The city hadn't changed.
But the certainty within Vansh had.
They walked in silence.
The same road.
The same turns.
The same buildings.
Everything exactly as it had been the previous day.
Everything—
Except one thing.
"This is it," Vansh said, slowing his steps.
Rohit glanced around casually at first… then more carefully.
Shops lined the street in an unbroken row—clothing stores, a pharmacy, a café, a hardware shop.
Normal.
Predictable.
"…Where?" Rohit asked.
Vansh didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved from one storefront to another.
Then back again.
Searching.
Rechecking.
Doubting.
"The bookstore was here."
His voice lacked conviction this time.
Rohit folded his arms. "Describe it."
"Small. Old. Wooden sign. You'd notice it."
"I don't."
Vansh stepped forward.
Then back.
As if adjusting his angle might reveal something hidden.
But there was nothing.
No gap.
No closed shutters.
No trace that anything had ever existed there.
Just continuity.
Seamless.
Too seamless.
"…I went inside," Vansh said quietly. "I talked to someone. I bought the book."
Rohit studied his face.
Not for the words.
For the certainty behind them.
And found it.
"…Okay," Rohit said slowly.
He turned once more, scanning the street like he might catch the world slipping.
Nothing did.
He looked back at Vansh.
"Then either you imagined it…"
A beat.
"…or it wasn't supposed to be there for long."
That landed.
Harder than expected.
Vansh exhaled slowly.
"…There's something else."
"Good," Rohit muttered. "Because right now, we've got zero answers."
Vansh opened his bag.
Carefully.
Like the act itself mattered.
He took out the folded paper.
Held it for a second.
Then handed it over.
"I found this inside the book."
Rohit unfolded it.
His eyes scanned the contents.
Letters.
Numbers.
Patterns.
Then—
"…Elysian Park."
His expression shifted.
Recognition.
"I know this place."
Vansh leaned slightly forward. "Where?"
"Outskirts of the city. Old park."
Rohit smirked faintly.
"People say it's haunted."
Vansh didn't react.
"Haunted how?"
"Stories. Disappearances. Strange sightings."
Rohit shrugged.
"Or just people exaggerating."
He looked back at the paper.
Then at Vansh.
"But if this is a clue…"
He folded it and handed it back.
"…it's the only one we've got."
No hesitation this time.
"Then we go."
The city slowly loosened its grip on them.
Traffic thinned.
Buildings gave way to open stretches.
Noise dissolved into wind.
And eventually—
They stood before iron gates.
Tall.
Rust-coated.
Unwelcoming.
A faded sign hung crookedly above them.
Elysian Park.
Rohit pushed the gate open.
The metal groaned.
Long.
Drawn-out.
Like something old being disturbed.
"Nice," he muttered. "Already feels like a bad idea."
Vansh stepped inside.
The air changed instantly.
Cooler.
Denser.
As if the world within the gates followed different rules.
Tall trees surrounded them, their branches weaving a canopy that fractured sunlight into scattered patches.
Flowers bloomed along winding paths.
Beautiful.
Calm.
Yet—
Unsettling in a way that couldn't be explained.
"Where to?" Rohit asked.
Vansh unfolded the paper again.
His eyes traced the numbers.
Trying to force meaning out of them.
Rohit pulled out his phone.
"There's an old fountain deeper inside," he said. "One of the oldest structures here."
Vansh looked up.
"Then that's where we start."
The fountain stood in quiet isolation.
Stone worn by time.
Edges chipped.
Surface cracked.
Yet still functioning.
Water flowed gently.
Too gently.
Like it was pretending to be ordinary.
Vansh stepped closer.
Something about it felt intentional.
Designed.
He leaned forward.
Scanning every detail—
And then—
"…Wait."
Rohit moved beside him. "What?"
Vansh pointed toward the water.
"One stone."
Different.
Slightly brighter.
Catching light in a way the others didn't.
"…That's not random," Vansh said.
Rohit stared at it.
Then quickly grabbed the paper again.
"These numbers…"
He frowned.
"985N692W… 769S26E…"
Vansh straightened. "Coordinates?"
"Or directions."
Rohit turned slowly, orienting himself.
"…Which one first?"
A pause.
Then—
"North," Vansh said.
They began counting.
Steps.
Measured.
Deliberate.
"…480… 481… 482…"
"…485."
A wall.
Solid.
Unmistakable.
Rohit exhaled sharply. "Great. Dead end."
They returned.
Tried South.
Same result.
Another wall.
Silence followed.
Not confusion.
Not yet.
Just tension.
"We're reading it wrong," Vansh said.
"Or it's wrong," Rohit replied.
Vansh shook his head.
"No."
His eyes dropped.
To the ground.
Stone tiles.
Uniform.
Repeated.
Then—
It clicked.
"…Not steps."
Rohit frowned. "What?"
"Count stones."
A pause.
Then realization.
"…Oh."
This time—
They counted differently.
Each tile.
Each stone.
Slower.
More precise.
North again.
And this time—
No wall.
They stopped in front of a pile of debris.
Broken branches.
Dry leaves.
Forgotten.
Until now.
Vansh stepped forward.
Kneeled.
Pushed aside the debris carefully.
Then froze.
"…There's something here."
Rohit moved closer. "What did you find?"
Vansh reached in.
Pulled it out.
An ornate key.
Metal, but untouched by rust.
Intricate engravings spiraled across its surface.
Almost too perfect.
"…This was meant to be found," Vansh whispered.
Rohit stared at it.
"What do you think it opens?"
Vansh didn't answer immediately.
He turned the key slightly in his hand.
Feeling its weight.
"…Something important."
They moved deeper into the park.
Further from the entrance.
Further from normal.
The air grew quieter.
Heavier.
As if even sound hesitated to exist there.
Eventually—
They reached a clearing.
And at its center—
An enormous oak tree.
Ancient.
Towering.
Its roots twisted across the ground like veins gripping the earth.
And at its base—
A hollow.
Rohit pointed. "That's not subtle."
Vansh stepped closer.
Kneeled again.
Reached inside.
His fingers brushed something cold.
Metallic.
He pulled it out.
A lockbox.
Designed with the same intricate patterns as the key.
"…Perfect match," Rohit muttered.
Vansh inserted the key.
Turned it slowly.
Click.
The lock released.
The lid opened.
Inside—
Scrolls.
Old parchment.
Carefully preserved.
And—
A crystal orb.
Softly glowing.
Unnaturally.
"What is this…" Rohit whispered.
He picked up a scroll.
Unrolled it.
The text flowed elegantly across the page.
"It's a story," Vansh said, reading over his shoulder.
"…about someone saving worlds."
He stopped.
Focused.
"Worlds."
Rohit noticed too.
"…Not world."
Vansh picked another scroll.
His pulse quickening.
"This one mentions a game."
Rohit looked at him.
"What kind of game?"
Vansh's voice dropped.
"One that affects reality."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Rohit slowly reached for the orb.