The world was one of water, cold, dark, indifferent. Aaryan's body was a battered thing, dragged underneath the violent current. His limbs were numb, his head a simple throbbing pain, and his breath came in fitful, ragged gasps. His eyes stayed shut, too heavy to open, too weary to fight the overwhelming temptation of unconsciousness. He must have been under for how long he did not know. Time meant nothing to him now, stretched out into an endless blur of water and pain. Sometimes he could feel himself slamming into rocks or being spun around by the shifting current, but it was not enough to restore full consciousness. As if himself, the river was trying to swallow him, to suck him down to the depths, where he would never be found.

  But something kept him alive. Not hope. Not will. Pure instinct for survival-a raw, animal drive to live, to fight, to breathe. And, so, drifted he would.

  Until...a shift.

  Suddenly the current eased its hold, and the frantic swirl of water weakened, as if it had released its fingers on him. The frantic drag of the water now felt far away; it was no longer trying to pull him under, but merely to carry him. His limbs were still numb, but the menace of the immediate onslaught of water, nothing of a definite threat of drowning, seemed to ease. His body floated weightless, the ebb and flow of his chest with slow and shallow breaths. The cold crept into his bones, but somehow there was a difference-it was no longer that agonizing stranglehold of drowning. It was just...cold. An aching numbness, but the kind that he could live through.

  Am I alive?

  He opened his eyes, for the first time just to slits. This was just one big blue-gray smear to him. For a moment, he had no clue what it was all about-the fog filling his head, a muddled confusion of yesterday's battle, the village, the plunging into the water slipped through his fingers like so much sand.

  The roar of rushing water still filled his ears. It was not as deafening now. The river tugged gently past him on a narrow bank. Awakening realization hit him like the splash of cold water in his face-he was still alive.

  Aaryan took a raspy breath in. He was struggling to stay conscious; his breast was tight from the order. His body seemed to cry out in unison, each cut and bruise stinging every time he moved: his limbs were weak, resistant. He could feel the warmth of the slow trickle of blood-soaked clothes beneath his hands stick to him, as if urging him to recall the moment he barely avoided the reunification with the great void.

  He tried lifting his head, but it felt like the ground was moving too wildly, swaying beneath him as if a ship tossed over by the waves. It was tough to know where the ground ended, and the air began. Everything around him was spinning like crazy. Suddenly, his vision blurred, and exhaustion gripped him hard, effacing him on the brink of sinking again.

  Concentrate. Focus.

  With a grunt of great effort, Aaryan pulled himself up into a sitting position, sure the muscles were about to give way under him. With great effort, he pushed into a crouch. Pushing his hand against the wet earth spread out under him, fingers sinking into the muddy ground. He gasped for breath, refusing to lie down.

  Each moment transcends a movement against his own body wherein fatigue gnaws at him. No way he was giving up now, not when the moment of truth was near.

  The banks of the river were slippery, with sharp stones digging bruises upon him; but Aaryan did not care. He compelled his shaky legs to walk: one small step, then another. Each inch moved seemed like a hard-won struggle, but he kept pulling himself closer to the water, further away from enhanced standing. There hung his bloodied sword at his side, not quite catching the dim work in the coiling struggle that had borne him up to this moment.

  Just a little more.

  After what felt like forever, he dragged his whole body out completely, falling onto the wet ground with a puff of air. Violent shivers racked him, and his lungs felt like they were on fire; but he thrived there. He had survived.

  For a moment, he lay there on the wet ground, looking up at the sky; he was slowly able to breathe now. His chest rose and fell with shallow, panicky breaths; but it was relieved to see how cold it felt to him.

  I am alive.

  Aaryan's mind flickered in and out of consciousness like the very river's softly swirling sounds, lapping against his rapidly escaping frame. His body felt unfamiliar: heavy and broken, each breath a burden. The world around him blurred at the edges; sounds faded, as if he were suffocating again beneath the water's depths. He caught small snakes of sound as the river rippled far away and the wind picked at him, but everything else was blurry, uncertain.

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  And then there were the footsteps. They were soft, quiet, accompanied by some obligatory chatter from Aaryan's left side. He felt his eyelids flutter, but he couldn't seem to open them. Making use of everything he had, he attempted to come up on his elbows, but his arms trembled too weakly to support him. He tilted a little, as though the world itself was trying to throw him off balance.

  "It seems there are others here."

  His heart surged to instant alertness.

  The evening sun cast long shadows over the riverbank, where a group of strangers stood gathered, their eyes fixed upon the still form of Aaryan. He had been washed ashore like a broken doll, his clothes torn and bloodied from the ordeal, clinging to conscious life but sure to fade. The group was silent; only the rush of the waters and the faintest sound of the wind through the trees broke the tranquil spell of the wilderness.

  "D-dead?" asked one of them, an old man with a weathered visage, a voice tinged with uncertainty.

  Aaryan's eyelids fluttered open just enough for him to see a woman kneeling beside him.

  This old woman wore a stern face, her sharp, calculating eyes narrowing as she surveyed the situation before her. Her lips pressed together in a thin unyielding line, devoid of any trace of emotion; it seemed that an iron will was holding them together. She sat stiffly, throwing back her shoulders in quiet authority. Her silver hair framed her savage contorted face like a halo of wisdom and severity, and her eyes held the weight of unspoken revelations witnessed during her long life, memories none of which had been easily forgotten.

  Aaryan tried to speak, but none of the words could escape his sore throat. All he could manage was a smile, his own smile, before his sight blurred again and he fell into a sea of anguish and fatigue.

  “Huh…” the old lady gasped, but soon the stern look manifested again, though there were traces of gentleness in the deep corners of her eyes.

  Others shared glances within their group, worriedly exchanging looks; they came to the riverbank to wash clothes, not to help a boy they hadn't known until then. Yet something in the sight of Aaryan's emaciated form and with the way he'd been pulled away from the river's clutches was far too evocative to ignore.

  "He was in the water… alone," murmured a man, his voice soaked with incredulity. "How did he survive?"

  "What do we do with him?" asked another.

  The old lady looked out towards the group and stopped when her eyes reached a boy.

  "Take him to my house," she ordered with a tone that allowed for no disagreement.

  "Since when has this old maid turned benevolent?"

  The young man hesitated for a moment but soon felt herself overcome by the watchful glare of the crone. He went to Aaryan's side; with great carefulness, he knelt down in order to lift him from the ground. His arms were strong around the limp body of the suffering child hot due to fever. There was an instant wince under the weight, but resolve shined in his eyes.

  Thereupon, they placed Aaryan in the young man's strong arms then. Gita was bearing him with much attention. Others were following at the back, keeping an eye over the riverbank, and their faces were concerned and bewildered.

  ?? — ? — ??

  The smell of herbs beckoned the sleepy hero, warming him. His battered limbs felt achy but distant to him now, almost spectral. Slowly, he opened his eyes to focus on one old woman. Sharp eyes looked down at him with a steady gaze full of patience.

  "You woke up," With a slight sigh and a nod of relief on her lips she responded.

  "How long was I unconscious?"

  "Three days."

  "At least three days since I escaped. I hope I am far enough away from them. It's curtain for me if they come across me, in this condition." As the thought came to him, he attempted to sit up but his muscles screamed in protest. Back he slipped again, groaning with the magnitude of his injuries that hadn't healed, yet still feeling more of the bruised throat hurt.

  "Easy now, where do you think you are going? Although it doesn't seem you are badly injured, you still need a good time to recover before you can walk out of here."

  He scanned the compact, unpretentious cabin, wood and stone walls, warmth from a crackling fire in a small hearth. A dim room lit with a few softly glowing candles.

  "I-I..." he began again, although his voice failed. He almost lost the strength of his voice. Clearing his throat he tried again: "Where... am I?"

  "In my home," she said. "I found you on the riverbank. You looked half-dead, I'll admit, and I've done what I could to patch you up."

  "You pulled me up from the water," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

  "I did," she confirmed. "And now you owe me-no easy way out. When you get around to it." Her voice was teasing, but there was no malice in it. "But that comes later."

  Aaryan tried to sit up again. This time, he aided his propped-up position with his elbows. The world was still a little dizzy, but looking much clearer now. "I-uh-thank you," he tried, the words feeling alien, like something he hadn't said in eons.

  "Please, no need. Kind words are no good paying for all the herbs I have made do with. We'll settle your bills later. Work for me instead," she said. She had a teasing note in her voice, but it was devoid of malice. "But we'll worry about that later."

  Aaryan didn't argue. He did not know how it was long since he had eaten or slept properly, but one thing was sure: he would never forget the kindness of this stranger. The world outside was indeed dangerous, and yet, he felt for that moment like he had come into the care of someone who had the ability to care.

  For the first time in his life, Aaryan allowed his eyes to close, unperturbed by any worries about the future, as the warmth of the fire and the safety of the woman's presence sent him off to sleep.

  Unbeknownst to him, far from where he lay, the search for him had been called off, and the villagers had rushed back to Kamplapuri. Something had happened, which he had nothing to do with, and yet was connected to him-consequences he would rather not think through, but would face in the not too distant future.

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