Vihan sat in the dimly lit warehouse, staring at the Bhagavad Gita resting on the crate in front of him. His fingers traced the cracked leather cover, the faded gold lettering barely visible beneath the dust and age. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind:

  "One day, this book will come back to you. And when it does, you must protect it. No matter what happens."

  She had given him this book the night she disappeared. And now, against all logic, it had returned to him—hidden in an ancient temple, buried beneath centuries of dust and forgotten history.

  “How did it get there?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Asha sat across from him, her fingers interlocked as she studied him carefully. “That’s what we need to find out.”

  Zara leaned against the rusted metal wall, arms crossed. “The book didn’t just end up in the temple by chance. Someone put it there, knowing it would be found. The real question is—who?”

  Vihan exhaled, forcing himself to think clearly. “My mother had this book the night she disappeared,” he said. “She told me to hide it. But somehow, it ended up in that temple. That means she must have left it there before—”

  He stopped. His chest tightened.

  “Before they took her,” Asha finished softly.

  Vihan swallowed hard. “She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it safe herself. So she left it somewhere she thought it would be protected.”

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  Asha nodded. “And she chose that temple.”

  The temple had once been a sanctuary, a hidden refuge for those who safeguarded ancient knowledge. Before the rise of corporate-controlled Mumbai, before the Council of 9 spread its influence, the temple had been home to a secret order—a group of scholars, monks, and spiritual philosophers who dedicated their lives to preserving truths that others wanted erased.

  Among the texts they guarded, the Bhagavad Gita was the most sacred of all. But not just any copy. This was the last unaltered version, untouched by the edits of kings, governments, or historians seeking to rewrite history. It contained not just spiritual wisdom but hidden messages—prophecies about Kalki, encrypted within its verses.

  For centuries, the temple remained unnoticed, its keepers passing down their knowledge in whispers.

  But then, the Council of 9 learned of its existence.

  One by one, the temple’s guardians vanished. Some were killed, others disappeared without a trace. The temple was abandoned, its doors sealed shut, left to decay under the weight of time.

  And yet, the book remained.

  Hidden.

  Waiting.

  Until one night, a woman arrived at the temple’s crumbling entrance, her breath ragged, her clothes torn from the struggle of escaping something—or someone. She moved quickly, placing the book on the altar beneath the statue of Kalki’s horse. Her fingers trembled as she whispered a silent prayer, her gaze lingering on the sacred text.

  Then she turned and vanished into the shadows.

  She was never seen again.

  Vihan’s breath caught as realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

  Vihan stared at the book, his mind reeling. His mother hadn’t just been running—she had been protecting something. She had left the book in the temple, knowing that one day, someone—he—would return for it.

  It wasn’t a coincidence. It never had been.

  Everything—his past, his visions, the prophecy—it was all connected.

  But before he could process it further, Zara’s voice cut through the silence.

  “If the book was safe for this long, that means the Council didn’t know where it was.” She met Vihan’s gaze. “But now that we have it, they do.”

  Vihan clenched his fists.

  They weren’t just searching for Kalki anymore.

  They were racing against the ones who wanted to control him.

  And time was running out.