Chapter Five: The Forgotten Path
565 Words
The trail was almost invisible.
Advait stood at the edge of the forest with the map in one hand and a flashlight in the other. The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the trees, casting long, slanting shadows across the path ahead. Fog coiled like snakes around the roots, and the air carried a chill that didn’t feel entirely natural.
He glanced behind him—no one. The town of Guldarh was now hidden behind a curtain of mist and memory.
Bhairav’s voice echoed in his head:
“She left something there.”
He followed the path.
It twisted sharply, not like a trail used by tourists or even locals. Thorns clawed at his jeans. Branches cracked underfoot. The silence was oppressive—no birds, no insects, not even the wind. Just the crunch of leaves and the growing sound of his own breathing.
Half an hour passed before he reached the clearing.
The Old Watchtower stood there like a skeleton—three stories of rotting wood and iron, leaning slightly to one side. Time had chewed through its base, and vines now wrapped it like ropes trying to pull it into the earth.
Advait stepped toward it slowly. The map didn’t show what to look for—just that she had come here. Why this place? What was she hiding?
The door creaked open with a push. Inside, the floor sagged in places. A wooden staircase curled up the side, barely hanging on.
He started climbing.
Each step groaned under his weight, but he didn’t stop. Dust danced in the flashlight beam. Dead leaves and broken glass littered the way. The second floor was empty—just an old cot, mold-covered and cracked.
He moved up to the third floor.
That’s where he found it.
A small wooden box, tucked beneath a loose floorboard. It was wrapped in cloth, sealed shut with melted wax, and tied with what looked like red thread.
He sat down slowly and held it in his lap.
Carved on the lid was a single word.
“Advait.”
His breath caught in his throat.
She had left something here—for him.
With trembling fingers, he broke the seal. Inside was a notebook. Old, but preserved. The cover bore Ira’s initials: I.M. The first page was addressed in her handwriting.
“If you’re reading this, it means I failed.”
Advait’s fingers curled around the page as a wave of heat rushed to his head.
She had known.
She had expected this.
And she had left a trail.
He flipped to the second page. Her handwriting was hurried but sharp.
“They’re not from Guldarh. They’re not police. They’re something else. I’m being followed—not by one man, but by an entire system that erases people like me. If they find this book, it ends. If you find it—follow the red door.”
Red door?
Advait stood up, notebook clutched in one hand.
And that’s when he heard it.
A sound from the forest. A footstep on dry leaves. Then another.
Someone was outside.
He turned off the flashlight and crouched low by the window. Through a gap in the wood, he saw a dark figure move through the clearing. Slowly. Patiently. Like they knew exactly what he was doing.
Advait’s heart pounded.
He was no longer alone.
And now… they knew he had the book.
- Writer
