The walk toward the old outskirts wasn't long on the map, but it felt wrong underfoot—like the city itself was trying to warn them. Roads curved in ways Manraj didn't remember. A sign he swore he had seen a hundred times wasn't there. Another one pointed to a neighborhood that had been demolished years ago.
Yet Zoya walked like she'd memorized every turn.
"You've been here before?" Manraj asked.
"No," she said. "But something keeps telling me where not to step."
Her voice was calm, but her fingers stayed curled around the edge of her coat, as if holding on to something.
Manraj's chest felt heavier with every street they crossed. Not painful—just… expectant. As if his ribs knew the shape of the place they were walking toward, even if his mind didn't.
The city thinned out. Houses became older. Rusted gates. Empty verandas. A laundromat with a flickering tube light that buzzed like an insect caught in a jar.
Then, suddenly—
A staircase.
Just a staircase.
Cracked stone, moss along the sides, climbing upward between two tightly packed buildings. It shouldn't have been possible for stairs to exist here. There wasn't enough space. Manraj blinked, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him.
"They weren't here two seconds ago," he said.
"They've always been here," Zoya replied quietly. "You just weren't allowed to see them."
He stared at her.
"You make it sound like someone edited the city."
Zoya didn't answer, but the silence was an answer.
A faint wind blew down the staircase—cold, carrying a smell that didn't belong to the city. Something like burnt incense and old stone. It curled around Manraj's ankles like a memory.
His breath caught.
Zoya stepped onto the first stair.
"You okay?" she asked, turning back, her expression softer than he expected.
"No," he admitted. "But… I need to be."
They climbed.
With every step, the sounds of the city faded—not gradually, but like someone dragging a volume slider down. The air grew thicker. Manraj felt heat pulse behind his ribs again, as if waking up in recognition.
At the top of the stairs, the world opened.
A clearing.
A patch of land that should not exist.
And in its center—
A temple.
Or what used to be a temple.
Half-collapsed pillars. Charred stone. Ash patterns fused into the earth, spiraling outward like the memory of an explosion. Trees bent away from it unnaturally, as though refusing to lean too close.
Manraj's throat tightened. Something in him lurched forward—like a child recognizing a home long lost.
"I've been here," he whispered.
Zoya didn't look surprised.
"What do you remember?" she asked.
Smoke.
Screaming.
A hand pulling him back.
Another hand pushing him forward.
A voice booming above fire—
Balance must be protected.
He staggered.
Zoya grabbed his arm before he fell.
"Hey. Easy."
He pressed a hand to his forehead. "I don't know if these are memories or nightmares."
"Maybe both," she said.
They stepped toward the temple.
The moment they crossed the cracked stone threshold, a sound rippled under their feet—like metal groaning, like an exhale that had waited too long to be released.
Zoya stopped abruptly.
"…Manraj."
He followed her gaze.
At the far end of the broken courtyard, half-hidden behind a pillar scorched black—
Eyes.
White.
Wide.
Watching them.
The same eyes from his dream.
The same eyes from the erased memory.
Not fire.
Not shadow.
Not ice.
Something else.
Something that remembered him.
Zoya's hand slowly tightened around his sleeve.
"That," she whispered, voice trembling, "is not supposed to be awake."
A soft rumble vibrated the ground.
The eyes blinked.
Manraj's flame surged in his chest like a terrified heartbeat.
And then, from behind them—
"You shouldn't have come alone."
Manraj froze.
Azhar.
He turned.
Azhar stood at the temple entrance, rain-damp hair falling over his forehead, shadows coiled at his feet like living smoke. He looked worried—an expression Manraj had never seen on him.
Zoya stepped in front of Manraj instinctively.
"You followed us," she said.
"Of course," Azhar replied. "He remembers too much, too fast. That thing—"
He pointed at the glowing eyes.
"—was sealed for a reason."
Manraj swallowed hard.
"What is it?"
Azhar's expression shifted—something between fear and guilt.
"The part of you," Azhar said quietly, "that wasn't supposed to survive."
A crack tor
e through the temple floor.
The eyes widened.
The ancient presence in the dark inhaled—
—and the world seemed to hold its breath.
To be continued…