The morning fog in Amritsar hadn’t lifted when Rashi stood before her family, dressed in modest travel clothes and clutching a small suitcase. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird. She had rehearsed her lie a hundred times.
“I got a call,” she said, lowering her eyes, “from my university’s psychology department. They’ve selected me for a field study in Himachal Pradesh—related to superstitious practices in remote villages. It’s just five days.”
Her mother frowned. “Alone?”
“No, ma. With a senior guide from the department,” she lied quickly. “They said it's funded. They’ll handle everything. I just have to be there by tomorrow.”
Her father’s silence was the heaviest weight. Jagjit Arora stared at her for a long moment, his eyes sharp, as if trying to cut through her soul. But in the end, he simply nodded. “Call us every night.”
“I will.”
You won’t be able to, she thought grimly.
---
Kalden – The Edge of the Living World
After two connecting buses, one broken-down jeep, and a seven-kilometer walk through a forest trail where even birds refused to chirp, Rashi reached the foot of Kalden Pass—a narrow, cliffside path that locals avoided after sundown. Her phone signal had died miles ago.
The wind here didn’t blow—it howled. Constant, bone-chilling, as if something was eternally weeping through the valley.
She found a wooden sign nailed crookedly to a tree:
"To Those Who Seek The Lightkeeper: Leave Hope At The First Step."
Her throat went dry.
But she stepped forward.
---
The Monastery
It wasn’t a structure—it was a ruin. Half-collapsed stone walls, overgrown with moss, standing crooked against the sky. Ravens circled above, not cawing, just watching. An iron gate, rusted and chained with red threads, stood between her and the crumbling steps.
Rashi reached into her pocket and pulled out a matchbox. Father Elijah had told her to burn a pinch of blessed camphor at the gate—it would signal her presence to him.
As the flame caught, the red threads slowly unwrapped themselves. Not burned. Not broken.
They slithered away like living veins.
---
Inside – The Room of Mirrors
The corridor was dim, lined with broken mirrors. The air tasted of dust and something coppery—like dried blood. With every step, her reflection grew more distorted—her eyes hollow, her face grinning though she wasn’t smiling.
She passed one mirror… and it whispered:
“Leave, girl. Or he’ll show you what even demons fear.”
Her fingers curled tightly around the locket Raghav had given her.
She kept walking.
At the end of the hall, a figure sat cross-legged before a dim altar, surrounded by salt circles, old scrolls, and objects no priest would ever dare to touch. The shadows did not fall on him—they circled him like wolves.
His voice was like crushed gravel.
“You brought a part of the demon world with you.”
Rashi stiffened. “You know who I am?”
“No.” He stood up slowly. “But your shadow arrived before you did.”
---
The Warning
Reverend Neil Devraj—The Lightkeeper—was not what she had imagined. His robes were tattered, grey turning to black at the edges, and his hair was long and tied behind his head like a monk who had burned all scriptures. But his eyes—
—his eyes looked like they hadn’t blinked in decades.
“You want to save the boy?” he asked.
“Yes,” Rashi whispered. “And his family.”
He looked away, toward a corner of the room. “The moment you chose to defy the pact, they began hunting your essence. Every time you protect someone, they’ll take more of you. Piece by piece.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.” He stepped closer. “The nightmares… the whispers… the force that dragged you out of the church—that was just the beginning.”
Rashi swallowed hard. “Then help me.”
Neil paused.
Then turned, drawing back a curtain that revealed a wall entirely covered in carved symbols. They bled ink.
“There is no protection without possession,” he said. “To shield another from darkness, you must contain darkness.”
“You mean… become like them?”
“No.” He looked her in the eye. “I mean, become something worse. Something even demons cannot touch.”
Silence.
Then he asked, very softly, “Are you prepared… to be feared by both sides?”
---
Outside the Monastery – A Storm Brews
Unbeknownst to Rashi, far below in the village, a small shrine suddenly cracked in half. The priest who had once helped her fell to his knees, blood dripping from his nose.
He looked up, terrified.
“She’s found him,” he whispered. “God forgive us all.”
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