Chapter 5: Shadows of the Fort

The weekend arrived, a welcome break from the city's grind. Amar and Rina set off early Saturday morning for Sinhagad Fort, the Gurkha rumbling along the winding roads southwest of Pune. The historic Maratha stronghold, perched on a Sahyadri cliff at over 1,300 meters, promised a moderate trek through lush greenery, with panoramic views of rolling hills and distant forts like Rajgad and Torna. They parked at the base, shouldering backpacks with water and snacks, the air crisp and scented with wildflowers. "Ready for the climb, chaos king?" Rina teased, lacing her hiking boots. Amar grinned, his rage pushed down for the day, letting the adventure pull him forward.

The 2.7-kilometer trail wound up steeply, gaining nearly 600 meters in elevation, but the path was well-trodden, dotted with fellow trekkers and monkeys scampering in the trees. They paused at viewpoints, Rina snapping photos of the mist-shrouded valley below. "This place has history," Amar said, pointing to a plaque about the Battle of Sinhagad, where Tanaji Malusare captured the fort for Shivaji in 1670, leading to its renaming as "Lion's Fort." Rina nodded, impressed, her hand in his as they pushed on. At the summit, they explored the Pune Darwaja gate, the Kali temple with its Hanuman statue, and Tanaji's memorial, the wind whipping through the ruins. They shared a picnic of sandwiches and fresh mangoes from the family farms, the ocean breeze from Ratnagiri seeming to echo in the air. Amar's mind wandered briefly to the entity's voice—"Darkness"—but Rina's laughter grounded him, the day's joy a shield against the shadow.

Sunday passed in lazy recovery, Amar at his apartment catching up on anime episodes, Rina texting about her design work. His rage simmered low, no major triggers, but the entity's whisper lingered, a faint echo in quiet moments. He pushed it down, focusing on the trek's memories—the views, Rina's smile, the fort's enduring strength.

Monday dawned with routine, but by afternoon at Vantablack, a news alert shattered the calm: a Kerala factory explosion, caused by ignored safety norms and bribed inspectors, claiming lives of workers. Amar's blood boiled. Greed again, sacrificing the vulnerable. Why did People let this happen? Where was the outrage to end it? His mind rebelled, and everything went black—senses gone, a void swallowing him. This time, the blackout stretched, time dilating in the darkness. The humanoid outline loomed vast, its form darker than the void, pulsing with an immense presence. The entity didn't speak, but Amar felt it—thinking, a weighty consciousness probing his mind, vast and supreme.

"What are you?" Amar demanded, his voice echoing in the emptiness. No answer, but the entity's thoughts intensified, a crushing force that made him feel insignificant. "Are you Darkness? Why am I here?" Silence, yet the presence grew, radiating power so absolute it seemed to hold the void together. Amar sensed its supremacy—a being so potent that its emergence would unravel everything: the world, the universe, reality itself vanishing under its weight. "Tell me something! What do you want from me?" He pleaded, questions tumbling out—about its nature, its purpose, the blackouts—but the entity remained silent, its thoughts a storm of incomprehensible depth, thinking, always thinking.

After what felt like hours, Amar wanted out, the void's immensity overwhelming. "Let me go back," he thought, desperate. The entity, still silent, relented—the darkness receding. The world snapped back, Amar gasping at his desk, the news report still open on his screen. His watch showed no time had passed—not a second. Coworkers chattered on, oblivious. Heart pounding, he gripped his chair, the entity's supreme presence lingering, untouched by time.

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