The storm chased her all the way to Colombo.
Rain lashed the taxi windows as Amaya clutched the glowing ticket in her fist, its golden ink now seared into her palm like a brand. The driver eyed her in the rearview mirror.
"Bad time for tourism, miss. Coastguard closed the beaches yesterday—some nonsense about tidal anomalies." His knuckles whitened on the wheel as lightning veined the sky. "Whole ocean's gone strange."
Amaya's phone buzzed with a new email—sender unknown:
"Find the blind historian at the Galle Lighthouse. He remembers what the sea stole."
Galle Fort, 4:17 PM
The old Dutch lighthouse stood sentinel over roiling black waves. Inside, mildew and salt crusted the walls of a cluttered study where Professor Anaya Dhar sat motionless before a desk strewn with yellowed maps.
Blind.
But not helpless.
"You're late," he said without turning. His milky eyes reflected the storm-light like frosted glass. "The Brotherhood burned my sight twenty years ago when I found the first fragment. But eyes are overrated for seeing truth."
He slid a lacquered box across the table. Inside lay a torn parchment—no, skin—etched with glowing sigils that matched those from Amaya's dreams.
"The last map to Lanka," Dhar whispered. "Written in Asurya's blood on the flayed hide of his betrayer."
Amaya's fingers hovered above the script. The moment she touched it, the symbols moved, slithering into a new configuration:
"Let memory awaken and soul return, through blood, through flame, through name once burned."
Dhar's breath hitched. "Oh. You're her. The one from the prophecy."
Outside, thunder cracked like splitting stone.
The Guesthouse, 11:43 PM
Amaya spread the map on the bed. Where it tore, the edges bled—not ink, but liquid gold that pooled and reformed into new coordinates.
Her phone rang. Riya's contact photo flashed, but the voice that slithered through was wrong:
"They're watching you. The Brotherhood drowns sinners in memory-water. You'll choke on the past before—"
The line died.
In the silence, the map's glow pulsed like a heartbeat. The same rhythm as the nightmare-chants.
Asurya's voice whispered from the bathroom mirror:
"You left me to the waves, sister. Now the waves come for you."
When she spun, the glass showed only her reflection—and behind her, the shadow of a ten-faced king.