Crimson Bond of Ravenkot

CHAPTER 5 : 3 MURDERER-Early Choas

CHAPTER 5 : 3 MURDERER - early choas

Winter pressed against the inn from all sides. Cold crawled through the stone walls, slid under the blankets, and bit every inch of exposed skin like it had personal grudges.

My nose was cold. My toes were numb. Something sharp was digging into my spine

“Creeeeekkkk.”

Don’t you dare think it was a bird.

No birds sang like this in a terrified.

This sound came from wood.

A wooden bed.

I still hadn’t opened my eyes.

creek “

Another f*****g creak followed.

Louder.

Angrier.

One splinter away from becoming my obituary.

“Uhh,” I sighed, the sound coming out half-dead.

I cracked one eye open—and immediately regretted every life choice that led me here.

Yash was be side me, his arm trapped my throat, cutting off circulation in a way that felt deliberate. My legs were half off the bed, one foot dangling in cold air . My spine was twisted at an angle that would absolutely require medical attention later.

He slept through it.

Of course he did.

He occupied the exact center of the narrow wooden bed, lying unnaturally straight.

Like a man being prepared for burial.

His face was calm.

Peaceful. even this small wooden bed

On either side of him—

Aarav.

A arav’s arm was slung across Yash’s chest, fingers knotted in the fabric of his sweater like he was afraid Yash might float away. His knee was hooked possessively over Yash’s thigh, warm and heavy. His face was buried against Yash’s shoulder, breath slow and annoyingly comfortable.

They looked cozy.

and I was dying.

poorly planned trap.

And this bed?

Another creak—sharp, high-pitched.

I froze. Every muscle locked.

“Don’t,” I whispered to the bed. “Please don’t.” I begged.

The bed answered with a long, tortured ahhhhhh, sagging just enough to make my soul leave my body.

I gave up.

Aarav murmured something in his sleep and tightened his grip, stealing what little space remained.

Perfect.

Fuck. Morning was going to be a disaster.

This was how I, Vihaan Malhotra, the great and diligent investigative journalist, died.

Not by haunted mountain ghosts.

Not by the mafia.

Not by scandalous investigations.

Not even by Abhay’s threat-laced presence lurking somewhere in Ravenkot’s bones.

No.

By a cheap, undersized bed—

And my two i***t friends.

Then—

Creeeek.

Again.

Aarav’s face scrunched, lips pouting.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled. “Ma… stop shaking me…”

wanted to punch this guy.

Okay. That’s it. let out signed.

tried to pull my head free.

BUT Yash’s arm didn’t budge.

I pushed .

Still nothing.

“Yarr , wake up.”

....

.

“Yashu,” not louder but enough ,. “If you don’t wake up right now, we’re all going to meet the floor.”

finally .

He blinked awake slowly, eyes unfocused, clearly confused by the weight, warmth, and complete lack of personal space.

“…Why do I feel like a big stone on my body?” he voiced hoarsely.

I let out a breath of relief.

His computer mind became active and aware of the situation.

He glanced left ,not me who's neck was tangled by him.

but Aarav , Wrapped around him like a vine.

then eventually honoured me by glance at my miserable status.

…..Oh,” Yash said.

the bed . again

“Don’t move,” instant from my lip

“I wasn’t planning to,” Yash replied flatly.

Aarav squinted one eye open. “Why are there so many noises this early ?Is the world ending?”

“The bed is,” Vihaan snapped.

He lifted his head, looked around, . “Wow. We survived first night in wranagar village ”

Yash shot him a deadpan look. “You stole my blanket ,my dignity and now get up i***t. “

“And you stole my blood circulation,” i added.and glared the yash

Aarav laughed.

CREEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK

The bed chose that moment to emit the loudest CRACK yet.

we froze.

Silence stretched.

Then— CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK

BANG.

One of the wooden legs gave way.

The bed dipped violently to one side.

“—MOVE!” I shouted.

Chaos exploded.

Aarav rolled off first, hitting the floor with an “Oof!”

Yash scrambled instinctively, somehow managing to remain upright despite physics clearly disagreeing.

I barely managed to fling myself sideways before the mattress collapsed inward with a dramatic thud, wooden slats snapping beneath it.

We lay there for a moment.

Breathing.

The room smelled of dust and old wood.

Winter light filtered weakly through the small window.

Then—

The door flew open.

Vani stopped dead.

Her eyes dropped to the wreckage.

Then slowly — delighted— she raised her phone.

Click.

“Oh. My. DISASTER ,” she spoken , already recording. “Breaking news.”

She stepped inside, camera panning dramatically.

“Crime scene, Wharanagar . Day two. Morning.”

The lens focused on the shattered bed—snapped leg, crooked frame, broken slats.

“The victim,” Vani narrated solemnly, “a poor, innocent wooden bed.”

She moved the camera.

“One leg gone. Structural collapse. No chance of survival.”

Aarav groaned from the floor. “It attacked us first.”

she ignored and shift the Camera .

“And here,” she continued, voice dropping into mock seriousness at us, “the three murderers.”

She zoomed in on Aarav. “Murderer one. Known for reckless sleeping and zero spatial awareness.”

“Objection,” Aarav muttered and yaww .

She swung to Yash, standing unbothered in the wreckage.

“Murderer two,” Vani said. “Claims innocence. Slept peacefully through the crime.”

“I did,” Yash said flatly.

“Cold-blooded,” she declared.

The camera finally landed on me.

“And murderer three,” she finished brightly, “the mastermind. Investigative journalist. Clearly planned this.”

“Put the phone down,” I said.

She grinned at the screen. “Never. This is justice for the bed.”

I rubbed my neck. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

She stepped back, still filming. “Caption locked.”

She cleared her throat and read dramatically:

‘Victim: one wooden bed.

Suspects: three full-grown men.

Verdict: bed never stood a chance.’

She lowered the phone at last, eyes sparkling.

“Breakfast at ten. Trekking after.

Then she pointed at us. “Try not to murder any more furniture.”

She walked out laughing.

The door shut.

Silence.

Aarav sighed. “We’re going to jail.”

I stared at the ruins. “The bed deserved better.”

I pushed the thought away as I stood, brushing dust from my clothes.

Yash stretched his armed with unbothered glance once at the wreckage “Next time,” he said calmly, “we will get two beds.”

Aarav grinned. “Or a stronger one.”

After bed destruction, we get ready .

______________________________________

Third's POV

The crash didn’t stop at the walls or inn

but rolled out.

Wood splintering echoed down the narrow stone lane like a gunshot wrapped in laughter.

The sound bounced off shuttered windows, slipped under doors, crawled into the bones of Wharanagar.

Silence followed.

The wrong kind.

A door creaked open across the lane.

Just a finger-width.

An old man leaned out, eyes narrowed, breath steaming in the cold. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to. His gaze flicked toward the inn—and then, instinctively, toward the mountain looming beyond the rooftops.

Another door opened.

Then another.

Curtains shifted. Shadows moved behind glass. A woman muttered something sharp in the local tongue, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“So early?” someone whispered.

“First morning,” another replied. “Already breaking things.”

A child giggled—quick, bright, curious.

A hand snapped over their mouth.

“Hush,” a woman hissed. “Do you want it to hear?”

The child was dragged back inside. The door shut with a soft, terrified click.

At the tea stall, an elderly man froze mid-pour, kettle hovering uselessly in the air. The liquid trembled but didn’t spill. His eyes lifted slowly, tracking the echo as if it were a living thing.

“The mountain doesn’t like noise,” he murmured.

No one laughed.

________________________________________

Vihaan’s POV

Inside the inn, we were still breathing hard, surrounded by broken wood and wounded pride, blissfully unaware that we’d just announced ourselves to an entire village.

Then Auntie appeared at the foot of the stairs.

She hadn’t rushed and never rushed.

She stood there, listening—to the settling creaks of the building, to the distant wind, to something only she could hear. Her gaze flicked briefly toward our door, then slid away, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Outsiders,” she muttered under her breath.

She crossed herself.

Outside, the whispers grew teeth.

“They said the path shouldn’t be used this season.”

“City people don’t listen.”

“Three of them, I heard.”

“Loud. Careless.”

“Like they want to wake things.”

A raven landed on a roof beam across the lane, feathers ruffling. It tilted its head, listening, black eye glinting. Then it took off suddenly, wings slicing the cold air, vanishing toward the mountain.

That did it.

Doors shut.

Curtains fell still.

Life retreated indoors like it had never existed at all.

We sat around the small wooden table, steam fogging the cracked window, plates clinking softly.

Aarav was already halfway through his second paratha.

Yash stirred his tea with mechanical precision, eyes distant. I poked at my food like it had personally offended me.

Vani slid into her chair last, phone already in her hand.

“Good morning, Murderer ” she announced cheerfully. “You’re all internet famous.”

Aarav looked up, mouth full. “For surviving?”

“For murdering a bed,” she corrected.

She turned the screen toward us.“Reel update.”

She scrolled.

> 🔥_traveljunkie_97: That bed really said I’m done 💀

Aarav snorted. “Told you. Premeditated.”

>chai_pe_charcha: Budget stay + mountain = horror movie starter pack.

> desi_memelord: three grown men lost to one bed. Respect.

I smirked despite myself. “At least we’re consistent failures.”

Vani flicked her thumb again.

> wanderlust_girl: LOL but in last reel why does that village look so… dead?

The smile on my face thinned.

Yash’s spoon paused mid-stir.

> neutral_nomad:Where is this place? Can’t find it on maps.

>mountain_soul:..last reel ....Locals didn’t laugh. That’s a bad sign.

Aarav frowned. “Okay, mood change.”

Vani shrugged, still casual, but her scrolling slowed.

>@oldpaths :Some places don’t like being filmed.

Silence settled at the table.

The kettle hissed somewhere behind the counter.

Yash finally spoke, voice low. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Vani laughed, a little too quickly. “Relax. Internet loves drama.”

The bed wasn’t the victim.

The crash wasn’t an accident.

And we weren’t just travelers anymore.

We were noise.

And in Ravenkot—

Noise meant consequence.

....

The moment we stepped out of the inn after breakfast,

I knew something had shifted.

Not the weather.

Not the light.

The attention.

Winter sun sat pale and useless above Wharanagar, the kind that looked warm but didn’t touch your bones.

My breath fogged as I adjusted my bag, pretending not to notice how the village went unnaturally still—as if someone had muted the world.

I’ve covered riots, crime scenes, disasters. Silence never scares me.

This one did.

People stared.

Not openly.

Not curious.

It was worse than that—quick glances, half-turned faces, eyes that slid away the second I met them. Like looking too long might count as an invitation.

I smiled anyway.

Reflex.

Armor.

but got any response from any village..like past night was dream of talked.,eating ,bonfire , protection .everything

Aarav leaned in. “Bro,” he murmured, “tell me I’m overthinking this.”

I didn’t answer because I wasn’t sure lying would help.

Yash walked ahead of us, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders squared. He moved like someone who expected trouble and had already decided he’d take it standing. He didn’t look back. Didn’t look at the villagers at all.

That bothered me more than the stares.

The path toward the mountain cut straight through the heart of the village. Gravel crunched under my boots—too loud. A dog started barking, sharp and frantic, the sound scraping against my nerves.

Not at us.

At the mountain.

I followed the sound instinctively, and that’s when I felt it—that strange pressure in my chest again. Like something tightening, pulling, recognizing me.

Don’t be dramatic, I told myself. It’s altitude.

Cold.

Nerves.

An old man near the tea stall froze mid-sip, his eyes locking on me.

Not hostile.

Not afraid.

Resigned.

I raised a hand. “Morning,” I said.

but he turned away without a word.

My smile faltered.

A woman stepped into our path before I could recover it. Wrapped in wool, eyes sharp as broken glass. She looked straight at me, like she’d been waiting.

“Turn back,” she said.

No warning. No story. Just finality.

I felt a flicker of irritation—city instinct, journalist instinct. “We’re just trekking,” I replied. “We’ll be back before dark.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “The mountain , forest, remembers,” she said. “Some paths don’t forgive.”

I almost laughed. Almost.

Yash spoke beside me, low and firm. “Move.”

Her eyes snapped to him—and something shifted in her expression. Fear. Real, unfiltered fear. She stepped aside instantly.

As we passed, she whispered something—not a curse. Not a prayer.

A plea.

Behind us, the village stayed silent.

No doors re-opened .

No conversations continued.

I didn’t look back.

Ahead, Ravenkot rose through the mist, vast and unmoving . It didn’t feel like a destination.

It felt like a decision already made.

And the worst part?

Somewhere deep inside me—beneath sarcasm, beneath logic, beneath every warning I should have listened to—

Something leaned forward.

In Curious.

in Waiting.