Dawn was breaking over London when Shreya finally emerged from the library. Her backpack was heavy with photocopied pages and hastily scribbled notes. The morning air was unusually crisp, carrying a hint of autumn despite the summer season.
Her phone rang – James again.
"I found something else," he said without preamble. "University records from 1985. Shlok didn't just disappear; he returned to Patna first. And Shreya... he's alive."
She stopped walking. "What? But you said—"
"The journal entry I found? There's more. After he left London, he settled in Patna. Local newspapers reported sightings of him near the old temples until about a month ago."
Shreya's hands trembled as she pulled up her recent messages from Rohan. "James, my brother's been asking around about Shlok in Patna. He lives in some kind of ashram near the Ganges."
"Listen to me carefully," James's voice dropped lower. "I've been going through more of his research. Shlok wasn't just studying Mrit – he was part of something called the Rakshak, an ancient order dedicated to maintaining the bindings that keep Mrit imprisoned."
A memory surfaced – her grandmother telling stories on the roof of their Patna home, her voice dropping to a whisper when speaking of the temple guardians. *"They watch, they wait, they remember what others have forgotten."*
"My grandmother," Shreya said slowly. "She used to tell us about temple guardians. I always thought they were just stories, but..."
"There's more," James continued. "Every forty years, when the stars align, the bindings need to be... renewed. Shlok was the last one to perform the ritual in 1985. And now—"
"Now it's my turn," Shreya finished. "That's what his journal meant about the cycle."
Her phone buzzed with another message from Rohan: "Di, found something weird. Old photos of Dadi at the temples. She's with Shlok and some others, all wearing these strange necklaces."
"Send them to me," Shreya demanded, her free hand clutching her grandmother's pendant. When the photos loaded, she nearly dropped the phone.
The black and white images showed a younger version of her grandmother standing with a group of robed figures. Around their necks were pendants identical to the one she now wore – Dadi's last gift.
"James," her voice shook. "I need to book a flight to Patna. Now."
"Shreya, wait. There's something else you should know about Shlok. The university records show that before he came here, he was in Cambridge. He had a research partner – Dr. Amrita Sharma."
The world seemed to tilt. "That... that's my grandmother's name."
Static crackled on the line. Through it, James's voice came urgently: "The ritual isn't just about binding Mrit. It's about... succession. Shlok wasn't chosen randomly forty years ago. And you weren't chosen randomly now."
In her mind, her grandmother's voice echoed with new meaning: *"This pendant is our family's legacy, beta. One day, you'll understand its true purpose."*
Shreya's laptop chimed with an email notification. Flight tickets to Patna, already booked in her name. The sender's address was a string of Sanskrit characters.
"I've found more references to the Rakshak," James said. "They're not just guardians. They're... vessels. Each generation takes on a portion of Mrit's power to maintain the binding. But there's a cost—"
The line went dead. Shreya's phone screen showed a new message, this time in Sanskrit: "आगमन का समय" (Time of arrival).
She opened her notes app, fingers flying across the keyboard:
- Shlok alive in Patna
- Grandmother was part of Rakshak
- Pendant = symbol of guardianship?
- 3 days until star alignment
- Ritual requires succession
- Family connection not coincidental
Another message from Rohan appeared: "Di, the bookseller just told me something scary. Says Shlok's been asking about you. He knows you found the book. Says you need to come home... before it's too late."
Shreya looked up at the London sky, where the morning sun was being swallowed by gathering storm clouds. In two days, she would be in Patna, facing whatever destiny her grandmother and Shlok had prepared for her.
Her pendant felt heavier now, pulsing with a subtle warmth against her skin. When she touched it, images flashed through her mind – ancient temples, sacred geometries, and beneath it all, something vast and dark, stirring from its forty-year slumber.
The wind carried a whisper, almost like her grandmother's voice: *"The time has come, beta. The choice is yours, but remember – some chains bind more than just demons."*