Aarav's breath hitched as the unseen hands yanked him into the darkness. Meera let out a muffled cry, but before either of them could react, they were pulled through a hidden passage.
The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and aged parchment. Footsteps echoed behind them—the man in black was close. But their captors—whoever they were—moved swiftly, expertly.
Not enemies. But not allies either.
Aarav tried to struggle, but a voice, barely a whisper, stopped him.
"Quiet, or they'll hear you."
The voice was deep, firm. Not a threat—a warning.
A moment later, they were pushed against a cold, rough wall. Then—silence.
Aarav's heart thundered in his chest. He could feel Meera trembling beside him, her fingers gripping his sleeve. Whoever had grabbed them wasn't hurting them. But the tension in the air was suffocating.
Then, the wall behind them shifted. A hidden door creaked open. The hands guided them inside.
And then—light.
Dim lanterns flickered, revealing a vast underground chamber. Shelves stacked with ancient books. Old maps. A giant wooden table in the center covered with faded documents, some bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Indian National Army.
And standing before them—a group of people, cloaked in shadows.
One of them stepped forward, a man in his sixties. His silver hair was neatly combed back, his face worn by time yet sharp with awareness. His eyes—they held history in them.
Aarav swallowed hard.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"We are the last soldiers of Netaji."
Aarav felt a chill run down his spine.
Meera stiffened. "That's not possible. The INA disbanded decades ago."
The man gave a small, tired smile. "That's what they wanted you to believe."
Aarav's mind reeled. Was this a joke? A setup?
His gaze darted across the room. More figures stood in the shadows—men and women, all carrying an air of secrecy. Of resistance.
And then—he saw the photographs on the wall. Black and white images of Netaji with his army, old maps with strategic markings, secret correspondences…
Meera noticed it too. She exhaled sharply. "This… this is real."
The old man nodded.
"We have protected the truth for decades. Watched history be rewritten by those who feared it. But now… you've brought the storm upon us."
His gaze darkened. "They know you're here. And they will come for you."
Aarav clenched his fists. "Who are 'they'?"
The man's face hardened. "The Silent Watchers. The ones who erased Bose from history."
Meera inhaled sharply. "They tried to kill us."
"They won't stop." The old man's voice was grave. "They've spent decades ensuring that India never learns the truth. They control everything—the books, the media, the archives."
Aarav's throat went dry. "But why? Why erase Bose?"
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Then, the old man spoke. His words sent a shiver down Aarav's spine.
"Because Bose's India was never meant to exist."
Aarav's pulse quickened. He had heard those exact words before—from the man in black.
The old man continued. "The India you live in today… it was not the vision of the men who fought for her freedom. It was built by those who feared true independence. Those who wanted control."
Meera's fingers tightened around her sleeve. "Are you saying… India's independence was hijacked?"
The old man nodded grimly.
"They struck a deal. A deal that ensured Bose's dream never saw the light of day."
Aarav struggled to process it. The textbooks, the history lessons—everything had been a lie?
Meera's voice was barely a whisper. "And Netaji?"
The old man exhaled. "He lived. He fought. But in the end, he was betrayed."
Aarav's fists clenched. His entire life, he had believed that history was written by the brave. By the ones who won.
But now, he realized—history was written by the ones who made sure the truth never surfaced.
A heavy silence fell over the chamber.
Then, the old man turned to Aarav. His gaze was piercing.
"Now tell me, boy… what do you plan to do with the truth?"
Aarav's breath caught.
He had spent his life chasing answers. But now, standing here, on the edge of something far bigger than himself—he realized that the truth came with a price.
And he wasn't sure if he was ready to pay it.