As he opened the heavy cover, the air in the room grew thick with the scent of aged parchment and something metallic, like old blood. The pages were blank at first, but as his fingers brushed the surface, ink began to bloom from the center like a dark, spreading stain. It formed words in a script that seemed to shift and writhe whenever he tried to focus on them.
In the dim, flickering light of a forgotten attic, Rohan found it: a leather-bound book that felt unnervingly warm to the touch. This wasn't just any antique; it was the "Kitab-ka-Raaz," a volume spoken of only in hushed whispers among those who lived in the shadow of the old haveli. As he opened the heavy cover, the air
"To know the secret is to become part of it," a voice rasped, appearing as text on the page even as it vibrated in the air. In the dim, flickering light of a forgotten