Episode 2: Whispers and QuestionsThe sun had just begun its gentle rise when Vikky rolled down the hill road on his old bike, the engine sputtering like it too was waking up slowly. He wore his usual loose hoodie and kept his head low, thoughts still tangled in the nightmare from earlier.
At a small tea stall, with rusted metal counters and the comforting hiss of boiling water, Vikky parked and stepped off.
"Anna, one tea," he said quietly to the vendor.
Before the tea arrived, a voice broke through the quiet morning.
"Dream boy, huh? Did he visit again last night?"
Venky stood beside him, grinning. Tall, lanky, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he was the kind of friend who made life just a little more ridiculous—and survivable.
Vikky didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted across the road, still haunted. Venky leaned closer, more serious now.
“Tell me, raa. Why do you keep seeing that same guy in your dreams?”
“I don’t know,” Vikky admitted. “But it’s getting worse. Last night… it wasn’t a dream. It felt real.”
Venky studied his friend for a beat, then, in true Venky fashion, waved it all off with a laugh.
“You think too much. You need sleep… and a girlfriend.”
At that, Vikky finally smiled—a small one, but real.
“I already have someone,” he said softly, more to himself than to Venky.
FLASHBACK: A week earlier – VIKKY’S TERRACE
It was night then, moonlight washing the terrace in silver.
Vishala stood barefoot, her long black braid brushing her back as she leaned against the railing.
“Do you believe in fate?” she had asked him, eyes fixed on the stars.
Vikky had shrugged. “I believe in now. That’s all we ever really get.”
She had turned toward him then, slowly, her voice quieter. “Then let’s make now count.”
In the stillness that followed, she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.
The air between them had sparked with something tender—unspoken but real.
They hadn’t kissed that night. They hadn’t needed to.
But something began in that moment. A beginning that now held him steady when everything else felt like it was unraveling.
Back in the present, Vikky stirred his tea, staring into the tiny glass cup as if it held answers.
"Venky," he said slowly, "What if these dreams mean something? What if I'm... being pulled into something bigger?"
Venky snorted. “Then take me too. I’ve always wanted to punch something evil.”
They both laughed—but it died quickly as Vikky suddenly stiffened.
Across the street, past the tea stall, in the glass window of a closed hardware shop… a dark figure stood.
Hooded. Watching him.
Vikky turned his head sharply—but the figure vanished.
He dropped his tea, the glass shattering on the pavement.
“Did you see that?” he asked, breath short.
Venky blinked. “See what?”
But Vikky was already moving, running toward where the figure had stood.
He darted behind the tree. Nothing. Not a soul.
Just silence.
Vikky stood still, a chill prickling down his spine. For a moment, the wind whispered through the leaves like a voice trying to form. He could feel eyes on him. Not from this world, but from somewhere deeper—older.
Later That Night – VIKKY’S ROOM
Sleep came like a thief, quiet and uninvited.
He collapsed onto his bed and drifted, pulled back into a strange, familiar darkness.
This time, the dream was clearer.
There was his mother, radiant in robes of light, standing beside a tall warrior with fierce eyes.
Her voice rang in the dream—not loud, but impossible to ignore.
“Send Karthikeya to Vikky. If we delay, I may not survive this.”
The warrior nodded.
Vikky bolted upright in his bed.
He was drenched in sweat again—but this time, something was different.
He wasn’t alone.
A stranger stood in the room, near the window. Hooded, tall. The same figure from his dream and from the mirror.
Vikky jumped to his feet, fists raised.
“Who are you?! How did you get in here?!”
The stranger slowly unwrapped the scarf from his face and pointed to the open window, as if that answered everything.
Then he spoke. His voice was deep but calm.
“My name is Karthikeya Bejwara. Your mother sent me.”
Vikky froze. “My… what?”
Karthikeya met his gaze. “Your mother, Kundana Devi. She is alive. But she’s in danger.”
Everything in Vikky’s chest turned to ice.
“My mother died when I was a kid…”
“No,” Karthikeya said firmly. “She left this world… but not forever. You were born from the bloodline of warriors, Vikramaditya. Your dreams are not dreams. They are calls.”
The air seemed to shift. The room itself felt smaller, as if history was folding in.
“Come with me,” Karthikeya said. “If we don’t act now, your mother dies… and you die with her.”
Vikky stood stunned, heart pounding.
He looked down at his phone and began typing a message.
"Vishala… I’m going with a friend to his village. I’ll be gone a few days.
Don’t worry about me.
Love you."
He stared at it for a moment… then hit send.
And with that, Vikky turned to the warrior.
“I’m coming.”
Karthikeya gave a faint nod and raised his hand—drawing a shimmering circle of light in the air.
A portal opened, swirling with colors Vikky didn’t recognize.
He took one last breath, stepped forward—and vanished.
To be continued...