A familiar face

The professor's heart chilled at this discovery.

Goosebumps appeared all over his skin, and the professor found himself breaking into a light jog. He increased his pace, wanting to reach crowds as soon as possible.

Something didn't feel right in that place, and being someone who usually found his hunches to be correct, he didn't want to be in this part for long. He started sweating, even though it was the month of November and it was cold outside.

Then, he heard a rustle of leaves coming from the right side of the footpath. This startled him and he started to run, dropping his bag in the process.

The rustle of leaves also started catching up to him. Being a man in his mid-50s, Stalin wasn't exactly in top form. Yes he was strong, but father time had caught up to him, along with the rustling of the leaves.

Stalin couldn't keep up the pace anymore and tripped over a rock, falling with his hands stretched out in front of him. His right arm, taking the brunt of the impact, broke immediately and the pain shot up to his brain.

A ringing sound descended upon his ears as he groaned out in pain, holding on to his left arm. Even amidst the almost migraine-inducing ringing, he was able to hear the rustling catch up to him. He just lay there, terrified at what or who might be after him.

In fact, he was so terrified, but he just couldn't get his lungs to push out any air to make a call for help.

Suddenly, the Professor felt a heaviness in his head, and tried to get up.

He couldn't.

As Professor Stalin lay on the ground, a surge of fear and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He desperately tried to will his body to move, to escape the impending danger that he could sense drawing nearer. The rustling of leaves intensified, and his heart pounded in his chest like a tribal drum.

Struggling against his own body's paralysis, Stalin's mind raced. 'What is happening to me? Is this some sort of attack? Who is behind this?'

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement—a shadowy figure emerging from the foliage. The figure advanced with a purposeful gait, its form cloaked in darkness. The professor's heart raced even faster, his breath shallow, as the realization dawned upon him that this was no ordinary threat.

Summoning all his remaining strength, Stalin managed to twist his body slightly, attempting to crawl away from the impending danger. Pain seared through his broken arm, but the fear of what lay ahead pushed him to endure. His fingers clawed at the ground, pulling himself inch by agonizing inch.

The shadowy figure drew closer, its presence ominous and foreboding. As the moon emerged from behind a cloud, a sliver of pale light illuminated the figure's face. It was a face that seemed to defy time itself—ageless, with eyes that gleamed with an otherworldly intensity.

"Professor Stalin," a voice echoed in the still night air, resonating within the professor's mind. It was a voice that held a strange mix of authority and familiarity.

Stalin's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice. "You... you're the one... from-" He stammered , his voice barely audible. His voice was overshadowed by a passing airplane in the sky.

"Seems like you recognize me." The figure tilted its head, a small smile playing on its lips.

"I require your assistance professor." The figure extended a hand out to help Stalin up.

As Stalin was about to accept the hand of the shadowy figure, A familiar man with long hair suddenly appeared from the overgrown side bushes in the walkway.

It was Ashwin.

"Don't accept his hand, sir! I have seen this man in my dreams!" The shadowy figure immediately tensed up.

"Ash? What are you doing here?" The professor was taken aback.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about this, professor. I know this man, and I believe he knows about me."

The figure lowered it's cloak, and the face was that of a man. He had intense eyes that seemed to exert absolute power over any situation. "Ashwin?" The figure let out a chuckle. "It seems like even you have adopted to the times, adopting a name befitting of these times. "

Ash was frozen in place, not knowing what to say. Who was this man and how did he remember his name? Why is this person talking to him like he knows him for a long time?

Finally he pulled his mind together and mouthed the question "How do you know me? Who am I?"

The professor's heart raced as the conversation between the mysterious figure and Ashwin unfolded before him. Confusion and apprehension swirled in the air, adding to the tension of the already dire situation.

The figure's gaze shifted from Ashwin back to the professor. "Ah, Professor Stalin, it seems our little reunion is quite the unexpected affair, isn't it?"

Stalin's mind raced as he struggled to process the enigmatic exchange. The pain in his broken arm throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He watched Ashwin and the figure, uncertainty etched across his face.

Ashwin's expression transformed from shock to a resolute determination. "You still haven't answered my question. Who are you, and how do you know me?"

The figure let out a sigh, his gaze seemingly distant. "Ashwatthama, you are a name etched in the annals of history, a tale of immortality and curses, bound by a destiny that stretches across ages."

Stalin's eyes widened as he listened to the cryptic words. "Ashwatthama? That's... that's the legendary warrior from the Mahabharata, cursed with immortality and eternal suffering..."

The figure inclined his head. "Indeed, Professor. And you, Ashwin, are Ashwatthama."

The revelation hung heavy in the air, an echo of ancient prophecies and mythical destinies. Stalin's mind reeled, his academic skepticism clashing with the unfathomable reality before him.

Before anyone could utter another word, a sudden gust of wind rustled the surrounding leaves, carrying with it a sense of impending danger. The figure's eyes narrowed, and he turned toward the darkness that enveloped them.

"We don't have much time," the figure muttered, his voice urgent. "Stalin, help me get Ashwatthama out of here. There are forces at play that even he may not fully understand."

Stalin felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Fear, curiosity, and a desire to protect his friend battled within him. He tried to push himself up, his broken arm protesting vehemently. With a grunt of pain, he managed to prop himself on his uninjured elbow, his vision blurring as the rush of adrenaline mingled with the agony.

Ashwin's gaze shifted between the figure and the struggling professor. "We can't just leave you here, sir. Who is this man, really?"

The figure's eyes bore into Ashwin's, conveying a depth of history and an urgency that left no room for further questions. "I will explain everything in time. But for now, we need to go. The shadows grow restless, and we are not safe here."

Just as Ashwin extended a hand to assist Stalin, a chilling howl pierced the air, sending shivers down their spines. The rustling leaves around them seemed to come alive, the darkness converging as if responding to some malevolent call.

Stalin's vision wavered, his strength faltering. In the dim moonlight, the shadowy figure's face contorted into a mixture of concern and determination.

"Stalin, hold on!" Ashwin's voice rang out, a mixture of urgency and desperation.

But before their next move could unfold, an unseen force surged forward, and the professor's world went black, his consciousness slipping away into the abyss.

"Professor! Wake up!"

The figure's eyes blazed with a fierce resolve. "We must go, Ashwatthama. This is only the beginning."