Crimson Bond of Ravenkot

CHAPTER 2 : The Mountain Watched Back

Chapter 2: The Mountain Watched Back

Vihaan’s POV

The train screeched its last reluctant breaths, hissing and groaning like it had carried too many secrets for too long. Snowflakes drifted lazily, brushing the roof of the small Wharanagar Station before melting into puddles on the cracked platform. The air was thin, sharp, and bitter—like it had a personal grudge against lungs and confidence alike.

“End of the line, disaster tourists,” Aarav announced, yanking his backpack off the overhead rack like a man who had never met gravity. “Everybody out before the train decides we’re too pathetic to survive the snow.”

Vani was already on her feet, selfie stick ready, ring light clipped like battle armor. “Day one of the Ravenkot expedition. If we freeze, get lost, or get eaten, this goes viral. Filters on. Captions merciless.”

Yash grunted, staring out the frosty window. “And you’ll caption me as the heroic mute one, naturally.”

I followed last, cigarette between my fingers, lighter flicking nervously. The cold hit like a slap—frost in the hair, numbness in the fingers, lungs burning in that way that reminded me why I smoked.

“Smells like pine, woodsmoke, and regret,” I muttered, exhaling a curl of smoke that vanished into the white haze. “Perfect.”

The station was tiny: two platforms, a single chai stall huddled against the wind, tin roof patched like it had survived more winters than God intended. Snow clung to the tracks, turning iron into something silvered and dangerous.

Aarav spun, arms wide. “So. Where’s the cursed mountain? Photographic evidence before it murders us in our sleep.”

I squinted through the fog. A jagged shape loomed far off, peeking through clouds like a watchful sentinel. “There. Brooding. Judgmental. The type to ruin lives and gaslight us about it.”

Vani snapped a panorama. “It literally looks like it’s staring at us.”

“Same, bestie,” I said.

Locals eyed us like the latest circus act—snow-caked, suspicion sharp. Awareness, not fear.

“Guys, don’t let the mountain see your teeth,” I whispered.

Aarav laughed. “Too late. Hello, judgmental peak! Your favorite disaster tourists are here!”

Vani pulled me in for a selfie. “Snow + mountain + friends = viral thumbnail.” She made a heart. I rolled my eyes, flicked snow at her—hard enough to make her squeal.

“Reminder: I don’t do group hugs unless someone’s dying. And stop calling it a mountain. That thing’s a vertical apology for nature’s sins.”

Yash shook his head, watching me like I was the first i***t to flirt with frostbite.

We hauled bags to the waiting jeep—rusted, shivering under snow, one headlight dangling like it had quit years ago.

The driver didn’t smile. Just nodded. We climbed in.

The road twisted upward, treacherous gravel slippery with frost. Each turn revealed more of Ravenkot—shrouded, misted.

Aarav narrated like a sports commentator. “And Vihaan survives another near-death skid! Spectators go wild—”

“Shut up,” I muttered, gripping the seatbelt as the jeep slipped. “If I die from your commentary, I’ll haunt you personally.”

Vani squealed at every ice patch. “Perfect content!” Filming, oblivious.

Yash stayed calm, silent, calculating.

The air grew thinner. Each breath knifed my chest. Not fear. Not cold. Something else—a tug under the ribs, warm, insistent, like an old wound remembering how to ache.

“Okay,” I whispered, jacket tighter. “Mountain, stop flirting. I’m not ready.”

The jeep rounded a bend. The peak cleared the clouds—black, jagged, impossibly sharp. Fog coiled like smoke, teasing. My chest tugged harder, possessive.

“Damn,” Aarav whispered. “That’s… something else.”

Vani zoomed in. “Thumbnail gold. If we die, at least it’ll be pretty.”

I dragged on my cigarette. Smoke curled toward the mountain. “Pretty. And hungry.”

The driver gripped the wheel like fate itself.

Snow crunched as we reached the village road. Shadows stretched like fingers.

The tug grew impatient.

I tried focusing on Aarav’s ramble, Vani’s selfies. But the mountain noticed.

Fog moved unnaturally. Whispering secrets only I felt.

“Hey,” I muttered. “Stop watching so much.”

It didn’t reply. But the pull tightened—warm, aware—like it had waited lifetimes for me.

I flicked the cigarette into snow. Ember died instantly.

The snow didn’t fall politely.

It slapped sideways, dry, bitter, full of attitude.

The road flattened suddenly, spilling us into Dharanagar—a handful of slate-roofed houses clinging to the hillside like stubborn lichen. Strings of drying chilies hung from balconies, glowing ember-red against weathered wood. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying pine resin and something older, sharper.

A single street cut through the village, lined with small shops and a tiny temple bright with fresh marigolds. Old men sat at the chai stall, motionless, watching us roll in.

The engine died.

Silence dropped like a stone.

An old woman froze mid-sweep. Two boys clutching a cricket ball turned to statues. Even the stray dog lifted its head, ears pricked toward the peak.

I stepped out, stretched, cold biting clean through my jacket.

Met the eyes of the nearest shopkeeper—thick mustache, face like cracked leather, gaze heavy with centuries of warnings.

“Namaste, uncle-ji. Beautiful village. We’re just passing through—heard Ravenkot has killer views.”

He didn’t smile. “Views are fine. The mountain isn’t.”

I leaned on the counter, voice low. “So what’s the real story? Disappearances? Ghosts? Rakshasas guarding hidden kingdoms?” I half-joked, but his eyes narrowed.

“Outsiders always ask,” he said.

deodars above the village. “Something up there doesn’t like visitors. Especially ones who mock it.”

:“Any rooms with a view?”

He jerked his thumb toward a narrow guesthouse. “Gupta Lodge. Tell them Ram sent you.” Then, quieter: “And boy—stay below the red flags after sunset. Whatever you hear calling your name… don’t answer.”

I mock-saluted. “No midnight dates with demons. Got it.”

No one laughed.

“Okay,” Aarav said, hood up. “This place hates us. Nice.”.

Quiet. Watchful.

I ⁸stepped forward, boots crunching. Cold soaked through soles, toes aching.

“We came for haunted energy. Can’t complain when it’s gift-wrapped.”

Aarav threw snow at my back. “Stop romanticizing death. Pose.”

Vani backed up, camera raised. “Hold still. If we disappear, footage should look expensive.”

We lined up—me center, Aarav lunatic-grinning, Yash alert, Vani half-laughing, freezing.

She lowered the phone suddenly.

“…Why does it feel like something up there is counting us?”

We looked.

Ravenkot loomed, slopes white and scarred, clouds clinging unnaturally.

“Relax,” I said. “It’s just judging our fashion.”

Still… the pull tightened.

Like walking into a room and realizing someone unseen is already staring.

I rubbed my sternum.

Yash noticed. “You okay?”

“Cold,” I lied. “Hospitality of my ex.”

Vani snorted. “One sad boy and you’re the main character.”

“Jealous?”

“Of your emotional damage? Hard pass.”

We headed to the chai stall. Owner huddled like born behind the counter.

Old men tracked us.

Steps felt loud. Out of place.

Child peeked, vanished.

Dog barked once—sharp—retreated.

Aarav leaned close. “Dressed like red flags?”

“Probably.”

Vendor spoke. “You people not from here.”

“No s**t,” I said pleasantly. “Frostbite gave it away?”

He didn’t smile.

“Tourists,” Yash said. “Staying the night.”

“You should not stay long.”

Vani: “Cold or cursed mountain?”

He glanced up. “The mountain.”

Silence.

Aarav coughed. “Four chais?”

He made them silently.

Handing mine, fingers brushed my wrist.

He flinched. Hard. Like touching fire.

Eyes snapped to my face. “Be careful, boy.”

I nodded.

His gaze followed us, heavy.

Snow fell heavier.

Vani nudged me. “Why’d he look at you like you insulted his ancestors?”

“Maybe I did. Accidentally.”

She softened. “You’ve been quiet.”

“That’s a first.”

“You know what I mean.”

I opened my mouth for a joke.

Chest tightened—harder, ache spreading.

Air thickened.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Altitude. Or heartbreak.”

She didn’t laugh.

“This place doesn’t like being filmed. And it doesn’t like us.”

I looked up.

Fog curled like a living thing.

The pull answered—deep, possessive.

Like the mountain had recognized me back.

And then, carried on the wind from the peak, a low, rumbling whisper—faint, ancient, unmistakable..

.........

By the time the snow thickened into a steady white curtain, we’d found our way to Gupta Lodge — a squat two-story building with a flickering sign and windows that glowed warm against the cold.

It smelled like wet wool, old wood, and something fried five days ago.

Which meant: perfect.

It turned out to be less “haunted inn” and more “tired pahadi homestay that had seen too many stupid tourists.”

The heater was coughing more than heating. The floorboards creaked like they had arthritis. A faint smell of ginger, smoke, and old wool filled the air.

Basically, vibes.

We dumped our bags near a low wooden table and collapsed.

Aarav shoved his frozen hands toward the heater.

“Bro, my fingers have turned into Maggi sticks.”

Vani kicked off her boots.

“Content creators deserve better working conditions. I should sue the mountain.”

Yash took the chair facing the door, because of course he did.

“If something bursts in, I’m not dying from behind.”

“Romantic,” I said. “Die facing your fear.”

He rolled his eyes. “Die after you.”

Before I could insult him properly, a stout hill aunty appeared with a kettle and four mismatched cups.

She had a round face, sharp eyes, and the energy of a woman who had raised at least six children and tolerated none of them.

“Chai lo,” she said. “Tum log thande lag rahe ho.”

(have tea , You all look frozen.)

“thank you, aunty,” Aarav said like she’d saved his soul.

She poured. When she reached me, she paused.

Her eyes flicked to my face. Then to my chest.

“Zyada thakaan hai?” she asked.

(Too tired?)

“Always,” I said. “That’s my brand.”

She hmmed like she didn’t believe me.

“Pahadon mein dil zyada mehsoos hota hai.”

(In the mountains, the heart feels more.)

“Wow,” I said. “Didn’t know this place came with emotional side effects.”

She snorted.

“Smart-mouth boy.”

Yash hid a smile.

We sipped chai while snow ticked softly against the windows.

In the corner, a few villagers were warming themselves — two old men, a teenage boy, and another aunty knitting something aggressively.

Their eyes kept sliding toward us.

Vani whispered, “Why do they look like we just walked into their family drama?”

“Because we did,” I muttered.

I stood and wandered over with my cup.

“Namaste,” I said cheerfully. “We’re just here to see Ravenkot and .”

The knitting aunty clicked her tongue.

“Arre bas? Dekhne ke liye itna door?”

(You came all this way just to look?)

“Story of my life,” I said.

One of the old men peered at me.

“Tum log media wale ho?”

(You people from the media?)

" we're just tourist. " I smiled tight

He sighed like that explained everything.

“Phir toh problem hai.”

(Then there will be trouble.)

“Why?” Aarav asked from behind me.

“Because jab camera aata hai, cheezein chhupna band kar deti hain.”

(When cameras come, things stop hiding.)

“Wow,” I said. “That’s either very deep or very creepy.”

The teenage boy giggled.

The knitting aunty smacked his arm.

“Chup kar. Don’t scare guests.”(shut up)

Then she looked at me.

“Par sach hai.”

(But it’s true.)

Yash leaned forward.

“People talk about an abandoned village near the forest.”

Everyone went quiet.

The old man rubbed his knee.

“Haan. Tha.”

(Yes. There was.)

“What happened?” Vani asked softly.

“Log zyada andar chale gaye.”

(People went too far inside.)

“Into the forest?”

“Into the mountain’s business,” the aunty muttered.

Aarav frowned.

“So… it evicted them?”

The aunty huffed.

“Mountain kisi ka landlord nahi. Woh bas… pasand nahi karta jab koi uski sunta nahi.”

(The mountain isn’t anyone’s landlord. It just… doesn’t like when people don’t listen to it.)

“Listen to what?” I asked.

“Bas. Signals.”

(Just. Signs.)

I forced a grin.

“Like what, bad Wi-Fi?”

The aunty almost smiled.

“Jaise jab jungle chup ho jaaye.”

(Like when the forest goes silent.)

That made something in my chest twist..

Vani’s phone buzzed.

“The village video is blowing up.”

“Read,” Aarav said.

She scrolled.

> @MountainTruth: “You idiots have no idea where you are.”

> @HimalayanWatcher: “If the forest calls your name, don’t answer.”

> @ghostbhai: “Ravenkot doesn’t like loud people.”

> @reddy : there's unnaturally things happened.

> @diljeet : excited to see your next reel and video.

Aarav looked at me.

“Damn. You’re already on its hit list.”

“Story of my life,” I muttered.

The knitting aunty squinted at my phone.

“Kaun log hai yeh?”

(Who are these people?)

“Internet,” Vani said. “They’re scared for us.”

“Achha.”

(Good.)

She looked straight at me.

“Tum thoda zyada bolte ho.”

(You talk a little too much.)

“Occupational hazard.”

She shook her head in a disappointed .

“Pahadon mein chup rehna zyada safe hota hai.”

(In the mountains, being quiet is safer.)

Something deep inside me stirred.

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