Chapter 7 – The Door Beneath the Dust
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Opening Scene
(Tone: Haunting, nostalgic, foreshadowing the unraveling of old secrets.)
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The train groaned like an old animal as it rolled into the station. Zayaan sat by the window, watching the blur of fields and hills give way to the quiet station where time seemed slower, heavier. The same land he'd once thought of as home now felt foreign—as if the soil itself remembered what he wanted to forget.
Fifteen days. That's all it took for the city college to vanish into memory and for this—this smell of damp earth and the faint, woody rot of winter air—to rise again like an old ghost.
Kian sat across from him, hair longer now, falling over his eyes like curtains. He'd tied it back loosely, but a few strands escaped, framing a face that had grown sharper, almost haunted in its own way. He caught Zayaan staring.
"What?" Kian smirked, but his voice carried a fatigue that hadn't been there two years ago.
"Nothing," Zayaan muttered. But it wasn't nothing. It was everything they'd dragged back with them.
Behind them, the luggage rack held bags that didn't just carry clothes. Inside one, wrapped in an old scarf, was the jar Rozin had given him. Inside another, Kian's leather pouch, heavy with the things they'd used for the ritual.
Things they didn't talk about on trains.
---
By the time they reached Nani's house, the sun was hanging low, bleeding orange over the hills. The old house stood the way it always had, whitewashed walls cracked like dry skin, the roof bent under years of rain. A neem tree clawed at the back wall, its shadow stretching across the courtyard like a black hand.
The moment Zayaan stepped inside, the smell hit him—wood smoke, turmeric, something else older, like time soaked into the bricks. His chest tightened. This house had laughter once. His mother's laughter. And the silence that replaced it never left.
Nani came hobbling from the kitchen, her dupatta dragging, her hair a silver tide pinned back carelessly. Her eyes were bright, but her voice trembled when she spoke.
"Zayaan beta," she said softly, almost afraid to touch him, as if he were a wound that hadn't healed. Then she hugged him, and he realized how much smaller she felt now.
Kian stood politely behind, smiling faintly when she acknowledged him, but his eyes kept scanning the walls, the corners, as though expecting something to crawl out of the dark.
---
That night, as they sat on the veranda sipping chai, the cold creeping up their sleeves, Zayaan finally spoke.
"Kian." His voice was low, almost carried away by the wind. "You think it's here?"
Kian didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on the neem tree, its branches scratching softly against the wall like whispers.
"It started here," Kian said finally. "Everything started here. The pact. The roots." He turned, eyes catching the weak lamplight. "Your mother didn't bury her secrets in the woods, Zayaan. She buried them here."
Chapter 7 – Ashes of the Roots
The house smelled of old wood and turmeric, the scent of age clinging to the walls like an unspoken memory. Zayaan stepped inside slowly, his shoes brushing against the mosaic floor that hadn't changed since childhood. The silence here was different—thicker than city quiet, carrying whispers of the past.
"Nani?" His voice cracked in the empty hall before a shuffle came from the kitchen.
She appeared smaller than he remembered, wrapped in a faded shawl, eyes clouded yet sharp when they landed on him. For a moment, her lips trembled before forming his name—
"Zayaan… beta."
He bent down, hugging her tightly, inhaling the faint scent of sandalwood. Her frail arms rested on his back as if she was holding a piece of someone else—a shadow of Aamira.
"I didn't think you'd come back here," she said softly.
"I didn't think I would either," he murmured.
They sat on the veranda, the sun dying behind the hills. Her hands shook as she poured tea into small cups, and Zayaan noticed something—a brass key tied to her wrist with red thread.
"What's that for?" he asked lightly.
Her smile faltered. "For the store room. No one goes there now."
"Why?"
"Because some doors… should stay closed."
Her words hung in the air like damp smoke. Zayaan's fingers tightened around his cup.
---
Later that night, while Nani slept, he stood before the old store room door. The wood was swollen with age, the padlock rusted but intact. The key felt warm in his palm, as though it had been waiting for his touch.
He turned it slowly. The creak of the hinges sounded louder than it should, echoing into the house like a warning.
Dust bloomed in the air. Inside, the store room was more than clutter; it was a graveyard of time—trunks, broken frames, jars of dried herbs. And then, in the far corner, half-buried under old quilts, was a box.
A familiar box.
The one Aahil had mentioned.
The one Sheikh Rozin hinted at when he said: "What she buried was never in the soil."
Zayaan knelt, heart pounding. His fingers brushed the lid—and froze.
There were marks on the wood. Not scratches. Symbols. The same ones from the woods.
And inside the box, beneath layers of yellowed cloth, lay two things:
A diary, its leather cracked, pages brittle.
And a photograph—Aamira as a teenager, standing under a massive tree. She wasn't alone. Beside her was someone else, their face scratched out violently.
On the back of the photograph, in Aamira's handwriting, were three words:
"The first child."
Chapter 7 (Continued) – The House That Breathed
The hall smelled of old smoke and camphor. Shadows bent across the wooden floor like long, twisted fingers. They had dragged mattresses and quilts into the hall after dinner, deciding it was safer—closer to each other, closer to light.
Kian lay staring at the ceiling fan, its blades turning lazily as if even air was reluctant to move in this house. Zayaan held the diary against his chest, not ready to open it yet. The photograph sat on the low table between them, Aamira's smile frozen in sepia.
Wizz broke the silence first.
"So… the first child. Any guesses?"
"Not tonight," Zayaan muttered, pulling the quilt tighter.
Kian smirked in the dim glow of the hurricane lamp. "You're scared."
"I'm cautious," Zayaan shot back.
The conversation slipped into uneasy jokes and awkward laughter, the kind people use to keep something darker at bay. But as the hours stretched thin, even words grew heavy. One by one, they began to drift into that fragile state between sleep and wakefulness.
That's when Yuwin sat up.
At first, he thought it was a dream—a faint scraping sound, like chalk against slate. But then it came again. Sharper. Closer.
Scratch… scratch… scratch.
His eyes darted toward the far wall. The hall's old teak panels looked the same—dark, silent, unmoving. But the sound didn't stop. It deepened, grew deliberate, like letters being carved into wood.
"Zayaan," Yuwin whispered, voice trembling.
No answer.
He crawled closer and shook Zayaan's shoulder. "Wake up. There's… something."
Zayaan blinked awake, groggy. "What?"
"Listen."
They all held their breath.
Scratch… scratch… scratch.
Now everyone has heard it. Coming from the north wall, the one that faced the backyard where the banyan tree loomed like a sentinel in the moonlight.
"What the hell…" Wizz muttered, reaching for his phone, but the signal was dead.
And then—footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. On the wooden veranda outside.
Creak. Pause. Creak.
Like someone pacing just beyond the door.
The hurricane lamp flickered violently, throwing their shadows into monstrous shapes across the walls.
Kian moved first, pulling out a small pouch from his backpack—a mix of herbs and black salt.
"What are you doing?" Zayaan hissed.
"Protective line," Kian said, voice low. "Don't break it."
He traced a rough circle around their mattresses, murmuring something under his breath—a language that didn't belong in the modern world.
The scratching grew frantic now, the sound of symbols clawing into wood, faster and faster, until suddenly—silence.
No footsteps.
No scratching.
Just a suffocating quiet that pressed on their lungs like a weight.
And then, the wind shifted. The old wooden panels moaned as if the house itself had taken a breath.
"Something's in here," Yuwin whispered, barely audible.
The lamp went out.
Chapter 7 – The House That Breathed (Midnight Awakening)
The hurricane lamp died with a hiss, plunging them into a darkness so complete it felt alive. The air thickened, pressing against their skin like damp cloth.
"Don't… move," Kian whispered, his voice tight with fear. "Stay inside the circle."
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Then, from the far corner of the hall, came a low rasp—a sound like bark splitting under pressure. It dragged across the silence, heavy and deliberate, as if the very wood of the house were exhaling.
Zayaan felt something cold coil around his ankle. He jerked back, heart pounding, but there was nothing. Only the emptiness inside the circle.
And then, it spoke.
A voice—not loud, but so deep it seemed to rise from the floorboards themselves.
"You were not the first."
The words slithered into their ears, heavy with moss and earth, echoing in a tongue half-rotted by time.
Kian gripped Zayaan's arm hard enough to hurt.
"Who… who are you?" he stammered.
The voice laughed. A sound like branches snapping in a winter storm.
"The roots remember. The pact was never yours to break."
Zayaan's chest tightened as if invisible vines were wrapping around his ribs. In the dark, his pendant burned hot, throbbing like a second heart. He gasped, clutching it—only to feel it pulse back, alive, as if answering something beyond the room.
Then came the scratching again, but not on the wall—beneath them, under the floorboards, like claws digging upward.
And suddenly, the circle flared. A faint glow from Kian's protective line of herbs. The salt hissed as if something corrosive had touched it. Outside, the footsteps returned—faster now, pounding along the veranda like a furious drumbeat.
"Don't break the line!" Kian shouted as Wizz instinctively moved toward the door.
The voice rose in a guttural whisper, layering over itself like a hundred buried throats:
"OAKMOURNE."
The sound hit them like a gust of cold wind, carrying a smell of rotting leaves. The floor trembled once—then all went still.
Just as suddenly as it began, it was gone. No laughter. No scratching. The night held its breath again.
They didn't speak until the first thread of dawn pierced through the curtains.
---
Morning After – The Name in the Wood
When the weak sunlight crept into the hall, Zayaan saw the wall—and froze.
The carvings from last night were real. Deep gouges ran along the teak panels, symbols curling like twisted vines. But at the center, scrawled in jagged letters, was a single word:
OAKMOURNE.
"What the hell is that?" Wizz muttered, voice cracking.
Kian crouched, running his fingers over the grooves. "It's… a name. Or something worse."
Zayaan stared, heart pounding. The word felt familiar, as if whispered to him long before.
"It said something about roots… and the pact," he murmured.
Kian didn't answer. He was already scrolling through his laptop, eyes darting as he typed furiously. Yuwin, still pale, kept glancing at the veranda door as if expecting it to open.
After what felt like an eternity, Kian turned the screen toward them.
A brittle old scan of a text glared back—a fragment from some forgotten folklore archive:
"OAKMOURNE – the Warden of Bound Roots. An oath-bound spirit born of blood and tree, its name carved in silence. Known to guard ancient pacts… and claim those who trespass upon the circle of its vow."
Zayaan's throat went dry.
"Bound roots…" he whispered, his fingers tightening around the pendant. The metal throbbed faintly in answer, warm against his chest.
Kian's eyes flicked to him—sharp, knowing.
"Zayaan… this thing wasn't here for all of us."
He hesitated, voice low.
"It was here for you."
Chapter 7 – The House That Breathed
Scene II – Roots of the Forgotten
The morning light did little to erase the night's weight. Even as the sun scattered across the courtyard, Zayaan felt the shadows of the hall pressing against him, whispering beneath the wooden floor like trapped breath.
Kian slammed another book shut. Dust rose from the pages, catching the weak sunlight. "Every text says the same thing," he muttered. "Oakmourne isn't just a spirit. It's… a keeper. Bound to trees, bound to vows. It enforces whatever pact was made."
"Pact?" Wizz frowned. "You mean like the one we found in the woods?"
Kian nodded. "Yes—but older. Much older."
Yuwin leaned closer, still shaken from last night. "So what does it want from us? From Zayaan?"
No one answered.
Instead, Zayaan's eyes fell back to the family diary—the one they had begun decoding days ago. The ink was faded, but the words now cut deeper, echoing with a new clarity after last night.
"…roots entwine with blood. The fifth is the key. Should the line falter, Oakmourne will rise. He is the silence in the bark, the breath in the wood."
Zayaan swallowed hard. His hands trembled as he traced the word "fifth."
"The fifth child…" he whispered. "We never found his name. But… what if there was never another child at all?"
Kian froze, staring at him. "You think—"
"It's me," Zayaan said, voice breaking. "I'm the fifth. The trees… they've always felt alive to me. Like they were watching. The pendant… my mother's…" He clutched it as though it might steady his spiraling thoughts.
"She knew. She left it for me because she knew Oakmourne would come."
The air grew still, heavy, as if the house itself was listening.
---
The Store Room
That night, unease drove them into the old store room at Nani's house. The wooden door creaked open, releasing a draft that smelled of dust, damp, and something darker—sap, almost, but sour, like a wound in a tree left to rot.
The room was cluttered with trunks, lanterns, and old furniture shrouded in sheets. But in the farthest corner, beneath stacks of broken frames, Kian found a chest carved with a circle and a five-pointed star.
His breath caught. "This is the same mark I drew… for the ritual," he whispered. "But it's older. Look at the wood—it's Chinar. It's from them."
The latch gave way with a groan. Inside lay brittle papers, a rusted dagger, and a strip of cloth stained dark brown. But what seized their attention was a child's shoe—tiny, weather-worn, with soil still clinging to it.
Yuwin recoiled. "Oh God… is that from… the missing boy?"
Before anyone could answer, Wizz pointed at the wall behind the chest. The wood was carved with words—faint, but still legible.
"The fifth binds the root. Blood for blood, silence for silence."
The floor groaned beneath them, as if the words themselves carried weight. Then—a sound rose from inside the walls. Scratching. Slow, deliberate, as if something was crawling through the hollow spaces of the house.
Kian shoved the chest closed, but Zayaan couldn't move. He was staring at the carvings, his mind reeling. The letters twisted in his sight until they weren't just words—they were a mirror. A truth his blood already knew.
He was the binding. He was the "fifth."
The scratches grew louder, circling the store room. The lantern flickered, dimmed, then flared as if struggling against an unseen breath. And in that stuttering light, Zayaan saw it—on the far wall, etched deeper than all others:
OAKMOURNE.
The letters seemed to drip, though no liquid ran.
And then—like a heartbeat from the earth itself—the pendant on his chest pulsed once, twice. The wood around them shivered.
---
The Twist
Kian pulled Zayaan back just as the lantern sputtered out. The room plunged into darkness.
A whisper filled the space, closer now, curling from the wood itself:
"The fifth is mine."
Zayaan gasped, the air pressed from his lungs, as if unseen roots had coiled around his chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe—until Kian shoved the salt pouch from his pocket into his hand.
The pressure loosened, but only slightly. The voice retreated into silence, yet its promise lingered.
When the lantern was lit again, the carvings were still there. But something new had appeared at the bottom, beneath the word OAKMOURNE.
A handprint. Small. Child-sized. Pressed into the wood as if scorched into it.
Zayaan's stomach turned. His head spun with the echo of the diary, of Oakmourne's name, of the pact none of them fully understood.
It was no longer about the missing boy.
It was about him.
Chapter 7 – The House That Breathed
Scene III – Nani's Silence
The handprint still burned in Zayaan's mind as they stumbled out of the store room. None of them spoke until they were back in the hall, the chest left behind as though even carrying it might invite Oakmourne closer.
Nani was sitting in the veranda, her rosary beads slipping silently through her fingers. The morning light caught her face, tracing every wrinkle like lines of a map Zayaan could never read. But when she looked up, he felt it—she already knew.
"Where have you been?" she asked softly. Her voice was calm, but her eyes lingered on Zayaan, and in them was something heavier than worry. It was recognition.
Zayaan's throat tightened. The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
"Nani… who is the fifth child?"
The beads froze in her hand. For a long moment, the only sound was the sparrow outside, chirping into a silence too thick.
Kian leaned forward, urgency breaking his voice. "We found the diary. We found the carvings. You know, don't you?"
Nani closed her eyes. Her lips moved, whispering something under her breath—half prayer, half plea.
"Tell us!" Zayaan's voice cracked, louder than he meant. "Last night, something was in this house. It… it called to me. Said I was his. That I'm the fifth."
Her rosary slipped from her fingers. The beads scattered across the floor, rolling into the corners like fleeing insects.
"Zayaan," she whispered, trembling now, "you should not have gone into that room."
He stepped closer, desperate. "What does it mean? Who am I? What was Mama hiding from me?"
At the mention of Aamira, Nani's breath caught. She looked away, her face folding with grief, the kind that had never healed.
"Your mother," she said at last, "was strong. But she was also bound. The pact was older than her, older than me. Our family… it was chosen. Chosen to hold Oakmourne at bay. Each generation, a child was tied to the roots. A vessel. A living lock."
Wizz swore under his breath. Yuwin's face drained pale.
"And me?" Zayaan asked. His voice shook, but it was not with fear anymore—it was with the weight of something he had always suspected but never wanted to name.
Nani's eyes filled with tears. "You were not supposed to know. Your mother tried to protect you. She thought she could break the chain. She prayed the curse would pass you by. That's why she gave you the pendant. To shield you. But Oakmourne… it does not forget."
The hall seemed to darken though the sun still poured through the windows. Zayaan gripped the pendant until its edges cut into his skin.
"So the missing boy—he was never real," Kian murmured. "The fifth child… was always Zayaan."
Nani shook her head, her voice lowering. "No. The missing boy was real. Long ago, before Zayaan's time. He was taken by Oakmourne. That's how the bond grew strong. That's why the woods changed. But Zayaan… he carries what is left of that boy. His silence. His burden. He is both child and vessel."
The words cracked the air open. None of them breathed.
Finally, Nani looked at her grandson, her voice breaking into a sob.
"Zayaan, my child… the trees do not watch you because you are cursed. They watch you because you are theirs."
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
Chapter 7 – The House That Breathed
Scene VI – Shadows Between the Trees
The path back to Nani's house was quiet, the night pressing close around them. Only the crunch of footsteps on dry leaves and the distant hum of cicadas filled the air.
Zayaan walked near Anamika, trying not to look at her too long—but each time her wild eyes flickered his way, something unspoken stirred in his chest. He caught himself staring, then looking away too quickly, only for her gaze to pull him back again.
Just ahead, Kian and Luna kept their pace side by side. She didn't speak much, but every so often their eyes met in the dim light, and neither looked away immediately. A strange, warming silence built between them—two strangers who, in the hush of the forest, already felt less like strangers.
The group moved as one, wrapped in the fragile peace of the moment.
Until it broke.
A cry ripped through the woods—low, mournful, sharp. A wolf's howl.
They froze.
The sound came from somewhere close, no more than fifty meters away. The air itself seemed to still, the night holding its breath.
"What the—" Wizz whispered, his voice catching.
Before anyone could reply, another howl answered. Closer.
From the shadows of the trees, two wolves emerged, their eyes burning faintly in the dark.
Everyone reacted at once. Kian instinctively stepped in front of Luna, but she pressed herself against him, clutching at his arm as if his presence alone could keep her safe.
Zayaan, heart hammering, felt his fear surge. Without thinking, he shifted behind Anamika, his hands gripping her waist as though her body could shield him. His breath came sharp, ragged.
Anamika didn't flinch. Her hand moved quick, pulling the revolver from the holster at her side. The metallic click of it snapping into place rang louder than the wolf cries.
The wolves snarled, their paws crunching the earth as they crept closer.
"Stay behind me," Anamika commanded, her voice like steel.
She raised the gun, eyes narrowed, and fired once into the air.
The crack echoed through the trees.
The wolves froze, growled low, then with a sudden jolt of movement, darted back into the shadows, vanishing into the forest's depths.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Zayaan realized his hands were still clutching Anamika's waist. Embarrassed, he pulled away, muttering something under his breath. Kian glanced down at Luna, who slowly let go of him, her cheeks flushed in the moonlight.
"Let's move," Anamika said firmly, sliding the revolver back into place. "They won't stay away long if they think we're weak."
The group quickened their pace, their breaths uneven. When the warm glow of Nani's house finally came into view, relief washed over them like a tide. They stepped inside, shaken but safe—for now.
Scene VII – The Hall of Shadows
They stumbled into Nani's house, closing the wooden door firmly behind them. The scent of burnt oil from the lamp filled the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of incense sticks that Nani had lit earlier.
For a while, no one spoke. They sat in the hall, still catching their breath. The wooden walls creaked softly, as though listening.
Kian finally broke the silence. "That wasn't normal," he said, his voice low. "Wolves don't just come that close to a house… not unless something's driving them."
Luna, sitting beside him, whispered, "It felt like they were watching us. Not hunting… watching." Her eyes flicked to the window, nervous.
Anamika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her revolver still resting in her lap. "They weren't hungry," she said flatly. "They were guarding something."
Zayaan, who had been quiet, spoke up suddenly. "Guarding… or warning." His words hung heavy in the room. His hand still tingled from where he'd clutched Anamika's waist, and he hated the thought of how afraid he must have looked. But another thought gnawed harder at him—the fragrance. That jasmine fragrance that led him out into the dark.
He turned to Anamika. "Do wolves… react to scents? Like… unusual ones?"
Anamika's eyes narrowed slightly. "They can. Especially if it's tied to territory."
Zayaan swallowed, then muttered, "I smelled it again tonight. The jasmine. Like Elena."
The room went still.
Kian looked sharply at him. "You mean you left us—during the ritual prep—because you smelled her?"
Zayaan nodded. "It was… real. Not just in my head. It pulled me out there."
Before anyone could respond, Nani's voice drifted from the doorway. She had been listening, wrapped in her old shawl, her face half in shadow.
"Jasmine," she whispered. "Always jasmine, when the past comes walking."
The group turned to her, startled.
"What do you mean, Nani?" Zayaan asked, his voice unsteady.
Nani stepped closer, her wrinkled hands trembling as she held the lamp. "Your mother, Zayaan… Aamira… she wore jasmine oil. Every time she went near the woods. She believed it kept the shadows calm."
Zayaan felt his chest tighten. He could almost smell it now, faint and lingering, as though memory itself carried the fragrance.
Anamika sat forward, her eyes burning with curiosity. "Kept them calm?" she asked. "Or called them?"
Nani didn't answer. She only glanced at the window where the wolves had howled, her expression etched with fear.
The hall grew quieter, the lamp flame flickering. Somewhere far off in the woods, another howl rose—and this time, it was not a wolf's.
Scene VIII – Shadows of the Past
Wizz and Ewan excused themselves, muttering about checking the back room. Their voices faded, leaving the hall quiet again. Only the crackling of the old kerosene lamp filled the silence.
Now it was just Nani, Zayaan, Kian, Luna, and Anamika.
Nani lowered herself onto the rug, her frail fingers stroking the edge of her shawl. She looked at Anamika for a long moment, as if measuring her. Finally, she spoke.
"You should know… Zayaan's mother did not pass away peacefully."
Zayaan's chest tightened, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at Nani, his heart racing. She rarely spoke about his mother's death, and when she did, it was only fragments.
Anamika leaned forward, her wild eyes softening, the hardness of her ranger's posture dissolving. "What do you mean?" she asked quietly.
Nani's gaze darkened. "Aamira… she was not only ill. Yes, the cancer ate her body… but something else ate her spirit. The nights before she went, she would wake gasping. She said she could hear them—the trees. She smelled of jasmine always, as though hiding behind it. She told me once…" Nani's voice broke, and she pressed her lips tightly before continuing, "She told me she was being followed. Not by men. Not by beasts. By something older."
A silence hung like a weight in the room. Zayaan felt as though the floor had dropped beneath him. He had always believed his mother's end was quiet, tragic, but natural. Now it sounded like something darker had been waiting all along.
Anamika's expression flickered—pain, sympathy, but also recognition. Slowly, she said, "I'm sorry, Zayaan. I truly am." Her voice was soft, stripped of the strength she usually carried. "Aamira was… known, in ways you may not realize. She wasn't just a mother or teacher. She was spoken of."
Zayaan blinked, confused. "Spoken of… how?"
Anamika hesitated, her lips parting before she let out a slow breath. "My cousin studied nursing. She… used to tell me about a biology teacher named Aamira who taught them with such passion. They admired her. Respected her. I never met her, but I heard her name more than once. It stayed with me."
Zayaan's throat ached. He lowered his head, blinking hard to fight the sting in his eyes. His mother, remembered in classrooms he never knew about, by people who still carried her voice in their memory.
Anamika's hand shifted on her lap, as if she wanted to reach out, but she stopped herself, curling her fingers instead.
Kian's eyes flicked between them, unsettled but silent. Luna hugged her knees to her chest, her gaze fixed on the lamp flame.
Finally, Anamika spoke again, her tone shifting back to its guarded weight. "There are… reasons I'm here. Reasons tied to these woods. But not all truths are meant to be spoken in one night." She locked eyes with Nani as she said it, and for a moment, it felt like the two women understood something the rest of them didn't.
Nani nodded, her face pale but steady. "Some truths reveal themselves when the forest allows. Until then… we wait."
The lamp flickered, casting their faces in uneasy shadow. Zayaan clenched his fists in silence, caught between grief for his mother and the gnawing fear that her death was not the end of her story.
And somewhere outside, the trees groaned as though shifting under the weight of something unseen.
The Hall, Midnight Confessions
The house was silent except for the faint crackle of the oil lamp on the wooden table. Shadows stretched across the hall, clinging to the beams as if the darkness itself was listening.
Wizz and Ewan had already excused themselves, muttering about being tired. Their footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving the hall heavy with silence. Only Zayaan, Nani, Anamika, Kian, and Luna remained. The wolf-cry from earlier still lingered in the air, a memory that refused to settle.
Nani sat on her low wooden chair, her hands folded around her rosary, the beads trembling slightly as though her fingers remembered something her voice had not yet spoken. Zayaan leaned against the wall, arms crossed but eyes restless, while Kian and Luna sat close on the rug, their shoulders almost brushing, both stealing glances they thought the other didn't notice. Anamika stood near the window, revolver still strapped to her thigh, the moonlight drawing a silver line across her face.
Finally, Nani broke the silence. Her voice was low, almost swallowed by the creaks of the old house.
Nani: "You boys think this is just about a spirit in the trees. But it is older. Much older. And it already touched this family once."
Zayaan stiffened, his head snapping toward her.
Zayaan: "What do you mean, Nani?"
Nani's eyes clouded, not with age, but with memory. She inhaled slowly, as though words were heavier than breath.
Nani: "Your mother, Amira… She did not just die of sickness. That was the name we gave it to protect you. The truth… is crueler."
Zayaan's chest tightened. He took a step forward.
Zayaan: "You mean… her cancer—"
Nani: "It wasn't cancer, Zayaan. It was Oakmourne's mark. The curse feeding on her. She carried it quietly because she didn't want you and Tara to live in fear. Every night, she would wake gasping, clutching her chest as though the trees themselves had grown inside her lungs. And I—" Nani's voice cracked. "—I could do nothing but watch her wither, branch by branch."
The hall went still. Zayaan's hands trembled as he pressed his palms against the table, lowering his head. His heart pounded like the pendant on his chest was answering Nani's confession.
Anamika turned from the window, her wild eyes unusually soft. She walked closer, her boots making faint thuds on the wooden floor.
Anamika: "I knew it."
Everyone looked at her. Kian frowned.
Kian: "Knew what?"
Anamika exchanged a glance with Luna, who until then had remained silent, her fingers twisting the edge of her scarf nervously.
Anamika: "I didn't come here just as a wildlife ranger. Neither did Luna. That's only the surface."
Zayaan: (narrowing his eyes) "Then why are you here?"
Anamika didn't answer immediately. Instead, she sat down opposite Nani, her gaze steady.
Anamika: "For months now, there have been… disturbances in the valley. Disappearances. Cattle found drained of blood. Symbols carved into tree trunks where no human hand could reach. Officially, the forest department says wolves. But my orders were different."
Zayaan's breath caught.
Zayaan: "Orders? From who?"
Luna leaned forward, her voice surprisingly calm.
Luna: "From the Directorate of Occult and Ancestral Threats. A branch no one talks about. We were sent here to investigate Oakmourne specifically. Because… it's not the first time this entity has awakened."
The lamp flickered, as if stirred by her words. Nani's rosary slipped from her fingers, beads scattering across the floor like seeds.
Nani: "So they know… even now?"
Anamika: "They know. They've been watching this valley for decades. But what we didn't know was that your family—" (her eyes went to Zayaan) "—was already bound to it. Until tonight."
Zayaan's head shot up, fury and confusion colliding.
Zayaan: "Bound to it? What the hell are you saying?"
Anamika didn't flinch.
Anamika: "Your mother wasn't just a victim, Zayaan. She was a vessel. The curse doesn't strike randomly. It chooses a bloodline. And from what I've pieced together… your bloodline."
The words cut sharper than any blade. Zayaan staggered back, his breath short, a burning heat spreading through his chest. He could almost smell the faint trace of jasmine, Elena's fragrance, bleeding into the air.
Kian got to his feet, protective, stepping between Anamika and his friend.
Kian: "You're accusing his family of being cursed? That's insane."
But Nani raised her hand, silencing him. Her old eyes shimmered with tears.
Nani: "No. She's right. It goes back… to the pact. To the forgotten fifth child."
Luna gasped softly.
Luna: "You remember?"
Nani nodded slowly, her voice heavy as stone.
Nani: "I was a girl then, but I heard the whispers. Four children returned… but one never did. They said the forest took him. But that child's spirit didn't vanish. It became Oakmourne's root. And to keep balance, the forest bound itself to a family… ours."
Zayaan's knees almost gave way. His voice came out raw, cracked.
Zayaan: "So all of this—Elena, the dreams, the pendant—it's because of me? Because I was born in this bloodline?"
Nani reached out, clutching his wrist, her hand trembling.
Nani: "Not because of you, my son. But through you. The curse doesn't only destroy—it chooses its heir. And now… it is waking fully."
For a long, suffocating moment, no one spoke. The lamp hissed and dimmed, throwing the hall into longer shadows.
Finally, Anamika broke the silence, her tone shifting back to sharp resolve.
Anamika: "Then we don't have much time. If Oakmourne has already shown itself, it means it's ready to claim someone again. And if Nani is right… it will come for Zayaan first."
Zayaan looked at her, his chest heaving, eyes burning with anger and helplessness.
Zayaan: "Then what's your mission, Anamika? To stop it? Or to watch me die like my mother?"
Anamika didn't look away. She leaned closer, her wild eyes locking with his, her voice low and dangerous.
Anamika: "My mission… is to kill Oakmourne. Even if it means burning down the forest to its roots. And if you're in the middle of it, Zayaan—you better decide whether you're going to fight… or let it consume you."
The silence that followed was heavier than before, pressing against the walls of the hall as if the house itself was listening.
Outside, the wolves howled again—closer this time.
And the lamp finally went out.
The Sleep and the Stone
The lamp had burned itself out sometime in the night. Shadows crept across the hall, broken only by the pale silver light spilling in from the window. No one remembered closing their eyes—only the heaviness of Nani's story, the chill of Anamika's vow, and the wolves calling from somewhere deep in the woods.
Yet, one by one, sleep had claimed them.
Zayaan stirred first. His body was warm, heavy, yet oddly comforted. When he blinked awake, he realized his head had slipped onto Anamika's shoulder, her scarf brushing against his cheek. She hadn't moved him away. In fact, her head tilted slightly toward his, as if unconsciously allowing him to rest. His breath caught; a faint heat spread across his face.
Across the hall, Kian was motionless, his back against the wall. Luna had somehow curled against him, her head resting gently on his thighs. The sight startled Zayaan even more than his own position—Luna, the guarded one, so unarmored in sleep. Kian's face was turned away, but Zayaan noticed the flush in his ears even in the pale dawn.
Then came the voice that stirred them all—low, trembling, yet sharp.
Nani: "Wake up, children. You fell asleep…"
The old woman's eyes softened as she looked at them, but her tone carried something both amused and warning. As they all jolted awake, Zayaan and Anamika quickly sat up straighter, avoiding each other's eyes. Kian shifted awkwardly, trying not to wake Luna too abruptly. But when her eyes fluttered open and she realized where her head had been, a crimson color rushed to her cheeks.
The silence that followed was painfully awkward, broken only by the faint sound of the azan echoing through the valley from the village mosque. The call drifted in like a reminder of time, pulling them back from the strange intimacy of the night.
Nani smiled faintly, almost knowingly.
Nani: "Even in the shadow of curses, the young still dream like the unburdened."
Breakfast was simple—flatbread, lentils, and tea. But the air between them was heavier than the food. They exchanged glances they couldn't hold for long, each secretly replaying the positions they had woken in.
After the meal, Anamika pushed her cup away and looked at Zayaan directly. Her wild eyes had softened, but only slightly.
Anamika: "Listen, Zayaan. Last night I told you to fight. But there's another path. I can help you escape this. Whatever Oakmourne wants, there are ways to sever bloodlines, rituals of separation. It won't be easy, and it won't be clean. But if you're willing… I'll help you run from it."
Zayaan's chest tightened. Part of him wanted to say yes immediately—to grab onto that sliver of freedom. But another part, deeper and darker, told him that Oakmourne would not let go so easily. Still, he nodded faintly, unable to find words.
That was enough for Anamika. She rose, brushing dust from her trousers.
Anamika: "Then Luna and I need to return to the office. We'll gather what we can and plan from there."
Luna slung her satchel over her shoulder, giving Kian a brief glance before quickly looking away. Her steps were hurried, almost as if she didn't trust herself to linger.
The others stayed behind, waiting. Hours seemed to stretch, heavy and restless. Until a sound split the stillness. A roar—not of an animal, but of something massive breaking, shattering.
They ran. Through the narrow valley path, down the slope toward the ranger station where Anamika and Luna's office stood.
And there it was.
The building was no longer standing. Half of it had been crushed beneath a boulder larger than a house itself, its jagged edges biting into the earth like a wound. Papers fluttered in the wind from the broken roof, splintered wood still groaning under the weight. The air smelled of dust and stone, choking, suffocating.
Zayaan froze, his stomach turning. Kian swore under his breath, his fists clenching.
Zayaan: "Anamika… Luna…"
The others looked desperately, shouting their names, clawing at debris with bare hands. But there was no answer. The silence that followed was unbearable.
Then, footsteps. Slow, steady.
It was Nani. Somehow, the old woman had walked all the way there. She stood before the ruined office, her shawl flapping in the cold wind, her eyes fixed on the massive rock as if it were not stone, but a sign written for her alone.
She closed her eyes, whispering words too faint to catch. Then she turned, her voice heavy, grave, like the toll of a bell.
Nani: "It has begun. Oakmourne is showing its colour."
The wind howled through the broken rafters. Dust rose like smoke.
And the chapter ended there.