The town of Ramgarh looked ordinary by day—shops opening, children running through the lanes, women drawing water from wells. But to Vihaan, the colors of normalcy had faded. Behind every smile he now saw shadows, behind every door he imagined secrets locked away.
The locket burned like fire in his pocket. Every time he touched it, he felt Nayra's eyes staring back at him, asking to be found.
He knew one thing with certainty: the word circle was the key. The stranger's warning still echoed in his head—"Find the circle, and you'll find her."
But what circle?
---
The Library
The next morning, Vihaan decided to start where truth often hides—in books. Ramgarh's old library stood near the clock tower, a two–storey stone building whose windows were covered in dust.
Inside, the smell of parchment and mildew filled the air. Rows of books stretched endlessly, though most were neglected, their spines crumbling. Behind the counter sat an elderly librarian, thin as a reed, spectacles sliding down his nose.
Vihaan approached cautiously. "Good morning. I'm researching Ramgarh's history. Could you help me?"
The old man peered at him, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "History? Or trouble?"
"Only history," Vihaan said softly, hiding the urgency in his voice. "I'm looking for references to something called 'the circle.'"
At the word, the librarian stiffened. His fingers gripped the counter tightly, then loosened. He looked around as if to ensure they were alone. Finally, he whispered, "Follow me."
He led Vihaan to a corner of the library, where cobwebs clung to the shelves. From the bottom, he pulled out a thick, leather–bound register. Its cover was cracked, its pages yellow with age.
"This is the town chronicle," the librarian said. "Written long before my time. Few dare open it."
He placed it on the table and slid it toward Vihaan, then stepped back.
Vihaan opened the book, his hands trembling. The first pages described Ramgarh's founding, its rulers, its festivals. But then, deeper inside, came darker tales—accounts of drought, famine, and fear.
One entry stopped him cold.
"When the shadows rose from the cliffs, the elders formed the Circle. Twelve chosen ones, bound in silence, swore to guard the town. Their oath demanded sacrifice, for only blood sealed the passage."
Vihaan's breath caught. It was all here—shadows, cliffs, sacrifice.
The next entries described how, every few years, the Circle gathered in secret. One life would be offered, sealing the shadows for another cycle. The townsfolk pretended ignorance, but deep down, everyone knew. It was the price of safety.
At the margin of one page, someone had scrawled in hurried handwriting: "Those who question vanish."
Vihaan closed the book, his pulse racing. Nayra had questioned. And now she was gone.
---
The Librarian's Warning
As he stood, the librarian caught his arm. His eyes, though clouded, burned with intensity.
"Leave while you still can, outsider. The Circle sees everything. They do not forgive those who dig."
"But a girl is missing," Vihaan pressed. "Nayra Verma. She didn't just vanish—"
The librarian's face went pale. He shook his head violently. "Her name is not safe to speak. Not here. Not anywhere."
His hand trembled as he pointed to the door. "Go. Forget what you read."
But Vihaan knew he couldn't. Not now.
---
A Silent Ally
Outside, as he walked through the marketplace, Vihaan felt eyes following him. Every corner seemed sharper, every passerby a potential spy.
Suddenly, a slip of paper brushed against his hand. Startled, he looked down. Someone had slipped it into his grasp without stopping.
It read only three words:
"Meet me tonight."
Beneath it, a location was scribbled—the old well on the edge of the forest.
Vihaan's heartbeat quickened. Was it a trap? Or help? He had no choice but to find out.
---
The Old Well
The forest loomed silent as night fell, the air heavy with mist. The old well stood crooked, stones crumbling, its rope long gone. Owls hooted somewhere in the distance.
Vihaan waited, every rustle of leaves tightening his chest. Minutes stretched endlessly. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
It was the boy he had met days ago in the market—the scruffy teenager who had whispered about Nayra. His eyes darted nervously around as he approached.
"You came," Vihaan said quietly.
"I shouldn't be here," the boy whispered, his voice shaking. "But I can't stay silent anymore. I knew Nayra. She was kind to me. She gave me books when I had none. When she disappeared… I knew why."
"Why?" Vihaan urged.
The boy swallowed hard. "She found the Circle. She wrote everything down. And then… she told me she was going to expose them."
Vihaan's stomach dropped. "Her notebook?"
The boy nodded. "That was only half. The rest she hid—in the mansion. Before they took her."
"They?"
"The Circle," the boy whispered, glancing fearfully at the trees. "They wear masks when they meet. No one knows their faces, only their voices. But everyone in town knows they exist."
Vihaan gripped the boy's shoulder. "Do you know where she is?"
The boy's eyes filled with tears. "I only know one thing. The Circle doesn't keep their sacrifices in the town. They take them below—the tunnels lead deeper than anyone imagines. Beneath the cliffs, there's a chamber they call the Hollow. If Nayra is alive, she's there."
A chill stabbed Vihaan's spine. "The Hollow," he repeated.
Before the boy could say more, a sound tore through the silence—the crack of branches, footsteps closing in.
The boy's face twisted in terror. "They found us!"
From the trees, lanterns flared. Shadows moved swiftly, voices shouting.
"Run!" the boy hissed. He shoved Vihaan toward the forest path and darted the other way.
Vihaan ran, the locket clutched in his fist, the word Hollow pounding in his head. Behind him, voices roared, chasing, hunting.
---
The Chase
Branches lashed his arms as he sprinted, the forest spinning in streaks of black and silver. His lungs burned, his legs screamed, but fear kept him moving.
The Circle's men were fast. Their lanterns bobbed closer, their footsteps drumming like war beats.
Vihaan stumbled, nearly falling, then pushed himself harder. He could not let them catch him. Not now, not with what he had learned.
The trees thinned suddenly, opening onto a steep slope. Below, the faint glimmer of the town's lights beckoned. Without thinking, Vihaan plunged down, sliding, tumbling, rocks scraping his arms.
Behind him, curses rang out, but the men hesitated at the steep drop.
Vihaan rolled hard onto the road at the bottom, his chest heaving, his body bruised. He staggered to his feet, clutching the locket, and disappeared into the night.
---
The Hollow
Back at his hotel room, Vihaan locked the door and spread out the torn page from the tunnel, the notes from the chronicle, and the boy's words. Together, they formed a horrifying puzzle.
The Circle. The sacrifices. The Hollow beneath the cliffs.
Nayra had known. She had tried to fight. And for that, she had been taken.
Vihaan stared at the locket in his hand. "I'll find you," he whispered. "Even if I have to walk into the Hollow myself."
But as he blew out the lamp and lay in the dark, a thought gnawed at him:
The boy had said the Circle wore masks.
What if they weren't strangers at all?
What if they were the very people who smiled at him each day in Ramgarh?
And as sleep finally dragged him under, one image haunted him—the mansion's hollow eyes staring into the abyss, waiting, watching, calling him closer.