The wind stirred the leaves overhead, and then came the soft patter of rain—light at first, almost gentle, but enough to send a shiver down Shankar's spine. The shadows thickened. The dense part of the forest now felt even more disconnected from the world behind him.
He looked back.
Nothing.
No voices. No lights. No signs of life.
He was alone with the stone slab and those symbols… staring at him like forgotten gods.
His breath quickened.
A part of him wanted to run—just turn around and leave before anything got worse.
But another part—the one that always asked questions—couldn't look away.
He stepped closer, the carvings catching the last golden light bleeding through the trees.
Ring.
Temple.
Mountain.
Banyan.
Man.
Symbols etched deep into the slab, ancient and worn — yet somehow alive in their stillness.
He ran his fingers along them, not out of intent, but instinct.
No clicks. No hums. Just silence. Cold stone.
He exhaled sharply.
A long, tired breath.
The kind that carries more than air — frustration, confusion, maybe even… longing.
"I just want to know what's real," he muttered, more to himself than anyone.
The breeze stilled.
The forest quieted, as if listening.
Then… the light shifted.
Shankar froze.
The full moon, dipping lower through the trees, cast shadows through the canopy — sharp beams that struck the carvings at an angle now.
But something was… off.
The shadow of the banyan symbol stretched across the stone.
So did the mountain.
But now, they weren't random.
Together… they formed an arc.
And within that arc, the shadow of the man stood — right at the center. As if he were beneath the tree, climbing the mountain, watched by the ring and temple.
He stepped slightly to the left. The shadows drifted apart.
He stepped back into place. They aligned again — perfectly.
"Is this... a pattern?" he whispered, unsure if he was asking himself or the forest.
The air shifted — cooler now, denser.
Then—
A sound. Low. Subtle.
Click.
Crack.
The ground shuddered beneath him.
Shankar stumbled back as the stone slab groaned — like something old and sacred was waking up after centuries of silence.
The earth split with a deep, aching moan.
From the fracture, a wide stone staircase unraveled downward, carved into the very bones of the mountain.
Mist curled upward like a secret finally allowed to breathe.
He stood there, breath caught in his throat, the shadows behind him now motionless — like guardians who had fulfilled their duty.
Was this real? Or was the rain playing tricks on his tired mind?
This couldn't be happening.
Yet there it was—a path, hidden until now, yawning open like the mouth of some ancient beast.
Everything around him suddenly felt… wrong. Too quiet. Too perfect. Even the rain seemed slower now, like time had started dripping instead of ticking.
For a moment, he stood frozen.
His heart thudded like a war drum. His thoughts raced.
He told himself to go back.
But his feet didn't listen.
Down he went.
The stone steps were cold and slick beneath his shoes. The air grew heavier with every step, thick with the scent of earth, metal, and something unnameable—something that didn't belong to this world.
The torch was broken. His phone barely lit the path.
Yet, with every step into the darkness, the world behind him blurred, and the world ahead whispered louder.
Whispered things he couldn't understand.
The walls were damp, carved with more faded markings. The deeper he went, the more alien the place felt.
This wasn't some secret basement.
It wasn't an ancient ruin.
It was something else.
Something buried for a reason.
But now that it was open…
It wanted to be seen.
And Shankar, caught between fear and fascination, kept going.
Because deep inside, a voice—his own, maybe—was asking one simple, terrifying question:
"What the hell have I just found?"
SLAM!
The entrance behind him shut with a violent crash, sending a booming echo through the hollow earth.
Outside—above the trees—he watched.
The man in the black cloak stood above the tree line, high on a jagged ridge—blended into the dark like he was part of it.
His left eye, clouded and unnaturally pale, flickered—just once—as the entrance slammed shut.
Not blind.
Searching. Scanning. Seeing what others couldn't.
He tilted his head slightly, as if following something beyond stone.
Then—without a step—he was gone.
The cloak snapped once in the wind, almost alive. A swirl of dust where he stood.
No footsteps.
No sound.
Just a faint distortion in the air—like heatwaves rippling where reality had been.
And the forest returned to silence.