The night air was thick with tension as Satya, Saanvi, and the others stood outside the towering gates of the Rathore estate. The mansion loomed ahead, its ancient stone walls bathed in eerie moonlight. It wasn't just a house—it was a fortress. A place that had swallowed history whole and refused to let it out.
Samar adjusted the strap of his bag, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jayant keeps his most important records inside. But there's a problem."
Aryan huffed. "Of course there is."
Samar ignored him. "It's not just locked away—it's guarded. Cameras, motion sensors, private security." He looked at Satya. "You sure you want to do this?"
Satya's jaw tightened. "If the truth is in there, we have no choice."
Saanvi exchanged a glance with him, then nodded. "We've come too far to stop now."
Virendra exhaled. "Alright. But we do this smart."
Samar pulled out a rough sketch of the estate. "There's a service tunnel under the east wing. It hasn't been used in years, but I managed to get some old blueprints. If we're careful, we can use it to slip inside without being seen."
Aryan studied the map. "And once we're in?"
Samar's expression darkened. "We get to Jayant's private study. That's where the collection is."
Satya stared at the towering building. Every instinct told him that the answers they sought were inside. But another voice in the back of his mind whispered this is exactly what they want.
Jayant had been watching them. Waiting.
This could be a trap.
But they had no other choice.
Satya turned to the others. "Let's go."
---
The tunnel smelled of damp earth and decay. Their footsteps were muffled by layers of dust and moss, and the air grew colder the deeper they went.
"This place is older than I expected," Aryan muttered.
Saanvi brushed her fingers along the walls, feeling the uneven stone beneath her touch. "It's been sealed off for a long time."
Samar checked his watch. "We should be right beneath the study. The exit should be—"
A rusted metal grate loomed ahead. Samar knelt, pulling out a crowbar. With a low grunt, he pried it open, the metal groaning in protest.
Satya climbed up first, emerging into a dimly lit corridor. The walls were lined with antique paintings—centuries of history frozen in brushstrokes.
Saanvi followed, her breath catching as she took in the room. "This place…"
Satya turned, but before he could speak, a voice sliced through the silence.
"You took longer than I expected."
They froze.
At the far end of the room, seated in a leather chair, was Jayant Singh Rathore.
He didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked amused.
Satya's heart pounded. They had walked straight into his hands.
Jayant stood slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. "I was wondering when you'd come. You've been very persistent." His gaze landed on Satya. "Just like Veer."
The name sent a chill down Satya's spine.
Jayant smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "You think you're searching for the past. But what you don't realize is—the past has already found you."
A soft click echoed through the room.
Guards stepped from the shadows, weapons drawn.
Saanvi's fingers curled around Satya's wrist. Virendra tensed beside him.
Jayant took a slow step forward. "Tell me, what exactly do you think you'll find here?"
Satya met his gaze, refusing to show fear. "The truth."
Jayant chuckled. "Then allow me to show it to you."
He turned toward a locked glass case in the center of the room. Inside it, resting atop faded velvet, was an old, crumbling journal.
Satya's breath caught.
The signature on the cover was unmistakable.
Veer Meghawal.