Night did not fall gently over Trivandrum that day. It dropped like a curtain after a performance, heavy and unresolved.
While Ramanidharan searched every corridor, parking lot, and shadowed pathway of the Indian Institute of Arts, Raaghav was already far from the campus lights — seated behind Raama Varma on his old motorbike, riding toward Eraviputhoor.
The wind was sharp. The roads grew narrower. The city sounds faded into crickets and rustling palms.
"Ponmon, are you sure about this?" Raama asked, not turning back.
Raaghav's fingers tightened around the back grip.
"Chettah… I saw it again. The same dream. The same petrified butterfly… but this time it felt closer. Real."
Ten years.
Ten years since the accident that haunted his childhood sleep. Ten years since the swarm of fireflies and that strange humanoid butterfly figure bathed in light. It had returned — vivid, breathing inside his mind.
After the dream reappeared, Raaghav had drawn it.
Not just a butterfly.
Not just a statue.
A petrified humanoid form with wings folded like grief, stone veins carved across its torso, eyes hollow yet aware.
Raama had stared at the drawing for a long time. Then something in his expression shifted.
"I've seen this pattern before, Ponmon," he had said earlier that evening. "Not the statue. The description. The folklore."
He had done his quiet research. Asked around discreetly. Compared temple sculptures. And finally, a whisper of a name surfaced.
Maragam.
The hidden deity of Eraviputhoor.
They rode in silence now, only the bike's engine slicing through humid night air.
Meanwhile – Kalamandalam
At nearly the same time, Ramanidharan reached Kalamandalam in agitation. His chest was rising fast — not from running, but from fear.
Kaliyanandan Nair sat in the veranda, oil lamp beside him, calm as a mountain.
"Ramani," the old man said evenly, "Ponmon is staying with Raama Varma. He'll come here tomorrow. Go and sleep."
For a moment, silence stood between them.
Then it cracked.
"Kilavaa! Who gave permission to send him with your stupid, egocentric disciple?" Ramani's voice shook. "Are you planning to kill my Ponmon like my Paa and Maa? He is my only bloodline!"
The old man's face hardened.
"Shut up! My disciple knows everything. Ponmon is safer around him than around you. You don't know how to respect elders. It's my fault to bring such a careless and disrespectful grandson into our heir!"
That word.
Heir.
As if Raaghav were property.
Ramani's fists clenched. His throat burned, but he said nothing more. He stormed into his room and slammed the door so hard the wooden frame trembled.
But inside, he did not sleep.
He sat in the dark.
Waiting.
Eraviputhoor – 9:50 PM
The bike stopped near a modest roadside eatery lit by a flickering tube light.
Aachi's Hotel.
Small. Steel benches. A counter with banana leaves stacked neatly. The smell of sambar and fried shallots in hot coconut oil.
Across the road stood the brighter, more polished PR Restaurant, glowing with glass walls and neon signage.
Aachi wiped her hands on her saree and looked at them.
"Why not go to PR Restaurant, mone? Big place. AC. Fancy food."
Raaghav smiled gently.
"Aachi, good food doesn't need AC. And Chettah here prefers places where the cook scolds us if we waste food."
Raama smirked. "Ponmon speaks truth."
Aachi laughed and served them rice, fish curry, and thoran.
As they ate, the conversation drifted.
"You boys came for temple visit?" she asked casually.
Raama hesitated. "We heard about Maragam."
The spoon in Aachi's hand paused mid-air.
Her face changed.
"You shouldn't speak that name loudly," she whispered.
Raaghav's heartbeat quickened.
Aachi leaned closer.
"Long ago, the Veeraiyan family owned most of this land. Rich. Powerful. But proud. They had a family deity — Maragam. Not like normal idols. They say it was not carved by human hands."
Raama and Raaghav exchanged a glance.
"Only their bloodline could see or pray to it," she continued. "Others… even if they stood in front of it, saw nothing. Some say it was hidden deep in the forest. Some say it hides itself."
"What happened to the Veeraiyan family?" Raaghav asked softly.
"They all died. Mysteriously. Except their adopted daughter and her husband. They inherited everything. Even PR Restaurant belongs to them now."
"And Maragam?" Raama pressed.
"Location unknown," Aachi said firmly. "The forest region behind the old shrine is avoided after sunset. People hear things. See lights."
Lights.
Raaghav's breath caught.
Fireflies.
Aachi lowered her voice further.
"They say if Maragam calls you, you will dream of wings."
Silence.
The only sound was a spoon hitting a steel plate somewhere behind them.
Raaghav felt cold despite the humid air.
Raama looked at him slowly.
"Ponmon… what exactly did you dream?"
Raaghav did not answer immediately.
Because in his mind, the statue was no longer a dream.
It was waiting.
And somewhere in the dense forest of Eraviputhoor, something ancient had just felt his arrival.