The mark burned beneath my skin—a faint outline of a closed eye, as if something ancient watched me from inside my own chest.
At night, it pulsed with a heat that no summer could explain. And in the silence between breaths, I heard it: a whisper curling through the darkness.
"Kartik..."
Each time, the voice felt closer, colder, its words too soft to understand but heavy with warning. I barely slept.
My shared room in Delhi became a cage of shadows and stale air. My eyes burned from exhaustion; my hands trembled whenever I traced the mark.
On the third night, when the whisper returned, I couldn't stand it anymore. At dawn, I packed a small bag and caught the first train out of the city, heading toward my grandfather's house—a weathered
home in the outskirts, where silence clung like moss.
When I arrived, my grandfather sat on the veranda, prayer beads sliding through his calloused fingers.
His eyes, sharp despite the old age, met mine—and widened with happiness. After talking for a while, I unbuttoned my shirt, showing him the mark.
For a heartbeat, all I saw in his face was fear.
"Tell me everything," he said.
The words tumbled out: the ancient cave, the cold Stone, the burning pain, and the nightmare vision —warriors with burning eyes battling creatures twisted by rage. And the whisper... always the whisper.
My grandfather's hand trembled slightly as he traced the mark. "There are things in this world older than prayer," he murmured. Then he stood, moving slower than I'd ever seen him. "Wait here."
Minutes passed, heavy as stones. When he returned, He said I have told about this to my old friend and he will be sending help soon don't worry you will be fine and after few hours a young man walked inside the house.
He couldn't have been more than twenty-three, but something about him felt... weathered.
His eyes were cold as river water in winter, and a quiet power seemed to press the air around him. On his forearm, half-hidden beneath cloth, I glimpsed faint purple ink bands.
"This is Veer," my grandfather said, voice hushed. "He is here because you need more than blessings now."
Veer's gaze pinned me, unreadable. "Show me."
My breath hitched as I lifted my shirt. For a moment, Veer's eyes narrowed—and in that flicker, I thought I saw fear.
"The eye hasn't opened yet," he murmured, voice low as thunder in the distance. "But something has already answered its call."
His words made my skin crawl. "What do you mean?"
"Before we do anything else, there's someone I need to take you to meet," Veer said. "Trinetra—a place where marks speak, if you survive long enough to listen."
I swallowed hard. "Please… before we go, can we see Ravi? He's dying. He was with me on the trip."
Veer paused. "If you care for him, yes. But stay close. The mark on your chest... it draws spirits like blood draws wolves."
Ravi's house felt wrong the moment we stepped inside. The afternoon sun barely lit the living room; the air smelled of rotting flowers and stale incense. Flies drifted lazily over forgotten cups of tea.
On a narrow bed, Ravi lay twisted in sweat-soaked sheets. His skin had taken on a waxy pallor; his eyes, once so full of mischief, now looked hollowed by terror. When he saw me, he rasped, voice cracking and started crying:
"Kartik… help… it's inside…"
My chest clenched so hard I could barely breathe. "What do you mean, inside?"
Veer stood still, nostrils flaring like a predator catching scent. "A dark aura wraps around him. It feeds on his fear."
"Can you save him?" My voice was barely a whisper.
"Maybe," Veer said. He unwrapped the cloth on his arm, revealing ink bands that pulsed with faint purple colour. "But it will fight back. Spirits use reflections—mirrors, glass, even polished metal. Remove everything reflective. Now."
Heart pounding, I ran through the small house, pulling down framed photos, draping cloth over the TV screen, covering glass with trembling hands. All the while, Ravi moaned, tears streaking down his face:
"It burns… make it stop…"
Veer knelt beside him, chanting words that tasted of iron and age. The ink bands on his arm glowed; shadows on the walls twisted and danced. The air grew colder until my breath turned to mist.
Suddenly, Ravi's body convulsed. His eyes rolled back, showing only black. An inhuman voice rasped from his throat: "Too late, little warrior."
Veer's chanting quickened, sweat darkening his collar. The purple light pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Ravi's hand shot out, seizing Veer's throat, and slammed him against the wall. Plaster cracked from the force. For the first time, fear flickered in Veer's eyes.
The voice inside Ravi laughed, low and cold. "Your god is blind, and your blood tastes sweet."
My legs refused to move. Guilt and terror held me frozen. "Ravi… please… it's me! Kartik!"
Ravi's black gaze turned toward me, a cruel smile twisting his mouth. "Kartik… it knows your scent now."
A wave of nausea swelled inside me. What had I unleashed?
Veer coughed, voice hoarse. "Stay back!"
But then something changed. Veer's eyes glowed, and the ink bands blazed. Power seemed to ripple off him, bending the dust in the air.
"You won't reach him," Veer growled. His voice felt stronger....