Garuda ran like his blood was fire.
The echo of screams tugged at his spine, each footfall pounding with a sickening certainty that he was already too late.
His claws scraped along the stone, breath tearing in and out of him as the tunnel opened up into the bioluminescent expanse of the western cavern village.
And then he saw it.
The glow of the moss rippled like ghosts upon the pond's glassy surface. Beneath its alien beauty lay horror.
Ten defenders.
Only ten.
Holding back monsters.
Scattered, bloodied, backs pressed against stone huts and moss-covered outcroppings. Their spears splintered. Their tails limp. Some could barely stay standing.
The enemy moved like jackals.
Six lizardmen—no tribesmen. No kin. These were exiles. A disgrace to scale and claw. Cast from their kind and drunk on their own violence. Garuda recognized their markings. Not just criminals.
Wolves of the border.
Bandits who took whatever they pleased. And now, they had come here.
He didn't stop to think.
Didn't speak.
Just leapt.
His claws met flesh. His shoulder collided with a chest. He roared, not from anger, but the primal scream of a creature trying to keep death at bay.
He fought.
Alongside the ten.
Wounds layered upon wounds.
His breath became ragged. The blood on his arms was mostly not his own, but he could no longer tell the difference.
Hopeless.
That bitter word nested at the base of his throat like ash.
And then—
The world shifted.
Subtle.
As if the air itself drew in a breath and held it.
A figure appeared at the edge of the battlefield, stepping into the green-lit haze of the cavern.
Pale. Thin. Out of place.
The human.
Garuda's heart caught in his chest.
'He—he escaped?'
No. Escaped wasn't the right word. He walked.
He moved as if this chaos had nothing to do with him, barefoot and bare-chested, with blood dried on his skin and silence in his steps.
And that smile.
Gods above.
A smile so crooked it might as well have been carved with a bone blade. Not wide, not gleeful—no, worse than that. It was the smile of someone pretending not to drown. Of someone who had forgotten how to cry.
To Garuda, it was painfully obvious. Q smile of mockery. He was looking down on them. All of them.
But to the others?
To the villagers, still clutching broken spears?
To the bandits, hungry and laughing just moments before?
They froze.
Because the smile looked like confidence.
Like madness wrapped in certainty.
Even the largest bandit—half again the size of any normal male, with a spear as thick as Garuda's arm—hesitated.
And then he barked a challenge.
"Who are you?"
No answer.
Only the human's eyes, half-lidded, watching like a shadow.
The brute charged.
The spear flashed.
And the human—
He moved.
Not fast. Not flashy. Just… enough.
One step.
The spear cracked stone.
The human stood beside the crater, untouched, as if he'd never been there.
His smile didn't change.
Garuda's skin crawled.
He's not that fast.
He's just... lucky?
But then it happened again.
Another strike. Another sidestep.
Again. Again.
Each movement a whisper. A hesitation.
It wasn't strength. It wasn't power.
It was suggestion.
A suggestion of something greater. Something they couldn't quite grasp.
And slowly—terrifyingly—everyone began to believe it.
Even Garuda.
The exiles surrounded him.
The human didn't flinch. Didn't pose. Didn't puff his chest or scream a war cry.
He simply moved.
Flowing like water through the cracks of their formation.
Garuda could barely keep up.
It was surreal. One moment he thought he saw panic behind those eyes. The next, he saw a man dancing among warriors like he had lived a thousand battles.
The leader attacked again.
And this time, the human struck back.
A fist.
Straight to the gut.
Garuda watched the bandit's torso ripple. Scales cracked. The brute flew backwards, skidding across stone like a sack of meat.
The others froze.
So did Garuda.
Then came the brutality.
Clean.
Cold.
Not flamboyant. Not messy.
Just controlled devastation.
A punch to the temple. A backhand to the jaw. A knee to the stomach. Bodies flew. Hit walls. Dropped.
And that smile never left his face.
Worse now.
Wider.
Twitching at the edges.
He looked… elated.
Blood painted his chest. A lizardman's tooth was stuck between his knuckles. He didn't even seem to notice.
The final bandit hit the ground.
And then—
He walked.
To the miracle pond.
One by one, he lifted the unconscious exiles and tossed them into its depths like garbage.
They floated.
They wouldn't die.
But they wouldn't forget.
The human turned to them.
And for a moment, Garuda thought he might strike again.
Instead, he spoke.
"If I meant harm, I wouldn't have helped."
He said quietly,
Garuda stared.
His mouth was dry.
"…Do you still want me to take the trial?"
The human's smile softened slowly.
He looked… tired.
"No,"
Garuda said.
"I think you've made your point."
The human nodded slowly.
"Then, thank you."
The human said with a soft smile. Like the earlier him wasn't real. He turned.
"I'm going to restin my prison cell. Goodbye. "
He walked away.
Humming.
The silence that followed was louder than war.
One of the villagers chuckled nervously. Another joined. Then more.
They moved. Rebuilt. Cleaned.
But Garuda remained still.
His claws trembled faintly.
He watched the fading figure of the human vanish into the tunnels.
And deep in his bones, he knew something had shifted.
Not in the village.
In the world.
***
After leaving Humming, Norian felt something that didn't quite have a name.
It wasn't just joy. It wasn't pride. It wasn't even relief.
It was lighter than air, fuller than the chest, louder than thought.
Freedom.
The chains in his mind had snapped—those invisible, grinding weights that had clung to him since childhood. The shadows, the dread, the biting guilt—gone.
And so, he danced.
Not like a dancer, no. His movements were wild, awkward, clumsy. His limbs flailed without rhythm, his feet scraped against the cavern floor, but his heart was soaring.
Blood coated his hands.
His face was smeared with crusted red and dirt. His clothes torn, chest heaving. He looked like something unholy—some cursed child born in war and madness.
And yet, he hummed.
Smiling.
Like a child twirling in a sunlit field, unaware of the corpses buried beneath the flowers.
Then—
A sharp throb. Something foreign wedged between his knuckles.
He paused.
Brought his hand up, squinting at it.
A tooth.
A tooth was stuck deep between his bones. A jagged lizardman's fang, gleaming faintly under the cave's light.
For a moment, he didn't move. His smile faltered.
And then pain struck—swift and blinding, as if his hand had only now remembered it was flesh.
His knees buckled. His breath hitched.
"Mmmmhmmhmhmmm"
He nearly screamed. But no sound came out, only a strangled hiss through clenched teeth.
He staggered backward, pressing his wrist tight, but even the smallest twitch sent fire lancing through his hand. His body shook. He hadn't even noticed it before.
Tears fell before he could stop them—warm, blurring his vision. They rolled down his cheeks, mixing with the blood.
It hurt.
More than he expected. More than it should. The pain crawled up his arm like something alive, clawing inside his skin.
He hated it.
He hated pain.
Always had.
It made him feel weak, helpless—like the boy who used to cry in the dark, wishing someone would just make it stop.
And now he was that boy again, weeping in a glowing cave with a monster's tooth embedded in his flesh.
But not for long.
He took a breath.
Another.
Shaking, he gripped the tooth.
Closed his eyes.
Pulled.
A flash of agony. A torn scream. Blood.
The fang came out slick, and with it came his control.
His hand throbbed violently. Muscle torn. Bone shifted. The wound bled freely, like something inside him had burst open—not just physically.
He panicked.
Pressed his wrist, hard, trying to stop the bleeding. But it was too much.
He was on his knees again, gasping, trying not to sob.
He needed help. He needed it to stop.
He remembered the pond.
Miracle water.
He got up and ran—gripping his wrist so tight it turned pale. Each step was a blur, the world swaying.
The pond wasn't far.
He reached it quickly.
To the villagers, he was a shadow of blood and madness. A blur. A splash.
He dove in.
The water embraced him. Cool. Gentle.
It seeped into his skin, numbing the pain, washing the burning from his nerves.
He sank into its depth, arms floating, fingers trembling.
And for the first time in hours—
He exhaled.
His body melted. Pain eased. Breathing slowed.
His eyes opened underwater. What he saw there stunned him.
The cave ceiling shimmered from below, lights twisting in hypnotic beauty. Fish glowed like fragments of stars. The water was warm, surreal, like drifting in the middle of a dream.
His heart... slowed.
His thoughts softened.
And for the first time—truly—he felt silence.
Stillness.
But silence brings mirrors.
And stillness brings truth.
He remembered. The laughter. The blood. The way his fist shattered bone after bone—and how he smiled.
How he enjoyed it.
And there, suspended in the pond like a leaf in time, he asked himself something he had never dared to before.
"Who am I becoming?"
He hadn't hesitated.
He hadn't pitied them.
He hadn't felt guilt.
Only joy. Only thrill.
And he had danced.
Something inside him twisted.
His breath quickened, and he broke the surface, gasping.
From the edge of the pond, Garuda's voice called out.
"Human! Are you alright? Or did you finally lose your mind out of guilt and try to kill yourself?"
Norian blinked, startled.
He turned to him, still floating.
"What are you talking about? I'm fine."
He lifted his right healing hand.
"See this? I got hurt. I'm healing now. So don't disturb me."
Garuda said something, but Norian didn't catch it.
The villagers were staring.
Heat rose to his face—not from anger, but shame. Embarrassment.
He'd looked unhinged. Laughing, humming, dancing like a madman.
He dove again—deeper into the pond's embrace. He needed to disappear.
The light below welcomed him again.
But this time, it didn't soothe him.
He floated still, chest tight, eyes wide.
And the thoughts came creeping back.
"That wasn't me. That's not who I am."
But even as he thought it, his heart thudded—not in fear, but in uncertainty.
Because maybe—just maybe—it was him.
And then he remembered the system's message.
"Nature of Equanimity has shifted."
He floated upward again, body still, eyes locked on the cavern ceiling.
A faint ripple above.
He stared blankly, and something cold passed through his chest.
His heart pounded—not with adrenaline, but with dread.
Dread of what he might become.
Dread that he was already halfway there.
A monster with a smile.
He shook his head, violently.
'No. No. That wasn't it.'
He spoke to himself, whispering into the quiet of the water.
"I was just overwhelmed… I finally felt free. That's all it was."
He clung to the thought like a lifeline.
"It was just the adrenaline. I snapped for a moment. I'm still me."
The fear clawed at his mind.
So he pushed harder.
"It's not because of my power. It's not… It's not corrupting me. I've always been like this… deep down. I just didn't know it."
His breathing calmed again.
The heartbeat slowed.
The lie—so close to truth—settled like sediment in a still pond.
And Norian smiled.
A small, sad smile.
"Yeah. I'm still me. That's all that matters."
He let himself drift.
For a few moments longer, he pretended he believed it.
Then, finally, he swam to shore. Quiet. Unseen.
He didn't want to be around anyone.
Garuda had offered him a place in the village, but he refused.
The prison cell—cold, small, and empty—was safer.
It didn't ask questions.
Didn't judge.
But the truth was he was scared. Imagine waking up in the middle of night and seeing over sized lizards with sharp teeth.
He wasn't willing to take the risk.
He entered the cell and curled in the corner, where moss and damp walls welcomed him.
Oddly, it felt like home.
Like that first day he'd arrived in this world, sleeping beneath stone on the far side of the river, where no one knew his name.
He closed his eyes.
Let exhaustion claim him.
And as he drifted off, a final whisper passed through his mind:
"I'm still me… right?"
-To Be Continued