The cab ride to Kunal's apartment was silent.
Inside, the space felt tainted. Hostile.
Kunal felt that now even this space, his own space, wasn't his anymore — someone else had invaded this small world of his.
Without a word, they began searching — methodical, patient, thorough.
Picture frames. Electrical outlets. Vents. Lampshades. Potted plants.
They dismantled everything that could hide a device or conceal a bug.
It wasn't just a search now.
It was a purge.
A desperate attempt to reclaim what little safety he had left.
An hour passed.
Nothing.
"Okay," Abhishek breathed, running a hand through his hair. "It's all high-tech. Remote access. No physical planting needed. Or..." he paused grimly, "they're just that good. Or you are still not their primary target."
Relief flickered — but it only made the enemy feel bigger.
"First things first," Abhishek said, moving fast. "Everything goes dark."
He unplugged the Wi-Fi router. Taped over laptop cameras. Ordered Kunal to shut off every smart device.
He pulled out his own phone — clean, secure.
"I'm arranging burners. Maybe a sat phone too. No trails to catch."
As Abhishek made calls, Ananya turned to Kunal.
"Kunal," she said gently, "your mom. You didn't call her yesterday, as you do each day. She'll be worried. It's good she didn't call first, otherwise we wouldn't have been able to hide this."
Guilt stabbed him. He nodded. "You're right. We can't let anyone else get dragged into this without even understanding it ourselves."
"Tell her you're going somewhere remote," Ananya suggested. "A long work trip, maybe a month or two. Poor network. So she doesn't panic if you go dark."
It was a good lie.
Kunal picked up the phone with trembling fingers.
"Hi Mummy... sorry I didn't call yesterday... sudden work trip... remote location... signal might be bad... I'll call when I can... love you."
He hung up. Stared at the darkened screen.
Another thread to his old life... cut.
It felt like closing a door he wasn't sure he'd ever open again.
---
Burner phones would arrive that evening.
Sat phone, maybe tomorrow.
"Now what?" Abhishek asked.
"Now," Ananya said, her eyes sharp, "we find out who Kunala was. As much as we can gather, maybe we can figure out why all this is happening."
Kunal nodded.
That name was the only bridge between dreams and reality.
"The Vikramaditya Heritage Library," Ananya suggested. "Near Horniman Circle. They have ancient manuscripts. Genealogies. Legends."
"Do it," Abhishek said. "I'll coordinate the burners. Call me only if it's urgent."
---
The library was a cathedral of dust and sunlight.
High ceilings. Rows of ancient shelves.
The air smelled of paper, leather, and old wax.
A librarian guided them toward the ancient archives.
Kunal and Ananya dove in.
Heavy volumes. Cracking manuscripts. Fading scripts — Devanagari, Grantha, Kharosthi.
Hours passed.
Frustration built like a slow pressure with each passing minute in the room.
Every page they turned, every brittle scroll unrolled, felt like a dead end.
Kunal rubbed his forehead, feeling a strange heat building inside him whenever he touched certain glyphs.
Not burning — not pain — but like something ancient stirring under his skin.
As if his mind recognized the words long before his eyes could.
"Nothing but king lists..." Ananya muttered, flipping through yet another genealogy.
"Philosophy debates. Temple records. It's endless."
Kunal said nothing.
Because deep inside him, he knew — the answer was here somewhere.
It had to be.
Finally, they stumbled across a brittle, leather-bound manuscript.
No title. No author's name.
Just a faint, nearly faded sigil burned onto the cover.
"Kunal... look at this," Ananya whispered, leaning close.
The passage spoke of a lineage.
A prince of unmatched brilliance and valor.
Destined for a throne far greater than his ancestors could dream.
Yuvraj Kunala.
It spoke of wisdom.
Of unnatural clarity.
Of jealous courtiers.
Of whispered conspiracies.
And then — a paragraph that made Kunal's blood run cold.
Ananya read aloud, voice barely audible:
Driven by a venomous rage after Yuvraj Kunala rejected her advances, the Empress Tishyarakshita conspired against him. His punishment was not swift death, but a slower horror: burning irons, brought near his eyes... To extinguish the light of perception she could never possess.
Kunal's breath caught.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Behind his eyelids, the burning flared again.
The dream.
The pain.
The feeling of something precious ripped away.
It hadn't been just a nightmare.
It hadn't been a hallucination.
It hadn't even been a dream.
It was memory.
Old. Deep.
Tattooed onto his soul.
And it ended —
In blindness.
In darkness.
To be continued...