A faint voice crackled through the phone. “I need you to track me. Hello? Hello—” Then, silence. The line went dead.

Varun had no idea where he was. The only thing he could make out was a thin sliver of light slipping through the cracks in what seemed to be a wooden enclosure. A storeroom? He muttered under his breath, trying to move forward. His legs trembled beneath him, the floor beneath shifting unpredictably, like a ship lost in a storm.

Then—thud! His head collided with something solid. Metal? Wood? He couldn’t tell. A sudden sharp pain spread across his skull. He groaned, but before he could react further, a voice emerged from the darkness.

“There is no use crying.”

It was deep, sorrowful.

“The pirates won’t listen.”

Varun turned sharply. His breathing quickened. A shadowy figure sat beside him, rubbing ash between his palms. The air thickened as he murmured something in a foreign tongue. Then, without any visible spark, a flame leaped from his left hand.

A fire with no source.

A cold, eerie blue.

Varun recoiled, his eyes stinging from the unnatural glow. He rubbed them vigorously. What the hell…?

“Who are you?” he stammered, barely able to form the words.

The man—or whatever he was—didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the flickering blue flame, his expression unreadable.

Varun’s mind raced. This wasn’t normal. Humans didn’t just conjure fire out of nowhere. And certainly not blue fire.

The flickering light revealed their surroundings: a 10x10 metal cage, with thick iron crossbars enclosing them on all sides. The bars were so tightly woven that only three of Varun’s fingers could fit through. The other man—tall, almost inhumanly large—could barely manage two.

Beyond the cage, the room stretched into an eerie expanse of wooden planks and storage trunks. A wooden ladder ascended toward a small trapdoor, where dim daylight seeped through the cracks. The air was thick with an earthy, organic scent.

Varun’s pulse quickened.

“Magician,” he whispered, sliding away from the figure instinctively. “Do you know a way out of here? Listen, I’m the son of a wealthy Indian merchant. If you help me escape, I’ll reward you handsomely.”

The magician remained silent.

Varun tried again, his voice more desperate. “Did you hear me?”

The magician still didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his palm, and in an instant, a ghostly shimmer flickered across his fingers—something like liquid light. Before Varun could react, the energy retreated, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

Varun jerked his hand back, his skin tingling. There was no pain, but a strange sensation lingered.

Then, realization hit him.

His breath caught in his throat. His limbs turned ice-cold. His pupils dilated as horror settled in.

“The folklore is true…” he whispered, trembling.

The magician—no, the Spirit God of Pirates—infamously known to feed on human souls to sustain his energy.

Varun was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The flame in the magician’s palm suddenly burst, and the entire cage trembled violently. Beyond the bars, piles of dead bodies slumped over one another. A grotesque sight.

The Spirit God let out a low, guttural groan.

“You have time,” he muttered, his eerie voice filling the space. “I just ate three. Take rest.”

Varun’s heart pounded against his ribs.

He wasn’t sure if he had just been granted mercy.

Or a countdown to his doom.