Spring had arrived again, and according to the old village customs, everyone was supposed to visit the shrine of the Goddess of Cultivation to pray for a better harvest. The villagers had stopped going there years ago… but the last five years had been terrible. The crops failed, the animals died, and the village kept sinking deeper into misery.
This year, the sarpanch (sarpanch means village leader) finally convinced everyone.
"So he really talked them into it, huh?"
"Yeah… our man has been persuading people for two or maybe three years. Took guts to even mention that place again."
"Let's just hope we haven't made her too angry."
"Oh? Even the great ex-warrior feels afraid to speak her name?" one teased.
"What are you two doing back there? Dharam! Shyam! Get to the front—you're supposed to lead the way, damn it!" Raman, a massive, foul-tempered man, shouted from the main column.
"Relax, old man, we just entered the forest," Shyam replied sarcastically.
"Besides, we have this 'great ex-warrior' with us."
"Say that again and I'll make that ugly face of yours even uglier," Dharam growled, fists clenched.
"You know your sister is head over heels for this UGLY face, right?" Shyam said, proudly rubbing his hair.
"Hey, you little shrimp! I told you not to put my luggage on the ground! I'm paying you to carry it!" Raman snapped at a small boy.
"Not me. You're paying my parents. That's why they let me come," Ajay replied.
"What did you say?" Raman grabbed Ajay by the collar, eyes threatening.
"Leave the boy alone. He's the only kid here," Dharam intervened.
Raman clicked his tongue and let go. He never dared argue with the sarpanch's closest friend.
Soon, the sarpanch raised his voice for everyone to hear:
Sarpanch Baram stopped, his voice cutting through the rising wind. "Everyone listen! We are entering the deeper part of the forest. All men, form the outer circle! Women and children, stay in the middle! Stay close; large groups deter the beasts."
He projected the power of a fearless man, but the horrors of the last trip still lingered in his eyes.
Sarpanch Baram was brave and wise—respected by all. Even though the tragedy of five years ago still weighed on everyone's hearts, they trusted him.
"He said if anything goes wrong, we evacuate immediately," Daljit whispered to Bhusan.
"But you know him—he'll fight even if he's alone."
"Of course. After all, he has a long-standing grudge against that witch," Bhusan replied.
"Who wouldn't hold a grudge against someone who killed their father? Kamish wanted Baram to join the academy, but…" Daljit sighed.
"Don't worry. As elders of this village, we will avenge him," Bhusan said.
There was no academy anywhere near Gokul. Only a few gifted children from remote places got selected for one—and it was a seven-day journey on foot. Baram was talented enough to go, but at eighteen he became the sarpanch. His life changed forever.
By sunset, they finally reached the shrine. No animal attacks, no danger. They felt relieved.
"It's still two hours before sunset. Let's finish the ritual quickly and leave before she comes," Daljit said.
Baram's eyes hardened, but before he could speak, Daljit continued,
"I know what you're thinking, but you're the leader. Don't let personal grudges come before the safety of your peo—"
Before Baram could reply, a horrifying voice sliced through the sky.
"OHO! What do we have here?"
The sky above the shrine turned a sickly, corrosive purple, swallowed by dark clouds. The force of the voice alone sent tremors of fear through the crowd.
The villagers froze.
"So she really is a witch," Dharam muttered.
"But how can we fight her? She's in the sky — we can't even reach—"
Before Shyam could finish a panicked thought, a tall, gaunt dark figure appeared behind them, gliding down from the sky. Her eyes glowed like dying embers.
"And what will you do even if I do come down? Tell me… show me."
She hissed, her voice scraping like stone. She reached out and snatched the small, carved protection pendant from Dharam's neck.
"Give it back! My mother gave it to me!" Dharam screamed, fear replacing all reason.
"Dead persons don't need charms."
With a casual flick of a razor-sharp nail, she drew a single, almost imperceptible cut across Dharam's throat. The wound instantly turned black.
"Dharam!" Shyam roared, rushing forward.
"No, you idiot! Stay back! Take care of my sister!" Dharam managed to shout, his voice already choked by the poison.
He grabbed a dagger and, in a final, desperate burst of fury, leaped at the Witch.
The Witch effortlessly flew back, scoffing. "I don't waste my time on dying persons. And you villagers! I warned you never to come here again. You have all made a grave mistake!"
"She took the bait! She has the stone!—NOW, Elder Daljit! Don't let Dharam's sacrifice be for nothing!" Baram roared.
"W-What… WHAT IS THIS!? I CAN'T MOVE!" the Witch shrieked in rage.
"It was the plan, you greedy witch! You were faster than we expected, or we would have saved Dharam too!" Shyam taunted, tears of grief and rage streaming down his face.
"Our plan is failing—we need to do something!" someone whispered to Raman.
Raman smiled, a predatory, cruel sight. "Wait and watch."
"Bhusan, it's your turn now! Finish the chant!" Daljit demanded.
"No," Bhusan replied flatly.
Daljit stared, horrified. "What do you mean? This is not the time to joke—do it NOW! Or she will break free!"
"So that my son, who is more capable than Baram, will never become Sarpanch? And so that all the revenue money goes straight to him?"
Before Daljit could even process the words, Raman stepped forward, kneeling before the struggling Witch.
"What are you talking about, Raman?!" Baram was stunned.
A few villagers gasped—even they didn't expect Bhusan to betray them.
"You fuckers! You betrayed us!" Daljit screamed, too late.
In the blink of an eye, the Witch was free.
"Very well. I always like the greedy ones. But keep your end of the bargain, or you are as good as dead," the Witch chuckled, a sound like grinding bones.
Raman, Bhusan, and half the men who were on Raman's side bowed, and some villagers dropped to their knees, paralyzed by terror.
"What are you all doing!?" Shyam yelled.
"You must live… and avenge us…" Dharam managed to whisper, pulling Shyam down to the ground with his last breath.
A wave of corrosive magic slammed through the forest. The brown sand, the green leaves, the moss—everything instantly withered, turning into black, smoking ash. The blood of the loyal men—Baram, Daljit, and others—soaked into the sacred ground. Ajay survived only because he was clinging to Raman's side.
That was the last day anyone from Gokul ever saw the Shrine.
The next day, Raman and Bhusan fed lies to the villagers. Everyone believed them—that the witch killed Baram and the elders.
Bhusan's son became the new sarpanch.
Greed and betrayal had sealed Gokul's fate, and from that day on, the village began its slow, hungry descent into banditry and darkness.
Ajay walked alone, the bitter memory of that day—the sound of the screaming, the smell of the black ash—a heavy weight on his ten-year-old soul.
"Such a bad memory," he mumbled to himself, adjusting the strange, heavy package under the rancid-smelling grease on his back. "I don't have a good feeling about this."
The full moon provided enough cold, silver light to navigate the forest's edge. His eyes, trained by years of scavenging in the dark alleys of the slum, adjusted easily. The air here was clean and damp, a stark contrast to the caustic stink of the Dump. Every step into the lush green felt like stepping further away from sanity.
He followed Raman's instructions: "Just go straight, and when the path ends, turn a little right. You will spot the shrine easily as it is on a mountain. The forest is safe for you; the scent of the oil will keep the beasts away. You will hear only crickets and insects."
Only crickets and insects.
Ajay had been walking for nearly two hours. Every step was a debt paid by his empty stomach. The thought of two full meals a day was the only thing stopping him from collapsing.
Be strong, he commanded himself quietly.
Then—
A sound shattered the night.
Not a cricket.
Not an insect.
A low, wet, guttural growl.
Ajay froze.
A massive shadow peeled itself from the darkness. A wolf—far larger than any wild wolf a human should ever see—stepped forward. Its fur was matted with something dark, its ribs visible yet its frame towering. Its eyes glowed faintly, unnaturally, reflecting the moon like two pale coins.
Ajay swallowed.
The wolf didn't blink.
It lunged.
He ran.
He didn't think. Didn't breathe. Didn't feel the ground beneath him. Only the crushing realization that the oil Raman gave him wasn't working—or worse, was meant to do something entirely different.
Branches lashed his arms as he sprinted through the undergrowth. His sandals slipped on wet moss, his chest burning, lungs stabbing with sharp pain. Behind him, the wolf crashed through bushes with terrifying force.
Ajay stumbled over a root, hitting the dirt hard.
He rolled, expecting teeth to tear into his throat.
But the wolf—
Stopped.
It stood at the top of the slope, staring down at him. Its growl faded into a low rumble, like it was sniffing something… or reacting to something unseen.
Then, without warning, it turned and vanished into the trees.
Ajay didn't question it. Panic controlled his body more than logic. He ran again—this time deeper into the forest, leaving behind every direction Raman had given him.
His breath became ragged. His vision swam. The forest twisted into a blur.
He reached a steep, muddy incline and clawed his way upward.
When he reached the top, his foot slipped—
He crashed against an enormous tree trunk.
But instead of bark, it felt… smooth. Cold. Wrong.
The surface rippled.
The air around him warped like water disturbed in a still pond, and Ajay felt himself falling—
Not down.
Not forward.
But through something.
The world shattered.
He slammed onto a soft surface, the echo strangely hollow in the unnatural silence.
Voices—faint, brittle, echoing like they came from inside his skull—whispered:
"Who is this?" A voice, hollow and brittle, like dry leaves rustling.
"How did he come here?" A second voice, whispering on the edge of hearing.
"More importantly… how is a living being here?" A third, sharp voice, filled with an unsettling curiosity.
Ajay's eyes opened with a jolt.
He was surrounded by glowing, pale, translucent figures—spirits, shaped like humans but blurred at the edges. Their gazes pierced him with unsettling curiosity.
"G-Ghost! Ghost!!" Ajay screamed, scrambling backward until he bumped into something cold and soft.
The spirits flickered, then reshaped themselves into gentler human forms to calm him.
"Breathe," one said. "You are safe… for now."
Ajay shivered violently.
Once he stopped shaking, a spirit stepped closer.
"How did you come here, boy?"
"I… I don't know. I was running from a wolf… I fell… everything went dark," Ajay stammered.
"He speaks the truth," another spirit murmured.
A woman approached, her form shimmering like starlight wrapped in shadow. She smiled softly… but her eyes held a vast, chilling emptiness.
"Child," she said, voice echoing like a dream,"Do you know where you are?"
Ajay blinked. "W-Where?"
"This," she whispered,"is the Realm of Spirits."