Ayaan slowed his steps, narrowing his eyes at the strange patch of moss ahead. It was oddly... perfect. A neat, soft circle in the middle of dirt and dead leaves. Rehan didn't notice and kept walking—until his foot hit something hollow.
Thump.
They both froze.
Rehan knelt, brushing away leaves. A wooden trapdoor stared back at them, worn and damp, with no handle—just a faint symbol etched into its center. Not a language. More like... a shape you almost recognize, like a dream you forgot the moment you woke up.
"What the hell is this?" Rehan murmured.
Before Ayaan could answer, a gust of warm air blew upward from beneath the cracks. It smelled faintly metallic. Not like blood—but like old coins and forgotten places.
Then came the sound.
Knocking.
Not frantic. Not soft. Three slow knocks, like someone below had all the time in the world.
Rehan stood up quickly. "Nope. Not opening that."
But Ayaan didn't move. He wasn't even sure he could. His feet felt locked to the earth, like something beneath the ground had seen him.
---
Back in the city, Naira jolted awake.
Her phone buzzed once. A text from Danish:
"Still nothing. Cops think he just ran off. You okay?"
She didn't answer. Her windows were rattling again. It wasn't wind this time. It was rhythm. A pulse. Like something deep beneath the city had started ticking—and she could feel it in her bones.
She looked out the window.
The streetlamps were flickering, all at once, in perfect unison. No one else seemed to notice. Down below, an old man was sweeping outside his shop like it was any normal night. But he kept glancing up, at her window. Like he was waiting.
---
Back in the forest, Rehan finally spoke. "Let's keep moving. That thing… it's not part of what we came for."
But Ayaan hesitated. His fingers hovered just above the trapdoor.
"I don't think we found it," he said quietly. "I think it found us."
A shrill sound cut through the trees. Not an animal. Not human either. Just wrong.
Just as they started to run, the sound returned—faint, distant, but sharp. Not the cry from earlier. This was like a whistle… or a call. Not directed at them, but sent out into the trees, like a signal.
Rehan slowed. "Did you hear that?"
Ayaan nodded. "Someone else is here."
They weren't alone.
Not just in the ghostly sense of being watched, but truly—someone was out there. Moving between the trees. The branches didn't sway with the wind but twitched with footsteps. Calculated, slow, aware.
Rehan turned his head. A flicker. Not a shadow this time—something glinting. Glass?
He nudged Ayaan and pointed. "There. Behind that fallen tree."
They crept closer, careful not to step on the dried leaves. The shape became clearer. A bottle. Small, dusty, sealed with red wax. Just sitting there in the hollow of a trunk. As if it had been placed for someone to find.
Without thinking, Ayaan picked it up. The moment he touched it, the wind dropped. Complete silence.
The label was faded, written in old Urdu script neither of them could read clearly. But one word stood out:
"Gumaan"
(Doubt.)
He turned to Rehan, unease settling in his chest. "Why does this feel like a message?"
Rehan didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the ground near Ayaan's feet. There were prints—bare feet. Dozens. All heading in one direction… and stopping right where they stood.
---
Meanwhile, back in the city, Danish sat alone in the cyber café, scrolling through old surveillance footage. Sameer's last known sighting. But when he zoomed into the frame, his heart skipped.
In one still, behind Sameer, stood a man. Barefoot. Face blurry. Dressed in something ancient-looking.
The timestamp showed 3:03 a.m.
The next frame?
Gone.
Danish leaned back, feeling something crawl under his skin. He looked around. The café was full, noisy, buzzing with lights.
But suddenly… he felt like he was the only one there.