Rudra Sen Chapter 1 – The Quantum Forests The forest had never been silent, not even in the hours when the city of Varanasi held its breath between night and dawn. The ghats along the Ganges shimmered faintly with the last oil lamps of ritual, their flames fragile against the heavy mist, while the alleys beyond were empty of footsteps, shutters drawn tight. But inside the vast enclosure of the Varanasi Banyan Complex, there was no silence. The earth hummed. The air pulsed. It was a sound older than the city, yet entirely artificial, a vibration that carried through the…
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Arjun Devran Episode 1: The Price of Happiness They called it a gala because the word auction had acquired a bitter aftertaste. The broadcast opened on velvet—digital, of course—spilling across a stage whose edge glowed with the phosphor-blue logo of the Vault. A presenter in a silver suit moved like a dart of light from one podium to the next. Behind him: columns of data cascading in ribbons, small squares of people’s faces suspended in pastel halos. Above all of it, the city’s night leaned against glass, and rain threaded itself down the sides of towers as if it were…
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Aarav D’Souza Part 1 – The Drummer’s Son The monsoon had begun to soften the air of Goa, the heavy rains washing the red earth until it gleamed like polished stone. Coconut palms bent with the weight of wind and rain, and the Mandovi River ran fuller than before, carrying with it the murmurs of villages and the silence of temples that had once echoed with songs. In one such village, hidden away among groves of jackfruit trees, a boy named Ananta sat with his father’s old drum resting on his knees. The drum was no longer played in public.…
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Arjun Mehra he Shadow Broadcast By Arjun Mehra Part 1 – The Leak Rain glazed the pavements of London in a silver film that distorted neon into restless pools of color. At three in the morning, the newsroom of the Daily Standard lay deserted except for Eleanor Hart, who hunched over her terminal with the exhausted determination of someone unwilling to surrender to sleep. She had been chasing a dead lead on parliamentary lobbying, convinced that hidden money had been funneling itself into the corridors of Westminster. But the screen in front of her no longer displayed budget spreadsheets or…
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आरव चौबे सुबह की चाय जैसे यमुना के पानी में उगता सूरज घोल देता है—गुनगुना, धुएँ-सा। विश्राम घाट पर घंटियों की अनगिन गूँज है; आरती का आख़िरी स्वर हवा में तैर रहा है। धूल-मिट्टी, धूप और भीगे पत्थरों की ख़ुशबू को माँ सरोज की उबलती चाय की भाप अलग से पहचान दिला रही है। “राघव! कप धो दिये?” सरोज ने चूल्हे के पास से गर्दन घुमाई। “हो गये, अम्मा,” राघव ने बेंत की टट्टी पर सूखते गिलास उलटते हुए कहा। उसकी हथेलियाँ नाव की रस्सियों जैसी थी—ख़ुरदरी पर भरोसेमंद। कल्लू अपना ऑटो किनारे खड़ा करके आया, “दो कटिंग इधर भी…
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Rohini Deshmukh Part 1: The Call of the Unknown Sreeja Rao had covered countless stories—murder mysteries, unsolved disappearances, and even a haunted mansion once. But nothing had prepared her for the assignment that came her way on a rainy afternoon in the newsroom. The editor, a man who rarely trusted her instincts, handed her the assignment with a grin she didn’t trust. “Another one of your superstitions,” he said, flipping through a file. “Some temple in the south. Bells ringing by themselves. People disappearing. Thought you might like the challenge.” “Sounds like a joke,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. But…
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Kiaan Ray 1 They said the Earth was dead. No roots stirred beneath the dust, no rivers flowed with memory, and no horizon ever changed. In the Loftworlds, that was the gospel. Up here, above the clouds, survival didn’t depend on soil or sun, but on filters, floating engines, and fear. Aira Sen had never seen the ground—not really. But she dreamed of it, in colors her eyes had never known. The dreams weren’t hers. That much she was sure of. The day the drone fell was the day the sky cracked. Aira was lying belly-flat on a rusted support…
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Ravi Srinivasan Part 1: The Letter and the Leak It started not with a murder, but with an envelope—sealed, unmarked, and slipped under the newsroom door of The Dakshara Daily on a monsoon-drenched morning. The building still smelled faintly of damp paper and printer ink when Ananya Raghavan picked it up. She was the first one in, as always, her raincoat dripping near her desk, the hiss of boiling water already building in the pantry behind her. She slit the envelope open with a metal ruler, her journalist’s instinct prickling even before the contents were revealed. Inside: a single typed…
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Ayan Chakravarty Chapter 1 morning, slipped quietly under the door of Veena Rajput’s modest Shimla cottage as if it were just another electricity bill or property notice, though nothing about it felt ordinary. The envelope was thick, creamy-white, sealed with a dark wax emblem embossed with a crest she hadn’t seen before—a snowflake enclosed within a circle of thorns. Her instincts stirred, the way they used to in her active service days when something about a clue didn’t quite fit. The note inside was written in elegant, slanted calligraphy: “Detective Veena Rajput (Retd.), You are cordially invited to Snowcrest Manor…