Screams.
Shouts.
Chaos.
The path to Raatdeep was drowning in it.
As the Grey family's carriage pushed forward, the world outside blurred into a tide of terror. People rushed past one another, bodies colliding, faces twisted in raw panic—some crying openly, some screaming until their throats ran dry, others simply staring ahead with hollow eyes, as if their souls had already reached death and their bodies were only following behind.
The air itself felt heavy, pressing down on every breath, turning even breathing into a struggle.
No one looked hopeful.
No one looked ready.
It felt as though they were marching into a war—
one they had already lost before it had even begun.
Above them, the sky burned.
Not with fire yet… but with a sickening brightness, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. The air crushed against their chests, thick and suffocating. Death did not fall from the sky—it hung there, waiting, looming just above their heads.
In that suffocating tension, a single thought passed through the minds of the Black Eye Clan:
Reach Raatdeep before the chain of fire is unleashed.
If they crossed the gates…
If they entered the Evergrove Kingdom…
Then—maybe—they would live.
As the carriage rolled on, the silence inside grew heavier than the screams outside.
Inside, Lava sat close to her son, her arms wrapped tightly around him, fingers gripping as if letting go—even for a moment—would mean losing him forever. Her head bowed slightly, lips barely moving as her thoughts dissolved into desperate prayer.
God… please, she begged silently.
Keep my family safe.
And Kaal, he stared into emptiness.
His eyes saw nothing—
his thoughts were far away.
With his friends.
With Vihaan.
With Myra.
Before moving toward Raatdeep, they had gone to his house.
No one was there.
No Myra.
No Vihaan.
No parents.
Nothing.
Hours later—when the path finally ended—they stopped.
And then… they gasped.
A massive crowd had already gathered before the gates of the Evergrove Kingdom. Thousands of people were packed together so tightly that movement itself felt impossible. Faces were pale. Eyes frantic. Breath came in short, broken gasps.
Then—
They shocked.
They weren't shocked by the crowd.
They were shocked by the gates.
Closed.
The kingdom's gates stood like a wall of judgment—black iron fused with cold stone, towering above the restless mass without mercy or warmth. No openings. No guards in sight. Just an unyielding barrier standing between life… and whatever waited beyond the sky.
The crowd pressed forward.
Bodies collided.
People were crushed together.
Voices clashed into a storm of fear.
Shouting.
Crying.
Begging.
Yet beneath all that noise… something sharper stirred.
Something crawled beneath every breath they took.
Fear.
"Fire is coming…" someone whispered.
And the sky answered.
It turned bright red.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
The heavens split open like a fresh wound, and crimson bled across the world, staining everything beneath it until the land itself seemed drowned in red.
Only a question remained.
Which red would come first?
The burning red of fire—
Or the darker red of blood.
A terrible thought.
One that would soon become reality—
If the gates did not open.
"Open the gates!" a man screamed, his voice cracking like shattered glass.
"Do you want us to burn to death out here?!"
A mother clutched her child tightly against her chest. The boy clung to her, as if she alone could shield him from the sky above.
But the tremor in her arms told a different truth.
The child whimpered, his wide eyes drifting upward—
Where an orange glow flickered.
A warning.
"Please…" the woman cried, her voice breaking.
"The fire is coming—please!"
Panic spread like wildfire.
People screamed.
People sobbed.
People prayed.
And above it all—
The red sky watched.
In silence.
"Do you hear us?!"
Another voice rose from the crowd, trembling with a fear so raw it sounded like the final cry of a cornered animal.
"If you keep us outside… the flames will take us all!"
The gates did not respond.
They remained shut—
cold, silent, unyielding.
No guards appeared.
No orders were shouted.
Only the wind answered.
And beneath it… a faint sound—dreadful, unmistakable—
a distant crackle drifting from far away.
Fire.
Through the crushing press of bodies, someone whispered the words no one dared to believe.
"The fire is closer than we think…"
A pause.
"And they're not going to open the gates for us."
A shiver rippled through the crowd.
Not from the chill in the air—
But from the thought that soon, the night itself would burn red.
From a distance, Kaal, Neel, and Lava watched it all unfold.
"Why…" Lava whispered, her voice trembling, frayed at the edges.
"Why won't they open the gates?"
She turned toward Neel, hands shaking, eyes desperate—searching for an answer.
Any answer.
Neel didn't respond.
He stood frozen, as if turned to stone.
Beside him, Kaal clenched his fists.
He wanted to do something.
Anything.
But he was just a child.
Powerless.
Useless.
And then—
Through the crackling tension, a sound rolled out from beyond the gates.
A deep, steady rhythm.
Drums.
Slow at first.
Then louder.
Each beat reverberated through the crowd's bones—
swallowing screams, drowning sobs, crushing what little hope remained beneath its weight.
The gates remained shut.
But above them—
Movement.
A lone figure stepped into the torchlight atop the wall.
A letter was clenched in one hand.
His face was devoid of emotion—
no pity, no fear.
Only a cold, impenetrable calm.
Moments later, another figure emerged beside him.
This man's jaw was set tight, shoulders rigid.
The strain carved into his expression was plain for all to see.
The crowd recognized them instantly.
Lord Commander Bhairava Linehart—
the highest authority of the kingdom's military, second only to the King himself.
And standing beside him—
Shaan Kaitoke, CEO of AEAA.
A man whose judgment carried immense weight in matters of atmosphere and evolution.
The drums continued.
The sky burned red.
And the crowd waited—
Suspended between judgment and fire.
Then—
The drums stopped.
At once, the world seemed to lose its breath.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Silence fell—thick, crushing, final.
Heavy as a verdict.
Hope and despair twisted together as every gaze lifted toward the two men atop the gates.
They no longer looked like people.
They looked like judgment itself.
Then—
A sound.
From within the gates.
Those inside, drawn by the drums, had gathered as well.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd.
Lord Commander Bhairava Linehart stepped forward.
His shadow stretched long and dark across the stone wall as the torches behind him flickered.
When he spoke, his voice rang like steel drawn from a scabbard—cold, sharp, and utterly without hesitation.
"People of Blacknote Land…"
The words sliced cleanly through the silence.
"Blood of the Black Eye Clan…"
Every spine in the crowd stiffened.
"Hear the words that will carve this day into the bones of history."
His gaze did not waver.
Not a flicker of emotion touched his face.
"The second poem of the Eight Great Poems has revealed itself."
A ripple of fear passed through the masses—subtle, instinctive, unavoidable.
"We have understood its meaning," Bhairava continued.
"What it speaks of… and what it predicts."
His eyes remained still. Unblinking.
"It tells of a time when fear will outweigh reason.
When survival itself will demand a price."
He paused.
A deliberate pause.
"A price paid in humanity."
The air turned colder.
His final words fell like a blade.
"The time is coming… when humans will shed their skin—
and monsters will rise."
—
An hour ago — AEAA Headquarters, CEO's room
"What are you saying, Lord Commander?"
Shaan's voice echoed through the room—sharp, strained.
The crack in his composure was unmistakable.
"That poem predicts humans turning into monsters," Shaan said, disbelief breaking through his controlled tone.
"Then how can you claim all of this will happen to the Black Eye Clan?"
He turned sharply toward Bhairava. "On what grounds?"
Bhairava slowly raised an eyebrow.
Then he spoke, calmly—
"Shaan… did you not find it strange?"
Bhairava's voice remained calm—almost gentle.
That calm was worse than accusation.
"When someone from the Black Eye Clan breached the Mana Lock…"
He paused, letting the memory surface.
"…the second poem revealed itself."
The words struck like thunder.
The room seemed to shrink.
The air grew heavy, oppressive.
"Now," Bhairava continued, unhurried,
"let me ask you one final question."
His eyes locked onto Shaan.
"Which clan carries mixed blood—
human and monster both?"
Shaan froze.
The color drained from his face.
His lips trembled, and when he spoke, his voice was no more than a breath—
fragile, barely strong enough to exist.
"…The Black Eye Clan."
Silence fell.
Heavy. Absolute.
To be continued…