The first light of dawn filters through the window of Vayu's small room, casting faint golden streaks across the floor. The distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves outside signal the start of another day. He blinks awake, his body stiff from yesterday's intense training. His hands instinctively reaching for his dagger on his table .
With a deep breath, he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of damp wood and the faint aroma of bread baking in the kitchen, His stomach grumbles, as he marches out of his room and finds his mother working in the kitchen.
Vayu's mother was around 5'7" in her height, her presence was both calm and comforting. She had a round face with soft, warm features kind eyes that seem to always hold a gentle understanding and a smile that can ease your worry. Her skin tan as someone who has spent years working under the sun, tending to the home and the field.
She wears the traditional clothing of mountain women, a layered outfit that speaks of both practicality and grace. A long, flowing skirt reaches her ankles, made of thick woven fabric to withstand the cool mountain air. Over it, she wears a fitted blouse with intricate handsewn embroidery. A thick sash secures the blouse at her waist.
Vayu stretched himself, rolling his shoulders to loosen tight muscles before stepping outside. The weather was chilly today cold wind was blowing, He went to the well, splashing cold water on his face, the icy shock jolting him fully awake.
The village did not pipes or aqueducts, so they used wells to get water. The settlement was arranged in small cluster of homes, each cluster had five to seven houses, and at the center of each stood a shared well. From above, the layout resembled a scattering of circles — households orbiting a single point of water.
The wells themselves were hand-dug, their shafts lined with fitted stones and capped with a low, rounded wall to keep dust and wandering children from falling in. They had simple rope-and-pulley buckets, their wooden wheels creaking with age. A strip of flat stone around each rim kept the ground dry, and beyond that, a small gravel bed caught the runoff before it turned the soil to muck.
At dawn, before the heat woke, women, men, and children came with pots balanced on their hips, or with wooden buckets swinging from yokes. They greeted one another, traded news, and sometimes bartered over favors as they waited their turn. Morning water was for drinking and cooking; only later in the day would it be drawn for washing or scrubbing floors. Bathing and laundry were done at a short distance from the well itself, near shallow channels where excess water trickled away into the earth.
Each of the five households sharing a well took turns caring for it. The stone rim would be scrubbed, the bucket rope checked for fraying, and once every few weeks the well's mouth would be covered at night to keep out leaves, insects, and the occasional curious animal. In dry months, when the water line sank low, the villagers rationed their use drinking water took priority, and disputes sometimes flared between neighbors over a few extra buckets. In the rainy season, the problem reversed, the wells brimmed quickly, but the risk of floodwater seeping in with mud and silt kept the "water keeper" busy checking the clarity each morning.
With a hundred homes in the settlement, there were twenty such wells in all, carefully spaced so no household had to walk more than fifty paces to draw water.
After weeks of relentless training, Vayu realizes how much time he has spent pushing himself, ignoring everything else. Today, he decided to take a break a from his training. His father has returned home after days of work, and Vayu wanted to spend time with his family.
After washing up, he joined his mother, who was preparing to head to the market. "You're coming with me today?" she asks, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
Vayu nodded, offering a small smile.
His mother chuckled. "Well, let's go before the best fish are gone."
The marketplace was lively, filled with the chatter of villagers, the scent of fresh products, and the rhythmic clatter of wooden stalls being restocked. Vayu helped his mother pick vegetables, occasionally carrying heavier sack for her. At the fish stall, his mother inspected each fish carefully, pressing gently against their scales.
"This one's fresh" she mutters.
Vayu watched her with curiosity "How can you tell?"
She glanced at him. "The eyes, if they're clear and bright, it's fresh, if they're cloudy, it's not worth buying."
Vayu nodded, he helped carrying the baskets back home, a simple but oddly satisfying task.
Back home, Vayu put the vegetables down and started helping his mother with chores. He swept the floor, gathered firewood, and assisted his mother in washing the fish. She glanced at him while they work. "You've been training too hard, what happened today".
"I know," he said, and continued washing the fish and said "But I still have a long way to go."
She smiled softly. "You'll get there, after all my son is so talented and smart", she had proud expression when she said that "every mother in the world thinks that" Vayu thought
Vayu nodded, feeling a warmth in his chest.
As the sun set, the house filled with the delicious aroma of cooking. Vayu helped his mother prepare dinner, stirring the stew while she fries the fish. The sounds of sizzling oil and bubbling broth mix with their quiet conversation about everyday things the villagers did, the market, little things he usually doesn't pay attention to.
Soon, his father joined them, placing his hunting gear by the door. "Smells good," he said, sitting down at the wooden table.
Vayu's father had a tall and imposing figure, his height adding to his commanding presence. His sharp, chiseled face is marked by experience, with deep-set eyes that seem to see more than they reveal ,unwavering holding the wisdom of a hunter, always scanning, always aware. His expression is often serious, but there is a quiet warmth in the way he speaks to his family.
His body is lean and flexible, shaped by years of traversing rugged mountain terrain, tracking, and surviving in the wild. Every movement he makes is measured and purposeful, showing the discipline of a seasoned hunter.
He wore attire built for both protection and agility. A thick, fur-lined cloak drapes over his shoulders, shielding him from the biting cold of the highlands. Underneath he wore a sturdy tunic made of thick woven fabric, reinforced with leather patches for durability. A wide belt secures the tunic at his waist, where he carries small hunting tools—a knife, a pouch of essentials, and a sling of arrows. His trousers are fitted but flexible, tucked into strong leather boots designed for long treks over rough terrain.
Vayu put the plates down, most utensils were made from wood. They ate together for the first time in a long while. The food was simple but satisfying.
His father wiped his mouth, then leaned back and said "So, Vayu, how's training going?".
Vayu swallowed his bite of fish and nodded. "It's tough but I'm learning, Kael's been pushing me hard."
His father grinned. "Good. That's how you grow." He then started telling stories of his hunting days of tracking beasts through dense forests, of near misses and close calls. Vayu listened intently, fascinated by the details.
As the night came, Vayu felt something he hadn't in a long time "peace". He wasn't sparring, he wasn't pushing himself past exhaustion. He was just here, with his family, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Then he questioned himself was it worth it to cross the line and live everything behind, will he be able to come back after crossing the boundary, he thought while cleaning the dishes
After cleaning up, Vayu retreated to his room. He stretched again out of habit, As he laid down, he exhaled slowly, feeling the fatigue of weeks of training leaving his body.
For the first time in a long time, he fall into a deep sleep with his mind at ease.