The garden did not return to normal.
Even after the wind stilled.
Even after the pale figure vanished into the banyan tree.
Even after Dustu woke up.
Something had shifted.
Not outside.
Inside.
Manoj stood still, staring at his arm. The black veins no longer looked like spreading infection.
They looked structured.
Intentional.
Like roots settling into soil.
Dustu slowly pushed himself up from Sayantika's arms. He seemed confused but aware. His eyes were normal again.
No distortion.
No layered whisper.
Just fear.
Sayantika hugged him tightly.
"You're okay," she whispered.
But she didn't sound convinced.
Anirban walked around the cracked stone structure carefully. "It stopped trying to break out."
Sibom nodded. "Because it doesn't need to."
Manoj didn't deny it.
The realization felt heavier than fear.
The entity wasn't trapped beneath the garden.
It was bound to a bloodline.
Transferred through choice.
Through ritual.
Through inheritance.
And now—
Through him.
A faint vibration pulsed through the ground.
Not violent.
Measured.
Like breathing in sleep.
Sayantika stood slowly. "We can't leave this unfinished."
Manoj looked at her.
"Finished?" he repeated quietly.
Anirban crossed his arms. "Your grandfather's notes said binding requires blood of the inheritor."
Sibom added, "Seal weakens if bond is disturbed."
Manoj understood.
"The bond isn't broken," he said.
"It's forming."
Silence fell between them.
Because that was worse.
The cracked stone structure began to glow faintly again.
Not bright.
But reactive.
Responding to Manoj's presence.
Dustu growled softly at it.
But this time—
The growl didn't feel like warning.
It felt like recognition.
As if the garden now smelled different.
Accepted.
Manoj stepped away from the structure slowly.
It didn't react aggressively.
It didn't pulse violently.
It simply settled.
Satisfied.
Anirban looked toward the house beyond the trees.
"We need the full truth," he said.
"Not fragments."
Sibom nodded. "There has to be something else your grandfather left behind."
Manoj hesitated.
There was one place they hadn't checked.
The locked storage room behind the kitchen.
The one no one in his family ever opened.
Because his grandfather had forbidden it.
He looked back at the garden one last time.
The banyan tree stood still.
Watching.
The air felt calmer.
But not safe.
Never safe.
They returned to the house quickly.
This time, Dustu entered without hesitation.
The house felt colder than before.
As if the absence of something upstairs had created a vacuum.
They moved straight toward the kitchen.
The storage door was old.
Wood swollen with age.
A rusted lock hung from the handle.
Manoj stared at it for a long moment.
"I never questioned it," he said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because he said some doors are meant to stay closed."
Anirban looked at his marked arm.
"And yet they opened twice."
Manoj exhaled slowly.
Then kicked the lock.
It broke easily.
Too easily.
The door creaked open.
The room was small.
Dust-covered boxes stacked against the walls.
A metal trunk in the center.
And on the far wall—
A mirror.
Tall.
Old.
Covered with a white cloth.
Sayantika's voice dropped. "Why would he hide a mirror?"
Manoj stepped inside.
The air was colder here than in the basement.
He approached the trunk first.
Opened it.
Inside—
Letters.
Photographs.
And a leather-bound journal.
Different from the basement notes.
Older.
He opened it carefully.
The handwriting was steady.
Controlled.
But desperate.
"I volunteered because it was already choosing him."
Anirban stepped closer. "Choosing who?"
Manoj flipped the page.
"My son."
His breath caught.
"My father," he whispered.
Sibom swallowed. "Your grandfather transferred it to your father?"
Manoj read further.
"No ritual removes it. It binds through lineage. The garden is only the anchor. The host is the vessel."
Sayantika felt cold creep up her spine.
"It doesn't escape the garden," she said slowly.
"It carries the garden."
Silence.
Manoj's voice trembled as he continued reading.
"When the host weakens, it searches. When the bloodline matures, it shifts."
The black veins on his arm pulsed faintly.
Anirban looked at him carefully.
"How old were you when your father died?"
"Ten," Manoj replied quietly.
Sibom did the math.
"And your grandfather died the year before."
The pattern formed clearly now.
It had moved.
Generation to generation.
Not randomly.
By design.
Manoj closed the journal slowly.
"So the entity didn't just wake up because we broke the seal."
"It woke up because it's time," Sayantika finished.
The room temperature dropped sharply.
The covered mirror trembled slightly against the wall.
Dustu began growling again.
The cloth covering the mirror slipped—
Falling to the floor.
The glass was cracked.
But reflective.
And in the reflection—
They weren't alone.
Behind Manoj stood a taller version of himself.
Pale.
Veins dark and branching across his face.
Eyes hollow.
Watching.
Not attacking.
Waiting.
Manoj turned instantly.
Nothing there.
He looked back at the mirror.
The figure remained.
And this time—
It smiled faintly.
Anirban stepped forward, trying to block Manoj's view.
But the reflection did not disappear.
Instead—
It moved independently.
Tilting its head slightly.
Studying them.
Sayantika whispered, "It's not just a spirit."
Sibom nodded slowly.
"It's the future."
The reflection opened its mouth.
But the voice did not come from the glass.
It came from the room.
"You cannot bury inheritance."
The lights flickered violently.
The journal pages flipped rapidly on their own.
Wind burst through the closed windows.
Manoj felt his chest tighten.
Not fear.
Pressure.
As if something inside him were answering the reflection.
The black veins glowed faintly beneath his skin.
The reflection stepped closer to the glass.
Palm pressing against it.
Matching the height of Manoj exactly.
"You opened twice," it whispered.
"And now you remember."
Suddenly—
The mirror shattered.
Exploding outward.
Glass raining across the floor.
The reflection vanished instantly.
The wind stopped.
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Dustu barked sharply once.
Then quieted.
Manoj stood frozen.
Breathing hard.
But alive.
Anirban looked around slowly.
"It's accelerating."
Sayantika nodded. "It's not waiting for you to weaken."
Sibom finished the thought.
"It's merging."
Manoj looked at the shattered mirror pieces scattered across the floor.
In each shard—
He saw his reflection.
But not all of them matched.
Some looked older.
Some looked hollow.
Some smiled faintly.
The journal lay open on the ground.
One final line visible on the last page:
"If he chooses to resist, the garden will choose for him."
Manoj closed his eyes.
The second heartbeat inside him pulsed stronger.
Not violent.
Not chaotic.
Controlled.
The garden wasn't breaking free.
It was evolving.
And the entity wasn't hunting them anymore.
It was preparing him.
For something worse than possession.
For acceptance.
Outside—
The banyan tree's leaves rustled.
Though there was no wind.
As if applauding quietly.
Chapter 9 ends with a realization:
This is no longer about survival.
It is about choice.
And Manoj may not be fighting an enemy.
He may be becoming the next guardian.
Or the next cage.
**To be continued…**