Birds chirped outside the window as a boy slept peacefully on his bed, completely unbothered by the world. Fourteen-year-old Aarav, a Grade 9 student, lay sprawled across his small single-sized bed in his 12-by-12 room. A bookshelf packed with books stood beside him, a simple desk with a basic laptop rested near the window, and a carpet covered the remaining floor.
Suddenly a voice thundered through the house.
"Aaraaaavvv! You still haven't woken up! It's already 7:30! Don't you want to go to school today?"
Aarav jerked awake as if a demon had slapped him across the face. He scrambled out of bed, washed up in record time, threw on his uniform, and bolted downstairs. His home had just two floors—small, but enough for his family.
He greeted his mother, a typical Indian mom with long black hair, deep brown eyes, and light brownish skin. Without bothering to eat breakfast, he rushed out; it was already 7:50, and the school gates closed at 8. The school was one kilometer away.
He sprinted with everything he had and reached the gate exactly at 8:00 a.m.
The school day passed like any other—dull, repetitive, and painfully slow. Aarav stared at the clock for hours, waiting for the hands to finally crawl to 2:15 p.m., the time of dismissal.
The moment the bell rang, he didn't waste a second. He ran straight toward the place he loved most—the library. It had always been his escape, a world filled with adventures far better than his boring life. He had been coming here since he was seven. The library wasn't too big, maybe five hundred to a thousand books, but it was heaven for him.
And today was special.
Today, Aarav would finally finish reading every book in the library that interested him. The last one was a dusty old volume that had been shoved under one of the bookshelf legs to keep it stable. He carefully pulled it out. The shelf nearly toppled over but stopped just in time. Aarav didn't bother replacing it; he didn't have the strength anyway.
He dusted the book, sat on a chair, and read the title:
"World of Signils."
He couldn't wait. He opened the book quickly—and froze.
It wasn't a book.
It was a box disguised as one.
Inside the hollowed-out pages lay an oval stone the size of his palm. Aarav lifted it with disappointment and examined it. Then he noticed something carved inside the cavity:
"उष्णे जले शिलां स्थापयित्वा तस्य निद्रातः सिग्निलम् उद्दीपयितुं रक्तस्य कतिपयबिन्दून् सञ्चालयेत्।"
He couldn't understand it, though the letters looked familiar—they were Sanskrit, the ancient ancestor of his mother tongue, Hindi. He copied the text into his school notebook and slipped the stone into his pocket. Leaving the book behind, he rushed home to translate it using his laptop.
His mom scolded him as soon as he entered, but he was used to it. He endured the lecture, ate lunch quickly, and hurried to his room.
The translation popped up on his screen:
"Place the stone in warm water and add a few drops of blood to awaken the Signil from its slumber."
The poetic phrasing seemed awkward—probably because of the machine translation—but that didn't matter. Aarav's excitement shot through the roof.
He had always wanted something magical to happen in his life. He was intelligent, but still held onto his childlike sense of wonder.
He wondered where he could get blood from. The text didn't specify the creature, so he rushed outside and caught a frog, killing it with a stone. He felt a flicker of guilt, but the thrill of the unknown overpowered it. He had read enough novels to know that magic required sacrifice.
He filled a large bowl with water and placed the stone inside. Holding the frog by a cloth, he squeezed it over the bowl. The stench was awful, and all sorts of liquids dripped out of the creature—but then the stone began to glow a deep red. It absorbed only the blood, leaving everything else floating in the water.
After five minutes, the stone began to crack.
A tail emerged first. Then a head—small, snake-like, and sharply shaped. Its skin was deep crimson, and its jet-black eyes surveyed the room with eerie intelligence.
Aarav's heart exploded with joy. This was no animal from his world.
The creature looked directly at Aarav. A voice echoed in his mind.
"Aaham naamam Zarad asti."
Aarav scrambled to his laptop and typed the sounds as he remembered them. The translation appeared:
"My name is Zarad."
He repeated clumsily, "Aaham naamam Aarav asti." Zarad seemed to understand despite Aarav's broken pronunciation. The creature eyed the dead frog and devoured it whole, leaving nothing behind.
Then its gaze fell on a piece of paper on the floor. It slithered toward it and began writing with the sharp tip of its tongue, scraping the page but not tearing it.
When it finished, Aarav scanned the message and translated it.
It read:
"Boy, I am Zarad the Demon. I was cursed by a God and turned into a Signil. An Aathamer captured me for research and sent me to this world, but could not call me back. As this world has no Aathamers, I was destined to die here. To survive, I sealed myself, waiting for someone who could break my curse and release my soul. In return, I will grant one wish within my power once I am freed."
Aarav's eyes gleamed. Without thinking, he shouted,"I'll do it! Free your soul—and please send me to the magical world!"
Zarad didn't react outwardly—his face lacked the muscles for expression—but he moved again and wrote another message.
Aarav translated it. His eyes widened in horror.
1. Sacrifice any 3 of your major emotions.2. Offer 10 liters of blood.3. Offer 20 kilograms of meat.4. Offer one soul of any living being.5. Swear a soul-binding oath to never reveal Zarad after reaching the other world.OR — Offer your own soul for immediate release and I will send you right away."
Aarav's face darkened as the list sank into his mind. The last option was out of the question—he wasn't stupid enough to hand over his soul. Sacrificing three emotions seemed manageable, but the blood and meat… he would need to kill larger animals. The guilt alone would crush him. Killing insects or small creatures was one thing, but something big? Something that cried? That was different.
But this was his one chance. The only way to gain power.
He swallowed hard and told Zarad to take three emotions first.
He chose sadness, disgust, and fear.
Zarad approved and bit into Aarav's neck, extracting a small amount of blood—and a fragment of his soul. Aarav didn't feel anything at first.
Then everything went black.
He collapsed onto the floor.
Meanwhile, Zarad explored the room, then curled under the bed to conserve his energy.