🕯️ The Station That Shouldn't Exist
Noida Station. 6:44 PM.
But something was wrong.
No footsteps. No trains. No humans.
Only flickering lights overhead, choking on electricity, and benches that looked like gravestones. Not a whisper of wind. Not even the hum of machines.
Ayan sat still.
At just 24, a young assistant professor, his back hunched, face drained. Another long day buried beneath someone else's workload. The professor had vanished again. The research? All on him.
He stared ahead with blank eyes, body refusing to move.
"Where… is everyone?"
The usual crowd was gone. No announcements, no vendors, no beggars. Just silence thick enough to drown in.
He checked his phone.
No signal.
Then —
Rrrrinnng…
The sound stabbed through the stillness.
Ayan flinched and turned his head sharply.
There — on a cracked pillar behind him — hung a rotary wall phone. Rusted. Dust-covered. It wasn't there before. He was sure.
RING.
The phone began to shake violently — as though something inside was trying to crawl out.
Ayan stood, half in fear, half in disbelief.
"What the hell is that doing here…?"
He approached. Slowly. Every step felt like stepping into a place he shouldn't be.
His hand reached out. He picked up the receiver.
A whisper. Broken. Cold.
"Want to… disappear?"
The world shattered.
Darkness swallowed everything.
🚂 Inside the Train
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Ayan opened his eyes to the sound of a pocket watch.
His breath fogged the air. It was cold.
He sat inside a Victorian-style train cabin, alone.
Gone were his hoodie and jeans. Now he wore a black coat, white gloves, and leather boots — like a mannequin dressed for a funeral.
In his gloved hand was a black cane, engraved with odd silver patterns. It felt strangely balanced. Familiar, though he had never held it before.
On the polished table before him:
A sealed briefcase
A ticking pocket watch, engraved: A.D.
A folded note
Ayan stared, heart still pounding.
He picked up the note and unfolded it with shaking fingers.
🕊️ The Note
"Welcome, Mr. AD Mystwalker.
This is not death.
This is not your home.
The train opens once.
It waits for no one.
Your destination: Earth-Cretarion
Your mission:
➔ Survive five lunar cycles.
➔ Discover what sleeps beneath the bones of time.
The cane beside you is not power.
It is only a key. A spark.
It obeys Mystwalker — but it does not define him.
It holds but one bullet — one shot — per day.
Deny the name — and vanish.
Accept the name — and begin.
This mission is your fare to the next station.
Failure means no journey onward.
And one final rule:
Never reveal your true name."
— The Conductor of Nothing
"AD Mystwalker...?"
Ayan stared at the note, pulse racing.
"What kind of game is this…?"
Suddenly—
CREEEAAAK.
The cabin door opened by itself.
Fog crept in like something living.
The lamps flickered.
The train gave a low metallic groan.
Ayan stood, still clutching the cane. Not trusting it, but needing something to hold.
He stepped forward — out of the train.
🌫️ Outside the Train
Fog. Twilight. Silence.
No station.
No platform.
No sky.
Only twisted trees — roots like tentacles, branches like claws. Cracked soil. Frozen leaves. Broken bones scattered across the ground.
He turned around.
The train was gone.
Not moved.
Not vanished.
Erased.
Panic clutched his chest.
His shoes crunched on dead moss as he wandered deeper into the fog. The cane hung in his grip, not as a weapon, but as a question.
A strange bird passed overhead — wings stitched with vein-like strings. It made no sound.
Even the air felt like it had forgotten how to move.
Then—
🦖 The Beast
Thump.
A low quake beneath his feet.
Thump… Thump…
Branches swayed above. Something enormous moved nearby.
Then it came into view.
A raptor. Seven feet tall. Its body scarred, scaly. Eyes glowing yellow.
It moved with surgical silence. Every muscle designed for death.
Ayan froze.
His throat tightened.
"This isn't real. This isn't real—"
The beast turned.
And charged.
🏃 The Desperate Escape
Ayan ran.
The fog hit him like a wall.
Branches whipped his coat. Roots grabbed at his feet.
He held the cane tightly — but didn't know what to do with it. No trigger. No logic. It was just a stick. Right?
Click. Nothing.
He spun the head of the cane. Pressed the tip. Nothing.
"Come on! Come on, damn it!"
Behind him — the raptor shrieked and lunged.
Ayan tripped over a rock and slammed into the dirt. His chest heaved. His ankle twisted.
The cane rolled away.
The beast closed in — 10 meters. 5 meters.
Ayan crawled.
Grabbed the cane again.
Nothing to lose now.
"I ACCEPT! I ACCEPT! I'M AD MYSTWALKER!"
BOOOOM.
Silver fire burst from the cane's tip.
A bullet — glowing, humming — ripped through the air.
It struck the raptor in the eye.
The creature collapsed with a crack of bone and fire.
Smoke curled from its skull.
The cane went still.
It didn't glow.
It didn't hum.
It simply… waited.
Ayan—now AD Mystwalker—lay on the ground, staring at the fog.
"This cane isn't my power…
It's a message."
🌲 After the Kill
Fog shifted. Time passed. Maybe an hour. Maybe more.
AD Mystwalker walked through the jungle slowly, his body aching, his mind spinning.
The cane had not reacted again.
But the trees had begun to whisper.
Crunch… click… scrape…
Something followed him. Not footsteps. Not paws.
Legs. Too many.
The creature stayed just outside his vision, a blurry shadow in the fog. But the air trembled when it moved.
THUMP. THUMP. SCRAAAAPE.
AD ran.
⚠️ The Bug
It lunged.
A hulking mass with mandibles and plates like bone. The fog swallowed its body, but he could feel the scale. It hissed, acidic breath burning the air.
He ran. Roots lashed. Rocks scattered. The cane was useless.
The ground shifted beneath him—
CRACK!
Pain shot through his leg.
His foot folded the wrong way. He fell. Rolled. Screamed silently.
The bug closed in.
This is it.
The Arrow
THWACK!
A poison arrow punched into the bug's neck.
It shrieked.
Another shot — through the eye.
It collapsed.
AD blinked through the haze.
A boy stepped forward from the trees.
Leather-jungle armor. Cowboy hat. Crossbow in hand.
"Hey, man," the boy said, lowering the weapon. "What the hell are you doing out here at night?"
AD stared, shocked. The words made sense.
But they weren't Hindi. Not English.
Yet… he understood.
And replied.
"I was trying to get back. Got stuck."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "Food run?"
AD paused. The rule echoed:
Never reveal your true name.
He simply nodded.
"Yeah. Something like that."
The boy smirked. "You're lucky I passed through. Bone-bugs don't usually hunt this deep."
He helped AD up carefully.
AD leaned on him.
Something about the boy felt wild, untamed… and familiar.
As they walked deeper into the mist, AD glanced once more into the forest.
Something was watching.
Far away, in the dark:
A distant train whistle.
But there were no tracks.