Siren's debt

That evening in Indore, the air didn't smell of burning effigy of Ravan but rather had a distinct rustling of death. People were celebrating Dussehra, the victory of good over evil.

But for me, evil had just begun. I, Alex, looking out of my window, was remembering not those lights but those unspoken words of my father, which he had whispered into my ear just before his death: "Alex... never let that ocean wake up. Vikram's eyes are not just on the land, but on the power that is bound by our blood."

"Bro... oh bro! Aren't you ready yet?"

A chirping voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned around and saw my younger sister, Liama, standing there. Liama, just 13 years old—innocent, playful, and incredibly excited. She was wearing her favorite frock and staring at me, her two braids swirling.

"Just two minutes, Liama. I'm ready," I replied with a smile.

The glint in Liama's eyes reminded me of my father for a moment. Our family had dwindled to just three of us—my mother, me, and Liama. A few years earlier, my father, Mr. Dan, had died suddenly of cardiac arrest. That day was the darkest day of our lives. My father was no ordinary man; he was the eighth-generation descendant of King Vikramaditya of the ancient kingdom of Indore.

Even though we now lived a simple life, that royal dignity still ran in our blood. Even today, when our family's name is mentioned in the village, people have a special status and aura. We had a lot of ancestral land, money, and property.

But after my father's death, my mother decided that we would make a new beginning in this bustling city.

The responsibility of caring for the palace and managing the village's properties now rested with my father's younger brother, Uncle Vikram. My grandfather had divided the property equally between his two sons. We had a total of six villages, three of which went to my father and the remaining three to Uncle Vikram.

But there was a thorn in that division. One of those six villages was located right on the shore of a vast and mysterious ocean. The locals there spoke of this ocean in many ways. There was an old myth that the ocean was not just any ordinary body of water, but rather, some ancient power lurked beneath its waters.

My father and Uncle Vikram had always been at odds over this land. My uncle had always wanted that seaside land because he believed something precious was hidden there. But as fate and the will dictated, my father inherited that portion. My uncle had been seething with anger ever since that day.

"Bro, you're lost in your thoughts again! Come on, Mom is waiting," Liama said, pulling my hand.

I saw Mom coming out of the kitchen. Her face held the same gentleness as before, but the pain of losing Father still lingered in the corners of her eyes. I was 21 years old, and after Father's passing, the entire responsibility of the house fell on my shoulders. Along with college, I was working odd jobs to support the household so that Liama never felt deprived.

"Come on, son, it's a festival day. It'll be a little fun," Mom said softly.

We locked the house and took a tuk-tuk (autorickshaw). The streets of Indore were bustling with vehicles. As we headed towards the fair, the number of shops and streetlights on the roadsides increased. Liama looked out the window, getting excited with every passing shop.

"Bro, look over there! The balloon guy! And look at that, what's that swing called?" she kept asking questions.

"It's called the 'Giant Ride,' Liama. I'll make you ride it today," I teased her.

After about half an hour's journey, we reached the largest fairground in Indore city. As we got off the auto, a huge entrance welcomed us, with 'Dussehra Festival' written in bold letters. The scene inside was nothing less than a magical world. A crowd of thousands, the screams of children, the sound of whistles coming from toy shops, and the aroma of various delicacies wafting all around.

Mom held my hand, perhaps a little nervous seeing the crowd. But Liama seemed to be talking to the wind. Sometimes she would run toward the balloons, sometimes she would stop at the spectacle shop.

"Mom, look at that swing!" Liama pointed to the huge iron wheel that touched the sky.

It was the famous Giant Ride Liama had talked about at home. The wheel was spinning slowly, and the screams of the people sitting on top could be clearly heard below. We started toward the swing. On the way, I bought Liama a large doll and Mom her favorite ice cream. In that moment, everything seemed so complete. It seemed as if the bad times were over and only happiness remained.

But, as we approached the ticket counter for the Giant Ride, I felt a strange shiver at the back of my neck. It was a feeling that someone was watching us. I turned back and looked into the crowd, but everything was normal. People were laughing and making noise.

I told myself, "Alex, you're probably overthinking it. Just have fun here."

I bought the tickets and we got in line. Liama was overjoyed. She was jumping all over the place. But suddenly, a noise came from the fairgrounds. It wasn't joy, but panic. People started running in different directions.

Just then, two large black SUVs barreled through the crowd and into the fairgrounds. People scrambled to safety. The cars stopped right next to us with a slam of brakes. A cloud of dust billowed, and the doors of the cars opened.

The first person to get out of the car made me shudder. It was none other than my uncle Vikram. He had the same cruel smile I'd seen years ago. Behind them, about a dozen strong men descended, armed with iron rods and sticks.

The joy of the fair instantly turned into a terrifying silence. Liama, frightened, clutched my hand tightly, and my mother's face turned pale.

"So... you guys have finally met!"