The NGO lead, a woman in a perfectly pressed kurta with a SynerTech lanyard, stepped onto a small stool with a loudhailer in hand.
"Alright, everyone! We'll be splitting into sub-groups for rotation. You'll be mapping, cataloguing, and cleaning specific Ridge sections. Stay with your assigned teams. Do not wander off. And remember, this is a protected zone."
Shivam adjusted the strap of his bag and fell in step behind his group. He didn't speak. But his senses were on.
Something here didn't fit. Not the guards. Not the gear.
Not the way the Ridge felt underfoot, like it was holding its breath. And especially not that trailer. They moved single file into the Ridge, Group 7 sticking loosely to the trail as the two NGO volunteers led the way.
Their uniforms looked like they'd just come out of dry-cleaning, creases sharp even in the humidity. One had a walkie clipped to his vest; the other wore a wristband that blinked faintly with each step. Neither spoke unless necessary.
Bhumika stayed ahead, just behind the lead volunteer. Her notebook was open in her hand, and she scribbled something every few steps, observations, maybe. Notes for a report she'd likely take more seriously than anyone else in the group. Shivam trailed a little behind, far enough to watch, close enough to keep up.
The Ridge swallowed them quickly. Within minutes, the clearing and tents were gone, replaced by tangled undergrowth, thick brush, and trees that leaned in as if trying to listen.
It wasn't a dense jungle, not in the traditional sense, but something about the air here felt heavier, like it hadn't moved in years. The heat clung to their backs, but it wasn't just sweat. It was pressure.
And silence.
No birds. No insects. Not even the usual crackle of dry leaves beneath boots. The group's footsteps felt muffled. A low hum, barely audible, pulsed every few minutes.
Like distant electricity flickering through the soil. Shivam paused once, letting his foot hover before touching the earth again. The sound wasn't constant. It came and went, irregular but deliberate.
Bhumika stopped once too. Mid-step. Her eyes scanned the trees, then flicked toward him. She'd heard it too.
Neither said anything. But for a second, they held the same thought.
This wasn't just forest. They kept walking.
A few minutes later, Shivam slowed near a mossy incline, drawn toward something sticking out of the dirt. He crouched slightly, brushing his fingers over what looked like a buried stone slab.
Not concrete, stone. Weather-worn, old, but too deliberate in shape to be natural. As he traced the edge, faint carvings emerged. Symbols. Spirals and slashes that curved into each other like a forgotten language.
He had seen this before.
Not here. Not in this world. But during the battle on the other side, in the ruins where Adhivita had held off Navik's last assault, where the sky had cracked and the ground had bled blue light.
The hum pulsed again, stronger now.
Behind him, one of the volunteers touched their walkie.
"Cluster 2 entering Phase Alpha," he said, voice low and calm. "Readings stable. Proceeding."
The reply crackled, inaudible to the group.
Shivam stood, dusting his palms. When he glanced up, Bhumika was looking at him again. This time, a frown tugged at the edge of her expression.
"What was that on the ground?" she asked, quietly.
"Just an old marker," he said, brushing it off. "Probably colonial-era or something."
She didn't look convinced. But she nodded, returning to her notes.
The rest of the group had drifted ahead, more focused on pretending to care about tree barks and plastic bottles. The volunteers didn't slow down.
The path narrowed. The trees closed in tighter. The hum deepened.
And somewhere beneath the soil, Shivam felt it, like something was listening back. They reached a grove deep inside the Ridge, darker, denser, almost unnaturally still.
The air shifted as they stepped in, like walking into a room that hadn't been opened in years. Leaves didn't rustle. No insects buzzed. Even the light changed, muted, almost grey.
One of the NGO volunteers finally halted the group. "Alright," he announced with forced cheer. "Let's do our bit for nature. Spread out a little, pick up any visible waste. Littered wrappers, plastics, anything that doesn't belong."
The other volunteer unclipped a device from his belt. It looked like a drone, but sleeker, hexagonal, no visible rotors. With a smooth flick, he activated it. It lifted off soundlessly, blinking with a pale blue light as it hovered above them.
Then came the hum.
Not loud. Not sharp. Just… unsettling. Like the forest itself had tuned into a new frequency. The drone rotated slowly, scanning the group with a sweeping beam, subtle but distinct, like a shimmer of glass rippling across the clearing.
Shivam felt it pass over him. A tingle ran down his spine, not painful, but jarring. His jaw clenched. Next to him, Bhumika faltered. Her hand went to her head.
"Shivam," she said softly, "Do you feel… weird?"
Before he could answer, a thud.
Someone collapsed behind them, a student mid-stretch, now lying motionless in the grass. Then another. A gasp, and then someone else fell sideways, knocking over their sampling bag.
One by one, the students dropped, like puppets with cut strings.
Only Shivam and Bhumika remained standing.
He reached for her instinctively as she swayed again. Her skin was cold. Distant.
The drone pulsed once, a final flicker of blue, then powered down, retreating back to the volunteer's outstretched arm.
The moment passed. The hum vanished.
The NGO workers moved quickly, unfazed. One radioed something in urgent but calm tones. The other checked pulses on two of the students and called out, "Mild heat fatigue. Standard sync reaction. Dispatch medics to Cluster 2."
Shivam didn't move.
He looked at his arm, just briefly, before rolling down his sleeve. The faintest shimmer, blue and fleeting, had traced the veins in his wrist moments ago. Not imagined.
Beside him, Bhumika was still steadying her breath. Her eyes met his.
"This wasn't normal," she murmured. "You saw that drone. It was scanning us."
He nodded slowly; gaze fixed on the motionless students now being lifted by volunteers.
"They knew it would happen," he said. "They were waiting for it."
Neither of them spoke again as the group was told to start moving. The volunteers smiled, reassured, offered water and jokes, but no one really laughed.
Whatever the Ridge was meant to show them… it had already taken something back.
And it had noticed who didn't fall.