Varanasi never truly slept. Even at night, the city glowed with hundreds of small flames—oil lamp...

Varanasi never truly slept. Even at night, the city glowed with hundreds of small flames—oil lamps, funeral pyres, burning incense—fire everywhere. Aarav stood near the river Ganga, holding a small clay pot filled with ashes. His father’s ashes. The heat from the nearby funeral fire touched his face, but he didn’t move. His eyes were empty. “Everything ends in fire,” he thought. Suddenly, the flames behind him began to behave strangely. They leaned forward, as if pulled by something unseen.