The midday sun sliced through the sky like someone forgot to dim the brightness settings, slipping past tree limbs and foliage until it found its way beneath Adyanth's eyelids.
It burned gently, just enough to stir him awake.
And the first thing he felt wasn't sleepiness.
It was his heart.
Which was thundering so fast that his chest vibrated with it.
When he'd passed out, he had honestly thought—this is it.
A heart attack in the dirt.
So poetic.
He lay still for a moment, hand on his chest, counting the beats.
Each one felt... normal.
Finally.
He sighed. Not dramatically. Just a relief-colored exhale.
"Sigh."
'I really thought, I screwed it this time. But somehow... everything turned out okay. I guess.'
He muttered to no one as he turned his gaze toward his right arm. The same arm that had delivered that absurd, physics-insulting punch.
Just a few hours ago, it had been charred from within, bleeding as if his body wanted to paint a warning.
Now?
The skin was flawless. No scar. No trace. Not even a memory.
He flexed the fingers. It felt smooth and responsive.
He stood, stretching out his joints in the fluid sequence he always followed.
'I'm sure I dislocated my shoulder yesterday. It popped like a rusty hinge... and now it's just fine. Yeah. My body's different. I knew that. But this? This is just ridiculous.'
He rolled his shoulder again, searching for stiffness.
But he felt nothing of the sort. All he felt is a smooth moment like a well oiled machine which created for range and efficiency.
---
He closed his eyes and focused.
Tuning into the thread of energy he'd been sensing for the past couple of months.
It flowed. Effortlessly.
"Huh."
That was all he could say. Because what he felt was… elegant.
'The movement of this energy is so clean. Like it synced with my breathing, it's moving just casually. Like it didn't need any permission.'
He tested the feeling, threw a few punches into the air. The tree, once a stoic companion for his training, lay dead nearby—barely a thought in his head.
No moment of silence. No dramatic farewell.
His attention stayed inward.
'This energy... It's flowing naturally. I don't even have to focus consciously on every breath. It aligns. Subconsciously, I can guide it for basic strikes.'
Then the crucial detail emerged.
'But if I want to deliver something as strong as that punch from yesterday… I still need to channel it deliberately.'
That was his next goal.
He wanted to refine his control over the energy further.
'Throwing a punch like before, one that tore through the tree and soil, shouldn't feel like a gamble. It had to become a second nature nature to me. It need to be as immediate and effortless as breathing.'
His goal is have the energy pulse the moment he moved his knuckles forward.
Shift the moment his lungs drew breath.
Unleash itself in harmony with his body without requiring conscious thought.
For that he would train even harder. Harder than before not because of some divine calling.
Not because anyone told him to.
Simply because that one annoying piece of him refused to settle.
The part that demanded more. That nudged him to train harder, push deeper, sharpen cleaner.
'I don't even know why I need to master this energy. What's the point? All I've ever wanted… was to cure myself. To mourn properly. To feel something real about my parents instead of this muted nothing. That's all.'
He'd never planned beyond that.
Yet somehow, the part of him that refused to sleep—his obsessive undertow—dragged him toward mastery anyway.
He didn't like how restless he felt when he skipped a day of training.
So he trained.
Still.
And he would keep training tomorrow.
And again the next.
---
After grounding himself, he glanced up at the sky.
"Shit. It's already noon."
His stomach dropped.
"Luna's going to kill me."
He pulled on his T-shirt quickly.
But then—
The smell.
"Oh no. Oh no-no."
He gagged.
"God—I stink. Worse than a skunk that lost a bet."
He pinched his nose, the stench sharp and sour—a combination of sweat, soil, blood and something else.
Trying not to puke, he turned in the opposite direction from the orphanage.
Just past the training fields was a small pond. Isolated. Reliable. Quiet.
About a mile away.
Usually a ten-minute sprint if he pushed hard.
He started running.
But this time, he focused.
He pushed the energy toward his legs, adjusting his breathing slowly.
For the first time in two months, he saw it clearly—not just sensed it.
A visual.
An internal map.
Blue tendrils of light traced his nerves, running through muscle, ligaments, bones.
It was ethereal and beautiful.
And slightly terrifying.
'I don't know how I can see this. But it's... mesmerizing.'
He kept adjusting the energy flow, stumbling a few times as he tried to balance power and rhythm.
By his tenth attempt, he nailed it.
The result?
He reached the pond in seconds.
Not in minutes in just seconds.
---
He stopped at the edge, staring at his reflection in the water.
"Hah. Look at that. If I wasn't broken in the head, I would've stayed up all night celebrating this and annoying Luna with Superman jokes. Should I try flying next?"
His voice was half amused, half hollow.
He stared at his face which was no longer familiar. It was much angular than before, mature and sharper in tone.
He gave himself a mirthless smile. It didn't reach his eyes.
Then stripped down and stepped into the water.
Cleansing away the sweat, smell.
His own dried blood.
And everything he didn't want to think about.
---
After drying off with the most respectable bundle of grass he could find, he ran toward the orphanage.
The distance between orphanage and pond is atleast four miles.
He reached it in just two minutes.
No sweat.
But the minute he crossed the gate, something else shifted.
Perception.
Suddenly, sounds sharpened.
Sensations multiplied.
He could hear heartbeats. Actual heartbeats—from the boys walking nearby.
Every passing breath.
Footsteps.
Conversations happening behind closed doors.
Smells, once distant, now crowded his nose—food, rust, old shoes, shampoo.
His senses had evolved.
And the influx overwhelmed him like a flood without warning.
But he kept it contained.
Straight face.
Easy posture.
Not a single twitch betrayed the chaos inside.
'Act normal, smile softly and don't give it away.'
He muttured this to him inside like a personal mantra.
---
As he approached the dormitory, his gaze landed on a familiar figure.
Luna.
Standing out front.
Her fingers gripped the hem of her shirt just below her chest.
One foot tapping against the porch.
She looked up briefly—then turned her head in mock annoyance.
Adyanth shook his head, chuckling internally.
He slipped into his well-practiced pleasant smile. The one he wore like a uniform.
---
When he got close, he expected her to launch into a lecture.
But instead—
She froze.
Her eyes went wide.
She stepped forward, hand brushing his cheek.
"What the hell—You're Adu, right? Why do you look so different?"
She cupped his face gently, then added with disbelief, "Oh my god. Your skin—It's... it's soft. Like stupidly soft. What happened to you?"
Adyanth blinked.
This? He hadn't planned for.
Her fingers on his face. Her thumb tracing his cheek. Her expression—open, curious, slightly stunned.
He swallowed hard.
Not from nerves. From not knowing how to respond.
It made him uncomfortable, oddly enough—the touching. The intimacy.
So he coughed.
Loudly.
Luna jerked back, her hands dropping as realization crashed down.
Her face bloomed crimson.
Then, fast as ever, she pivoted.
"You took your sweet time," she said, feigning authority. "Do you know how long I've been waiting?"
Inside her mind though—
'Why is he so... handsome now? And taller? What happened to you, Aadu?'
Adyanth scratched his neck, sheepishly.
A practiced gesture.
"Haha, sorry Luna. It's my last day here, y'know. I got nostalgic. Took a walk across the field. Lost track of time."
The lie rolled out smoothly.
He felt nothing for this place.
It was just... walls and place to sleep.
Still, he couldn't exactly say "I passed out during training after punching a tree to death."
Not ideal lunch-table conversation.
---
Luna had been worried.
No one had seen him all morning.
Some whispered he left early.
She feared he'd just... disappeared.
It wasn't a baseless fear. She always felt that with him—like holding sand through fingers. Like he might vanish between two blinks.
Today, he hadn't.
At least not completely.
So she decided to let it go.
---
"Alright. Get ready. With how the roads are now, we'll be lucky to reach Purathal by midnight."
"Got it, Luna. I'll be ready in a giffy."
Adyanth turned toward his dorm and headed inside.
His thoughts spun.
But his face didn't show it.
---
He packed swiftly, changed into fresh clothes, and exited carrying his travel bag.
"Well, I'm ready. Let's move," he said breezily.
Luna punched his chest.
Soft, playful.
"Don't make it sound like I'm the one who made you late."
They headed to the cafeteria.
A few boys stopped him, offered goodbyes.
He thanked them politely, nodding with casual warmth.
he didn't recognize most of them.
Smiles were easy. Names were not.
Their faces blurred in his mind, each one stored somewhere between "ate with me once" and "probably borrowed my toothpaste."
He nodded, waved, thanked, performed.
And none of it felt dishonest—just distant.
---
After lunch, Adyanth and Luna stepped out into the sunlit haze, walking side by side toward the jeep parked near the gate.
It looked… lonely.
Adyanth paused at the edge, glanced inside.
Empty.
Except for their bags.
"Wait. Where's your sister? Who's going to drive us?"
Luna flashed a confident grin, climbing behind the wheel.
"Who else?"
Then she held up an imaginary license. "Captain Luna. Certified by the roads, feared by potholes."
Adyanth's face froze somewhere between concern and horror.
"You're driving?" he asked, voice flat with dread.
"Of course I am, idiot. Don't doubt me."
She fired up the engine like it owed her something.
He climbed into the front seat, reluctantly buckling in.
'Well… It's not like the roads are bursting with traffic. She's not going to run over any pedestrians. Because there are none. Because technically these aren't even roads anymore.'
That thought comforted him. Slightly.
---
The jeep rumbled to life.
Tires stirred dust. The orphanage faded behind them, brick by brick, window by window.
Adyanth glanced into the side mirror one last time.
The building looked exactly as it always had.
But something in him didn't.
He stared quietly.
Not nostalgic.
Just observant.
Still, as the engine growled and the wind pulled at their hair, a single realization etched itself behind his eyes:
That place was no longer a destination.
It was just a beginning.