Dawn spread across the forest, painting the sky in shades of silver and fire. Ishaan stepped out from the hidden passage of the temple, the echoes of Arthan's voice still lingering in his mind. The temple was already fading behind him, swallowed by trees and shadow, but the weight of the manuscript pressed firmly against his chest. It felt alive, pulsing with each heartbeat.
The path ahead sloped northward, where the Himalayas towered like giants against the horizon. Ishaan walked for hours through twisting trails and narrow ridges until the trees thinned and the cold bit deeper into his skin.
By evening, he reached a mountain village — Devkhal. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, and children played near frozen wells. Yet when Ishaan passed, the villagers grew silent, their whispers trailing behind him like shadows.
At a small tea stall, an old man handed him a steaming cup, studying him with wary eyes. "Your burden is heavier than your steps," the man said softly.
Ishaan tensed. "What do you mean?"
The man's gaze flickered to the satchel on Ishaan's chest. "Things hidden for too long… attract those who should never find them. Whispers travel faster than footsteps."
Before Ishaan could question him, the man looked away, as though the conversation had already ended.
That night, Ishaan lay awake in a corner of the village inn. The wind howled outside, carrying strange sounds. Once, he thought he heard a bell — faint, distant, tolling from nowhere. His skin crawled.
At dawn, as he prepared to leave, a voice called out. A young woman stood before him, cloaked in wool, her eyes sharp with curiosity.
"My name is Maya," she said. "You cannot climb the mountains alone. I know someone who can guide you."
Without waiting for his reply, she led him to a man near the village edge. Short, weathered, with eyes as sharp as hawks, the man introduced himself as Sonam. He studied Ishaan silently, then glanced at the satchel, though he said nothing.
"The Himalayas are not forgiving," Sonam said at last. "If you wish to survive, follow my steps, not your pride."
By midday, the three had left Devkhal. The climb was merciless. Trails vanished beneath snow, and icy winds scraped across their faces. Nights were sleepless, stars burning above them as the cold bit through every layer of cloth. Hunger gnawed at them, yet Ishaan pressed forward, each glance at the manuscript reminding him of his duty.
But unease grew with every step. Twice they found footprints in the snow — too fresh to belong to lost travelers. Once, Ishaan saw a flicker of fire in the distance, where no village should exist. And each night, he heard it again: the toll of a bell, faint, carried by the wind.
Then came the storm.
The ground shuddered. A roar split the mountains. Snow cracked loose from the cliffs above, rushing down like a white tidal wave. An avalanche.
"Run!" Sonam shouted. The three scrambled across the narrow ridge, but the world dissolved into white fury. Air thickened with snow, choking, blinding.
They reached a stone bridge stretched over a gorge. If they crossed, there was a chance. Halfway across, a voice thundered through the blizzard:
"Leave the girl! Take the book!"
Ishaan froze. Shadows moved within the storm. Enemies. They had been followed.
The bridge shook under the avalanche's weight. Sonam leapt forward, but a blow struck from behind. His balance broke. Ishaan caught his hand — their eyes locked for an instant — but the grip slipped.
Sonam fell into the gorge, his scream swallowed by the roar of snow and stone.
Ishaan staggered across, the manuscript clutched to his chest. Behind him, the storm swallowed all traces. Ahead, only silence remained.
He collapsed in the snow, breathless, heart pounding. The mountains loomed silent around him. He whispered into the void: "Sonam… if you live, give me a sign."
The wind carried no answer. Only, faintly, the toll of a bell — deep, distant, unearthly.
And with it, a name whispered on the storm:
"Kaalnemi."