The morning light crept through the curtains like an unwelcome guest.
Agastya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his blanket pulled up to his chin. The fan turned overhead in its endless, indifferent circle. The shadows that had once seemed alive now hung limp and ordinary in the soft glow of dawn. Everything looked normal. Everything felt wrong.
"I don't want to go," he had said. Twice. Three times.
But Indu had gently brushed his hair back from his forehead and told him that staying home would only give him more time to think. More time to dwell. More time to let the darkness curl around his thoughts like smoke.
"School will be good for you, beta," she had said, her voice soft but firm. "It will distract you. You need to be around other children. You need to feel normal."
Normal.
The word tasted like ash in his mouth.
Lucian had stood in the doorway, watching, saying nothing. There was something in his eyes that Agastya could not read—a weight, a worry, a knowledge that he was not sharing. But he had nodded when Indu spoke, and that had been that.
Now Agastya sat in the back of the car, his school bag on the seat beside him, watching the world pass by through the window. Trees. Houses. Other children walking in groups, laughing, living lives that did not involve burning eyes and ancient battlefields and blades through borrowed chests.
Lucian glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
"It will be okay," he said.
Agastya did not answer.
---
The school gates loomed before him like the entrance to a prison.
Agastya walked through them with heavy feet, his bag pulling at his shoulders, his red eye hidden behind the fall of his hair. He kept his head down. He did not want to see the faces of the other children. He did not want to answer their questions or endure their stares.
His classroom was on the second floor. The stairs felt endless. Each step was a small victory, each landing a brief respite before the next climb.
When he reached the doorway, his teacher was already there. Mrs. Sharma—a kind woman with spectacles and a warm smile that always reminded him of freshly baked bread. But today, her smile faltered when she saw him.
"Agastya," she said gently. "You're here."
He nodded faintly. "Yes, ma'am."
She studied him for a moment—his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched as if carrying something too heavy. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him to his seat.
"Take it easy today," she whispered. "If you need anything, just tell me."
Agastya slid into his chair.
And stopped.
The seat beside him—the one that always held his best friend, Vivan—was empty. Vivan's desk was bare. No notebook. No pencil case. No water bottle with the superhero stickers. Just cold, empty wood.
"Where's Vivan?" Agastya asked, his voice smaller than he intended.
Mrs. Sharma's expression softened with sympathy. "Vivan is unwell today. Some health issues. He won't be coming to school for a few days."
Agastya nodded slowly and turned back to face the blackboard.
Alone.
The word settled over him like a shroud. Vivan was the only one who never called him names. The only one who never stared too long at his red eye. The only one who made school feel like a place he belonged, rather than a place he endured.
And now Vivan was gone.
The lessons blurred past him—math, language, science. Words and numbers floated through the air like leaves in autumn, never quite landing. He heard his classmates answer questions, heard Mrs. Sharma's voice rise and fall in its familiar rhythm, heard the scratch of chalk on board and the rustle of notebooks.
But none of it reached him.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere the air smelled of iron and ash.
And he was completely, utterly alone.
---
The break bell rang, sharp and jarring.
Agastya remained at his desk while the others rushed toward the door, their voices rising in excitement. He watched them go—their easy laughter, their casual touches, their uncomplicated joy. They belonged to a world he had been part of only days ago. Now it felt like watching strangers through a window.
This is how it used to be, he thought. Before Vivan. Before someone decided to be my friend.
The early school days came back to him in fragments. Lunch breaks spent alone in the corner of the playground. Group projects where no one wanted to be his partner. The whispers behind his back—devil's eye, bad luck, monster. He had thought those days were over. He had thought Vivan's friendship had changed everything.
But Vivan wasn't here.
And the old wounds had never really healed. They had just scabbed over, waiting for someone to tear them open again.
He did not notice the shadow falling across his desk until a voice spoke.
"So. You're back."
Rohan.
Tall for his age, with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue. He had never liked Agastya—had always found reasons to mock him, to exclude him, to remind him that he was different. The red eye had been an easy target. Devil's eye, Rohan had called it once. Bad luck.
Today, his expression was something worse than mockery.
It was anger.
Agastya looked around the classroom. The other children had gathered at a distance, watching. None of them stepped forward. None of them spoke in his defense. Without Vivan, there was no one on his side.
Just like before.
"Did you hear what happened?" Rohan's voice was loud enough to draw more attention. "Because of you, our trip is ruined. The forest trip. The one we were all waiting for."
Agastya's stomach tightened. He had not known.
"Your parents and teachers spent hours looking for you," Rohan continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Everyone was panicking. And for what? So you could come crawling back like nothing happened?"
Sameer, Rohan's shadow, stepped forward with a sneer.
"Honestly," Sameer said, "he should have stayed lost in that forest. Then his parents would finally be free. Escaped from the monster kid."
Laughter. Sharp and cruel. It bounced off the walls, echoed through the classroom, cut into Agastya's chest like tiny blades.
Monster.
Should have stayed lost.
Escaped.
Agastya looked at the other children. Their faces blurred together—some laughing, some uncomfortable but silent, some simply watching to see what would happen next. No one spoke for him. No one stood beside him.
Alone.
The word echoed through his mind, cold and hollow. He had been alone before. He had survived before. But something had changed. Something inside him had awakened, and it would not let him endure this silence.
Monster.
They wanted a monster?
Agastya raised his head.
His red eye was not just red anymore.
It was glowing.
Rohan took a step back, his bravado crumbling. "What—what is that?"
Agastya did not answer. He could not. The rage had filled him completely, hot and bright and consuming. It was not his rage—or perhaps it was. He could no longer tell the difference. All he knew was that the children who had called him monster were now staring at him with something worse than mockery.
Terror.
"You want a beating?" Rohan said, but his voice cracked. He was trying to sound tough, trying to reclaim control. But his hands were trembling.
Agastya stared at him.
Just stared.
And Rohan ran.
They all ran.
The classroom emptied in seconds, leaving Agastya alone among scattered chairs and dropped lunchboxes. His eye pulsed. His breath came in ragged gasps. And somewhere, deep in the place where the dreams lived, something smiled.
---
Lucian was at home when the phone rang.
He had taken the day off to wait for the parcel—the one Agent 12 had promised would arrive by evening. The hours had crawled past like wounded things, each minute heavier than the last. He had paced. He had drunk coffee. He had stared at the front door, willing the delivery to come.
Instead, the phone rang.
TO BE CONTINUED....