Chapter 8: The Fire in Kaveripur

The sophon scoured the world’s data, but found only dead ends. Most clues pointed to the great fire in Kaveripur’s forests in 1987. Mohan met a man in a Rajpur dance hall—a relic of the ’80s, mirrors and flickering lights, cheap perfume and damp monsoon earth. The man wept, claiming Ritu’s whole family perished in the fire.

Mohan had never seen a village with auroras, nor fireworks in the dead of night. He suggested the Lord revoke the kill order, but the Lord replied, “The evening star is like Ritu’s eyes—killing and setting fires. No need to speak; the wild wind disturbs me.”

Obedience was easier than understanding. Mohan bought latex gloves and an old scooter, blending into evening traffic and paanwallahs closing shop. One night, guided by the sophon, he broke into Neha’s home. The house was silent except for the ticking clock and mosquito whine. Mohan moved like a shadow, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve, the faint smell of agarbatti lingering in the air.

Just as he reached the bedroom, the sophon began flashing wildly on his retina. For a split second, Mohan wondered if he was being watched—not by the enemy, but by fate.