The vibration of the train had changed. It was no longer a rhythmic clacking, but a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate inside Kashem's skull. The air in the corridor was thick with the scent of ozone and ancient dust. He stood before the door to the seventh carriage, the leather-bound ledger of Abhay Roy clutched tightly in his hand.
"The Boiler Room was just the beginning," Kashem muttered to himself. He looked at the mark on his arm. It was glowing with a steady, sapphire light. "Whatever is behind this door... it's the heart of the mystery."
He pushed the door open.
Unlike the industrial chaos of the Boiler Room, this carriage was strangely silent. It looked like a high-end study from the late 19th century. Dark oak panels covered the walls, and the floor was carpeted with a thick, crimson rug. In the center of the room stood a large drafting table, covered in blueprints and mathematical equations that seemed to shift and change whenever Kashem tried to focus on them.
"You found it," a voice whispered.
Kashem jumped, spinning around. The veiled woman was not there. Instead, sitting in a high-backed leather chair near the window, was the translucent figure of a man. He was wearing a formal British-era coat, but his face was unmistakably Bengali. He looked tired, his eyes hollowed out by years of sleeplessness.
"Who are you?" Kashem asked, his voice trembling. "Are you... Abhay Roy?"
The figure nodded slowly. "I am the echo of the man who built the seal. And you... you are the descendant of the one who was supposed to guard it."
Kashem stepped closer, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The guard? My grandfather? He disappeared years ago! He never told me about any train or any seal!"
Abhay Roy stood up, his form flickering like a bad video signal. He pointed toward the blueprints on the table. "The 1884 disaster was not an accident, Kashem. We didn't just build a bridge; we built a cage. We found a rift in time—a hole where reality was leaking out. We used the iron of the rails and the souls of the willing to plug that hole."
"But the plug is failing!" Kashem shouted, slamming the ledger onto the table. "My world—2026—it's being deleted! Why now? Why me?"
Abhay walked toward the window, looking out at the crimson void. "Because the 'Analyst' from your time was the only one who could read the code of the universe. The lighthouse on your arm is not a curse, boy. It is a decryption key. Someone from your time has been trying to open the cage from the outside."
Kashem froze. "Opening the cage? Who would do that?"
"Someone who wants to rewrite history," Abhay replied, his voice turning cold. "The glitch you see in 2026 is the result of a 'Temporal Paradox.' If you don't reach the 1884 station in the next three hours, the train will reach its final stop—and that stop is the end of existence."
Suddenly, the lights in the carriage flickered. A deep, guttural growl echoed from beneath the floorboards. The drafting table began to shake, and the blueprints flew into the air, swirling around Kashem like a paper cyclone.
"The Erasers!" Kashem screamed, reaching for his mark.
"No," Abhay said, his image beginning to fade. "This is something worse. The train has detected a 'Contradiction.' You are carrying something that doesn't belong in this year. Look in your pocket, Kashem!"
Kashem reached into his pocket and pulled out his grandfather's old silver watch. It was ticking backward, the hands moving at an impossible speed. The glass was cracked, and a black, oily smoke was leaking from the gears.
"This watch..." Kashem whispered. "Grandpa gave this to me before he vanished!"
"It's a beacon!" Abhay's voice was now a faint echo. "They used your grandfather to track the train! You have to destroy it, or they will board the Express!"
Before Kashem could react, the carriage door behind him exploded. A gust of freezing wind blew in, carrying with it a figure cloaked in shadows, holding a weapon that looked like a jagged piece of the 2026 sky.
Kashem realized with horror that the fight was no longer just about survival. It was a war for his family's legacy. He gripped the watch, his knuckles white. He had a choice: keep the only thing he had left of his grandfather, or save the world.
"Authorization: Zero-One!" Kashem roared, the blue light from his arm clashing with the darkness of the intruder. "I will not let you take this train!"