The silhouette stepped through the warped doorway with the slow certainty of someone who had walked these halls long before the stone learned how to crumble.
He did not make a sound.
He simply existed—
and the air bent to accommodate him.
Manraj felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, instinctive and animal, like a child recognizing fire before naming it.
Zoya grabbed his wrist without looking away from the man.
Azhar didn't move.
He couldn't.
"Father…" he said again, quieter this time, the word fragile in his mouth.
The man—
tall, weathered, wrapped in shadows that obeyed him with a reverence they had never given Azhar—
lifted his head.
And he was not a monster.
He wasn't even terrifying.
He looked… human.
But his eyes—
his eyes were the color of old wounds remembering how they were made.
Zoya whispered, "This isn't possible."
Azhar's father stepped fully into the courtyard.
The shadows shifted behind him like a living cloak.
When he spoke, his voice was steady, soft, and wrong in a way Manraj couldn't articulate.
"Azhar," he said.
"As expected. You broke the seal early."
Azhar flinched.
It was the smallest movement—but Zoya's grip on Manraj's wrist tightened instantly.
Manraj swallowed. "Who are you?"
The man looked at him.
And Manraj's fire recoiled inside his ribs.
Not from fear.
From memory.
"You know me," the man said gently. "Or you did. Before they took the night from you."
Zoya stepped forward, anger sharpening her voice.
"What do you want?"
His gaze drifted to her—calm, insightful, ancient.
"You," he said.
"But not in the way you fear. Your Silence touches places we were forbidden to enter."
Zoya stiffened.
Forbidden…
by who?
Azhar moved then—finally—stepping between the man and the others.
"Don't go near them," he said, shadows rising behind him in a tense ripple.
His father looked… disappointed.
"You still misunderstand your purpose," he murmured.
Azhar's jaw clenched. "Stay away."
The man tilted his head.
"From him?"
His eyes slid to Manraj.
"Or from her?"
Azhar didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The silence told the truth.
The man sighed.
"Azhar… my son. You have grown strong, but you have not grown wise."
He stepped closer.
The shadows around him parted like the sea.
Zoya felt something cold coil in her chest.
"Manraj," she whispered, "move back—"
But Manraj was already stepping forward.
Not by choice.
His body moved like something remembered the path before he learned to walk it.
The man watched him with unsettling softness.
"You feel it, don't you?" he said quietly.
"The piece that survived. The piece they buried."
Manraj's breath faltered.
"The thing in the crack," he whispered.
The man smiled faintly.
"Not a thing. Not a creature."
He raised his hand—slowly, reverently—like he was addressing someone invisible.
"A companion."
Azhar's voice broke.
"Stop."
His father continued as if he hadn't heard:
"He wasn't supposed to be split. He wasn't supposed to be sealed. But when the ritual failed—when you interfered—everything fractured."
Azhar's shoulders tensed as though struck.
Manraj's heartbeat hammered.
"What… fractured?" he asked.
The man's eyes locked onto his.
"You," he said simply.
"The original you."
A gust of wind burst through the ruins.
Zoya staggered.
Azhar stepped forward, shadows flaring like wings.
His father spoke one last sentence—
a sentence that made the entire courtyard vibrate:
"Manraj Suryavanshi… you were never meant to carry fire."
The ground cracked.
The silver scar pulsed violently.
The white glow beneath the stone blaz
ed like a waking sun.
Manraj's vision blurred.
Zoya yelled his name.
Azhar lunged.
The crack exploded with light—
and something inside Manraj answered.