Ahaan sat on the ground, breathing heavily.
His body was covered in dirt, and the journal lay open on his lap.
The light from the page was gone now, but a strange map had appeared.
It showed a place far from town — a place called:
"Graywood Orphanage."
He had never heard of it before.
But something deep inside told him:
This is where it all started.
That night, Ahaan packed his bag — a flashlight, the journal, a few snacks, and a small pocket knife his dad once gave him.
He didn't tell his mom.
He couldn't.
She was already afraid of him…
And maybe, so was he.
He followed the map the next day, walking through thick woods and muddy paths.
As he moved deeper, the air grew colder.
Even though it was daytime, it felt like night.
Crows followed him.
The trees whispered.
Every now and then, he thought he heard footsteps behind him — but when he turned around, nothing was there.
Finally, after hours of walking, he saw it:
A large broken building, hidden behind tall dead trees.
It was the Graywood Orphanage.
It looked like it had been abandoned for decades — windows shattered, roof falling in, vines crawling up the walls like snakes.
The front gate was half open… like it was waiting for him.
Ahaan stepped inside.
The floor creaked beneath his feet.
The walls were covered in peeling paint, black mold, and handprints.
Child-sized handprints.
Some were smeared in something dark.
Blood?
He didn't want to know.
The flashlight flickered.
He smacked it gently and it came back on — but now the light looked red.
Suddenly, the hallway stretched longer than before.
Like the building had grown.
He heard a soft sound.
Music.
A small music box playing a slow, broken tune.
It was coming from upstairs.
Ahaan followed the sound.
Each step on the wooden stairs creaked like a scream.
At the top, he found a room with no door — just an opening covered by old curtains.
He pulled the curtain aside.
Inside was a small child's room.
Toys were scattered on the floor.
The music box was on a table in the center.
It was still playing.
And next to it…
Was a photo.
Ahaan picked it up.
His hands trembled.
The photo showed a group of children standing outside the orphanage.
But the child in the middle… looked exactly like him.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same scar under the chin.
But this photo was from 30 years ago.
A chill ran down Ahaan's spine.
How could this be?
He turned the photo over.
Words were written in faded ink:
"Ahaan – The Sleeper's First Vessel."
His heart stopped.
First vessel?
Had this already happened before?
Had he already lived this?
Or… was he just another copy?
The music box stopped playing.
And suddenly, the room went ice cold.
All the toys in the room turned toward him.
The flashlight died.
In the dark, something whispered near his ear:
"You've come home."
A child's giggle echoed behind him.
He turned around, shaking, and saw nothing.
But the music box wound itself up…
And began to play again.
Then—
Footsteps.
Small, fast footsteps all around him.
But no one was there.
The whispers grew louder:
"He's watching…"
"He's waiting…"
"He wants you back…"
Suddenly, the wall behind the music box cracked open.
Dust flew everywhere.
Behind the wall was a small hidden door.
Painted on the door in red was a symbol — the same one from the journal.
Ahaan reached out slowly.
The moment he touched the handle, the voices stopped.
Complete silence.
He opened the door.
Inside was a narrow staircase going down.
Into darkness.
Into the past.
He took a deep breath…
And stepped in.
The journal glowed in his bag.
A new line appeared:
"CASE FORTY: The Door Below Graywood."
"Some doors should never be opened.
But Ahaan… yours was never Closed
Now..