The radio crackled to life, its static filling the dimly lit apartment.

  "Mr. Raghvendra Singh, the real estate tycoon, has donated 90% of his property in memory of his wife and son.”

  Misty, standing near a lifeless body, barely lifted his gaze as he reached down, pulling a struggling soul from the corpse. “Look, you’re the breaking news now,” he remarked, his tone indifferent as he watched the soul writhe in his grip before finally submitting to the pull of the void.

  Raghvendra replied with a hollow tone, “Just a common phenomenon.”

  As they carried the souls toward Kua, Raghvendra asked, “What’s your job?” Misty, taken aback, questioned, “Mine?” Raghvendra nodded, and Misty replied, “I’m the keeper of these souls.”

  Raghvendra pressed further. “And how did you come to this role?” Misty’s voice grew hollow as he explained, “I was left abandoned when I was three. Kua adopted me, and for over a millennium, I’ve served him.”

  In awe, Raghvendra followed Misty as they approached the edge of a towering mountain. Without hesitation, Misty hurled the souls into the deep, dark valley below.

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Raghvendra asked, “Am I the fast one... a soul hunter?”

  Misty brushed ash from his hands. “No,” he said, his gaze hardening. “One of them betrayed us.” The words hung in the air like a storm about to break, heavy with unspoken anger and pain. Then, with a tone that brooked no argument, he ordered, “Go back and rest.”

  The very next day, as Misty continued hurling souls into the abyss, Raghvendra stood at the edge of the mountain, gazing into the void. Suddenly, a familiar, piercing cry shattered the eerie silence. His heart raced as he recognized the voices—it was Muskan and Arjun. He froze, his feet crumbled as his breath catching his chest as he saw their souls, fragile and glowing faintly, reaching out to him from the dark valley. Their faces contorted in anguish, their cries echoing: "Help us!" Before he could react, they vanished into the darkness, their pleas lingering like a haunting melody. Shaken, he grabbed Misty, demanding, “Why?” Misty replied calmly, “Wake up.”

  Raghvendra jolted awake in his quarters, drenched in sweat. The haunting cries still echoed, blurring the line between dream and reality. As Misty reminded him, “Time to do some work.”

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  In the coming days, the bond between the two grew stronger, and Raghavendra gradually mastered his newfound powers. One day, as Misty was hurling the souls, Raghavendra curiously asked, “What’s beneath that valley?”

  Misty answered, “Beneath it lies the reason for Earth’s rotation.”

  Raghavendra, confused, asked, “What?”

  Misty replied, “Souls are forced to rotate the Earth. If a soul becomes weak, he is, then consumed by the hot lava, below.”

  Raghvendra closed his eyes, envisioning the horrifying scene: tormented souls pulling an enormous, grinding wheel with their bare hands, their bodies straining under the weight. Overseeing them were towering superiors, cold and unyielding in their vigilance. Suddenly, one soul faltered, collapsing to the ground. Without hesitation, the superior barked a command, and the fallen soul was cast mercilessly into the molten lava, vanishing with a final, anguished scream.

  Raghvendra's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as he returned to reality, he exclaimed, “Wow!”

  He then inquired further about Kua, to which Misty responded, “Kua feeds on the bad souls—the more, the better for him—while Yamraj feeds on the good souls.”

  Raghavendra asked, “But what if a good soul is identified as a bad one and vice versa?”

  Misty, heading back, replied, “It will benefit Kua, but in the case of Yamraj, it will harm. As you’ve likely heard, a single bad fish can spoil the entire ocean.”

  Misty then informed Raghavendra not to be late for tomorrow’s assignment. As Raghvendra bade him good night. Suddenly, he sensed someone behind him. Without hesitation, he wielded his sword and, in a flash, swung it through the air. To his surprise, the blade hovered over his own shadow, its edge grazing the dark outline on the floor. He murmured with a smirk, "I should get some rest, now," before turning and walking away. But Raghvendra was right—once again, that man emerged from the darkness, the metallic scent of blood filling the air as crimson dripped from his arm.

  With a sinister smile, he flew toward an abandoned apartment. Inside, in front of an old chair, he bowed and said, “They are heading tomorrow.”

  The chair jerked violently, its movement unnaturally sharp. The silence of the apartment shattered as waves of water seemed to surge beneath the floor. Suddenly, the sound of rushing waves filled the room, and a man of similar stature appeared seated in the chair.

  In a voice both commanding and eerily familiar, he said, “Time for you to reveal yourself, Karan.”