Savitri spoke softly — so softly the breeze almost stole her words.
"You know what, Shankar?"
He turned to her, eyes soft in the glow of the streetlamp.
"That was my first school trip too."
He blinked. "Seriously?"
She smiled faintly. "Yeah. I never thought I'd make so many friends… never thought I'd feel this close to anyone."
Shankar let out a light chuckle. "Guess the quiet ones surprise us all."
Savitri paused.
Then, quieter — with something almost fragile behind it — she said:
"I don't trust many people."
Her voice didn't waver. But it hurt in its honesty.
"You're one of the few I do."
She looked at him. Steady. Warm.
"You never made me feel alone."
Shankar felt something shift in his chest — the kind of ache you get right before saying something that matters.
He opened his mouth to speak—
Then the world cut out.
The streetlight above them fizzed once.
Twice.
Dead.
Every lamp in the lane followed, one by one — crackling out like a countdown.
A heavy, unnatural darkness swallowed the street.
Not soft. Not gentle.
This was darkness with weight.
Like it had purpose.
The air turned still — too still.
No breeze. No leaves.
Even the insects had stopped.
It wasn't silence.
It was anticipation.
And then—
A low hum.
Like the wind had forgotten how to blow.
And from that dead space above the street—
he descended.
Not dropped.
Not walked.
Floated.
A long, black cloak trailing like torn smoke.
His body unnaturally still, except for the way his hood rippled in the air that wasn't moving.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
Just the cold shape of intent.
He landed soundlessly, about fifteen feet in front of them.
And stood.
Perfectly straight.
Perfectly silent.
His left eye glowed — pulsing, like some ancient scanner brought back from ruins long buried.
It flickered across them.
Paused on Shankar.
Held.
The air around the man… rippled.
Like heat.
Like distortion.
Reality didn't want him there.
Shankar froze.
Savitri took a step closer to him, her voice barely a whisper.
"Shankar…?"
But Shankar didn't answer.
Because the man hadn't moved — but he was closer now.
Still standing.
Still not blinking.
But the space between them had shrunk — like the street itself was bending.
And somewhere far off…
A single dog began barking.
Then stopped.
The road was empty.
Just Shankar.
Savitri.
And the cloaked figure,
who brought the kind of silence that didn't stay long.
Shankar and Savitri didn't speak at first.
They just stared.
And then, slowly — like ice cracking underfoot — recognition spread across Shankar's face.
The man wasn't just a shadow.
He was the shadow.
The one from the hilltop.
The one that shouldn't have been there.
Savitri's breath hitched.
She remembered him too.
Then the man finally spoke.
His voice was cold. Low.
It didn't echo — it just cut.
"Give me the ring."
For a second, Shankar's heart stopped.
He'd almost forgotten it was with him.
Tucked into his pocket.
Just in case.
The weight of it hit him all at once.
He knew exactly what the man meant.
But he was confused.
How did he know?
Why did he want it?
Who was he?
His chest tightened. His hand brushed against the ring inside his pocket.
Beside him, Savitri whispered, "Shankar…?"
She could feel the shift.
The air had changed.
Everything had changed.
Shankar didn't know what to do.
So he slid the ring onto his thumb.
A part of him thought — maybe it would help. Maybe the cloak guy would forget what he said.
He looked up and said, trying to stay steady:
"What ring?"
The figure didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just answered:
"The one you just slid onto your thumb."
The voice was deeper now.
Sharper.
Like it wasn't just spoken — but felt.
Shankar's blood ran cold.
Because the ring…
Wasn't supposed to be visible.
No one else could see it.
Even Savitri hadn't noticed it when he first wore it at the temple.
And yet…
This man not only saw it —
He knew exactly when he wore it.
As if he could feel its presence.
Savitri's hand gripped Shankar's arm, trembling.
"Shankar," she whispered again. "What's going on?"
Shankar didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because something was very, very wrong.
And the ring?
It was just the beginning.
Shankar's voice cracked the silence.
He didn't have a plan.
He didn't even know what he was doing.
But his instincts spoke first.
"How can you see the ring?" he asked.
"Why do you want it?"
The man didn't move.
But his answer came, slow and cold — like frost spreading over steel.
"Do you think you're the only artifact holder on this planet?"
Shankar's breath hitched.
The man raised his head just slightly, the hood pulling back enough to reveal one eye —
completely white.
Glowing softly.
Not blind.
Watching.
"This left eye," the man said,
"isn't damaged. It's no ordinary eye at all."
"It's Odin's lost pearl of information. An artifact which can reveal other artifacts and relics."
"And the one you're wearing…"
His voice dropped, like venom.
"…is the sacred Ring of Krishna."
A pause.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then he spat the words like a curse:
"You're not worthy of even touching something like that."
Shankar's body tensed.
And beneath his skin —
The ring began to burn.
Not just warm.
Alive.
Shankar's mind was spiraling.
Odin? Krishna?
What the hell was this guy talking about?
He glanced at Savitri — her eyes mirrored his confusion.
"These are just… stories," he thought. "Mythological names. Code words maybe? Alien tech? Secret organizations?"
He was barely holding onto logic.
So he asked the one question clawing through the panic:
"How do you even know where I am?"
He didn't see the answer coming.
Fwoosh.
In a blur of black, the man teleported — reappearing directly behind Savitri like some vampire birthed from smoke.
She gasped.
Shankar turned too late.
The man's cold voice whispered from behind her:
"The Pearl showed me the way."
Savitri froze.
Shankar grabbed her hand.
"RUN!"
They bolted — sneakers skidding on the cracked pavement.
Behind them, nothing. No footsteps. No shouts.
Just… silence.
Too silent.
Savitri glanced back — "Where did he go—?"
WHOOSH.
He appeared ahead of them. Out of thin air.
Like a nightmare skipping frames.
His cloak fluttered in the still air.
His eyes glowing pale like dead moons.
He wasn't chasing them. He was hunting.
Shankar skidded to a halt, pulling Savitri aside as they ducked behind a broken wall.
Shankar whispered, "We need to split. You go left, I—"
"Found you."
The voice echoed from everywhere.
The wall behind Shankar cracked and peeled back like paper — revealing the man, face blank, gauntlet humming.
They ran again.
Through alleys. Past rusted fences. Over crumbled steps.
Savitri slipped — Shankar caught her — they kept moving.
But no matter where they turned, the cloaked figure was already waiting.
Unmoving. Unbreathing. Inevitable.
Shankar shouted, "What are you?!"
The man replied without moving his lips:
"I am the one meant to carry the Ring."
Suddenly — the gauntlet lit up.
A wave pulsed out.
Shankar stumbled, dizzy. His ears rang.
The surroundings glitched — like reality didn't know what to render.
"He can scan everything," Shankar muttered. "He's not just seeing us — he's inside this place…"
Then — the man appeared directly in front of Savitri.
Without warning—WHAM.
He shoved her aside.
She hit the pavement hard, a gasp escaping her lips as she tumbled.
"Savitri!" Shankar shouted, rushing forward—
But the man's massive gloved hand clamped around his throat.
The gauntlet shimmered with tech — lines of pulsing light like veins from another world.
"The Ring," he growled,
"is not a toy for meaningless conversations."
His grip tightened. Shankar gasped for air.
"It must serve a higher purpose."
His eyes glowed white.
Rage cold. Focused. Calculated.
"Every year," he continued,
"I visited that mountain. I searched. I waited."
His voice cracked just slightly — the fury leaking through.
"And then you — a clueless child — took it."
A blade slid from the gauntlet — long, black, and unnaturally sharp.
"You don't even know what it means to carry something sacred."
He raised the blade to Shankar's arm.
Savitri, still groaning on the ground, looked up — eyes wide.
"NO!"
She ran.
But she was too far.
The blade touched Shankar's skin.
BOOM.
A violent, blinding flash erupted from the Ring.
The air warped. The ground cracked.
Shankar was thrown backward — but untouched.
The cloaked man?
He was flung several feet into the air, landing hard — his gauntlet sparking, cloak scorched, something in his body snapping audibly.
He groaned in pain.
Savitri?
She hit the ground beside Shankar — bleeding. Unconscious.
Shankar stumbled to her side.
Blood on her forehead.
Her breathing… weak.
Her eyes… closed.
"Savitri…?"
His voice cracked. "Savitri!"
He looked up.
But the man —
brutally injured, limping.
And in a final shimmer of light—
He vanished.