The morning didn't feel like a new day. It felt like the end of one that had just refused to finish.
Rohan rubbed his eyes as he walked out of his building, sunlight stinging more than it should. Vikram was waiting by the gate, backpack on, hair still messy from sleep.
"You look like you fought a ghost last night," Vikram said.
"If I did, I lost," Rohan answered.
They walked without a destination, chasing movement just so the thoughts wouldn't catch up. Vikram kicked a bottle cap along the road and finally asked, "What exactly happened back there?"
Rohan didn't respond. He wasn't sure which part of the night counted as "exactly".
They headed to Uncle Ash's workshop. The shutter was down. Locked. A chain around it glinted like a fresh scar.
"He never locks this," Vikram said.
Rohan called his phone. Switched off.
Then he noticed something near the bottom of the shutter. One small, crooked footprint. Bare. Like someone had stepped in ash or dust, and the mark hadn't bothered to fade.
"We report?" Vikram asked quietly.
"To who? And say what? 'Hey sir, my illegal buyer vanished after touching a cursed coin.' They'll arrest us first."
"Then what do we do?"
Rohan swallowed. He didn't know. That scared him more than anything.
A soft chime came from his pocket. A text. Unknown number.
IT WASN'T PAID.
No name. No emoji. No call to action.
Just that same single line again.
Rohan shoved the phone deep into his pocket. "Let's just get away from here."
They walked until the concrete ended and the town melted into a patch of wild trees. The same forest he had seen in his dreams. The same slant of sunlight filtering through like a warning.
Vikram stopped. "Why are we going this way?"
Rohan pretended it wasn't his decision. "You're the one walking."
"You're the one not thinking."
They stared at each other. Then Rohan's phone buzzed again.
A single dropped pin.
On the map.
Inside the forest.
Rohan turned pale.
"That's not funny," Vikram said.
"I didn't send it."
Rohan felt something under his shirt. His hand moved to his chest before he could stop it. The vow that sat behind his heart throbbed like a bruise.
He took a deep breath. "We just… see. Just a little."
"You said 'in and out' last night," Vikram reminded him. "That didn't end well."
Rohan forced a grin. "Statistically, I'm due for a win."
"That's not how statistics work."
"That's exactly how confidence works."
Despite himself, Vikram followed. Because friends follow even when common sense screams at them not to.
Trees closed around them. The air cooled fast, like they had stepped into a story older than the town. Birds didn't chirp here. Branches didn't sway. The wind held its breath.
Rohan's foot crunched on something. He looked down.
Broken metal. A lantern hinge. Rusted. Familiar.
"That's like the one from—"
"Don't," Rohan said. His voice cracked.
They continued deeper. The forest floor dipped into a shallow bowl, and in the center stood a ruined stone wall, ribs of a shrine half-buried under roots.
Exactly like the dream.
Vikram grabbed Rohan's arm. "We leave. Right now."
Rohan couldn't move. His eyes locked on something half buried in dirt.
A strip of cloth tied to a stone. Old, sun-faded red.
He crouched, brushed soil aside. Under it, scratched into the rock, letters jagged like nails dragged by a trembling hand:
SOME VOWS CAN'T BE BURIED.
Rohan stumbled back, breathing sharp and shallow.
The air behind him moved—quiet, slow, like someone stepping closer without wanting to be heard.
Vikram didn't see anything. But he froze too.
"Rohan. Don't turn around."
Rohan's heart wasn't beating fast anymore.
It was beating wrong.
Like something else was tapping from inside.
A whisper brushed against his ear.
"Help me."
Rohan spun around.
Nothing there.
But the dirt where he had stood… now showed footprints.
Small.
Bare.
Pointing straight at him.
Vikram grabbed his hand. "We are leaving. Now."
They ran. Branches whipped past. The trees seemed closer than before. Every breath tasted like smoke and old tears.
They didn't stop until the forest spit them back onto the road.
Both leaned against a wall, gasping.
Vikram spoke first. "We go to the police. I don't care what they do to us. Whatever that is… it's not our world."
Rohan stared ahead, still tasting the whisper.
"If it followed us," he said quietly, "it doesn't matter where we go."
His phone buzzed again.
One new message:
DONT RUN FROM WHAT YOU OWE
Rohan's fingers trembled.
But beneath the fear… something else flickered.
Even if he didn't understand the vow,
even if it was madness to continue,
even if every instinct told him to stop…
Rohan felt the smallest spark of anger.
"Fine," he whispered. "Come collect."