Two days and a night of travel had brought them to the village of Ravankhet. The early morning sun spilled over clay rooftops, and the faint sounds of daily life—roosters crowing, children laughing, and farmers tending their fields—welcomed them.
Dev, Shubham, and Laxmi made their way through the narrow lanes, the weight of the journey already settling into their bones. The excitement of arrival mingled with unease.
"Feels… almost too quiet," Dev muttered, glancing around at the tidy yet sleepy village.
"Quiet villages are the trickiest," Shubham replied dryly. "They hide more than they show."
Laxmi rolled her eyes. "Always so suspicious. Let's just find someone who knows Singh."
They approached a small, weathered house at the edge of the village. An old man was sitting outside, sweeping the courtyard. At the mention of Professor Singh's name, his hands froze, and his eyes widened.
"Professor Singh?" the old man whispered. "I remember… yes, I remember him."
Dev leaned forward. "You do? Can you tell us anything?"
The villager nodded slowly. "I know what he came here for, as much as anyone could. Every time he visited Ravankhet, he would go to the King's palace. Always seeking… something. Something important. He never told me what it was, but he was careful, very careful."
Shubham exchanged a glance with Dev. "So Singh visited the King? Then maybe the King knows something."
"Perhaps," the villager said, eyes shadowed with worry. "But… you should know… the King… he died the same day as your professor."
Dev froze. "Died? How?"
"A killer came in the night," the villager said softly. "No one expected it. And after… the killer… he took his own life the same day. Strange, isn't it?"
Dev swallowed hard, the unease in his chest tightening. "Professor Singh… he didn't have any wounds, no signs of struggle. Just… gone. And now this?"
The old man lifted his weathered hands and murmured a prayer. "God help us. What is happening in this world? Why do misfortune and death strike together?"
Laxmi placed a hand on Dev's shoulder, giving him a small smile. "See? You're not imagining things. Some patterns are bigger than we are. But we'll figure it out—together."
Shubham studied the villager carefully. "Two deaths, same day… could it be a warning? Or something that ties them both?"
The villager shook his head. "I do not know. I only know Singh was careful, and still… fate has a strange way of moving."
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the trio thanked the villager and began walking toward the palace ruins where the King once resided. Their minds raced with questions, but they moved as a unit, joking lightly to cut through the tension.
"Let me guess," Laxmi said, brushing off dust from her bag, "the King had some secret that Singh wanted?"
"Exactly," Dev replied, smirking despite his worry. "And now it's up to us to uncover it."
Shubham rolled his eyes. "Always so dramatic."
Night fell as they set up camp on the outskirts of the village. The fire crackled, the shadows of the forest stretching around them. Despite the light-hearted banter, Dev couldn't shake the feeling that unseen eyes were watching. Every rustle in the trees made him flinch, every distant hoot of an owl felt like a warning.
He glanced at Shubham and Laxmi, both already tending to the fire. "Ravankhet… it feels alive," he murmured.
"Alive, or waiting," Shubham said quietly, scanning the darkened forest edge.
Dev nodded, the wooden piece in his bag pressing against him like a silent reminder. This is only the beginning. Someone—or something—knows we're here.
And as the night deepened, the village slept unaware, while shadows lingered just beyond the flickering firelight.