Morning broke over Ravankhet, sunlight spilling across narrow lanes and rooftops. Dev, Shubham, and Laxmi packed lightly, eager to see the King's residence—the place Professor Singh had visited so often.
The house was old but well-maintained, a relic of a bygone era. Stone walls and wooden beams whispered secrets of generations. They were greeted by a few elderly workers, who eyed them curiously.
"Professor Singh?" Dev asked politely. "Did he ever come here?"
The eldest worker nodded slowly. "Oh yes, young master. Singh came once every month, without fail. He would go with the King… for two or three days at a time. They would leave like it was years, sometimes staying in the forests, living among wild animals, mapping and studying the land."
Dev's mind clicked. He remembered asking Singh once why he took a week off every month. Singh had only said with a casual shrug, "Just some fieldwork, Dev. Needed to check a few things in person." No mysterious hints, just ordinary work.
Shubham leaned closer. "So the King and Singh had a connection… deeper than we thought."
The workers told them all they could, hinting that both men were meticulous, private, and cautious. After gathering enough information, the trio started exploring the King's old chambers.
Among the dusty shelves and worn-out cabinets, Shubham's sharp eyes caught a folded paper tucked beneath a loose floorboard. He carefully pulled it out.
"It's… really old," Shubham said, brushing off the dust. "I'd guess… four or five hundred years."
Dev took it, studying the faded lines. "It looks like a map… lines connecting dots, but the writing… it's some ancient language."
Shubham grinned. "Don't worry. I've been working on something." He reached into his bag and pulled out a compact, intricate machine.
"What's that?" Dev asked.
"This," Shubham said proudly, "is my invention. It can decode any language—no matter how old it is. Though, I can't promise how long it will take. Depends on the language's age."
Laxmi laughed. "So you're telling me, if it's old enough, I could be retired before it finishes?"
Shubham smirked. "Careful, or I'll encode your jokes in hieroglyphics."
Dev chuckled at their banter. Shubham carefully placed the ancient paper into the machine, and they all finally settled down for the night.
But sleep brought no rest for Dev.
He found himself in a dream, standing in Singh's room. Flames engulfed the walls, licking the ceiling with merciless heat. Singh was there, calling out, but his words were simple, urgent.
"Dev… help… please!" Singh's eyes were wide, filled with fear and desperation.
Dev reached out, but the heat burned his hands before he could touch him. The room twisted, the flames roaring louder, and then…
Dev jolted awake, heart hammering. Sweat slicked his forehead, and the first hints of dawn were peeking through the trees.
He sat up, glancing at Shubham and Laxmi, both still asleep. The paper and the machine sat quietly on the ground. Something about the dream… about Singh's pleading eyes… felt real, as if warning him.
A shiver ran down his spine. This is only the beginning, he thought. Whatever Singh was protecting… it's far bigger than any of us imagined.
Outside, the morning mist curled around Ravankhet, hiding secrets that were still very much alive.