He saw Varun taking selfies near a carved stone bench and walked over.
"Hey," Shankar asked casually, "Did you actually do your chemistry homework last week, or just copy mine?"
Varun laughed. "Okay, I copied yours. Chill."
And just like that, the heat came back. Stronger.
Shankar subtly clenched his jaw.
"Alright. That's two. Feels sharper now… deeper."
Still, he pushed on.
He spotted a junior nearby—Rishi, sitting quietly, munching biscuits and pretending not to eavesdrop.
Shankar walked over.
"Did you sneak into the girls' side of the camp yesterday?"
Rishi looked up, eyes wide. "Dude—don't tell anyone, but… yeah."
The ring pulsed.
This time, Shankar's fingers twitched. He could feel a throb along his knuckles. The gold felt like sun-baked metal against his skin.
"Three. Okay… now it's serious."
He rubbed his thumb, a thin layer of sweat starting to build on his palm.
One more.
Just one more.
His breath hitched as he turned, spotting his teacher, Mr. Sinha, seated alone under a banyan tree, flipping through a brochure.
"Let's make this count."
Shankar approached.
"Sir… did you ever really believe in what you teach us? Or is it just a job?"
Mr. Sinha looked up, surprised.
A long pause.
Then, he said quietly, "Sometimes I don't know. But I keep trying to."
The burn flared.
This time, Shankar almost dropped to one knee.
It wasn't just warmth anymore—it was a sting. A curling fire that twisted around the bones of his hand and shot up his wrist.
He gritted his teeth and quickly stepped behind a tree, breathing hard, gripping his wrist like it might fall off.
"Four. That's four. And it's like fire inside me."
He yanked the ring off in one motion, fingers trembling.
The pain stopped.
Instantly.
The gold cooled in his palm like nothing had happened.
As Shankar slid the ring back into place, he winced—the heat was still there, lurking beneath his skin like an ember waiting to flare.
"So taking it off just pauses the pain. It doesn't erase it."
He flexed his fingers, letting the ring settle.
"One truth too many… and this thing might break me before I even understand it."
The soft rustle of bamboo carried across the wind again, and laughter echoed in the distance. The world was calm on the outside. But something deeper had begun.
Not just a trip.
Not just a strange artifact.
But a game of truths…
Where the prize could be knowledge.
Or madness.
Shankar took the ring off and tucked it carefully into his pocket. The warmth on his skin faded, but the questions it left behind still lingered.
Venu Van's serene bamboo rustle stayed with him like a calming tune, but the peaceful vibe was slowly giving way to the end.
The trip was officially over.
Back at the hotel, for the last time, the entire group gathered for dinner. A long table stretched across the dining hall—messy plates, noisy laughter, and way too many voices overlapping. It was chaotic. But warm.
The teachers didn't stop the jokes this time. Instead, they joined in.
Stories flew across the table—who snored the loudest, who slipped on the temple stairs, who ran screaming from a monkey (Varun, obviously). The infamous forest incident got brought up too, with everyone adding their own exaggerated versions. Even the teachers laughed.
It was a mess.
A beautiful, emotional, end-of-a-chapter kind of mess.
Later that night, Shankar lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. The sounds had faded, the lights were dim, and the whole floor felt quieter than usual.
His bag was packed. His shoes were by the door. Tomorrow, they'd leave Rajgir.
He reached into his pocket and took the ring out once more, holding it loosely between his fingers. It didn't glow. It didn't hum.
It just sat there.
Still. Silent.
Much like his thoughts.
He had come on this trip hoping for something—some kind of clarity, some escape, maybe even a chance to change. Instead, he had collected memories, made a few friends, discovered something strange, something powerful.
But not answers.
No, what he got were more questions.
Too many questions.
He thought of Savitri for a moment. Her quietness. The way she replied about that book. The way she smiled when she didn't think anyone was looking.
"I don't even know what I'm chasing anymore…"
"But I don't think I can ignore it anymore either."
He closed his palm around the ring.
Tomorrow, they'd leave Rajgir.
But some part of him knew—his real journey hadn't even started yet.
Outside, under the harsh flicker of a dying streetlamp, the man in the black cloak stood.
He wasn't moving. His eyes were locked on the window of Shankar's room, but there was no warmth in his gaze.
It was the kind of stare that felt like it was looking right through the glass, as if seeing past everything—like he knew exactly where Shankar was.
The left eye of his face glowed faintly—a thin beam, like a lens adjusting, focused on the room. But it wasn't just light. It was mechanical, surgical. Cold. His skin rippled, like it was not quite human under the flicker of the streetlamp.
"The truth can't stay hidden forever... can it?"
His voice was low. Hollow. Like it came from somewhere far deeper than his chest.
Shankar's room felt warmer. But the air outside...
It wasn't.
For a split second, the man's figure blurred.
His cloak shimmered, then wrapped around him. The fabric twisted, not like a normal cloak, but like something alive.
It swirled into unnatural folds, expanding, distorting—the space around him seemed to warp.
The light around him bent like ripples in water. The streetlamp buzzed and flickered, as if the air had suddenly become too thick for the light to cut through.
Then, without a sound, the man vanished.
Not just gone—erased.
There was a brief distortion, like the world around him couldn't handle his presence anymore.
It was as if the very fabric of the night twisted and folded into nothingness.
The quiet street stood still.
The shadows felt deeper. Colder.
And Shankar...
Shankar had no idea that the night was already planning his next step.