Ahaan opened his eyes.
But this wasn't the real world.
Everything around him was… grey.
The sky, the ground, the air — all covered in thick ash.
He was still inside St. Elora's Orphanage, but it was different now.
Like a dead version of the building.
Walls were half-melted.
Furniture looked like black bones.
The air smelled like burned cloth and rotten food.
And worst of all — no sound.
Not even his own footsteps.
It was like walking in a nightmare.
He looked down.
The journal was gone.
So was his flashlight. His phone.
Just him.
Alone.
He tried to speak, but his voice didn't come out.
Ahaan walked slowly through the hallway.
Everything felt slower — like time was melting.
Each room he passed was worse than the last.
Room 3 had blood-stained beds.
Room 5 had drawings on the wall — all of them black crayon, showing children on fire.
He stepped back, heart pounding.
This place was alive.
And it remembered him.
Then he saw it:
A mirror in the hallway.
Not broken.
Not dusty.
Perfectly clean.
But his reflection was… wrong.
It showed him, yes — but with burns all over his face.
Just like Jai.
Then the reflection moved on its own.
It smiled and whispered:
"You belong here now."
Ahaan stepped back fast.
The mirror cracked.
Then — behind him — footsteps.
Slow. Barefoot. Crunching ash.
He turned — Jai stood there.
But not just Jai.
Behind him were other children.
Ghostly.
Burned. Silent.
All staring at Ahaan.
Jai tilted his head.
"Why did you come back, Ahaan?"
Ahaan tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
Jai continued.
"You lit the fire. We burned. And you forgot."
"But this place didn't forget."
"Now it wants you."
The floor beneath Ahaan cracked open like glass.
He fell.
He landed in a black room.
No walls. No ceiling.
Just darkness.
But voices began to echo.
Children screaming. Crying. Laughing.
Then — a deep, old voice:
"Ahaan Das. The one who lived."
A spotlight flickered on.
Ahaan stood in the middle of a stage.
Rows of burnt children sat in front, watching silently.
One by one, they pointed at him.
Their mouths opened.
No sound. Just smoke.
Then, a tall shadow walked toward him.
A woman. Her face hidden behind a burned veil.
She held a music box.
The same one from earlier.
She opened it.
A slow, creepy lullaby played.
Ting… ting… ting…
And suddenly — Ahaan remembered something.
A memory.
He was a small boy again.
Holding a match.
Laughing with Jai.
The music box playing on a table nearby.
Ahaan lit the match — thinking it was a game.
But the match slipped.
The flame touched the curtains.
And in seconds, the room caught fire.
Jai screamed.
The other kids screamed.
But someone pulled Ahaan out.
Only him.
Not the others.
Ahaan dropped to his knees.
Tears burned down his face.
"I… I didn't mean to..."
The shadow woman leaned down.
She spoke softly:
"Intent doesn't erase pain."
The children's eyes glowed.
Jai stepped forward again.
"You left us to die."
Ahaan whispered back:
"Then take me. Leave the others alone."
Jai stared.
Then smiled.
The music box stopped.
Silence.
Then everything shattered — like glass.
The ash world broke apart.
And Ahaan… woke up.
He was back in the real orphanage.
On the floor.
Burned paper around him.
Smoke in the air.
Coughing. Sweating. Alive.
But the journal lay beside him, open to a new page.
Written in black ink:
"You've been marked, Ahaan. The fire isn't finished."
Now....