The archive was silent.
Rows upon rows of ancient books stretched into darkness.
Dust floated lazily through the air.
The room smelled of old paper and forgotten years.
Feroz stood in the middle of it all.
The mysterious book still rested in his hands.
For several seconds—
nobody spoke.
Not Feroz.
Not Ayan.
Not even the old man.
Because all three of them were trying to understand what had just happened.
A book had fallen by itself.
Out of thousands.
Directly in front of Feroz.
And now it was reacting to him.
The old man finally broke the silence.
"Open it again."
Feroz looked at him.
"You've never seen this before?"
The old man slowly shook his head.
"No."
That answer surprised him.
The old man had seemed to know everything about this place.
Yet even he looked uncertain now.
Carefully—
Feroz opened the book again.
The pages remained blank.
Nothing appeared.
No words.
No symbols.
Nothing.
Ayan frowned.
"Maybe it stopped."
Feroz wasn't convinced.
The feeling was still there.
The same strange feeling that had followed him ever since he entered the learning path.
Recognition.
Like the book knew him.
Slowly he turned another page.
Blank.
Another.
Blank.
Then another.
The moment the page turned—
golden letters began appearing.
Not written.
Forming.
As though invisible ink was becoming visible.
Ayan immediately stepped closer.
The old man stood perfectly still.
The sentence completed itself.
"The first lie was not spoken by the enemy."
Silence.
The words remained on the page.
Feroz read them again.
Then a third time.
The sentence felt important.
But he didn't understand why.
Ayan scratched his head.
"What does that even mean?"
Nobody answered.
Because nobody knew.
Then slowly—
the golden letters disappeared.
Fading from the page.
Leaving nothing behind.
The book became blank again.
The old man looked troubled.
Very troubled.
"What is it?" Feroz asked.
The old man took a moment before replying.
"There are stories."
"What kind of stories?"
The old man looked at the book.
"Stories about records that reveal themselves only to specific bloodlines."
Feroz immediately thought about the symbol.
His father.
The Veinblade.
The vault.
Everything seemed connected somehow.
Before he could ask another question—
more words appeared.
Different words this time.
Golden letters slowly forming across the page.
"Truth hidden for protection remains a lie."
The archive became silent again.
Feroz stared at the sentence.
Something about it bothered him.
A lot.
Because it reminded him of his entire life.
Secrets.
Half-truths.
People hiding things.
Everyone claiming they were protecting him.
His father.
Yusuf.
Mrs. Aliya.
Even Haroon and Younus sometimes.
The old man was staring at the sentence too.
As though it meant something to him.
Something old.
Something personal.
Then the words vanished again.
Gone.
Like they had never existed.
Feroz closed the book.
"Who wrote this?"
The old man shook his head.
"I don't know."
Another half-answer.
Normally that would have frustrated Feroz.
But this time—
he believed him.
The old man genuinely didn't know.
Then suddenly—
a loud bell echoed across the village.
The sound was deep.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Everyone froze.
The bell rang again.
Then a third time.
Ayan immediately turned toward the archive entrance.
His expression had changed completely.
"What is it?" Feroz asked.
Ayan swallowed.
"That's the village bell."
The old man was already moving.
His calm expression gone.
That alone made Feroz uneasy.
The bell rang a fourth time.
A fifth.
The old man stopped.
For the first time since meeting him—
he looked concerned.
Genuinely concerned.
"That shouldn't be happening."
Feroz closed the book tightly.
"What does it mean?"
The old man looked toward the doorway.
"Someone has arrived."
Feroz frowned.
"So?"
Ayan immediately shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
"Not like this."
The bell rang again.
A sixth time.
The sound echoed through the entire archive.
Outside—
voices could be heard.
People moving.
Doors opening.
The whole village was reacting.
The old man turned toward Feroz.
"Bring the book."
"What?"
"Bring it with you."
That surprised both Feroz and Ayan.
"You want me to take it?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
The old man was serious.
"If the archive chose you, then it belongs with you."
Feroz didn't fully understand.
But he wasn't about to argue.
He tucked the book beneath his arm.
Then followed the others outside.
The village had completely changed.
Earlier it had been peaceful.
Calm.
Quiet.
Now people filled the streets.
Everyone was moving toward the main gate.
Whispering.
Watching.
Waiting.
Children had been taken indoors.
Shops had closed.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Feroz followed the crowd.
Ayan beside him.
The old man leading the way.
Soon they reached the village entrance.
A large stone gate stood open.
Beyond it—
the road disappeared into the distance.
At first Feroz saw nothing.
Then he noticed a figure.
Far away.
Standing completely still.
A lone person.
Covered by a dark cloak.
Their face hidden beneath a hood.
Nobody in the village moved.
Nobody spoke.
The stranger simply stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Then—
slowly—
the figure lifted its head.
A cold chill ran through Feroz's body.
Not because he recognized the person.
Because he didn't.
And somehow—
that felt even worse.
The old man narrowed his eyes.
Ayan looked nervous.
The villagers began whispering among themselves.
Then the stranger took a single step forward.
And the village bell rang once more.
Louder than before.
As if warning everyone.
As if it recognized something that nobody else could.
Something that had not visited this place for a very long time.
And whatever it was—
it had come looking for someone.
Feroz had a feeling that someone was him.