The journey back to Mysuru was quiet.
Too quiet.
The rain had stopped.
But nobody could stop thinking about the message.
The Fourth Victim Knows.
Professor Acharya had circled those words repeatedly.
As if they were the most important clue of all.
By dawn, the group had gathered inside a safe house on the outskirts of the city.
Maps covered the walls.
Photographs lay scattered across tables.
Prakash had spent the night reviewing old police records.
At sunrise he finally found something.
"I think I know who the fourth victim is."
Everyone looked up.
Prakash placed an old newspaper on the table.
The headline was nearly thirty years old.
Historian Survives Mysterious Fire.
Below the article was a photograph.
A young man stood beside a burned building.
His face was scarred.
His eyes haunted.
The article identified him as:
Venkatesh Murthy.
Ananya immediately recognized the name.
"He worked with Professor Acharya."
Leela nodded.
"He was one of the original researchers."
"What happened to him?" asked Aditya.
Leela's expression darkened.
"He discovered something he wasn't supposed to."
According to the records, a fire had destroyed an old research center outside Mysuru.
Three people were believed dead.
One survived.
Venkatesh.
After that night, he disappeared completely.
No interviews.
No public appearances.
No official records.
Nothing.
Aditya leaned back.
"So everyone assumed he was dead."
Leela nodded.
"Which means he became invisible."
Narasimha looked thoughtful.
"Exactly what someone would want if powerful people were hunting him."
By afternoon they tracked down a possible lead.
An abandoned coffee estate in the hills near Chamundi Hills.
The property had changed ownership several times.
Yet one name appeared repeatedly in utility records.
V. Murthy.
The estate felt forgotten by the world.
Overgrown coffee plants surrounded a crumbling bungalow.
The windows were covered.
The gates rusted.
No signs of life.
Yet a thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney.
Just like Narasimha's house by the Kaveri.
Prakash approached carefully.
The wooden door opened before anyone knocked.
An elderly man stood inside.
His face was heavily scarred.
One eye appeared clouded.
But the other remained sharp.
Dangerously sharp.
He studied each visitor.
Then his gaze stopped on Leela.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Finally he spoke.
"You took longer than I expected."
Inside, the bungalow looked more like a library than a home.
Stacks of documents covered every surface.
Maps.
Diaries.
Letters.
Decades of research.
Decades of hiding.
Venkatesh sat beside a window.
For a long time nobody spoke.
Then Aditya placed Acharya's photograph on the table.
"The Fourth Victim."
The old man's expression changed immediately.
"You found that?"
"We did."
Venkatesh slowly nodded.
"Then it is finally time."
He rose and walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
Inside was a locked metal case.
A case that appeared untouched for years.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Within lay dozens of documents.
And one small velvet pouch.
Leela's eyes widened.
"The First Key."
Venkatesh nodded.
"I've protected it for twenty-eight years."
The room fell silent.
At last.
The missing key.
The final key.
The piece needed to open the chest beneath Shivanasamudra.
But Venkatesh wasn't finished.
He removed one final document.
Unlike the others, this one was sealed.
Its edges were blackened by fire.
A survivor of the blaze that nearly killed him.
"Before you open the chest," he said.
"You must know what is inside."
Aditya carefully opened the document.
The room grew silent.
The contents were shocking.
Not treasure.
Not gold.
Not royal wealth.
Instead, it contained signed confessions.
Official correspondence.
Bank records.
Evidence.
Detailed evidence.
Proof that several influential families had stolen vast assets during the kingdom's final years.
But one name appeared repeatedly.
A name nobody expected.
Not Varma.
Not Acharya.
Not Narasimha.
Ananya stared at the page.
The color drained from her face.
"No..."
Her voice trembled.
"This can't be true."
Aditya looked at the document.
Then at Ananya.
Then back at the document.
Because at the very top of the list was a familiar name.
A name connected directly to her family.
Rao.
The surname of her grandfather.
The man she had spent her life admiring.
The man she believed had protected the truth.
Outside, dark clouds gathered once again over Mysuru.
Inside the bungalow, another secret had been uncovered.
And this one threatened to destroy far more than the mystery.
It threatened to destroy Ananya's faith in her own family.