The private hospital wing smelled of antiseptic and unspoken prayers. Parth sat on a hard plastic chair, elbows on knees, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were pale. The IV stand beside the hospital bed beeped rhythmically, mocking the chaos outside its sterile world.
His father — Dr. Abir Vardhan — had been attacked. Not robbed. Not injured in an accident. Attacked.
And whatever did it... wasn't human.He knew it way too well.
His mother had been hysterical on the phone. The moment Parth arrived, she broke down in his arms. The doctors said it was a miracle his father survived the blow to his spine and skull.
Parth had convinced his mother to go home to rest. It was 2:40 a.m. when the hallway finally fell into an eerie quiet. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly. Parth sat alone, outside the ICU, eyes burning.
He stared at the floor.
But his thoughts? On fire.
> "They're coming closer."
---
Meanwhile, back in the boys' dorm, Neel sat hunched over a sketchpad. Aarav lay on his bed scrolling through news articles —
"Ash-smeared man sighted near ruins."
"Same face seen walking barefoot in Bhubaneswar, Jaipur, Kutch..."
"He walks alone. But the earth trembles after."
Aarav swallowed.
Then — a knock.
Not a loud one. Just two taps.
Neel opened the door.
A man stood there. Not a student.
Ash on his skin. Bare feet. A dagger.
Ashwatthama.
Neel didn't scream. Didn't run.
He just... stared.
The figure stepped into the room silently. Aarav stood up instinctively, his body tensing. He opened his mouth — maybe to call for help — but something about the man made sound die in his throat.
Ashwatthama looked at Aarav. Long. Deep.
Like he was reading his soul.
He didn't speak.
But Aarav did — barely whispering:
> "Who... are you?"
Ashwatthama's gaze softened. He looked at Aarav as if seeing someone he'd once known from a very young age. Someone he'd watched grow up as a great warrior.
But then — he stepped back.
Aarav stumbled slightly, clutching the desk behind him. "Stay away…"
Ashwatthama tilted his head.
Neel asked quietly, "You're him, aren't you? Ashwatthama?"
He nodded once.
And turned away.
A shadow gliding out.
---
At that exact moment — in another corridor of the boys' dorm — Vivaan, a second-year known for late-night gaming marathons, stepped out to refill his bottle.
He blinked.
Down the hallway, he saw him.
Not a ghost. Not a guard.
A man — wild hair, skin ash-smeared, dagger visible. Walking as if walls and time meant nothing.
Vivaan dropped his water bottle.
Clink clink clink.
The man paused.
Turned.
One glance.
Vivaan froze.
No threat. Just… presence.
Ashwatthama moved on. Without a word.
Vivaan bolted into his room, locked the door, and buried himself under his blanket.
> "I'm uninstalling all horror games. ALL of them."
Next morning, people laughed at his story.
Except Neel.
Because when Vivaan said:
> "His forehead… it glowed like punishment,"
something inside Neel stirred.
A memory.
A scream.
A battlefield.
---
3:03 a.m.,the same night of the attack—
Back in the hospital, Parth was starting to doze off.
Until —
The lights flickered.
And the temperature dropped.
He sat upright. Something moved beyond the ICU glass. No — not something. Many.
Dozens.
Shadows shifting unnaturally. Figures that shouldn't exist in a hospital filled with sleeping patients.
Danavas.
Their eyes glowing faint green. Their forms glitching, flickering between forms — nurse, patient, monster.
Parth stood.
Jaw tight.
Hands clenched.
> "Not here. Not now."
He stepped forward. No weapon. No allies.
Just him.
But something ancient stirred inside him.
---
The storm had only just begun.
And Ashwatthama... wasn't far behind.
Author's note:
Also,I am seeing a lot of cases,where you guys comment and delete it immediately.
Atleast let me answer 🤧