WHISPERS OF THE FORGOTTEN

Chapter 2: The Warning

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The morning light filtered weakly through the distorted glass of their guesthouse window, casting a pallid glow over the room. Meera woke with a start, the remnants of last night’s unsettling whispers still clinging to her mind like a bad dream. She turned to find Aarav already up and busy organizing his equipment—cameras, notebooks, and a small set of archaeological tools lay meticulously arranged on the wooden table by the bed.

He noticed her stirring and smiled. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You were out like a light.”

Meera forced a smile, though her sleep had been anything but restful. The whispers had eventually subsided, but the unease they had left behind still lingered. “Morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Aarav replied, oblivious to the discomfort gnawing at her. He was already lost in his own world, eager to begin exploring the ancient ruins that had brought them to this remote village. “I spoke with the caretaker this morning. She said the temple isn’t too far from here—maybe a 30-minute walk into the forest.”

Meera’s stomach tightened at the mention of the temple, but she pushed the feeling down. She knew how important this was to Aarav, and she didn’t want to dampen his excitement with her own anxieties. “Sounds good. We should head out soon, then. The sooner we start, the more we can cover today.”

After a quick breakfast of stale bread and weak tea—much to Aarav’s dismay—the couple set off, walking through the village that seemed even more desolate in the daylight. The villagers watched them from their doorways, their faces etched with the same wary expressions as the night before. Meera could feel their eyes following her, like the gaze of silent specters that resided within the cracked walls of their homes.

The old man from the previous night was nowhere to be seen, but his warning echoed in Meera’s mind. *“Do not go to the temple after dark.”* She didn’t know if it was superstition, fear, or something more sinister, but she couldn’t ignore the dread that curled in the pit of her stomach as they made their way toward the edge of the forest.

The path to the temple was barely more than a dirt trail, winding through dense undergrowth and towering trees. The canopy above was so thick that only slivers of sunlight pierced through, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The forest was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of birds—but to Meera, it all felt muted, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Aarav walked ahead, his excitement palpable as he snapped pictures and took notes on the local flora. Meera followed closely, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a growing sense of unease. Every rustle in the bushes, every crack of a twig underfoot, made her heart race. The whispers from the night before seemed to return, faint and distant, like echoes carried on the wind.

They walked in silence for what felt like hours, the oppressive atmosphere of the forest pressing down on them with every step. Finally, the trees began to thin, and the path opened up to reveal a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood the temple—a crumbling, ancient structure covered in moss and vines, its stones darkened with age.

The temple was smaller than Meera had imagined, but it exuded an aura of foreboding that made it seem much larger. The entrance was a narrow archway, flanked by statues of deities whose features had been worn away by centuries of exposure to the elements. The stone steps leading up to the entrance were cracked and uneven, as if the earth itself had tried to reclaim them.

Aarav paused at the edge of the clearing, his breath caught in his throat. “Incredible,” he whispered, more to himself than to Meera. “This place... it’s like stepping back in time.”