The chamber was darker than night itself. Vihaan's torch trembled in his hand, its light flickering against the damp walls. From the tunnel ahead, the voices grew louder, clearer—no longer whispers but murmurs of real people.
He pressed his back against the crates, clutching his camera close. Every second stretched longer than the last.
Two shadows appeared first, cast long on the uneven floor. Then, slowly, figures emerged from the tunnel—three men carrying lanterns, their faces hidden beneath scarves tied across their mouths. Their eyes gleamed sharply in the dim glow.
Vihaan held his breath.
The men walked into the chamber, their lanterns swinging, illuminating the chains on the walls and the strange symbols on the crates. One of them dropped a heavy sack on the ground. It hit with a dull thud that echoed across the chamber.
"Another delivery," one man muttered in a low, gruff voice.
"Keep your voice down," another snapped. "If anyone hears—"
"No one dares to come here," the first replied with a dry laugh.
Vihaan's heart hammered. Delivery? What were they bringing here?
The men bent over the sack, opening it. Vihaan leaned slightly, his torch dimmed under his palm, trying to see. Inside the sack were… books. Old, leather-bound, their covers scratched with the same strange markings carved into the tunnel walls.
"More of them," the third man muttered, his tone uneasy. "How many do we need to hide?"
"As many as they bring," the leader replied coldly. "Until the circle is complete."
The words made Vihaan's stomach twist. The circle?
The men stacked the books near the chains, their movements quick, mechanical, as though this was a routine they had done countless times before.
Suddenly, one of the men froze, sniffing the air. "Do you smell that?"
The others stopped. Silence pressed in.
Vihaan felt his chest constrict. He dared not breathe.
The man holding the lantern raised it high, letting the light sweep across the chamber. The beam crept dangerously close to the crates where Vihaan hid.
His palms turned slick with sweat. His mind screamed to run, but his legs wouldn't move.
Then, a loud crash echoed from somewhere deeper in the tunnels. Rocks shifting, water dripping. The men cursed and turned toward the sound.
"Check it!" the leader barked.
Two of them hurried down the opposite tunnel, their lanterns bobbing like fireflies in the dark. The leader lingered a moment longer, his sharp eyes scanning the chamber. For a heartbeat, Vihaan was certain he had been seen.
But then, the man muttered under his breath and followed the others. Their footsteps faded.
The chamber was silent again.
Vihaan exhaled shakily, his body trembling with adrenaline. He had narrowly escaped discovery—but he knew now: this was no ghost story. Real people were using these tunnels. For what purpose, he didn't yet understand.
---
The Marked Book
Creeping out from his hiding place, Vihaan's eyes fell on the stack of books the men had left behind. Compelled by a mix of fear and curiosity, he approached.
The leather covers were old, cracked, and reeked of dampness. Each bore the same carved symbol: a circle with jagged lines radiating outward, like a sun with broken rays.
He carefully opened one. The pages were filled not with ordinary writing but strange scripts, diagrams, and drawings. Figures bound in chains, circles etched with blood-like ink, maps of tunnels spreading like veins beneath the cliffs.
At the bottom of one page, his torchlight revealed words written in English:
"Sacrifice seals the passage. Without it, the shadows rise."
A chill ran through him. Sacrifice. Passage. Shadows.
Was this what Nayra had discovered? Had she stumbled upon something buried for centuries?
Before he could read further, a sudden noise startled him—the faint crunch of gravel. Someone was returning.
Vihaan quickly tore out the page with the English writing, folding it into his pocket. He closed the book, shoved it back into the pile, and darted toward the far tunnel. His torch shook wildly as he ran, his breaths loud in the suffocating dark.
---
A Dead End
The tunnel narrowed, forcing him to crouch. The walls pressed close, dripping with moisture, the floor uneven with jagged rocks. Behind him, voices echoed again—closer, sharper. They had realized something.
He stumbled forward, desperate to find an exit. But the tunnel ended abruptly at a stone wall.
A dead end.
Panic surged through him. He pressed his palms against the wall, searching for a hidden door, a crack, anything. Nothing.
The voices grew nearer. Lantern light flickered faintly in the distance, approaching fast.
Vihaan's chest heaved. He had no way out. Unless—
His eyes darted upward. The tunnel roof was uneven, with a narrow fissure where water dripped through. Without thinking, he scrambled up, fingers clawing into the cracks, pulling himself toward the fissure.
Just as the lantern light reached the tunnel, he squeezed his body into the gap. Mud smeared his clothes, rocks scraped his skin, but he held still, wedged between stone.
The men's voices thundered below.
"He was here."
"Check the wall!"
Rough hands slammed against the very stones where Vihaan had stood moments ago. He bit his lip hard, suppressing a gasp.
"Nothing," one muttered after a moment. "Maybe it was just the sound."
"No," the leader growled. "Someone was here. Keep searching."
Their lanterns bobbed away again, their footsteps echoing down another tunnel.
Only when silence returned did Vihaan dare to move. He wriggled through the fissure, his body straining, until suddenly—fresh air hit his face.
With a final push, he tumbled out onto damp earth, rolling down a slope.
---
The Forest Above
Vihaan lay on his back, gasping for air. Above him stretched the forest canopy, dark and endless. He had emerged onto the cliffs, somewhere far from the mansion. The night sky glittered faintly through the branches.
He sat up, clutching the torn page in his pocket. The words burned in his mind: "Sacrifice seals the passage."
What did it mean? And who had been sacrificed before Nayra?
He had no answers, only more questions. But one thing was clear—Nayra's disappearance wasn't random. She had uncovered something the town wanted buried, something tied to these tunnels and their rituals.
And now, Vihaan was part of it.
---
The Stranger's Message
As he staggered back toward the town, branches whipping against his arms, Vihaan noticed movement ahead. A figure stepped out from the trees—tall, cloaked in shadows.
Vihaan froze.
The stranger's face was hidden beneath a hood, but his voice was calm, almost mocking. "Curiosity is dangerous here, outsider."
"Who are you?" Vihaan demanded, trying to keep his voice steady.
The stranger chuckled softly. "The one who decides whether you leave this place alive."
A flash of steel glimmered in his hand—a knife, slender and sharp.
Vihaan's pulse raced. He backed away slowly, but the stranger didn't advance. Instead, he tossed something onto the ground between them.
It was a small locket.
When Vihaan picked it up, his chest tightened. Inside was a faded photograph—Nayra, smiling, her eyes bright with life.
The stranger tilted his head. "Find the circle, and you'll find her. But beware… some truths are worse than death."
Before Vihaan could speak, the figure melted back into the forest, leaving only silence and shadows.
Vihaan gripped the locket tightly, his breath ragged.
The circle. The tunnels. The sacrifices.
The pieces were aligning into a terrifying picture.
And now, he knew his search for Nayra was far from over—it was only just beginning.