4. Meeting of the Fallen

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow over Skyfall Academy, where even the shadows seemed to whisper of power and prestige. In this world of soaring geniuses and untouchable prodigies, those without talent were treated like dirt beneath the feet of the elite.

Ruhi, an outer disciple, walked slowly along the narrow stone path leading to the women's dormitories. Her steps were uneven, her breath shallow. Bruises marked her arms, and her lip was slightly split—faint reminders of yet another humiliating day.

She was a wind cultivator, though her talent barely scratched the surface of mediocrity. Her cultivation level lingered at the lower end of the spectrum, making her an easy target for the inner disciple girls who thrived on power games.

Today had been no different.

They had mocked her clothes, ridiculed her weak cultivation, and pushed her around like she was nothing. The sting of their words hurt almost as much as their slaps, but Ruhi endured it all with clenched fists and silent tears. She was used to it by now—or at least, that's what she told herself.

When Ruhi finally reached the dorm entrance, the sky had darkened into a deep shade of violet. She paused, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. Just as she was about to push open the door, she stumbled—her ankle twisted slightly from an earlier scuffle. She braced herself against the wall, wincing.

That's when she saw him.

A figure sat on the steps near the boys' dormitory—a frail, slouched silhouette under the flickering lantern light. His clothes were tattered, barely concealing the fresh bruises that marred his skin. His messy hair covered part of his face, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something different.

Not defeat.

Not despair.

But an ember of something dangerous—something unfamiliar.

It was Aayan.

The academy's infamous loser. The one everyone mocked, beaten even by those weaker than him simply because he never fought back.

Ruhi hesitated, then tried to ignore him, limping past. But the slight grunt of pain she let out as her ankle gave way made Aayan glance up.

His eyes locked onto hers—a flicker of recognition in his gaze. He saw the bruises, the tear-streaked face, and the way she favored her right foot.

For a moment, they were just two broken people in a world that didn't care if they vanished.

But Aayan's voice broke the silence.

"You're hurt."

Ruhi stiffened. She didn't want pity—especially not from someone like him.

"It's none of your business,"

she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended.

Aayan didn't flinch. He'd heard worse.

Instead, he stood up slowly, his movements stiff from his own injuries. Despite his beaten appearance, there was something different about him today. A faint confidence, like he was standing straighter, his gaze sharper.

"You'll make it worse if you keep walking like that," he said quietly, stepping closer.

Ruhi's pride screamed at her to ignore him, but her ankle throbbed painfully. With a frustrated sigh, she leaned against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the cold stone floor.

Aayan crouched beside her without another word.

"Let me see," he said softly, reaching for her foot.

Ruhi hesitated, then gave in. She was too tired to argue.

When his fingers brushed her ankle, a strange sensation shot through her—a warmth spreading from his touch. His hands were rough, calloused from years of hard labor and beatings, but they were gentle now. Careful.

Aayan examined her ankle, then tore a strip from his already ruined sleeve. He wrapped it around her foot with surprising skill, creating a makeshift bandage.

"It's not broken. Just twisted. You'll need to rest it for a few days," he murmured, finishing the wrap.

Ruhi stared at him, confusion flickering in her eyes.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.

Aayan's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.

"Because I know what it feels like to be at the bottom," he replied. "And no one deserves to stay there alone."

The simplicity of his words hit her harder than any slap she'd received that day.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The night grew colder, the academy falling into an uneasy silence around them.

Finally, Aayan stood up and offered her his hand.

Ruhi hesitated, then took it. His grip was firm, steady—like an anchor pulling her from the depths of her own despair.

As he helped her to her feet, she realized something strange.

The warmth from his touch lingered.

Not just on her skin, but somewhere deeper.

Later that night, as Ruhi lay on her simple cot, she found herself thinking about the boy with the bruised face and burning eyes.

And Aayan, staring at the ceiling of his tiny room, felt the system's cold voice echo in his mind:

[Progress: The Target, Ruhi, has been emotionally affected. The Craving Touch ability is active.]

A small smile crept onto Aayan's face.

This was just the beginning.