Aarohi stood at the bottom of the attic stairs, flashlight trembling in her hand. The air around her was thick with mildew and something fouler—like old smoke and blood-soaked wood.
Veer reached for her wrist. "You don't have to go up there alone."
"I do," she whispered. "It's me he wants. It's me he's been waiting for."
She turned to Father Desai, who lay recovering on the couch. "You said I had to confess. Face the truth."
The priest nodded weakly. "Go without fear. The past already knows you."
The attic door creaked open.
Cold air rushed past her like a breath exhaled from the lungs of the dead.
Aarohi stepped inside.
The beam of her flashlight cut through the dust and cobwebs. Old trunks sat along the walls, their leather rotting and straps covered in mold. Family portraits leaned crooked against splintered furniture. Some had faces scratched out.
In the center of the room was the iron ring bolted into the floor—the one Veer once joked about being for storage.
Aarohi knelt down.
The floorboards beneath the ring were blackened. Stained.
Burned.
The wood hissed under her fingers. For a second, she could smell charred flesh again.
Then the light flickered.
And the past returned.
She blinked—and the attic transformed around her.
The air grew hot.
Smoke rolled in, stinging her eyes.
And suddenly, she wasn't alone.
She was standing at the edge of a scene from almost a hundred years ago.
In the center of the room, a man knelt. His clothes were torn, skin blistered. He was shackled to the iron ring—eyes wide with hatred and pain.
Dev.
Around him stood three men, dressed in long coats and turbans. The one in front held a torch.
Her great-grandfather.
Rajnath Bhattacharya.
"You betrayed the land, Dev," he spat. "Witchcraft. Treachery. You deserve this fire."
Dev's voice, hoarse and shaking: "You feared what you didn't understand. I healed your wife. I saved your child. And now you offer me to your gods?"
"You cursed this place with your black tongue."
"I only cursed you, Rajnath."
He threw the torch.
Flames swallowed Dev in an instant.
He didn't scream.
He looked at Rajnath. And then—
He looked at Aarohi.
As if he could see her watching from the present.
His burning eyes locked with hers.
"The blood never left," he whispered.
The attic snapped back into reality.
Aarohi stumbled back, hand over her chest.
She could still feel the heat on her skin.
Veer ran up behind her. "Are you okay?"
"He was innocent," she gasped. "My great-grandfather murdered him. Out of fear. Out of hate."
Veer looked at the scorched ring. "And now he's still here… because of it."
A deep rumble echoed through the floor.
Then the walls bled.
Crimson seeped from the cracks in the wood, dripping down like tears from the house itself.
The whisper returned—no longer distant, no longer a voice in her head.
It echoed in the attic.
"Say it."
Aarohi dropped to her knees. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry for what he did… you didn't deserve it…"
"Say the truth."
She choked on her words. "Rajnath Bhattacharya… my ancestor… murdered you. You were innocent. And we carried that sin in our name."
The house groaned, a painful moan through the beams.
Then a voice screamed—loud and raw—from the far corner.
They turned.
A figure stood there.
Smoke billowed around him. His face half-melted, but his eyes alive with fire.
Dev.
He took one step forward.
The air behind him shimmered like heat waves—and then everything went black.
When Aarohi opened her eyes, she was back in the master bedroom. But not the way it was now.
It was the bedroom of another time.
Everything was polished wood and embroidered silk. A lantern flickered near the bed.
A woman wept in the corner, holding a child.
Aarohi recognized her from old family albums—her great-grandmother.
She was whispering prayers. The child was feverish.
And standing beside them, with quiet compassion, was Dev.
He held out his hand, closed his eyes, and spoke a word in a language Aarohi didn't recognize.
Moments later, the child stopped shaking.
Healed.
He had saved them.
But when he looked up, her great-grandfather was standing in the doorway, watching.
Aarohi gasped.
The vision shattered.
Back in the real attic, Veer held her tight. "What did you see?"
"He helped them," she whispered. "He saved our family. And we burned him for it."
They heard footsteps below—Father Desai coming up slowly.
"He knows you know now," the priest said. "But knowledge isn't enough."
Aarohi looked at the circle on the floor. "What is?"
The priest's voice was grim.
"Justice."
And that was when every light in the house went out again.