Rain pattered softly against the tall windows of Moksh's office, blurring the Delhi skyline into streaks of orange and grey. Moksh sat behind his desk, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering from Tara's earlier preparations. Files were spread before him—maps of the Northern territories, anomaly reports, and the latest council briefings. The room felt heavy, almost alive, as if it was holding its breath.
(Moksh tapped a pen against the polished wood. "Every thread is moving," he thought. "Every anomaly has a pattern. I just need to see it.")
The door opened quietly. Aarav stepped in, boots clicking softly on the marble floor. His uniform was precise, immaculately pressed, every crease reflecting discipline. He carried a tablet with field reports, eyes scanning the room even as he greeted Moksh.
"Sir," Aarav said, his voice low, carrying both respect and urgency, "Northern sectors are reporting energy spikes. The anomalies are intensifying—small tremors in psychic readings, faint electrical disturbances… nothing human-made, nothing conventional."
(Moksh leaned forward, gaze sharpening.) "How consistent? Patterns, dates, times?"
Aarav flicked his tablet. "Almost cyclical. The Council has been trying to trace the origin, but every lead fizzles. And the locals… they speak of strange lights and sudden voices. Some refuse to leave their homes at night."
Moksh rubbed his jaw. "Voices, lights… nothing physical, but something is interacting with perception." He paused, letting the words settle. "We need on-ground observation. We need to know what's influencing humans and what's purely… anomaly energy."
From the doorway, Meera stepped in, leather-bound journal in hand. Her braid swung slightly as she moved. "I've been reviewing the records from the Malhotra case," she said, voice calm but deliberate. "The patterns aren't random. The deaths, the distortions… the anomalies are adaptive. Whoever or whatever controls them learns from human responses."
(Moksh's fingers drummed the desk lightly.) "Adaptive anomalies. That complicates containment."
Meera nodded, eyes flicking to the maps. "Exactly. And politically… Rao and Kavitha will not tolerate another unexplained failure. They'll watch every decision."
(Aarav's jaw tightened. "They'll want reports, procedures, updates—anything unconventional will be questioned.")
Moksh exhaled slowly. "Then we'll act in layers. Field observation first. Gather human responses. Identify patterns. Only then… intervention."
Silence filled the office, heavy with unspoken tension. Outside, the city murmured with life—rickshaws rattling, street vendors shouting—but inside, the weight of unseen forces pressed down.
Aarav spoke again. "Sir… there are reports of new anomalies near a recently abandoned crematorium. Locals claim to hear strange sounds at night. Some refuse to walk past it after sunset."
Moksh's eyes narrowed. "The crematorium…" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Not a physical threat… but a locus. A node of energy amplification."
Meera flipped a page in her journal. "And it's connected. Graveyard thefts, missing reports, the Malhotra household… they all align with energy fluctuations in that area. Whoever orchestrates this knows how to manipulate fear and perception."
(Moksh leaned back, gaze distant. "Fear as a vector. Not just for control, but for amplification. Interesting…")
The office lights flickered briefly, though the storm outside hadn't reached a thunderclap. Moksh's senses prickled—not ordinary electricity, not ordinary interference. Something else, something… watching.
He rose from his chair, walking slowly to the window. "Prepare a team," he said quietly, voice steel under calm. "We move at first light. Northern territories, the crematorium, any nodes we can track. Aarav, field security and logistics. Meera, anomaly mapping and data synthesis. We leave no variable unchecked."
(Aarav nodded. "Understood, sir.")
(Meera adjusted her journal. "I'll start cross-referencing energy signatures with local reports immediately.")
Moksh paused, looking at both of them. "And remember—this isn't just about anomalies. It's about human response. Fear, perception, instinct… they will all be weapons if we misstep."
Silence followed, punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder. The city beyond the office seemed alive, oblivious, yet charged with tension. The first threads of the Northern deployment had been cast, and none of them knew how tangled the web would become.
(Moksh whispered to himself, almost a promise: "We'll see the truth. And we'll survive it.")
The Indian Paranormal Council office was silent, orderly, and functional. Maps of anomalies lined one wall, some marked in crimson, some in faint pencil, all layered with reports and charts. A high-backed office chair sat behind a standard council desk, neat and official, nothing personal, nothing sentimental—just authority manifested in wood and metal.
Moksh leaned against the edge of the desk, eyes scanning the latest intelligence from the Northern territories. Aarav Sen stood nearby, crisp and alert, while Meera Kulkarni flipped through her meticulously maintained journal, her brow furrowed.
A soft knock interrupted the quiet.
"Enter," Moksh said, voice firm but calm.
The door opened. A tall man with a silvering beard stepped in, moving with the quiet certainty of decades spent navigating chaos. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the room, landing finally on Moksh.
"Moksh." His tone was calm, measured, yet it carried the weight of years of mentorship.
Without thinking, Moksh rose and saluted, the gesture automatic despite his senior rank.
Chakraborty's lips quirked into a faint, sardonic smile. "Ah… saluting your teachers even when you outrank them. Some habits die hard, eh? You've grown taller, but still respectful—good."
Moksh's jaw tightened, but he allowed a small nod. "Respect, sir. Always."
Chakraborty's eyes glimmered with faint amusement. "Respect or fear? Ha! Don't worry—I know which one it is." His voice softened, almost fondly. "You've become formidable, Moksh. Elite-level formidable. I just hope you remember the lessons that made you so."
Moksh leaned back against the desk, voice quiet, controlled. "I remember. And I act."
Chakraborty walked further into the office, hands clasped behind his back. "Good. Because the Northern anomalies, especially the Malhotra property, are unlike anything you've faced in Asia. Fear, human greed, twisted paranormal forces… they all combine. And the threads are subtle. Very subtle."
Meera looked up, eyes sharp. "Do you mean the recent reports, sir? The delivery man and the little girl?"
Chakraborty's gaze flicked to her. "Yes. That house… the chaos inside it is carefully orchestrated. Not random. Someone—or something—is guiding perception, reality… maybe even life itself."
Aarav's hand hovered near his sidearm, tense. "Sir, we can deploy a team immediately—"
Chakraborty held up a hand. "No. Not yet. Immediate deployment will trigger what I suspect. Observation first. Understand the pattern, the rhythm of the anomaly, before you act. Moksh, that is your role now: to see what others cannot."
Moksh's eyes narrowed, absorbing the weight of the words. "Then we observe. Carefully."
Chakraborty smirked faintly, the hint of a joke returning. "See? Still obedient. Still smart enough to salute a teacher. Just remember—obedience without vision is useless. And sometimes, the student must teach the master… quietly."
The three officers exchanged glances. The room held an unspoken tension: political scrutiny from Rao and Kavitha, the shadow of the Northern anomalies, and the presence of a mentor who knew Moksh's limits better than he sometimes knew himself.
Chakraborty's voice softened, almost sad. "I live for these investigations. No family, no distractions. My students, my cases—that is my world. Moksh… I trust you'll honor it."
Moksh straightened, voice steady. "I will, sir. Every step. Every observation. Every decision."
Chakraborty's eyes gleamed faintly, approving. "Then let us begin. First anomaly: Malhotra property. Study the threads, trace the patterns, and remember… the unseen can be far deadlier than what is visible."
The city beyond the office windows glowed faintly in monsoon light, but inside the room, a new investigation had begun. A careful, deliberate dance between mentor, student, soldier, and scholar—an alliance forged in respect, knowledge, and the unknown.