The twins and five Whisperers stood silently at the border of Padmapur and Lohitpuri. They waited, alert and patient, eyes trained on the shadows of the forest path ahead.
Minutes passed. Then, without a sound, two figures emerged from the foliage. Vanmargis. Clad in muted browns and greens, they blended into the surroundings almost too well. One of them gestured without a word, motioning the group to follow.
They were led through a dense thicket.
As they walked, the twins observed the people. Some bore the features of humans, others the sharpness and grace of Vanmargis, and a few even had the eerie, dark presence of Kaalraths. Despite their differences, they coexisted in uneasy harmony. This place was more than a sanctuary—it was a compromise, a city holding itself together with hope and fear.
The city itself revealed itself slowly. Lit entirely by oil lamps and hung with faded garlands, Padmapur seemed to glow softly in the encroaching dusk. The decorations whispered of celebration, but no one smiled. The preparations for the festival moved like a ritual performed out of obligation. Even the music, soft and hesitant, carried a weight.
The children seemed the only ones showing fragments of joy, playing with flowers or chasing each other in the dusty streets. But even their laughter was hushed, as though the city itself forbade it.
One of the Vanmargi men stopped near a small house tucked between two larger dwellings. He turned and looked at the group.
"You will stay here. Two days. No longer," he said, voice low but firm. "You are our guests, and your presence on such an auspicious day is dangerous. We will give you what you need. But do not speak to the locals. Do not reveal who you are. If your identity is known and it's discovered that we let you in—"
He looked each one of them in the eye.
"—we will all be fed to the wild beasts."
Raghav stepped forward, confused and defiant. "But what can we do in two days? We need more time. We came here for something important."
The man's gaze did not waver. "Two days. If you make it out alive, we can talk about your next visit."
The Vanmargis turned and left without waiting for further discussion.
Inside the house, the group settled in with quiet efficiency. It was small but sturdy, with woven mats and clean blankets laid out for them. No words were exchanged for a while. The tension outside had seeped into their bones.
They were here for a reason.
The festival was to begin with the first rays of dawn. The entire city would gather for a sacred procession—a ritual thousands of years old. An idol of their god would be carried from the heart of Padmapur to an ancient temple on the city's edge, a temple believed to be over 2,500 years old.
Sarthak had been invited. Not just as a guest, but as the one who would initiate the ceremony. It was an old tradition—the ruler presiding over the start of the ritual. It meant something.
The plan was to watch. Observe him, follow discreetly, see what he did and where he went. Any movement out of line, any whispers exchanged, any deviation—had to be noted.
There was another piece to the puzzle. Aghorvan.
If they could, they would try to reach the city. No one had gone near it in a long time, not without consequences. But if the festival gave them the right distraction, perhaps they could get close.
That night, sleep didn't come easily. The twins lay on the woven mats, eyes open in the dark, thoughts racing.
What was hidden in Aghorvan?
Why did Rankriti and Sarthak both avoid it so cautiously?
Why place Sarthak in a Mandala that had resisted her rule?
What game was Rankriti playing, and how far did her plans reach?
Outside, the soft clinking of bells and the low hum of festival preparations continued through the night. Lanterns swayed gently in the wind.
Eventually, exhaustion took them.
But dawn was coming. And with it, the plan would begin.