The air in the graveyard was heavy so heavy it felt like it could suffocate anyone who dared to breathe too deeply. One grave, among many, glimmered faintly under the soft moonlight. Rose petals were scattered around it, as if someone had placed them there with trembling, grieving hands.
Aarav Agastya
1904 – 1934
A young soul taken too soon.
In front of the grave stood a man holding a single white rose. His eyes were locked on the name "Aarav," unmoving and unreadable. Slowly, he knelt on the cold ground and placed the flower gently on the fresh mound of earth.
The grave had been dug only that afternoon. There was no cement, no stone just loose, unsettled mud. He stared at it silently, as if his mind refused to accept the truth.
His partner… his friend… the detective who stood beside him in every case… was gone.
Gone too far for him to ever reach again.
He took a step back. The longer he stood there, the worse he felt. His chest tightened, and he couldn't control the tears spilling down his cheeks. Crying made him feel weak, and he couldn't allow himself to be weak not now. Not with so many cases still waiting. He needed to stay strong.
So he turned and began walking toward the graveyard gate.
But before he could take two steps, a deep, muffled sound echoed behind him—from Aarav Agastya's grave.
He froze.
Another sound came.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Veer spun around and sprinted back to the grave. He dropped to his knees, pressing his ear against the cold, damp mud.
THUD.
His heart stopped for a second.
Then he began digging first with his bare hands, throwing mud aside in frantic handfuls.
"No… no, I need something sharp!" he gasped, looking around wildly.
His eyes landed on a shovel leaned against a nearby tree. He grabbed it and started digging with all the strength he had left. Mud flew everywhere. Time didn't exist. Fear and desperation were the only things driving him.
Finally, the coffin appeared.
He tried to pry it open, but it was locked. He pounded on it, scratching at the wood. From inside, Aarav was gasping, struggling to breathe.
Veer found a metal rod nearby and smashed the lock until it broke. He yanked open the lid.
Aarav lay inside, drenched in sweat, his breaths sharp and panicked. He was choking… suffocating…
If Veer hadn't heard him he would have died again.
Veer pulled him out and held him up, patting his back as Aarav struggled for air.
"Are you alright? I thought I lost you…" Veer's voice cracked half laughter, half tears. Aarav wasn't just a partner to him. He was a friend, a brother, someone who cared for him deeply… someone who would jump into danger just to protect him.
Aarav blinked at him, confused. "Who… are you?"
Veer froze.
Aarav looked at Veer like he was seeing a stranger wearing strange old clothes. His eyes scanned his surroundings as if everything was unfamiliar.
Maybe he's lost his memory, Veer thought. Maybe he forgot everything—the cases, the victories, the years of working together.
"I'm… your partner," Veer said carefully.
"Partner? Excuse me?" Aarav frowned. He had no idea who this boy was, or how he ended up in a coffin. Was this the afterlife? A punishment? A test? Nothing made sense.
Veer took a slow breath and tried to explain.
"It seems you've forgotten. Let me remind you. We're detectives. Yesterday, you got a clue about the 'Gupta Entrepreneur Murder Case.' You went to his manufacturing area. After that… you died. Or—well, we thought you died. Someone shot you. And that's what happened."
Aarav shook his head. "I didn't die because of a gunshot. I died because a kid stabbed me. Here."
He touched his stomach.
But there was no wound. Not even a scar.
Veer frowned and lifted his own shirt on the right side. A stitched mark lined his skin the surgical cut from post-mortem.
Aarav's eyes widened. "What the ?! Why do you have the stitches?! Where is my wound? What is happening?! Who the hell am I?!"
Veer quickly covered Aarav's mouth with his hand before he screamed again.
"Are you crazy? If someone hears you, they'll know you're alive! You have to hide from the murderer who tried to kill you!"
Aarav fell silent, breathing heavily. Veer slowly removed his hand.
Then he explained everything again calmly this time.
Aarav didn't have a choice. He had to listen and follow Veer's rules.
Only then did he look around carefully.
This wasn't his world.
The street was dim. Fires burned in lanterns. The houses were wooden, old, and uneven. There were no streetlights, no electricity. Only silence and the occasional old couple walking in the night.
Veer wrapped a muffler around Aarav's face to hide him. Aarav's clothes were still the same thin ones he had worn inside the coffin. Veer removed his long jacket and placed it over Aarav's shoulders. Veer himself stood there in an old-fashioned white shirt, his long messy hair brushing his shoulders.
Aarav touched his own long hair and swallowed hard. Only his eyes were visible. Everything else felt unreal.
One thing was clear:
This wasn't the same world he came from.
This world was older too old.
Did the knife have some strange power?
Was his body in a coma somewhere?
Was this reincarnation or punishment?
He didn't know.
He only knew one thing:
He had to figure out why he was here.
What purpose brought him to this strange world?
And why did the gods send him here… instead of letting him die?