Morning light made Kaalpur look harmless.
Children played. Women drew rangoli. Men drank chai.
But the temple still felt wrong.
Ananya returned with the old caretaker, Pandit Devraj.
He refused to enter past the threshold.
"Something is awake," he whispered.
Inside, the Shiva idol looked darker than before.
Closer.
Moist.
Ananya touched the stone.
It was warm.
And wet.
Like skin.
From the idol's base, black liquid dripped slowly onto the floor.
Not oil.
Not water.
It smelled like iron.
Devraj gasped.
"It's sweating."
Suddenly the idol's third eye crack glowed faint red.
Ananya felt pressure in her skull.
A thousand whispers pressed inside her thoughts.
Not words—
Memories that weren't hers.
She staggered back as the idol's lips curved upward by a fraction.
Stone shouldn't smile.
But this one remembered how.