Episode -7

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INT. ANCIENT CHAMBER – NIGHT

The darkness beyond the stone doorway is suffocating. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic, almost like blood.

Ishaan holds Anya's hand tightly, his pulse syncing with hers.

ANYA (whispering):

"We don't have to do this."

She's not talking about the mission. He knows it.

ISHAAN (softly):

"Yes, we do."

A flicker of something crosses her face—fear, hope, maybe both. Then, together, they step inside.

The door slams shut behind them.

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INT. THE ENDLESS CORRIDOR

Their footsteps echo in the vast, unseen space. The walls shift subtly as they pass, like something alive, breathing.

Anya's fingers tighten around Ishaan's.

ANYA:

"If I let go, promise you'll hold on."

ISHAAN:

"Always."

The corridor begins to distort, stretching impossibly long. The walls bleed into each other, the symbols shifting—rewriting themselves.

Then, voices.

Soft at first, then growing into a deafening chorus. Whispers slithering through the air, overlapping, suffocating.

"Why do you cling to what is already lost?"

"Love is a weakness."

"One must fall for the other to rise."

Ishaan grits his teeth. He feels Anya's grip falter, her body trembling.

He turns, gripping her shoulders, anchoring her to reality.

ISHAAN:

"Ignore them. Look at me."

She does. The storm in her eyes is worse than before.

ANYA:

"What if they're right?"

His breath catches. Because deep down, a part of him is afraid of the same thing.

Before he can answer, the ground beneath them shifts.

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INT. THE WELL OF FACES

They're falling—plunged into a chasm of darkness.

Then—impact.

They land in a cavern, dimly illuminated by an eerie blue light.

The walls are covered in faces. Not carved, not painted—real, frozen in expressions of anguish.

Anya stumbles back, horror gripping her throat.

ANYA:

"Ishaan… these are real."

He reaches for her, grounding her.

The whispers return, but now the faces move, mouths forming silent words.

One face looks just like Ishaan.

Another looks just like Anya.

She gasps. Ishaan pulls her close, his fingers threading through her hair, desperate.

ISHAAN:

"They're trying to break us."

ANYA (shaking):

"Then why do I feel like they already have?"

The faces laugh.

The blue light pulses, and suddenly, the walls start closing in.

Ishaan grips Anya, shielding her. The pressure is unbearable, the air thick with whispers and phantom touches.

Then, without thinking, Anya presses her forehead against his, her breath unsteady.

ANYA (softly):

"We are still here."

Ishaan closes his eyes for a second, grounding himself in the warmth of her touch.

ISHAAN:

"And we will get out."

Their breathing steadies. The walls hesitate, the faces twitching.

Anya's fingers brush his cheek, just barely. A wordless reassurance. A reminder of something real amidst the nightmare.

The chamber trembles. A doorway appears at the far end.

They hold onto each other, breathless.

ISHAAN:

"We keep moving."

Anya nods, gripping his hand tighter.

They step forward—together.

The doorway swallows them whole.

FADE TO BLACK.

TO BE CONTINUED…