their acrid bite making his stomach churn, but they pushed back the fever that had coiled around his bones. He ate when she told him to eat. Slept when she told him to sleep. Her hands were rough, her methods practical. There was no warmth in her care, no gentle reassurances. But she kept him breathing.

  On the third day, he tried to leave. It wasn’t some grand escape attempt—just a slow, painful effort to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the cot, and push himself to his feet. The moment he moved, pain carved through his ribs, a sharp reminder of how close he had come to death.

  Before he could take a single step, the old woman’s gaze locked onto him. Hard. Unyielding.

  "You’re not going anywhere," she said, her tone like stone grinding against stone. "Sit down and eat. Unless you’re eager to crawl back into that river, you’ll stay put."

  "But I—"

  Her stare cut him off before he could finish.

  "No arguments. You fight me on this, and I’ll make sure you regret it."

  Something about the way she said it left no room for debate. Aaryan lowered himself back onto the cot, jaw tight, hands clenched. She returned to her work as if nothing had happened.

  Days passed. Slowly, his mind cleared. He noticed the little things—the way the woman moved, efficient and deliberate, wasting no energy. The way her hands, though calloused, handled fragile herbs with care. Her house was small, cluttered but lived-in. A heavy iron pot hung above the fire, steam curling from its rim, filling the air with the scent of unfamiliar spices. A battered wooden table stood near the hearth, its surface scratched and worn. Everything here spoke of time, of survival.

  And her.

  There was something about her presence. A certain weight, an air of someone who had lived too long and seen too much. Her words were sharp, her expression colder still, but there were moments—fleeting, barely-there moments—when her gaze softened. When she thought no one was watching.

  By the sixth day, he could sit up without his ribs screaming in protest. The old woman entered, carrying a pot of tea. She placed it down beside him and gave him a once-over, eyes sharp and assessing.

  "You look better." Her voice was as gruff as ever. "Still weak, but better."

  Aaryan swallowed, then nodded. "I... Thank you." The words felt heavy in his mouth, like he wasn’t sure if they belonged to him.

  She snorted, as if the very idea of gratitude irritated her. "Don’t thank me yet." She settled into the chair beside him, arms crossed. "You think I pulled you out of that river for the good of my heart? I’ve been around long enough to know better. A living man is more useful than a dead one. You can talk. Carry things. Haul firewood. Maybe I’ll need an extra pair of hands one day. That’s why you’re still here."

  Aaryan wasn’t sure if he should laugh or glare at her. The sheer practicality of it was... almost amusing.

  "I—" He hesitated, then exhaled. "Still. Thank you. 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.

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  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.

  “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’re only taking one or two per city."

  The words drifted through the crowd, barely noticeable over the rising murmur of voices. Aaryan pushed forward, weaving between bodies, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. A habit. One born from too many close calls, too many nights spent with blood on his hands. His grip tightened for a moment before he let it go. The dried stains on his clothes itched against his skin, a silent reminder of the days leading up to this moment.

  He reached the front. The notice was pinned to a wooden board, its ink still fresh, the script flowing like a river across the page. His eyes traced the words. A test. A chance. A door.

  The Evernight Pavilion was seeking disciples.

  The weight of those words settled in his chest. He read them again, just to be sure. His throat felt dry. A call to those with potential, an opportunity to be judged, tested, chosen. His pulse quickened.

  The crowd thickened behind him, more people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the notice. Excitement swelled in the air, voices rising and falling around him.

  "Think I’ve got a shot?" Someone muttered nearby.

  "Why not?" Another answered, more sure of himself. "They choose based on potential, not what you already know."

  Aaryan’s jaw clenched. Potential. What did that even mean? He had no mentor, no formal training. No secret techniques passed down through generations. Just a sword, worn down from use, and a past he barely survived. Could that count for anything?

  Doubt crept in, slow and steady. He wasn’t like the others. He hadn’t spent years preparing for something like this. His only training was the kind that left scars. The kind that taught him how to stay alive, nothing more.

  But what if…

  His fingers twitched at his side.

  What if survival was enough? What if everything he had been through—every fight, every struggle, every wound—had been leading to this?

  "Fifteen days..." Someone whispered.

  Fifteen days. That wasn’t long.

  Aaryan exhaled, the sound barely audible beneath the hum of voices. What did they even want in a disciple? Strength? Talent? Endurance? He didn’t have answers. He wasn’t even sure he wanted them.

  But the thought had already buried itself deep.

  He turned away from the board, slipping back into the crowd. The idea lingered, nagging at him, refusing to let go.

  A path had opened before him. A door waiting to be stepped through.

  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.”

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/108046/destiny-reckoninga-xianxia-cultivation-progression