Back at the Cathedral, now their central hub, Droit and Melnik stand in the main church hall, the very spot where Russ met his end. Meanwhile, Miss Sukomi and her friend are diligently preparing rooms for the group, including the children. Melnik reassures everyone, expressing their commitment to stay together until they uncover a solution to escape the clutches of this Dimension Jail.

  Droit turns to Melnik, asking how they can get Dan's heart back. Melnik falls silent, lost in thought. This has been Melnik's state of mind since their return, now for an hour. Droit grows increasingly impatient.

  "Melnik," he demanded, "would you just tell me?! How to get Dan's heart back?"

  "Okay," Melnik replied with caution, "it is possible to get the heart back, but I don't know if it's worth the risk."

  "Worth the risk?" Droit retorted with frustration, "Obviously, it's worth the risk. It's Dan we're talking about. He lost his life saving a kid. It should have been me or you!"

  "I know," Melnik admitted with a somber tone, "but saving him might require Alnik."

  "Alnik? Why?" questioned Droit.

  "So," Melnik explained, "there's a Sage in flat 501. He can grant wishes if beaten in a fight. Last time, I went there to collect the key, but I wasn't enough, so I had to let Alnik loose. Now the issue is, he is quite smart, and somehow he already knew how to change me back to being me. So, I just left the flat and came back."

  "Are you sure the Sage can give us Dan's heart?" Droit inquired.

  "Yes," Melnik affirmed, "he told me last time that if I win the fight, I can either get the key or wish for anything to come true. No holds barred. Except for two things, He can't bring anyone back to life and he can't let anyone out of the Dimension Prison. He himself is stuck here."

  "In that case, I'll fight him," declared Droit.

  "You'll die," Melnik warned.

  "You didn't," Droit challenged.

  "That's because of Alnik," Melnik clarified with a weary voice. "When he brought me back, the dude was exhausted. He didn't kill me because he was afraid that Alnik would take over full-time. And that is my concern now. If we want to defeat him, we need Alnik full time. And I don't know if he'll let me come outside if I give him full control."

  "I'll take the risk and call your name. Is that okay?" Droit asked.

  "No," Melnik responded firmly, "full control means only he can let me out. No name-calling, nothing else."

  Droit remained silent, taking a seat on the stage ramp. After thoughtful contemplation, he cast a serious gaze at Melnik and declared his decision – he would take on the Sage in a fight.

  "I already told you, he'll kill you," Melnik insisted.

  "I am not going right now. I will train, and I need your help with that," Droit stated.

  "Sure," Melnik conceded, "I could train you well, but to defeat someone like that Sage, it'll take you 100 years, assuming you have some talent."

  "I am not talking about you. You yourself couldn't defeat him. I need Alnik to train me. Put in some good words for me. Ask him to train me," Droit requested.

  "First of all, how dare you! I am a great teacher. I could at least beat your little ass. Second, no. Alnik won't do it, and neither am I asking him to do so. He'll kill you in a heartbeat and then kill all the others here in the Cathedral. Do you want that to happen?" Melnik warned with a stern tone.

  "I understand, but there is no other way. And I know how to get you back. If he doesn't agree, I'll just call your name," Droit asserted.

  "Not happening, sorry. Russ and Dan are already gone. I can't risk this. I don't want to be left alone again," Melnik confessed with a sense of vulnerability.

  "Believe me, I am not going to die, and I have to do this. Please let Alnik train me. There is no other way," Droit pleaded.

  After careful thought, Melnik gives Droit the green light to meet Alnik. Yet, he emphasizes the need for Droit to keep Alnik in the dark about the presence of others and the Book. Melnik then closes his eyes, and Alnik comes to life.

  "Well, well, well, you look all healed. Good, good. Let me do something about that." - Alnik, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

  "Wait! Please listen to me. This is important." - Droit, pleadingly, desperation evident in his voice.

  "A god doesn't listen unless you pray, and I am a devil! Why should I?" - Alnik.

  Droit drops to his knees, clasps his hands together, and implores Alnik to halt and hear him out. Despite this, Alnik continues advancing with a cynical smile on his face.

  "Train me!" Droit yells with determination.

  Alnik stops and asks if he is joking.

  "Please, train me. I need to get stronger." - Droit, a sense of urgency in his voice.

  "And why is that? And why would you think in hell I would train you?" - Alnik starts to walk towards him again, questioning Droit's motives.

  Seated on his knees with head bowed, Droit glances up as Alnik approaches. Making one final plea, Droit is silenced by Alnik. In a swift motion, Alnik seizes Droit's neck and hoists him into the air, questioning, "Shall we begin?"

  "Train me," Droit declares with a resolute gaze. Despite being within Alnik's grasp, Droit shows no fear, a fact not lost on Alnik.

  "Ohh, little puppy seems to be a big dog now. Well, no issue. I can still have fun with you." - Alnik, a tone of amusement in his voice.

  "My friend is dead. I need to get stronger to get him back. Train me, please." - Droit, earnestly pleading for Alnik's assistance.

  "Why do you believe that merely sharing your needs entitles you to anything from me? I am a monster, a devil, a living nightmare. Why would I ever consider helping you? So what if your friend perished? Was he a god or someone of importance? What significance does he hold? Both of you are inconsequential! How dare you beg me for assistance? You're nothing but prey to me. Picture this—I might just retrieve your friend and consume him right before your eyes. Yes, that's the plan. Disclose the location of his lifeless body. It's been a while since I've had a meal." - Alnik.

  "Train me," says Droit in an assertive, angry voice.

  "Do you not get what I am saying?" - Alnik, expressing frustration.

  "I don't have time for this. Train me!" - Droit, resolute in his demand.

  "You little!" says Alnik, revealing irritation in his response.

  Droit is seething with anger, but it doesn't faze Alnik. Holding Droit in his right hand, Alnik uses his left to grasp Droit's shoulder and forcefully presses his thumb in. The moment his thumb pierces Droit's shoulder, Droit swiftly draws out his right hand, and the bracelet in his grasp transforms into a synth once again.

  "I said train me!" Droit shouts as he forcefully slams the scythe into the ground, creating a shockwave that propels Alnik away from him.

  Alnik rises to witness Droit's transformation. Droit wields the Scythe of Death in his right hand, his hair now stark white, and a dark aura emanates, shrouding everything behind him. Multiple snake-like shadows hover around him.

  Observing this, Melnik undergoes a transformation of his own. His entire body takes on a crimson hue, and every vein becomes apparent, radiating a blend of black and red, resembling flowing lava. His hair ignites in a fire-like display, and smoke billows from his mouth. Taking a single step forward, he seemingly disappears and reappears in front of Droit with a whoosh. Droit is unable to see him before Melnik seizes Droit's face with his right hand, flinging him forcefully to the ground.

  Alnik restrains Droit on the ground, and just the touch of his hands causes Droit's face to ignite with a burning sensation.

  "You dare throw me back? Did you think the Scythe of Death would be enough for me to listen to you? Know your place!" - Alnik, his voice laden with a menacing tone.

  "Do it! If I'm not strong enough, what good am I for anyway? I couldn't do anything. Everyone around me is dying, and I'm unable to do anything." - Droit, his voice choked with emotion as tears stream down his face. His once-dark aura gradually dissipates, and his Scythe transforms back into the bracelet.

  Upon witnessing Droit's tears, Alnik abandons him on the ground and shifts back into his human form.

  "Okay, I'll train you! But, I have one condition." - Alnik.

  Droit stands up and asks, "Yes, tell me."

  "In return for my training. When I ask, you'll kill me. No questions, no hesitation. That's it." - Alnik.

  "It would be my pleasure." - Droit, confidently.

  "I don't think you are getting the right idea. Killing me means killing Melnik too." - said Alnik, emphasizing the gravity of the condition.

  Droit takes a pause and rejects his condition.

  "Ask for anything else. Not this." - Droit, pushing back against the demand.

  "It's this or you die now. It's not like you have any other choice. So, tell me. You accept?" - Alnik, putting Droit on the spot.

  Droit believes he can agree for now and later devise a loophole in the agreement. Perhaps there's a way to separate them, and then he'd only need to confront and deal with one of them.

  "I agree." - Droit.

  "Very well!" - Alnik.

  With his left hand, Alnik slices his right hand's palm.

  "We will make a blood deal now. Draw blood from your hand." - Alnik.

  Droit bites the middle of his right hand and offers it to Alnik. They shake hands, and both of their blood evaporates, healing their hands in the process.

  "Can we start the training now?" - Droit.

  "First, draw your scythe and heal your face. It's all burned." - Alnik.

  "I don't know how to." - Droit.

  "Just bring it out. I'll show you." - Alnik.

  "Like I said, I don't know how to." - Droit, reiterating his uncertainty.

  "Great, you don't know how to use the Scythe yet! I am already regretting my decision of training you. Oh, it'll take so much time!" - Alnik.

  "Can't you heal me?" - Droit.

  "No, I can only heal myself. Melnik can heal you. I will ask him to come out. Tell him to heal you and then take you to the training room at flat 501." - Alnik.

  "That's where the sage lives, right?" - Droit.

  "Yeah, you are right. Oh, I see so you'll ask the sage to bring your friend back? Don't waste your time. He can't bring back the dead." - Alnik.

  "No, but he can give me the heart of my friend, and that's all I need to bring my friend back." - Droit.

  "Well, whatever suits you. Ask Melnik to take you to his training room, and we will start our training there." - Alnik.

  "Okay." - Droit.

  Alnik closes his eyes, and Melnik wakes up.

  "I knew it was a bad idea. Well, we can try something else. I'll train you. I am just happy that you survived him two times." - Melnik.

  "Umm, actually, he agreed to the training and asked me to tell you to take me to flat 501 and bring me to the training room there." - Droit.

  Melnik is surprised that Alnik has consented. After healing Droit, he advises him to eat and rest today, emphasizing the need to build strength as training with Alnik will be challenging.

  "Yeah, I'll go and rest. See you in a bit," Droit said, his voice wavering.

  He leaves the central area and descends into the church's basement. Finding a secluded corner, he sits down, staring at his trembling hands. Overwhelmed with emotion, tears streamed down his face. He can't fathom how his life has led him to such despair. His entire body shook as he placed his hands on his head and began to chant, "I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. Mom, Dad, help me. Save me from here. Someone help me. I can't do this anymore. I want to go home. Mom!"

  The memories of home flood his mind. "Mom, I miss Mom. I miss eating her paneer sandwiches. I miss Dad, I miss his random hugs," he whispered, the shaking gradually subsiding. Drawing strength from these thoughts, he stood up, wiped his tears, and took a deep breath. "Huh, let's do this," he said, determination replacing his despair.

  After the nap and bidding farewell to Sukomi, Droit, and Melnik make their way to flat 501. At the gate, Melnik turns to Droit, "Keep your mind calm, and let me do the talking."

  Droit nods in agreement, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Together, they step into the flat, ready to face the Sage inside.

  Droit and Melnik step into the room, Droit's eyes scanning the space before him. The air is thick with the scent of incense, and the soft glow of candles illuminates the room like a warm embrace. Melnik, familiar with this place, smiles softly as he takes in the familiar surroundings.

  On the left side of the room, they notice an array of weapons hung on the wall: katana swords, nunchaku chains, and staffs of various lengths. The metal glints in the candlelight, casting a warm glow over the space.

  Straight ahead, a majestic tree rises from the floor, its branches stretching toward the ceiling like nature's own cathedral. The trunk is sturdy and gnarled, with roots that seem to dig deep into the earth.

  To their right, three doors stand like sentinels, each one shrouded in mystery. Droit's eyes linger on the three doors, his curiosity piqued by their mystery.

  And then, his eyes land on the figure seated beside the tree. A white monkey creature sits with an air of serenity, its lean physique radiating a sense of calm and wisdom. Its black eyes seem to bore into their very souls, as if it could see the depths of their hearts.

  The monkey's right hand grasps a staff, worn and weathered from years of use. A flowing shawl covers its torso, billowing gently in the breeze that circulates through the room. The soft scent of sandalwood wafts up from the incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of the tree. The overall impression is one of ancient wisdom, as if this creature has mastered the balance between nature and humanity.

  Melnik approaches the Sage, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Hey, old man, how are you?" he says, bowing slightly.

  The Sage's expression turns stern. "You! Why are you back here? I told you never to come back."

  Melnik holds up a hand in defense. "I know, I know. I'm not here to fight you. He is," he says, nodding towards Droit.

  The Sage raises an eyebrow. "Fight him? Who is he? I don't fight puny humans."

  Melnik smiles. "Well, that's the neat part. You don't have to fight the puny human right now. I was thinking you could let him train here, and once he's ready, he can challenge you to a fight."

  The Sage snorts. "And why do you think I'll let him train here so that he can challenge me? I don't see any caliber in him. It's a no. Go back."

  Melnik persists. "Well, you won't have to train him. Alnik will be training him," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

  The Sage's expression turns dark. "What? That devil? Is this boy also a demon? Why would Alnik train someone? He only wants to kill. And letting him train here means creating more like him. NO!"

  Melnik leans in. "Hey, you know we can bring Alnik into this discussion. And then you might listen?"

  The Sage's eyes blaze with defiance. "Sure, I'll die but will not allow you to push me around."

  Just as the tension seems to escalate, Droit steps forward. "Please let me be trained so that I can fight you," he says, his voice calm and determined. "I need you to fulfill my one wish. After that, we will leave you alone."

  The Sage raises an eyebrow. "What wish?"

  Droit's eyes lock onto the Sage's. "My friend has been turned into a lifeless zombie, and he needs his heart back to become human again. I have seen enough people die here and more than enough dead bodies. I can no longer live with myself if I don't bring him back. He saved a little girl's life by giving his own. Please help me."

  Melnik nods in support. "Believe me, Droit is a good person. He's not like Alnik. We are trying to get out of here, and Dan is part of our team. We can't leave him here in this hell."

  The Sage takes a deep breath, studying Droit intently before finally speaking. "Okay, you can train here."

  Droit's face lights up with excitement. "Really?"

  "Yes," the Sage says, "but to train to your full potential, I'll have to unlock your limiter first."

  Droit turned to Melnik, confusion etched on his face. "Limiter?"

  Melnik nods. "I told you, right? To achieve strength like mine, you have to evolve. Well, limiter stops you from that evolution or slow it down. Without the limiter, you can grow with unlimited potential."

  "Do you know how God created humans in his image?" the Sage asks a hint of mystery in his voice.

  "Well, it's true that God is all-powerful, and we are not. But have you ever wondered why?" He leans in, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

  "It's because he placed a limiter on our ability to evolve or push past certain limits." Droit's curiosity is piqued as the Sage continues, "Once that limiter is removed, humans can grow up to their full potential and even rival gods."

  "But removing the limiter alone won't make you powerful," Sage emphasized. "You must push past your own limits and harness your inner strength." His gaze intensified. "And even if someone trains really hard, it's not possible for anyone to become truly strong without a certain... je ne sais quoi. It all comes down to willpower, genetics, and a dash of fate."

  Sage pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in before adding, "There are only a handful of individuals who have managed to raise themselves to heights that can rival Gods and Devils. Alnik is one such example."

  "Is Alnik that powerful?" Droit asks, his voice tinged with apprehension.

  "You'll soon find out. You're going to be trained under him," Sage replies, a note of warning in his tone. "I pray for you. He is a demon. He might just kill you if he gets bored or something. Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Yes. I don't have any other option here," Droit says resolutely.

  "Well, alright. I'll be needing a flat key from you then," Sage says.

  "The key? Why?" Droit questions, confusion furrowing his brow.

  "How do you think I remove the limiter? The key is not just a physical object. It holds great power inside it. It is literally holding a dimension together. To remove your limiter, I would need a key," Sage explains.

  "Sure, I have a key. Here," Melnik offers, reaching into his pocket.

  "That won't do. Droit has to get his own key from a dimension by himself. Only then will I remove the limiter," Sage states firmly.

  "Are you kidding? He'll die by himself," Melnik protests, his concern evident.

  "If he can't get one key by himself, then it means he doesn't deserve to get his limiter removed. I won't be wasting an important key on just anybody. This he has to do," Sage insists.

  "No, he will not go alone," Melnik declares, his voice rising.

  "I'll go," Droit interjects. "Thanks for worrying about me, Melnik, but he is right. I need to do this. And by the way, I was able to survive Alnik alone and the Stalker lady. So, I think I'll do okay. Trust me."

  Melnik hesitates. He tries to talk Droit out of it, but Droit is resolute.

  "Do you have any flat in mind?" Droit asks Sage.

  "Go to flat 503. I haven't been to it yet. Or you can go to any other on any floor," Sage suggests.

  "Hmm, okay," Droit agrees.

  "Alright, Melnik. I'll see you soon," Droit says, giving Melnik a reassuring nod.

  With that, Droit exits the flat, determination in his stride.

  After Droit leaves, Sage turns to Melnik with a curious expression. "Where did you find him?"

  "He came to my dimension with a Mulier Insidians hunting him. That boy is something else; he survived the lady and Alnik all by himself. He even deduced how to bring me out," Melnik explains, a mix of admiration and concern in his voice.

  "Well, that is expected from someone like him," Sage responds thoughtfully.

  "Expected? Why?" Melnik asks, intrigued.

  "That boy has a death shard bound to his right arm. If Death himself deems him worthy, I believe he could be someone special. Personally, I don't feel any energy from him; he seems like a normal boy. But I can trust Death's consciousness. That's why I send him to get the Key alone. He should get it easily," Sage explains.

  "Um, Death doesn't deem him worthy. A death host does. And that too when he was out of Death's influence. Basically, a human gave it to him," Melnik clarifies.

  "What? But he does survived Alnik and comes out unfazed. That means he should be worthy," Sage ponders aloud.

  "Unfazed? Who told you that?" Melnik questions.

  "He talked him into training him, which means Alnik also sees him as worthy. And that can only happen if he fought well when he first meets him," Sage reasons.

  "How can you be so wrong? Seriously, I thought you'd be smarter. When he meets Alnik, Alnik almost killed him. His body was torn apart, blood everywhere. Eyes removed and all. If he called me out a second later, he would have died," Melnik recounts.

  Sage smiles, looking up at the sky. "It means he has a long and hard road ahead filled with sadness and pain. But I feel he'll do just fine."

  Outside Sage's flat, Droit stands hesitantly in front of room 503, desperately hoping to find a human being inside and not something monstrous.

  "Oh God, please let there be someone human inside," Droit murmurs to himself.

  He pushes open the gate and steps into the flat. Surprisingly, the interior looks quite normal this time, similar in layout and architecture to Droit's and Melnik's own flats, albeit with disturbing bloodstains scattered around. The flat appears empty at first glance, with a hallway leading into a kitchen on the right, and two rooms straight ahead—one to the left and another at the far end.

  "Hello?" Droit calls out, his voice a mixture of fear and faint hope.

  There is no response. He cautiously proceeds towards the rooms, recalling the Sage's earlier words about finding no one here last time.

  "Maybe there really is nobody here. I'll just have to search for the keys," he thinks to himself, relief washing over him. "Thank God. Thank you!"

  "Alright, let's check out the rooms first," Droit says aloud, his nerves still on edge.

  SCENE BACK AT SAGE'S DIMENSION

  "Why did you send him to 503 if no one is there?" Melnik questions, his voice tinged with concern.

  "Who said no one is there?" Sage counters calmly.

  "You did. You said last time you went there it was empty," Melnik presses, seeking clarity.

  "Oh, that was a lie. That dimension wasn't empty; there was someone there. But they didn't harm me or confront me. Perhaps they sensed I could handle them and chose not to attack," Sage explains.

  "So, it could be someone harmless or weak?" Melnik asks, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

  "No, there was blood everywhere. Whoever is in that dimension is dangerous," Sage replies gravely.

  Horrified, Melnik responds, "Then why did you send him there? He could die. I need to go and save him."

  "If you leave now, I won't fulfill any of your wishes—whether it's training or matters of the heart," Sage warns sternly. "I told you, he has to face this challenge himself. We can't waste a key on just anyone. You should be grateful I sent him somewhere he has a chance to survive. Who knows what dangers a random dimension holds? Do you?"

  Melnik falls silent, remaining seated before the Sage, consumed with worry.

  SCENE AT ROOM 503

  Droit steps ahead towards the room. While crossing the hall, he notices the kitchen on the right. Glancing inside, he is horrified to find skeletons of babies, blood, and body parts strewn everywhere. He gags slightly.

  "What the FUCK!" Droit exclaims.

  He forces himself to ignore the gruesome scene and focuses on finding the key. He enters the room at the end of the hall. As expected, this room too is filled with multiple dead bodies of infants on the bed, skins on the wall, and blood and bones on the floor. However, at the front of the room, there is a painting on an easel stand. The painting catches Droit's interest because it depicts his home dimension, specifically a park near his home. He stands still in front of the painting, confused.

  Suddenly, a woman appears behind him. Her entire body is cloaked in a black boshiya from head to toe, her face fused with the cloth, leaving only her red eyes and a mouth filled with bloody red spiky teeth visible. Her eyes burn with an intense, malevolent glow, and her mouth twists into a grotesque smile. The boshiya seems almost alive, writhing slightly as if it is part of her very being.

  With a blood-curdling scream, the woman lunges towards Droit. She crashes into him with incredible force, shoving him into the painting. Horrified by her appearance, Droit is pulled into the painting, feeling the world around him warp and distort as he is sucked into the image.

  Droit wakes up in the park, the familiar sounds of children playing around him. He recognizes this day immediately—it was his last in Ashanagar before he left for Gurgaon for his job. The vivid memory of the monstrous woman throwing him into the painting floods his mind.

  "This can't be real," Droit thinks, bewildered. "Is this a dream? Like that witch before? But this monster is different. Could I really be back home? No, that's impossible. If I were back home, I should be in the present, not the past. I need to get out of here. What should I do?"

  He walks out of the park and heads towards his home. Standing before his house, he feels a mix of emotions. On one hand, he is deeply emotional at the thought of seeing his parents again, but on the other, he is terrified that there might be monsters inside, creatures disguised as his parents to hunt him. He’s uncertain about what to do. He decides to test the reality by picking a fight with a stranger on the street. Spotting a man passing by, Droit slaps the back of his head. The man spins around, furious.

  "What is this? Why did you hit me?" the man demands.

  "Because I wanted to, and I know you're a monster, so stop pretending," Droit replies defiantly.

  "Are you high? Scram! Fucking loser," the man retorts, walking away.

  Droit sighs in relief and rings his house's doorbell. A middle-aged woman around 45 opens the door. She smiles warmly at him.

  "Arey, you're back early. You missed me, right?" his mom says, pulling him into a hug. "Anyway, you should spend this time with us. Tomorrow you’re leaving for work. Oh, my little baby is turning into a man," she says, tears of joy welling up in her eyes.

  Suddenly, Droit starts crying and hugs his mom as tightly as he can. He knows this isn’t real, but just being able to see her again overwhelms him.

  "Hey, is everything okay? Why are you crying? Everyone has to move on with their life, Droit. And we’re not going anywhere; you can visit anytime you want. Now, come on, stop crying. I’ve prepared your favorite food for dinner," his mom says soothingly.

  They both go inside the house. It’s a small, cozy home with a combined hall and kitchen and a bedroom on the right. Stairs lead to the first floor, where there are three more rooms. Droit's room is upstairs.

  In the lobby, his dad sits on the sofa, watching the news. Droit rushes towards him and hugs him tightly, holding on for minutes. His dad hugs him back without asking questions, sensing that Droit is emotional about leaving home. After some time, they all eat dinner together, and Droit goes upstairs to his room, feeling a mix of relief and confusion.

  His room is pretty generic, with the bed placed opposite the entrance. On the left is a study table, and on the right, posters of music bands and anime cover the walls. Droit can't fall asleep. It's around 1am now. He glances at the door and notices a shadow forming in front of it.

  Heart pounding, Droit sits up, grabs his phone, and turns on the flashlight. Relief washes over him when he sees it's just his tee shirt hanging behind the door. He switches off the flashlight and lies down again, but his eyes remain fixed on the shadow.

  Suddenly, the shadow shifts slightly. Droit tries to convince himself it's just the fan's breeze, but unease creeps in. He picks up his phone and turns the flashlight on again.

  His breath catches in his throat. The woman monster stands right in front of the door, her eyes locked onto his. Terror seizes him, and he jumps from lying down to kneeling in an instant. His heartbeat thunders in his ears. He keeps the flashlight trained on the woman, inching along the wall, desperate to maintain distance. The light switch is just to the right of the door.

  The woman remains still, her gaze fixed on him. Droit's hands tremble as he reaches for the switch. He flips the light on and finds himself standing right beside her. His body shakes, sweat dripping down his forehead.

  With a deep breath, he musters all his courage and punches the woman. His fist passes through her as if she's made of smoke. He punches again, but it's the same. She isn't real. She’s a ghostly apparition.

  Droit stares at the ghostly figure, his heart racing. With a steely resolve, he steadies his voice and asks, "What do you want?" His gaze is unwavering, his face set in a mask of grim determination.

  *Silence*

  She doesn’t reply or even move, only her eyes shifting to lock onto Droit with unblinking intensity. He feels the weight of her gaze, like a pressure on his chest.

  Unable to stand the oppressive silence, Droit leaves his room and heads down the hall. He collapses onto the sofa, face buried in his hands, his mind racing through desperate thoughts. What can he do? The darkness outside seems almost a relief from the suffocating presence he left behind.

  Frustration builds and he stands up, determined to escape. As he reaches the base of the stairs, he spots her again—standing at the foot of the stairs, her eyes deadlocked with his. A chill runs down his spine. There's no escaping her.

  Droit decides to leave the house, stepping out into the street. He walks aimlessly, but wherever he stops, she’s there, keeping her distance but never disappearing. It’s clear now: he can’t outrun her. Defeated, he returns to his room, the oppressive weight of her presence pushing him back inside.

  He opens his laptop, his hands trembling as he sets it on his thighs and faces the gate. The woman stands there, watching, her presence like a suffocating fog. Desperate, Droit starts searching: "woman monsters," "witches," and anything that matches her description. An hour slips by. As he scrolls through endless pages, he notices she’s moved a little closer, her form less transparent than before.

  Panic rises as he recalls the baby carcasses he saw in her dimension. He starts searching for "baby and witches" and delves into theories involving dead babies. While searching he notices a sleek, long scar encircling his left wrist. He barely registers it, his mind too consumed with the urgent need to protect himself. Finally, he finds a match: "Infantem Comedentis Pythonissam"—a “baby eater witch.”

  It's now 3AM. Droit is deep in his research, but he’s shaking uncontrollably. The woman is closer, her form becoming more solid. It’s clear she’s slowly materializing, closing the gap between them. Each second brings her nearer. The urgency to act grows more desperate.

  Droit opens multiple browser tabs, each filled with information and blogs about her. He starts calling the authors one by one. Some answer, some don't. Some dismiss her as fictional; others seem unhinged. The baby eater witch is now only six feet away. Desperate, Droit closes all his tabs and shuts down the browser, resigned to his fate.

  His gaze lands on a note in the top right corner of his screen: "Go here, house 32/11 block 2, Karmnagar."

  “Where did this come from? I don’t remember writing this before leaving for work. Who could have put it there?” Droit wonders, confusion knotting in his chest.

  Karmnagar is three hours away from his home. With few options left, Droit scribbles the address on a scrap of paper and dashes to the bus station. Exhausted, he collapses into his seat and falls asleep almost immediately.

  “Sniff, sniff, hmm!” He jolts awake on the bus, only to find the baby eater Witch inches from his face. Her hand rests on his shoulder as she inhales deeply. Her tongue slithers out from behind her sharp, red teeth, licking his ear. In a chilling whisper, she murmurs, “Not ripe yet!” With a swift, otherworldly motion, Droit's world spins and he is yanked into the void.

  When he comes to, he finds himself walking down a road dressed in a school uniform. He stops and looks around, disoriented.

  Questions swirl in Droit's mind. “Why did she send me to the past? Why didn’t she kill me? Why am I suddenly a teenager? What does ‘not ripe yet’ mean? Oh God, what do I do?”

  In a flash, he recalls the note and the address.

  “Damn it, I have to get to Karmnagar,” Droit mutters, urgency and fear driving him forward.

  Droit glances around, searching for any sign of the witch, but she is nowhere to be seen. Feeling a brief sense of relief, he rushes home, changes his clothes, grabs his laptop, and stuffs it into a bag before hurrying to the bus stop. His bus departs at 2 PM, with an estimated arrival in Karmnagar by 5:30 PM.

  An hour into the journey, he notices a shadow outside the bus, standing still by the side of the road. Every time he looks out, the shadow remains at the same distance, unmoving and fixed in place. Droit realizes it’s the witch, marking the start of her pursuit—she’ll soon catch up and materialize.

  “Will she send me back to the past again, or will she kill me this time?” Droit wonders, grappling with the meaning of her words, “Not ripe yet.” She’s aging him backward until he becomes a child, preparing him for her consumption. The weight of this realization floods him with sadness and fear. Suddenly, a 14-year-old girl sitting next to him breaks the silence with a question, “Why is she following you?”

  “You can see her?” Droit asks, astonished.

  “Yes, and she looks hungry,” Anna replies.

  “Well, she wants to eat me. But who are you, and why can you see her?” Droit questions.

  “Hey, my name is Anna. I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was born. So, why is she after you?” Anna asks.

  “It’s a long story, but I believe she’s trying to make me regress in time until I’m a baby so she can devour me. I found out she’s called a baby eater witch,” Droit explains.

  “Oh, my stop is coming up, but remember this sutra: ‘bhūta pisāca nika?a nahi? āvai, mahābīra jaba nāma sunāvai.’ I think it’ll help,” Anna says, handing him the phrase.

  “Anna, come on, it’s our stop,” calls her mom from the other side of the bus.

  “I have soo many questions for you but, thanks! It was nice talking to someone about this,” Droit says gratefully.

  Anna smiles and exits the bus.

  Droit glances out the window again and sees that the shadow is no longer a mere silhouette; the witch is beginning to coalesce into her full, menacing form. Panic grips him as he starts chanting the sutra Anna gave him, repeating the words over and over in his mind as a desperate precaution.

  Droit finally arrives at the address as the clock nears 6 PM. Inside the house, a tense scene of exorcism unfolds. In one of the rooms, a girl of about ten years old is tied to a bed with ropes. A man kneels beside her, his face etched with worry, while a woman in her fifties stands at the foot of the bed. Dressed in a saffron saree, she holds a Rudraksha mala in her hands, chanting mantras over the girl with unwavering focus, her voice carrying the weight of an ancient ritual.

  Droit knocks on the door, and inside, the woman and man exchange a tense glance. The woman instructs the man to stay with the girl, saying, “Do not talk to her or touch her, just keep praying,” before heading to the front door.

  When she opens it, Droit is standing there.

  “Yes?” she asks, her voice guarded.

  “Hi, my name is Droit. I know this is strange, but I found your address, and I think you can help me with a problem I’m having,” Droit says, desperation creeping into his voice.

  “This isn’t a good time. Could you please come back tomorrow?” the woman replies, her tone firm.

  “I don’t think I have until tomorrow. A witch is after me, and she’s getting closer by the minute. I don’t know if you can help, but I have nowhere else to turn,” Droit pleads.

  The woman’s expression shifts slightly. “A witch? Alright, come inside, but there’s an exorcism happening right now. Please stay in the hall, and I’ll speak with you once it’s over.”

  “Sure, thank you,” Droit responds, stepping inside.

  Droit steps into the house, taking in his surroundings. To his left, a staircase leads to the floor above. To his right, he can sense the intensity of the exorcism happening in a room just beyond the doorway. Directly ahead lies the living room, seamlessly connected to the kitchen. The entire house is adorned with paintings and relics, each piece adding to the atmosphere of history and mystery that fills the space.

  “You go ahead and sit in the living room. And please, don’t try to enter the room on your right,” the woman instructs before heading back.

  Droit nods and moves to the living room, settling into a chair where he has a clear view of the staircase and the room’s door. Moments later, he watches as the woman re-enters the room. Suddenly, she’s violently thrown out, crashing into the hallway wall. Almost immediately, a man bolts from the room and dashes up the stairs in a panic.

  Droit’s breath catches as a child’s head slowly peeks out from the room. Her hair hangs in tangled strands over her face, but through the dark veil, one eye—its pupil a chilling grey—locks onto him. She stares at him, her lips curling into a sinister grin, revealing brown, decaying teeth. After a moment that feels like an eternity, she drops to all fours and scampers up the stairs with unnatural speed.

  On the floor above, there are three rooms with a shared washroom in between. One room is directly ahead at the top of the stairs, while the other two are straight ahead, connected to each other. Room 1 faces the stairs, Room 2 is connected to the right, and Room 3 is on the left, linked to Room 2. The man, now trembling with fear, hides inside an almirah in Room 2. He can hear footsteps approaching, growing louder as they draw nearer. Then, they stop suddenly, right outside his hiding place.

  Meanwhile, downstairs, the woman lies unconscious at the base of the stairs. Droit rushes to her side, gently shaking her until she regains consciousness. “The man and the kid—they’re upstairs,” Droit tells her urgently.

  The woman struggles to her feet, her face pale but determined. “Stay down here and hide somewhere, or better get out of the house,” she instructs Droit before turning to ascend the stairs, her resolve hardened despite the danger waiting above.

  The man remains huddled in the almirah, his breath shallow and rapid. With trembling hands, he slightly cracks open one of the doors to peek out. He spots the woman entering Room 1 and slowly making her way toward Room 2. Panic surges through him, and he starts to push the door open wider, but she quickly raises her hand, signaling him to stay put.

  His heart pounds as he looks up and sees the kid perched just above the almirah, her grey eyes locked onto the door. Her tongue hangs out, saliva dripping onto the top of the almirah. She notices the woman standing in the doorway and lets out a chilling laugh, before dropping onto the almirah and scurrying into the third room.

  The woman moves swiftly to the man, whispering urgently, “Run to me, now.” He stumbles out of the almirah and rushes toward her. “Go downstairs and hide,” she instructs, her voice firm but low, as she pushes him toward the staircase.

  The woman stands frozen at the entrance of the third room. Beyond, it's a void of pitch-black darkness, broken only by a faint sliver of light spilling in from the second room behind her. She hesitates, her foot hovering just at the edge of the light before stepping inside, still bathed in its fragile glow. Slowly, she pulls out her Rudraksha mala, her fingers trembling as she begins to chant softly in Sanskrit.

  "Tap... tap..."

  A sound—soft but distinct—echoes from the abyss. Her breath catches. It comes again, seconds apart, the silence in between suffocating. She stills, straining to catch its source, her heart thundering in her ears. Then, without warning, the tapping quickens, a frenzy of noise like frantic footsteps rushing towards her. It’s coming closer. Too close. Her chest tightens, fear clawing at her. Just as it seems like something is about to leap at her from the shadows, the noise abruptly stops.

  The woman’s breath shudders out, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. Shapes begin to form—a vague outline of the room, the walls, the corners. She takes a cautious step forward when a chill grazes her neck.

  A breath.

  Her body stiffens. The kid is behind her. She’s sure of it now, hiding in the shadows, waiting.

  Suddenly, she feels the impact—a forceful kick slams into her, sending her stumbling forward. She barely catches herself, turning just in time to see the kid sprinting toward the man, her limbs contorting as she moves on both legs and arms like some twisted creature. The man, wide-eyed with terror, bolts for the stairs but stumbles, tumbling down to the foot of the staircase.

  He turns, only to see the kid mid-air, launching herself down the stairs, claws outstretched, an unsettling smile spreading across her face. The woman races after them, heart hammering in her chest. As she reaches the top of the stairs, her breath catches—Droit stands there, calm and composed, gripping the child by the neck with ease.

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  "Where should I put her?" Droit asks, his voice cold.

  The woman stares in disbelief, momentarily stunned. Quickly shaking off her shock, she rushes down the stairs, pulling the Rudraksha mala from her pocket. Without hesitation, she loops it around the child's neck. Instantly, the kid’s body goes limp, her eyes fluttering closed as she falls into a deep sleep.

  "Thanks," the woman exhales, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll take it from here."

  Hours later, she steps out of the room, the child—now freed—walking alongside her, holding her father’s hand. The man nods his gratitude, his face lined with relief as they leave together, disappearing into the night.

  The clock strikes midnight. Droit sits on the worn sofa, his eyes locked on a figure in the corner—silent, looming, and unmistakably sinister. The witch, now visible to him in full clarity, stands at the threshold of the room, her dark presence creeping closer. She’s inside now.

  The woman strides toward him, her eyes scanning the room, though oblivious to the supernatural entity stalking ever nearer.

  "So, tell me," she says, her voice steady but curious, "how can I help you? And why do you even need help?"

  Droit leans forward, his voice low. "Like I told you, there’s a witch after me. She’s getting closer by the minute. She’s already in your house. I think she’s called the *Infantem Comedentis Pythonissam*… or Baby-Eater Witch."

  The woman raises an eyebrow, her skepticism flickering. "Where is she? I don’t see anything."

  "Yeah, that’s the thing," Droit replies, his tone weary. "Only I can see her. She got me once when I was 22—sent me back in time."

  The woman’s brow furrows. "Back in time?" she murmurs, half to herself. "Why would she send you back?"

  Droit shrugs, his gaze never leaving the witch. "She’s trying to eat me, but there’s a catch. She can only devour me if I’m an infant. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered so far."

  "Huh," the woman muses, tapping her fingers against her Rudraksha mala. "You might be right. Alright, where is she? Point me toward her."

  Droit gestures subtly, guiding her eyes to the dark corner where the witch now looms, almost fully materialized. The woman narrows her eyes and pulls out her mala, starting to chant. Her voice fills the room with ancient verses, but the witch remains unmoved. Not a flicker of response.

  Next, she fetches a small vial of *Gangajal*, the sacred water glittering in the light, and flings it toward the witch. But the droplets pass through her, as if she’s nothing more than a shadow.

  Frustration gnaws at the woman’s expression. She draws a protective circle around Droit, gesturing for him to step inside. The chalk lines glow faintly as the witch inches closer, her form solidifying, her grotesque features becoming clearer.

  Droit watches her, a resigned smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I don’t think this is gonna work. I appreciate your efforts, but… I think this is it for me."

  Before the woman can respond, the doorbell rings.

  "Ding-dong."

  She hesitates, glancing from Droit to the door. The tension in the air is thick as she walks toward it. Opening the door, she finds another woman standing on the porch.

  The woman at the door, her face tense with urgency, speaks quickly. "Hey, my name is Aditi. I'm here to see Droit. It’s important."

  Viha hesitates, her hand gripping the doorframe. "Umm, hey. My name is Viha. How do you know him?"

  Aditi glances past her, eyes darting into the house as though time itself is slipping away. "It’s a long story, but I need to tell him something urgent. Can I please come in? I’m already late."

  Something in her voice, the edge of desperation, makes Viha step aside. As Aditi enters, her gaze falls on Droit, sitting inside the protective circle. She doesn’t waste a second.

  "You can come out of there. Only your mother can save you," she says.

  Droit’s eyes narrow, confusion and suspicion blending in his expression. "Sorry, what? Who are you?"

  "Aditi," she says, her voice softening. "You sent me here. You came to my door in 2010 to help me with the witch."

  Viha’s brow furrows as the pieces begin to fall into place. "From 2010... so you were telling the truth. You’ve been traveling back in time."

  Droit’s expression tightens, urgency creeping into his voice. "Aditi, can you please tell me more about how I can save myself?"

  A shadow flickers across Aditi’s face. "A woman once told me that only a mother can save her child from the witch. No one else has any power over her. Apparently, she saved her own child years ago... But in 2010, you came to my door to help me. You were too late—the witch had already taken my baby."

  The room falls silent. A sadness, heavy and thick, blankets both Droit and Viha. Droit’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. "I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I could’ve done something."

  Aditi takes a breath, her eyes pleading. "Maybe you still can. You told me to come here tonight, to this address. I’m late, thanks to traffic, but if there’s a chance, please... try to save my child this time."

  Droit nods grimly. "I’ll do my best. The witch is close—too close. I might be pulled into 2010 any minute now. Please, tell me your address."

  Before Aditi can respond, Viha interrupts, her voice sharp. "Wait. First, tell me—how did you know to come here today?"

  "There was a note," Droit answers, his eyes flickering with realization. "It was on my home screen. Your address and a command: ‘Come here.’"

  Viha’s gaze darkens as she steps forward. "Then you need to write that note first, or none of this will happen."

  Droit’s face pales as the truth sinks in. "Oh no... you’re right." His hands scramble for his laptop. "If I don’t add the note, I’ll never come here in the future."

  "Exactly!" Viha snaps. "Our future is your past. If you don’t do this now, everything falls apart."

  Droit’s fingers fly across the keyboard, his breath shallow, heart pounding. He types the message—Viha’s address and the instruction to come. "Now," he says, looking up, "please tell me your address, Aditi. I don’t have much time. The witch is almost fully manifested."

  Aditi, eyes wide with the pressure of the moment, quickly rattles off her address. Droit closes his eyes, committing it to memory. But even as she speaks, a voice slithers into his ear—cold, menacing.

  "Not ripe yet."

  The witch’s words chill him to the bone, her presence a dark whisper in his mind. Droit focuses, his breath shallow as Aditi hurriedly recites her address. He listens intently, committing every word to memory. Just as the final syllable of her address fades into the air, a cold force grips him. The world around him begins to blur and warp, and in a heartbeat, Droit is yanked backward—back into the past once again.

  Droit snaps back to reality, finding himself once again in his living room, a video game controller in hand, the familiar glow of the TV screen flickering in front of him. A plate of sandwiches and a glass of Coke sit nearby—his typical gaming snack. The clock on the wall reads around 12 PM.

  But there’s no time to relax. Droit jolts upright, the urgency of his mission crashing back into his mind. He needs to get to Karamnagar, where Aditi lives. Without a second thought, he rushes toward the door but halts in his tracks. Bus fare. He’ll need money.

  He hurries to the kitchen, where his mom is chopping vegetables.

  "Mom, can I have 500 rupees?" Droit asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

  His mom glances at him, eyebrow raised. "500? For what?"

  "I need to buy a new game," Droit says, the lie tumbling out too easily.

  "You just bought a new game yesterday. Sorry, but you’ll have to wait. No more games for a month."

  "Mom, please!" His voice tightens with desperation, but she’s already turning back to her task.

  "I’m busy. Go finish your sandwiches."

  Frustrated but undeterred, Droit marches out to the garage where his dad is washing his scooter.

  "Dad," he starts, trying to sound casual.

  His dad glances up. "Yes?"

  "Can I get 500 rupees? I need a new game—the one I bought isn’t that good."

  His dad chuckles, wiping his hands on a rag. "Didn’t you just get that one? Give it some time."

  "Dad, please. I promise I won’t ask for another game the whole year. Just this once!"

  After a moment, his dad sighs and reaches into his wallet. "Alright, here. But don’t tell your mom."

  Droit grabs the money and bolts toward the door, his heart racing. Behind him, his dad shakes his head with a smile and returns to washing the scooter. But Droit’s mind is already far from the garage—every second brings him closer to Karamnagar, and the witch waiting in the shadows.

  Droit reaches the bus station, heart pounding in his chest. He spots the first bus heading to Karamnagar and hops on without hesitation. It’s going to be a three-hour ride. He settles into a seat next to a middle-aged man, the air thick with the scent of diesel and dust. Nervously, Droit takes the crumpled money from his pocket and buys his ticket from the conductor. The man next to him glances at Droit, noting his young age but says nothing at first.

  The bus jolts to life, rumbling as it pulls out of the station. Droit stares out the window, his eyes scanning for any sign of the witch, though the man has the window seat, partially obstructing his view.

  "Do you want the window seat, son?" the man asks, his voice kind but curious.

  "Umm, no. Thanks," Droit replies, glancing over briefly before turning back to his thoughts.

  "You traveling alone? It’s not safe for a kid to be alone on a long trip like this," the man continues.

  Droit, tense and on edge, quickly crafts a lie. "My dad dropped me off, and my aunt is picking me up at Karamnagar. So it’s fine."

  But the man’s eyes narrow slightly—he’d seen Droit enter the bus station by himself. The lie doesn’t sit right.

  "Okay, just checking. But if you need any help, let me know. You’re not running away from home, are you?" the man asks, his tone still friendly but probing.

  "No!" Droit snaps, irritation creeping into his voice. "Like I said, my aunt’s picking me up. Please, just drop it."

  The man studies Droit for a moment, noting his mature tone. "You sound older than you look. Do you live alone?"

  "No. And my mom told me not to talk to strangers on the bus, so can I just sleep, please?" Droit says, trying to shut down the conversation.

  The man chuckles lightly. "Fair enough. I’m just looking out for you. I’ll make sure your aunt picks you up at the station."

  Droit gives a half-hearted nod, too drained to argue further. Something about the man seems decent, maybe even fatherly, but Droit can’t afford to trust anyone right now. He leans back, shutting his eyes and letting the exhaustion pull him into sleep.

  A few hours later, the man nudges him awake. "Hey, wake up. We’re here."

  Droit blinks groggily, his eyes focusing as he looks out the window. His stomach drops—there, in the distance, stands the witch. She’s not close yet, but her dark silhouette looms, her eyes locked on him. Droit swallows hard and steps off the bus.

  He heads to a small shop at the station, asking the shopkeeper for directions to Aditi’s address. As the shopkeeper explains, Droit feels a presence behind him—the man from the bus. He hadn’t even realized the man was still following him. Unease curls in his gut, but he pushes it aside. After getting the directions, he starts walking toward the city bus stop.

  The man follows.

  "Where are you going? Where’s your aunt?" the man calls after him.

  Droit clenches his fists. "Sir, please just leave me alone. I’m going to her house. I’ll be fine."

  The man doesn’t respond, simply watches him walk away. Droit breathes a little easier, but when he glances back a few minutes later, he sees the man is still following him, his pace quickening.

  Panic sparks in Droit’s chest. He turns down a side street and begins to run, weaving through narrow alleyways, the market stalls blurring past him. But the man is running after him, his footsteps pounding against the cobblestones.

  Droit’s lungs burn as he rounds another corner, but the man is gaining. Desperate, Droit skids to a halt, spinning around to face him.

  "What is your problem? Leave me alone!" Droit yells, his voice echoing in the empty street.

  The man’s face twists with anger, a sneer curling his lips. "Shut the hell up, kid. Is that how you talk to your elders?"

  The shift in tone freezes Droit in place. The man’s eyes are no longer kind, and suddenly, the deserted street feels much more dangerous. Droit’s heart pounds as he realizes they’re completely alone.

  Before Droit can react, the man’s hand flies out, slapping him hard across the face. Pain explodes in his cheek as he’s shoved against a nearby wall.

  "What are you doing? Leave me alone!" Droit shouts, trying to scramble away, but the man’s grip is iron.

  In a flash, the man pulls out a cloth and presses it hard against Droit’s mouth. A sickly sweet smell invades Droit’s senses, his limbs growing heavy. He struggles, but the world is already fading, his body going limp as the darkness swallows him whole.

  Droit jolts awake, the cold air of the abandoned factory biting into his skin. His wrist is shackled, only one arm bound, and the weight of the metal feels suffocating. He’s not alone—four other kids are chained beside him, making five in total, including Droit. Two men stand in front of the first kid in line. Droit, at the end of the row, blinks hard, trying to shake off the blur clouding his vision. His head throbs, and the scene before him feels like a nightmare he can’t escape.

  A sudden scream rips through the air, dragging him fully into consciousness. The first kid in line writhes, his mouth a gory mess. Droit rubs his eyes, focusing on the horrifying scene—the man has just cut out the boy's tongue. Panic spreads like wildfire as all the kids, including Droit, begin to scream in terror.

  The second man, the one who captured Droit, notices him stirring. "Start with him," he growls, jerking his head toward Droit. "He’s got a smart mouth. Teach him a lesson."

  The first man sighs in annoyance, ignoring the suggestion. He unchains the first kid, the boy now whimpering through his mutilated mouth, blood dripping onto the floor. Droit’s vision sways again, the sight of the blood making his stomach churn. He fights to stay conscious, but the edges of his world begin to blur. He watches helplessly as the second man drags the freed kid toward a room at the back.

  The factory fills with desperate pleas as the other kids beg for mercy, but the first man remains cold, knife in hand. Droit sits frozen in shock. His mind races—Aditi’s child. He needs to save Aditi’s child. But how? What can he do, shackled and powerless?

  He looks up at the distant, broken ceiling and silently prays, pleading with God to save him, to save them all. His hope feels fragile, just like the faint figure of the witch he glimpses far in the distance, watching him.

  Suddenly, another scream pierces the air. The second boy’s tongue is gone too. One by one, the kids are dragged off, their voices silenced in bloody agony. Droit’s heart pounds as the first man turns toward the fourth kid, knife in hand.

  But then, a phone rings.

  "Anil, leave the kids. We have to go," the first man says, glancing at the phone.

  "Is it time already?" Anil responds, his voice gruff.

  "Yeah, let’s move."

  Without another word, they abandon the kids, leaving Droit and the last boy shackled and terrified, alone in the suffocating silence of the factory.

  Droit's eyes catch a glint of metal—a saw, just within reach. His heart races as he stretches his arm, fingers grazing the tool before finally gripping it. Without wasting a second, he pulls it toward his chain and begins sawing frantically. Five minutes pass, his wrist trembling with the effort, but the chain remains stubborn, not even a scratch.

  Panic starts to rise, and with each desperate slide of the saw, a darker thought takes root in his mind: **I might have to cut off my hand.** His breath quickens, dread creeping in. And then, like a sudden strike of lightning, a memory surfaces. He remembers the first time he was yanked into the past—he had noticed a scar around his wrist but hadn’t given it much thought.

  Now it hits him like a punch to the gut.

  Terror tightens its grip as he realizes the horrifying truth: **he will cut off his hand, and that's how the scar appeared.** But another memory follows—the future. **He had both hands in the future.** Somehow, he must restore it. But knowing this doesn’t ease the terror clenching his insides. His stomach churns, bile rising, and he sits frozen, unable to imagine going through with it.

  For minutes, he just sits there, paralyzed, the witch still watching him from a distance, her eyes cold and unwavering. He looks around, desperate for anything that might help. Something to stop the bleeding if—when—he makes the cut. A length of metal wire catches his eye. He grabs it, shakily tying it around his wrist, his mind numb with fear.

  He takes a deep breath, the saw hovering just above his skin, and then, with a sudden burst of courage, he begins to cut.

  The first slice of the blade sends agony ripping through him. He screams, his voice echoing off the factory walls, but he doesn’t stop. His hand shakes as he wedges his shoe between his teeth, biting down hard, and returns to sawing. His eyes blur with tears, his vision swimming, but he keeps going, sliding the saw through flesh and bone, inch by agonizing inch.

  His breath comes in ragged gasps, eyes bloodshot and wild. The pain is unbearable, his mind teetering on the edge of collapse. Just when the world begins to fade around him, Droit slaps his own face, forcing himself back to consciousness.

  Panting, drenched in sweat, he finally breaks free. The chain clatters to the floor. His severed hand dangles, but he doesn't look at it. He can’t.

  Droit stumbles to his feet, blood rushing in his ears. He turns to the last kid, eyes wide with fear. "Wait for help," he whispers, his voice hoarse. Then, without looking back, he runs—blood trailing behind him as he bolts out of the factory, into the cold unknown.

  Droit stumbles out of the factory, his vision hazy, legs trembling, but he forces himself forward. The empty road stretches ahead, a lonely path of cracked pavement beneath a dull sky. He doesn’t dare slow down, his feet pounding against the ground, eyes scanning the distance for any sign of help. His severed hand, hastily wrapped in wire, throbs with every heartbeat.

  After running for what feels like an eternity—nearly a kilometer—he finally stumbles into a bustling street. The contrast is jarring, people going about their day as if his world hasn’t just collapsed. Gasping, Droit staggers up to the nearest person, pleading for help.

  A man notices him, his face contorting in shock as he rushes toward Droit, catching him before he collapses. "What happened?" the man asks, voice tight with alarm.

  Droit, his words barely coherent, tells him everything in a hurried breath—the factory, the kids, the men with knives. "You have to help them," he begs, his voice cracking. "Go back. The kids are still there."

  The man, his eyes wide, shouts to the crowd, waving others over. A small group gathers, murmuring in confusion, but when they hear Droit’s story, they spring into action. Several rushes off toward the factory while the man stays behind, cradling Droit’s limp form.

  "You need a hospital," the man says urgently, lifting Droit with ease. "You’ve lost too much blood."

  "Wait!" Droit gasps, his hand clutching at the man’s sleeve. "I don’t have time... take me to my aunt. Her house is close. She’ll know what to do." His voice is desperate, his vision blurring again.

  "No, no!" the man protests, shaking his head. "We’ll call her from the hospital. You need immediate help."

  "Please," Droit pleads, breathless. "This is her address—she’s a nurse. She’ll take care of me. It’s nearby." He struggles to form the words, the address tumbling from his lips like a lifeline.

  The man hesitates but sees the determination in Droit’s eyes. With a quick nod, he rushes to a nearby shop, buys an ice case, and gently places Droit’s severed hand inside. Then, without wasting another moment, he flags down an auto rickshaw. They speed through the busy streets, weaving between cars and pedestrians, heading straight for Droit’s aunt’s house.

  Each second feels like an eternity, Droit fighting to stay conscious, hoping they reach her in time.

  *Knock Knock.*

  Aditi opens the door, cradling her infant in her arms, confusion etched across her face as she sees a man standing with a boy whose arm is sealed off with a crude metal wire. The sight unsettles her.

  "What do you want?" she asks, cautious.

  “Hey, I’m Nitin,” the man blurts out, glancing at Droit. “This boy, Droit—he was abducted. Please, you need to take care of him. He needs to be hospitalized, like, right now.”

  Aditi’s eyes narrow, her posture stiffening. “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about? Who are you? Is this some kind of scam? If you’re here to beg for money, I’m calling the police.”

  Before Nitin can respond, Droit steps forward, his voice urgent. “I’m not here to scam you. I’m here to help. Your child is in danger, and I know about the witch.”

  Aditi freezes, gripping her baby tighter. “How... how do you know that? Who are you?”

  Droit ignores her question, turning to Nitin. "Thank you for bringing me here," he says quietly, signaling that Nitin should leave.

  But Nitin doesn’t budge. “What’s going on here? You don’t even know her, and you refused to go to the hospital. I’m not leaving until I get the truth.”

  Droit turns back to Aditi, his face serious. “Can we please come inside?”

  Aditi hesitates, her mind racing. Strangers at her door, but the boy—he knows about the witch. The thing she’s been dealing with alone for months. Reluctantly, she steps aside, letting them in.

  Once inside, Nitin holds up the ice case. “Can you put this in your freezer?” he asks.

  Aditi takes it absentmindedly, too distracted by everything to think about what might be inside. As she heads to the kitchen, Droit speaks again, his tone more urgent.

  “You know you can kill the witch, right?”

  Aditi spins around, eyes wide. “Yes, but she knows that. She doesn’t come near when I’m around him.”

  “So, you keep your child with you all the time?” Droit asks.

  Aditi’s frustration boils over. “Who are you? Why do you talk like that? What happened to your hand? I need answers!”

  Nitin crosses his arms, also demanding an explanation.

  Droit exhales, knowing there’s no easy way to explain. “Okay, this is going to sound insane, but I’m from the future. You came to me in the future and asked for my help.”

  Aditi raises an eyebrow, disbelief clear on her face. “Why would I ask a 10-year-old for help? And how would a kid have a time machine? What is this, a joke?”

  Nitin, equally confused, speaks up. “What’s this witch you’re talking about?”

  Droit’s expression turns serious. “There’s a witch after her child, and only she can stop it. I’m here to help her.”

  Aditi stares at him, her mind spinning. “How... how do you know all this? Am I going crazy?”

  Nitin interjects, "This is real. He told me you were his aunt—he knew your address, everything."

  Aditi looks at Droit, her hands trembling. “What... what is this?”

  Droit begins explaining, recounting how he got trapped in the past, his encounters with the witch, and his knowledge of Aditi’s situation. Both Aditi and Nitin listen, disbelief slowly giving way to dread.

  Nitin, still skeptical, chuckles nervously. “This has to be some kind of prank, right? Am I being recorded? The severed hand in that ice case—it’s a prop, right?”

  Droit sighs, exhausted. “Go check for yourself.”

  Nitin heads to the kitchen, pops open the case, and lets out a piercing scream. “Oh my God! This is real!”

  Aditi’s face drains of color. “Wait—there’s a hand in there? Who asks someone to put a severed hand in their fridge? Are you insane?” she shouts at Nitin.

  Nitin snaps back, “He refused to go to the hospital! What do you want me to do? You don’t want it in your fridge? Fine! Let’s just toss it in the trash!”

  Aditi glares at him. “Of course, it can stay in the fridge, but how do you expect me to be okay with this?”

  Droit interrupts, his voice cutting through the argument. “Can we focus? We only have hours left. My witch is already inside the house.”

  The room goes dead silent. Both Aditi and Nitin slowly turn toward Droit, fear seeping into their expressions. They quietly sit down on the sofa, processing everything.

  Droit’s eyes harden. “We need a plan, and we don’t have much time.”

  Droit’s words hang heavy in the air as Aditi and Nitin exchange a tense glance. The baby in Aditi’s arms shifts, and she holds him closer, uncertainty clouding her face.

  “We need a plan,” Droit repeats, his voice steady but urgent. “The witch is here. She’ll come for the baby when she thinks you’re not around.”

  Aditi shakes her head, her nerves fraying. “You want me to leave my baby? Alone? With her out there?”

  “She won’t come if you’re near him. That’s why you need to step away. Let her think she has a chance,” Droit says firmly.

  Nitin, sitting beside him, shifts uneasily. “Wait, so we’re just supposed to sit here, baiting her?”

  Droit nods. “We’ll be the bait. When she comes for the baby, you’ll need to hold her down, and Aditi can kill her.”

  Aditi paces, clutching her baby, her mind racing. “I... I don’t know. What if she comes and I’m not fast enough?”

  “You’ll be fast enough,” Droit says. “You have to be. It’s the only way.”

  After a long, agonizing moment, Aditi finally stops pacing. She looks at her child, then at Droit. “If this goes wrong... if anything happens to him—”

  “I’ll protect him,” Droit promises, his eyes locking with hers. “I won’t let her take him.”

  Nitin stands up, rubbing his hands nervously. “Okay, okay. Let’s say we do this. How do we... hold down a witch? I’m just a guy, man. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with here.”

  “We’ll find a way,” Droit says, though the uncertainty in his voice doesn’t escape Nitin. “Just trust me.”

  Aditi takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright. I’ll go into the other room, out of sight. If the witch comes, I’ll be ready.”

  With a heavy heart, Aditi hands the baby to Nitin. The child stirs but doesn’t cry, as if sensing the danger. Droit watches Aditi leave, the tension thick in the room.

  Droit's eyes are scanning the room. “She’ll come soon. Stay close, but don’t panic. When she shows up, grab her. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Nitin nods, though fear is etched across his face.

  Minutes stretch into agonizing silence, the air heavy with dread. The house feels colder, shadows lengthening unnaturally as if the walls themselves are closing in.

  Then, a sound—a faint whisper, like the wind, brushing against the windows. Nitin’s grip tightens on the baby, his eyes darting toward the door.

  “She’s here,” Droit whispers.

  Nitin stands in the middle of the room by the sofas, his eyes fixated on a shadowy corner. Something feels off—it's noon, sunlight pouring through the windows, and there shouldn’t be any shadows. His heart skips a beat as he realizes what’s happening.

  Before he can react, the witch emerges from the darkness. She moves with unnatural speed, grabbing Nitin by the throat and slamming him against the wall. His breath catches as her cold fingers tighten around his neck, lifting him off the floor effortlessly. His grip on the baby weakens, his fingers trembling, until the child slips from his hands.

  The witch catches the baby with ease, her long, gnarled fingers curling around the tiny form. Nitin, eyes wide in terror, tries to fight back, but he’s paralyzed by fear.

  Droit, watching the scene unfold, grabs the nearest object—a teacup from the table—and hurls it at the witch with all his strength. The cup shatters against her, causing her to pause. She turns her head slowly, locking eyes with Droit.

  For a moment, the air stills. The witch doesn’t move. She stares at Droit as if recognizing him, a flicker of something dark and knowing in her eyes.

  Then, her face twists in rage. She screeches, a bone-chilling sound, and lunges toward Droit.

  But just as she’s about to reach him, Aditi bursts into the room, sprinting toward the witch with a knife in hand. Seeing her, the witch snarls, then turns and dives into the wall, vanishing into the shadows as if she were never there.

  The baby vanishes with her.

  "My baby! Where is my baby?" Aditi screams, her voice breaking as she cradles empty air. She collapses to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

  Droit is slumped near the sofa, eyes hollow as he watches her. Guilt floods his chest, crushing him. He took this risk, believing he could change the past, but deep down, he always knew. He was never meant to save the baby. His head drops, and silent tears hit the floor.

  “She’s back,” Nitin whispers, his voice trembling with fear.

  Aditi goes quiet, her sobs halting as she turns to look behind Droit and the sofa.

  Droit lifts his head, and there she is—his witch. The one who’s been after him from the beginning, her form almost fully materialized. He can feel it—time slipping away. She’s only minutes from sending him back to be a baby.

  "You can see her too, Nitin?" Droit asks, his voice shaky.

  “Yeah... behind you,” Nitin replies, barely able to speak.

  "Behind me?" Droit slowly turns, his heart pounding in his chest. Standing right there, full of rage and malice, is the present witch—the one who has hounded him through time. The baby is still clutched in her arms, her eyes burning with vengeance.

  Without a word, she throws herself onto Droit, slashing at him viciously with her claws. Her shrieks echo through the room, filled with a hatred deeper than time itself. Her strikes tear into Droit's skin, leaving gashes across his body as he cries out in pain.

  Nitin rushes forward, but the witch’s furious stare freezes him in place, paralyzed with terror.

  The witch grabs Droit by the throat, lifting him off the ground, choking the life out of him. Her hands are like icy death, squeezing tighter as blood trickles from his neck. The light in Droit’s eyes begins to dim, his strength fading.

  Suddenly, Aditi grabs the witch from behind, wrapping her arm around the witch’s throat. The witch shrieks, thrashing as she tries to free herself, slashing wildly at Aditi’s arm with one hand while clutching the baby in the other. But Aditi holds on, her grip unyielding.

  Nitin springs into action, grabbing the witch's legs, and forcing her down. Together, they struggle against her violent fury, managing to slam her to the floor.

  Droit, barely conscious, forces himself up and grabs the witch’s other arm, pinning her down. The witch is now subdued, but she clings to the baby with a desperate grip, refusing to let go even in her defeat.

  "Quickly now!" Droit gasps, nodding at Aditi.

  Without hesitation, Aditi snatches the knife and plunges it into the witch’s heart. The witch’s scream pierces the air, louder than anything before, her grip on the baby finally loosens. Aditi doesn’t stop, stabbing the witch again and again until her body lies motionless.

  The room falls silent.

  The witch’s form begins to disintegrate, her body fading into thin air. Droit, breathing heavily, gently picks up the baby and hands him to Aditi. She cradles her child, her face streaked with tears but alive with relief.

  The witch is gone.

  As Aditi cradles her baby, Droit staggers, his legs giving way beneath him. He collapses to the floor, his breath shallow, the edges of his vision blurring. Darkness starts to creep in. He can barely make out the room anymore—just faint shapes, shadows moving. But then, he sees it.

  The witch, slowly materializing once more, her form shifting as she reaches out toward him, her intent clear.

  Summoning what little strength he has left, Droit forces out a whisper to Aditi. "Go… to 2016… at 8 PM," he whispers, barely audible, as he tells her Viha’s address. "You’ll find me there. Tell me… I wasn’t able… to save your baby."

  Before he can finish his thought, icy breath brushes against his ear, and he hears her voice again—low and vicious.

  "Not ripe yet," the witch hisses.

  With that, everything fades. The world around him vanishes, and Droit is ripped from the present, once again hurled into the past.

  Droit’s eyes flutter open. He can’t move much, his limbs tiny and weak. He glances down and sees a pair of chubby, infant hands. He’s a six-month-old baby now, lying on a bed between his parents, who are sound asleep.

  He rolls over, reaching out to touch his mother, and the moment his hand brushes against her, a surge of emotions overwhelms him. Though his mind holds the consciousness of a 22-year-old, his body reacts like a baby—he starts to cry uncontrollably. The emotions are too raw, too powerful to suppress.

  His parents stir awake, and his father reaches over to pick him up, gently rocking him until his cries subside. His mother hurries to get some milk, while his father plays with him on the bed, coaxing little giggles from him.

  Despite the bittersweet joy of the moment, Droit feels a deep sadness knowing this might be the last time he sees his parents. The witch could come for him at any moment. But for now, she remains hidden, and he decides to push the fear aside.

  For just a little longer, he ignores the looming threat and loses himself in the simple comfort of his parents’ love, savoring every precious second until sleep finally overtakes him.

  Morning light fills the room as a piercing scream shatters the silence. Droit wakes with a jolt, his tiny heart racing. At the foot of the bed stands the witch, fully materialized, her form looming ominously. His mother is at the doorway, her face pale with terror.

  "HONEY!" she cries out.

  Droit’s father bursts into the room, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of the witch. She hisses, her eyes locked on Droit as she starts to climb onto the bed. His father springs into action, rushing to grab Droit first, but with a flick of her hand, the witch sends him crashing into the wall.

  His mother screams and charges at the witch, shoving her off the bed. Without wasting a second, she scoops Droit up and makes a desperate dash for the door. But the witch is faster. She materializes in front of them, blocking the exit.

  Droit’s father, regaining his balance, lunges at the witch again, only to be caught by the neck and lifted off the ground. The witch tightens her grip, then turns her gaze toward Droit’s mother, silently demanding the baby in exchange for his father’s life.

  "NO!" she yells, her voice breaking as tears stream down her face. She clutches Droit tighter, her body trembling.

  In a last-ditch effort, his father swings a fist at the witch's midsection, but she barely flinches. Her eyes narrow, and she tightens her hold on his neck, twisting it ever so slightly. He cries out in agony.

  Seeing her husband’s life slipping away, Droit’s mother rushes forward and strikes at the witch’s arm, managing to loosen her grip. The witch releases him, stumbling back in surprise.

  "She can't hurt you!" Droit’s father gasps, his voice hoarse. "You can fight her!"

  Emboldened, his mother moves to strike again, but the witch vanishes and reappears beside Droit's father, her intentions clear. She reaches for him once more, but before she can grab him, he pulls a pen from his shirt pocket and stabs it into her neck. It does nothing; the pen simply falls to the floor with a dull thud.

  The witch smirks, her eyes gleaming with malevolence, and seizes him again. This time, she sinks her sharp, jagged teeth into his chest, tearing away a chunk of flesh and spitting it onto the ground.

  "No! Please, don’t kill him. I beg you!" Droit's mother cries, her voice trembling.

  The witch tilts her head toward Droit, her meaning clear.

  "Okay! You can take him," his mother says, her voice breaking as she steps toward them.

  "No! What are you doing?" his father gasps, struggling to speak through his pain.

  "It’s alright, darling. We can have another baby, but I can’t lose you," she says softly as she approaches.

  "No! We can have another child, but we can never have another Droit. He is our son," his father pleads, his voice desperate.

  His mother doesn’t respond. She kneels on the floor, offering Droit to the witch. The witch releases his father, who falls limply to the ground, and reaches for Droit. As she starts to dissolve into a dark mist, preparing to vanish with him, a sudden scream fills the room.

  The witch materializes abruptly, her body writhing in pain. Droit’s mother has stabbed her with the pen that had fallen on the floor. The witch tries to flee, but his mother is relentless, catching up to her and driving the pen into her again and again. The witch shrieks, thrashing in agony as the blows continue, until finally, the life drains from her form.

  Droit’s cries fill the room, his tiny body shaking uncontrollably. But as his mother wraps him in her arms, the warmth of her embrace soothes him, and he begins to calm down, safe at last.

  In his mother's arms, Droit gazes up at her tear-streaked but beautiful face. His cries soften, and he takes a deep breath of relief. Closing his eyes, he feels an overwhelming peace wash over him—until a strange sensation creeps in, as if he’s drowning.

  His eyes snap open, and the world around him warps. He feels himself being pulled away, drawn into another dimension. He tries to fight it, desperate to stay a little longer in his mother's embrace, to be with his parents. But it’s no use. The force is too strong.

  In an instant, he’s torn away and finds himself back in the witch's dimension, standing once again in front of the ominous painting.

  A hand taps Droit's shoulder. He jumps and spins around to see Melnik and the Sage standing behind him. His eyes well up with tears, and before he knows it, Melnik pulls him into a hug. Droit breaks down, sobbing into Melnik’s shoulder.

  "Hmm, you are something else. Good work," the Sage says with a hint of approval.

  Droit pulls back, wiping his eyes, and explains everything. "That's what happened, but I failed. I think the key was with her, and now she's gone. I’ve wasted a key."

  "Are you sure about that?" the Sage asks, bending down to pick up a key lying at the foot of the painting.

  Droit’s eyes widen. "How? It wasn’t there before."

  "It materialized with you," the Sage explains. "The key can’t exist in other planes without a holder. When you defeated her, it transferred here along with you."

  Melnik grins, "Seems like you passed the test!"

  "Let’s get out of here," Droit says, glancing around the eerie apartment one last time. "I don’t want to be here anymore."

  With that, all three make their way out of the apartment, leaving the dark dimension behind.