Aaranya's POV
An old man lay motionless on the cave floor.
His robe was torn and stained with blood that had dried into cryptic, dark patterns. His long, white beard spilled across his chest like a blanket of frost.
But it wasn't the blood that held me frozen.
Not even the glow.
It was the aura.
Even unconscious, he radiated something primal. A fear. A reverence not taught but felt in the bones. My instincts screamed: Don't get too close.
His shallow breaths synced with the soft, moonlight-like glow that pulsed faintly from his body. I crouched nearby, careful not to cross whatever invisible boundary protected him. He looked like someone who could wake up and erase me with a thought.
Still, I couldn't look away.
The cave stood still, the silence broken only by the distant howl of wind—reminding me that time hadn't frozen.
Then I saw it.
The glow cocooning him began to retreat, unraveling like mist drawn gently into the earth. Slow. Deliberate. As if the force protecting him had completed its purpose.
His skin—once grey and lifeless—regained color with each faint heartbeat.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe too loudly.
Whoever he was… he was coming back.
And somehow, that felt like bad news.
So here I was.
Option one: Step outside and get devoured by a flying snake-lizard-dinosaur-thing with wings the size of a small house.
Option two: Stay here with a blood-soaked, possibly divine crypt monster who might wake up and decide I looked edible.
Honestly? I hated both.
But if I had to pick—
"Alright, Old man," I whispered. "If you're secretly a soul-sucking demon, please wait until I finish panicking."
I crept closer, ten feet still between us, crouching like I was defusing a magical bomb.
"Hi. Just to clarify—I'm not here to rob you. Or stab you. Or insult your ancient honor. I just… really don't feel like dying today."
A low rumble echoed outside.
The beast was still circling.
I pressed against the cave wall, resisting a scream.
"Okay. Team Glowy Grandpa it is."
I tore a strip from the hem of my shirt—well, half my shirt—and approached the old man carefully.
"Sorry, grandpa," I murmured. "But I've watched enough cursed exorcism nonsense to know how this ends."
I tied his hands. Then his feet. Then gagged him.
"No offense, but I don't know if you breathe fire, emit toxic mist, or chant Latin backwards. I'm not taking chances."
Still, he didn't move.
The glow flickered, gentle now. Harmless.
I exhaled and sat back, victorious.
"If you turn out to be a saint and this counts as a divine insult, I swear I'll cry."
Then the glow dimmed further—like moonlight giving way to dawn. His wounds vanished. The torn robe stitched itself as if time reversed. In seconds, the bloodied garment looked untouched. Regal. Timeless.
His eyelids twitched.
His fingers curled.
He woke.
Blinking slowly, absorbing the dim light and silence.
Then—confusion.
He tugged.
His hands didn't move.
He frowned.
Another tug—then the realization.
Bound. Gagged.
One brow twitched, broadcasting the most offended thought imaginable from an ancient being:
Who dares?!
With a snort, he spat out the gag dramatically.
"What in the flaming fox spirits—did someone stuff a sleeve in my mouth?!" he rasped, hoarse and supremely cranky.
From behind a rock, I peeked.
"...Hi."
He glared.
"You?"
Then, scandalized:
"By the Soul Lord—where in the burning cosmos is your cloth?!"
I looked down. Oh. Right. Half of it was binding his limbs.
He flailed.
"Are you trying to seduce this ancient relic? Is this how young people greet elders now?! I may be spiritually timeless, but I do have standards!"
I groaned.
"I was trying not to die. Priorities, Grandpa."
"Who the h*ll is your grandpa?! I've never had a child. Where were you spawned—some rogue nebula?!"
Still dramatically turned away—likely out of trauma from the missing cloth—he snapped his fingers.
A swirl of smoke.
A forest-toned outfit dropped into my lap.
"Just… wear something. Anything!"
I slipped on the clothes, trying not to look grateful for forest-camo wizard pajamas. He kept muttering about "shameless kids."
"Now," he grumbled, still not facing me, "if you're done with divine strip-teases and rope play, we can talk."
I sighed.
"It was this or becoming lizard chow. You got the polite version."
He muttered something definitely not complimentary.
Then turned, arms crossed.
"Alright. Speak. But keep your sleeves to yourself."