Rishant's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dasgupta, were a testament to the power of balance. While Rishant's father was a pragmatic professor who believed in the precision of science, his mother, an avid reader and lover of art, had a deep appreciation for the beauty and mysteries that life often held. Their complementary worldviews created a harmonious home environment for Rishant, a place where he had been encouraged to explore both the logical and imaginative realms.

One evening, as the family gathered in their cozy living room, Rishant couldn't contain the peculiar incident that had been haunting him for weeks. With a mixture of hesitation and curiosity, he shared the story of the painting that consistently fell from the wall each night at 3:18 a.m. His mother, always drawn to the enigmatic, listened intently, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.

His father, the embodiment of reason, raised an eyebrow but remained silent, his academic mind searching for logical explanations. He had always encouraged Rishant's pursuit of science and critical thinking.

As Rishant recounted the details of the incident—the realistic portrayal of the two women, the timing of the fall, and the eerie sense of presence that accompanied it—a sense of unease settled over the room. It was a mystery that defied easy explanation, and it left them all with a sense of disquiet.

With his parents now aware of the inexplicable events unfolding in their home, Rishant couldn't help but wonder if their combined perspectives might shed light on the strange occurrences.

The following morning, sunlight filtered through the ornate window grilles, casting intricate patterns on the hardwood floor of Rishant's bedroom. He hadn't slept a wink. The events of the previous night had left him with a sense of foreboding that lingered in the corners of his mind.

After breakfast, he decided to immerse himself in the vibrant chaos of Kolkata, hoping that the city's hustle and bustle would help clear his thoughts. Kolkata, with its amalgamation of old-world charm and modern dynamism, had always been a source of inspiration for him. Yet, today, it felt different, as if the city itself held secrets waiting to be unearthed.

He walked along the narrow lanes of North Kolkata, where colonial-era buildings stood side by side with bustling marketplaces. The air was thick with the aroma of street food and the sound of hawkers peddling their wares. Rickshaws clattered by, and the call of chaiwalas punctuated the scene.

Kolkata's history ran deep, with stories of British colonial rule, independence movements, and cultural revolutions etched into its very streets. It was a city where the past and present coexisted, where folklore and reality were often indistinguishable.

Rishant's footsteps took him to College Street, the famed hub of books and knowledge. Here, he hoped to find clues about the mysterious woman in his painting amidst the pages of old texts and ancient manuscripts. He spent hours poring over dusty volumes, some dating back centuries, absorbing the tales of forgotten spirits and curses that still haunted Kolkata's collective memory.

As dusk descended upon the city, he decided to visit an old acquaintance, Mr.Dutta, a local historian with an encyclopedic knowledge of Kolkata's history. Mr. Dutta lived in a centuries-old mansion on the outskirts of the city, a place that seemed frozen in time.

The mansion's grandeur was apparent from the moment Rishant entered, with chandeliers casting a warm glow on mahogany furniture and fading tapestries that lined the walls. Mr. Dutta, a man with a flowing white beard and an aura of wisdom, welcomed him into his library.

"Young man, what brings you here today?" Mr. Dutta inquired, offering a cup of fragrant Darjeeling tea.

Rishant recounted the events of the past weeks, from the creation of the painting to the nightly descents at 3:18 a.m. He spoke of his fascination with Kolkata's legends and his growing belief that the woman in the portrait held a connection to the city's enigmatic past.

Mr. Dutta listened intently, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You have stumbled upon something remarkable and perilous, my young friend," he said gravely. "Kolkata is a city of stories, some whispered in hushed tones, others hidden beneath layers of history. The painting you describe is no ordinary work of art; it is a portal to a world beyond our comprehension."

With each word Mr. Dutta spoke, Rajat's sense of purpose deepened. He knew that the path he had chosen was not without danger, but the need to uncover the truth had become an undeniable force. Kolkata's secrets, both ancient and arcane, were calling out to him, and he was determined to heed their mysterious summons.

As Rishant left Mr. Dutta's mansion that evening, the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the city. He couldn't help but feel that the journey he had embarked upon would lead him into even deeper shadows, where the line between reality and the supernatural would blur beyond recognition.

As Rishant delved deeper into the enigma of the falling painting, the peculiar incident took on an ominous significance that left him increasingly unsettled. The painting had become a source of fascination and fear, a harbinger of a presence that defied all rational explanations.

He began to research the history of the artwork, tracing its origins to an antique shop nestled in the heart of Kolkata. The shop's owner, an elderly gentleman with a long beard and a twinkle in his eye, had regaled Rishant with tales of the painting's mysterious past.

According to the old shopkeeper, the painting had once belonged to a renowned artist who had mysteriously disappeared under inexplicable circumstances. Legend had it that the artist had been obsessed with capturing the essence of life and death in his work. The very night he had completed the painting—the same painting that now hung in Rishant's room—he had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only his final masterpiece.

It was said that the artist's obsession had called forth an otherworldly presence, a curse that bound his spirit to the very painting he had created. The curse, it was rumored, had the power to bridge the gap between the living and the dead, manifesting itself at the stroke of 3:18 a.m. each night.

Rishant's skepticism battled with his growing unease. Could there be any truth to these tales of curses and spectral connections? He couldn't deny the eerie coincidence of the falling painting and the legend that surrounded it.

To further unravel the mystery, Rishant sought the counsel of experts in paranormal phenomena. His scientific mind remained skeptical, but the unexplained events demanded answers. As he delved deeper into the research, he discovered stories of other cursed artworks and the unsettling encounters of those who had dared to possess them. Days turned into weeks, and Rajat's obsession with the painting and its nightly descent grew stronger. He continued to research Kolkata's mystical history, seeking clues that might shed light on the woman in the portrait. Yet, no matter how many old manuscripts he scoured or folklore he unearthed, the mystery remained elusive.

Rishant's once-vibrant bedroom had transformed into a chamber of secrets, a place where candlelight danced against the walls, casting eerie shadows. He had become consumed by the enigma, his days spent in the pursuit of knowledge, and his nights in the company of the ever-watchful painting.

Each evening, as the world outside Kolkata's windows darkened, Rishant found himself drawn to his studio. The clock on the wall, synchronized meticulously with the city's heartbeat, became a silent accomplice in his quest. It ticked away the minutes, relentless in its countdown to 3:18 a.m.

Tonight was no different. Rishant sat in the dim room, a sense of anticipation hanging heavy in the air. He had grown accustomed to the eerie silence that enveloped the city at this hour, broken only by the distant sounds of night creatures. The moon, like a sentinel, bathed the room in its silvery glow.

As the clock's hands neared the appointed hour, Rishant's heart quickened. He wondered whether tonight would yield new insights or further mysteries. The very act of waiting had become a ritual, a communion with the supernatural forces that seemed to converge at this moment.

And then it happened. At precisely 3:18 a.m., the painting tore itself from the wall once more. The crash echoed through the studio, sending a shiver down his spine. The room seemed to hold its breath, and the woman in the portrait stared back at him with her haunting, dual gaze.

But tonight, something was different. Rishant felt an unseen presence, a chill that crept down his spine. He realized that he was not alone in the room. Slowly, he turned to face the shadows that clung to the corners, his heart pounding in his chest.

There, in the dimness, he saw a figure—a silhouette that seemed to waver between the living and the spectral. The figure advanced, its movements deliberate yet ethereal. It was as if a ghostly presence had materialized in the heart of the city, drawn to the enigma that Rajat had unwittingly unleashed.

Fear and fascination warred within Rishant as he watched the figure draw closer. He had ventured into the world of legends and curses, but he had never expected to come face to face with the unknown. As the figure reached the moonlit center of the room, a voice, soft as the breeze, whispered from its shadowy depths.

"Rishant, you have summoned me. Now, you must help me."

The words hung in the air, with an otherworldly gravity. The woman in the portrait, it seemed, was not the only one trapped in a luminal space between reality and myth. And Rishant, with his relentless pursuit of truth, had become entangled in a destiny that transcended the boundaries of the living.

With each passing night, the line between artist and arcanist blurred further, and Rishant's journey into the unknown took an even darker turn. As Kolkata's ancient secrets whispered their truths, he found himself at the center of a spectral dance—one that would demand not only his creativity but his very soul.

The figure stood in the moonlit center of Rishant's bedroom, its spectral presence casting long, ethereal shadows that danced on the walls. Rishant, frozen in place, felt a peculiar mix of dread and fascination wash over him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the figure.

"Who are you?" Rishant finally managed to utter, his voice quivering with a blend of fear and curiosity.

The figure seemed to waver as if struggling to maintain its form in the earthly realm. Then, in a voice that seemed to resonate from beyond the veil of the living, it replied, "I am Eliza, bound by a curse to wander this world between the realms of the living and the dead."

Rishant's mind raced as he tried to comprehend the enormity of what stood before him. Eliza was the very woman he had painted—a woman cursed to exist in a state of eternal duality. One half of her existence retained the vibrancy of youth, while the other bore the weight of age and despair.

Eliza continued, her spectral gaze locked onto Rishant's. "For generations, I have searched for a way to break this curse, a way to find release from this liminal existence. Your painting holds the key. I have sensed your connection to it, a connection that transcends time and space."

Rishant's mind reeled as he tried to process the implications of Eliza's words. Was it possible that the act of painting had somehow linked him to the cursed spirit of this woman? And if so, what did she want from him?

"Why have you come to me?" Rajat asked, his voice a whisper.

Eliza's gaze grew more intense, and Rajat could see the anguish in her eyes, mirrored in both the youthful and aged halves of her face. "You are the chosen one, Rajat. Only through you can I find release from this eternal torment. You must help me, for the curse that binds me also threatens the balance of the living world and the world of the spirits."

Rishant felt a heavy weight settle upon his shoulders. He had entered into this mystery seeking answers, but now he found himself entangled in a destiny that seemed far beyond his control. The boundaries between the tangible and the supernatural had blurred, and he had no choice but to confront the enigma head-on.

"How can I help you?" Rishant asked, determination mingling with trepidation.

Eliza's spectral form seemed to shimmer, as if in response to his willingness to assist. "To break the curse, you must journey into the realm of the spirits, a place that exists beyond the veil of the living. There, you will seek the guidance of the ancient ones, the guardians of the ethereal realm."

Rishant nodded, though the concept of venturing into the spirit world was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He had always believed in the mystical nature of Kolkata, but this was a reality that surpassed even his wildest imagination.

As the clock struck the early hours of the morning, Eliza imparted a cryptic message. "At the stroke of midnight, when the city sleeps and the veil between worlds is thinnest, we shall embark on this journey together. But beware, Rishant, for the spirit world is treacherous, and not all entities you encounter will wish to aid us."

With that, Eliza's form began to fade, slowly dissipating like mist before the dawn. Rishant was left alone in the moonlit bedroom, haunted by the realization that he had taken his first step into a world of ancient curses, restless spirits, and the enduring power of art.

The clock continued to tick, counting down the hours until the midnight hour when his path would intersect with the supernatural, and the fate of Eliza, Kolkata, and his own soul would be forever altered. The days leading up to the midnight rendezvous with Eliza felt like an eternity for Rishant. He immersed himself in research, seeking to understand the intricacies of the spirit world and the ancient rituals that might aid him on this perilous journey. His studio, once a haven for artistic expression, had become a makeshift sanctuary of arcane knowledge.

Among the books and scrolls, Rishant discovered a passage about the guardian spirits of Kolkata—entities that were said to protect the city from malevolent forces. Intrigued, he delved deeper into this lore, hoping to gain insight into how he might navigate the perilous terrain of the spirit world.

In the midst of his studies, Rishant received a call that would shatter his world. It was from his cousin, Priya, his closest childhood friend and confidante. Priya's voice trembled as she delivered the devastating news.

"Rishant," she said, her words choked with grief, "our cousin sister, Meera, she... she's gone."

Rishant's heart sank as he listened to the details of Meera's tragic passing. She had been involved in a car accident, a collision that had claimed her life in the blink of an eye. Priya recounted how the family had been in shock, grappling with the sudden loss of a beloved member.

As Rishant hung up the phone, a profound sense of sorrow washed over him. Meera had been more than family; she had been his confidante, his partner in mischief during their childhood days in Kolkata. Her laughter had been a bright note in his life, and her sudden absence left an emptiness that was impossible to fill.

He realized that Meera's death held a deeper significance in the context of his journey. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the weight of the decisions he had made. Rajat couldn't help but wonder if his pursuit of the mysterious painting and his impending journey into the spirit world had somehow triggered a series of events that led to this tragedy.

That night, as Rishant sat in his dimly lit studio, his thoughts were haunted by memories of Meera. He felt her presence in the room, a whisper of the past that lingered like a ghostly specter. Guilt gnawed at him, and he questioned the choices he had made.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, the clock on the wall chimed, signaling the approaching midnight hour. It was time to embark on the journey into the spirit world with Eliza. The weight of responsibility pressed upon him, and he knew that he had no choice but to honor his commitment to help her break the curse.

With a heavy heart and memories of Meera's laughter echoing in his mind, Rajat prepared for the unknown. The spirit world waited, and the fate of both the living and the dead hung in the balance.

Rishant's struggles deepened as he delved further into the mysteries surrounding the cursed painting. Night after night, the inexplicable events persisted, and a growing sense of unease hung over him like a shroud. His attempts to contact experts in the supernatural had yielded little progress, leaving him feeling isolated and vulnerable.

In his quest for understanding, Rishant longed for the support and insight of his childhood best friends and cousins, Shreya and Neeladri. Their shared experiences and unbreakable bonds of family and friendship were a source of strength that he desperately needed.

He reached out to Shreya and Neeladri, and his messages and calls were met with silence, as if a veil of distance had settled between them. The bonds that had once been so strong now seemed fragile, their shared childhood memories fading in the face of the inexplicable forces that had entangled his life.

Despite his initial struggles and the growing isolation he felt, Rishant remained resolute. He was determined to unravel the mysteries that haunted him, to free himself from the spectral presence that lurked in the shadows, and to protect his family from the enigmatic forces that had been unleashed. His journey into the supernatural had brought him to a crossroads, and he knew that only by facing the unknown head-on could he hope to find the answers he sought.

Rishant’s journey into the spirit world loomed like a shadow, casting both trepidation and determination in his heart. The memory of Meera's untimely death haunted him, a stark reminder of the risks and responsibilities that came with his newfound connection to the supernatural.

As the clock's hands inched closer to midnight, Rishant found himself standing at the threshold of his bedroom, a sense of trepidation settling in his chest. He had spent days studying ancient rituals and incantations, hoping to glean some understanding of the spirit world. But the truth was, he was stepping into the unknown, guided only by Eliza's spectral presence and a determination to unravel the curse that bound her.

As the clock struck twelve, Rishant took a deep breath and recited the incantation that Eliza had provided. A strange sensation washed over him as if the world around him was shifting and warping. The moonlight that had bathed his studio moments ago now seemed to cast an otherworldly glow, and the walls appeared to ripple like water.

In that moment of transition, Rishant felt a presence beside him, a feeling of companionship that cut through the uncertainty. He turned to see two figures emerge from the ethereal mist, their forms taking shape before his eyes.

The first was Shreya, his cousin, who had grown into a beautiful young woman with long, flowing hair that cascaded down her back like a river of midnight silk. Her eyes, once filled with youthful curiosity, now held a depth of wisdom that seemed beyond her years. Sayanti's journey through medical college had shaped her into a studious and perceptive individual. Her keen observational skills were remarkable; she could discern subtle details that often eluded others. Sayanti's ability to notice even the smallest of changes in her surroundings would prove invaluable in navigating the mysterious realms they were about to explore.

The second figure was Neeladri, another long-lost cousin. He had transformed from the mischievous youth Rishant remembered into a law student, private detective, and a trained fighter. Neeladri's career as a law student sharpened his analytical mind and deepened his understanding of human nature, making him a skilled investigator. His reputation as a private detective had grown with each case he solved, and his proficiency in uncovering the truth had become a formidable asset. Neeladri's training in martial arts and combat also made him a guardian of their trio, ready to face any dangers that might lurk in the spirit world.

As Rishant beheld Shreya and Neeladri, memories of their childhood together flooded back—a montage of laughter, mischief, and shared secrets. They had explored the hidden corners of Kolkata, picnicked by the riverbanks, and stargazed on warm summer nights. Their bond had grown stronger with each passing year, a testament to the enduring power of family and friendship.

With Shreya and Neeladri's presence by his side, Rajat felt a renewed sense of courage. Together, they were prepared to face the enigmatic forces that awaited them in the spirit world. Shreya's studious nature and extraordinary powers of observation, combined with Neeladri's analytical mind and combat skills, would be their compass and shield in the journey ahead. The unbreakable bonds of family and the combined strengths of their diverse skills would lead them through the challenges that lay in wait. As Rishant, Shreya, and Neeladri stood on the precipice of the unknown, their journey into the supernatural took on an air of exhilaration and trepidation. The bedroom, once a realm of familiarity, had transformed into a threshold between the known and the enigmatic.

Their shared bonds of family and friendship had rekindled, infusing their collective resolve with newfound strength. The moon bathed the room in a pale, ghostly light, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach out like spectral fingers.

The ritual, with its incantation and ancient words, had set its course into the uncharted territory of the spirit world. The very fabric of reality seemed to quiver as they ventured forth, a bridge of uncertainty between the living and the spectral.

With each word spoken, a palpable energy coursed through the room, a reminder that they were on the cusp of something extraordinary. As the ritual's final words left Rishant's lips, a strange sensation washed over them. Reality itself seemed to warp and shift, and they found themselves standing on the precipice of an enigmatic realm that defied all understanding.

The adventure that had beckoned them now stretched before them like an uncharted landscape. Their hearts beat in unison, a rhythm of exhilaration and trepidation. The whispers of the beyond echoed in their ears, a haunting refrain that promised secrets and revelations yet to come. Their journey into the supernatural had truly begun, and they were ready to face the enigmatic forces that awaited them in the heart of the spirit world. In the heart of the spirit world, Rishant, Shreya, and Neeladri confronted the very essence of the curse that had bound Eliza's spirit to the painting. The realm they had entered was a tapestry of ethereal beauty and haunting mystery, where time and space danced to an otherworldly tune.

Before them stood the cursed painting, bathed in an eerie, spectral light that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the canvas. The two women depicted in the artwork—the aged figure and the youthful one—gazed out with eyes that held the weight of centuries.

Rishant stepped forward, his determination unyielding, and began to speak words of release and redemption. The incantation he had discovered resonated with power, and with each word, the spectral energy that bound Eliza's spirit began to quiver and wane.

Shreya, with her studious nature and keen powers of observation, noticed subtle changes in the painting's surface. The colors shifted, as if the very essence of life and death were in flux. The aged woman's visage softened, her eyes reflecting a sense of release, while the young woman's vitality seemed to breathe with newfound freedom.

Neeladri, the private detective and trained fighter stood guard, ready to protect them from any unseen forces that might seek to thwart their endeavor. His unwavering resolve served as a shield against the lingering echoes of the curse.

As Rishant continued to speak the incantation, a luminous mist began to envelop the painting, swirling and dancing like a living thing. The room trembled with otherworldly energy, and the very fabric of the spirit world seemed to respond to their collective will.

With a final, resounding word, Rishant completed the incantation. The spectral light that had bathed the painting dimmed, and a profound stillness settled over the room. The curse that had bound Eliza's spirit to the artwork for centuries had been shattered.

The aged woman in the painting smiled, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief, and she extended a spectral hand toward Rishant. At that moment, a rush of emotions and memories flooded their senses, as if Eliza's spirit had found closure and could now move on to the afterlife.

The curse was broken, the enigma unraveled, and the room seemed to exhale a collective breath that had been held for centuries. Rishant, Shreya, and Neeladri had achieved what few could ever dream of—liberating a soul from the clutches of an ancient curse, and in doing so, they had forged an unbreakable bond in the crucible of the supernatural.

In the aftermath of their otherworldly encounter, Rishant, Shreya, and Neeladri had found themselves forever changed. The bond forged in the crucible of the supernatural had left an indelible mark on their souls.

Rishant’s bedroom, once a realm of mystery and enigma, had returned to its familiar state. The cursed painting, now devoid of spectral presence, hung on the wall like an ordinary work of art. The moon outside cast a soft, silvery glow, a far cry from the eerie illumination of the spirit world.

Their adventure into the unknown had come to an end, yet its echoes reverberated in their hearts. The memories of their journey were etched in their minds like ancient runes, a testament to their courage and resilience.

As they sat in the dimly lit room, a sense of contentment washed over them. The curse that had haunted Rishant for so long had been shattered, and Eliza's spirit had found its long-awaited release. The unexplained phenomenon of the falling painting had become a distant memory, a puzzle solved by their collective determination.

Shreya, with her keen powers of observation, spoke of the subtle changes in the painting's surface—the shifting colors, the softening of the aged woman's visage, and the newfound vitality of the youthful figure. These details, once haunting, were now symbols of their triumph over the supernatural.

Neeladri, the ever-watchful protector, recounted the moments of tension and uncertainty, his trained instincts ready to face any unseen forces that might have sought to thwart their endeavor. His unwavering resolve had served as a shield against the lingering echoes of the curse.

As they reflected on their adventure, a profound sense of closure settled over them. The enigmatic forces that had bound Eliza's spirit to the painting had been vanquished, and they had emerged victorious.

Their journey into the supernatural had ended, but its impact on their lives was enduring. The echoes of the past resonated in their hearts, a reminder that the bonds of family and friendship could conquer even the most enigmatic of mysteries.

Back in Rishant’s bedroom where it all started, the trio exchanged triumphant yet weary smiles. Their journey had been perilous, but it had brought them closer together and filled them with a sense of purpose.

"We did it," Rishant whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Shreya nodded, her eyes reflecting a newfound sense of fulfillment. "We helped Eliza find peace, and we uncovered mysteries that had remained hidden for generations."

Neeladri added, "Kolkata is safe from the malevolent force that threatened it, thanks to our combined efforts."

As the train bound for Gangtok chugged through the lush landscapes of the Himalayan foothills, a sense of joyful anticipation filled the air. Three families, each with their own unique blend of experiences and perspectives, had embarked on a journey into the heart of the mystical mountains.

The Dasgupta family, now free from the haunting curse of the painting, had chosen to embrace the mysteries of life with open hearts. Rishant's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dasgupta, were a striking couple—his father, a distinguished professor with a keen intellect and a warm smile, and his mother, a vibrant woman who had dedicated her life to the pursuit of knowledge. Their contrasting natures had always complemented each other, creating a harmonious family dynamic.

The Chatterjee family, led by Shreya's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Chatterjee, were sophisticated and rational individuals who belonged to the realm of science. Mr. Chatterjee, a renowned business tycoon and chemical engineer, possessed a distinguished appearance and an air of wisdom. His pragmatic approach to life was mirrored in his successful career. Mrs. Chatterjee, a famous doctor known for her groundbreaking work, was a woman of precision and logic. Her contributions to the field of medicine were a testament to her rationality.

Neeladri's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Banerjee, had thriving careers in law, but their roles as parents had always taken precedence. Mr. Banerjee, with his sharp mind and a sense of justice, had instilled in Neeladri a strong moral compass. Mrs. Banerjee, a compassionate woman with a nurturing spirit, had encouraged her son's adventurous nature. Their supportive presence had shaped Neeladri into the dedicated and resilient individual he had become.

As they shared meals in the dining car, exchanged stories of their respective careers, and gazed out at the breathtaking vistas, the three families found themselves drawn together by a shared sense of wonder and curiosity. It was as if the echoes of the past had brought them together on this serendipitous journey.

And yet, as the train continued its ascent into the Himalayas, a subtle sense of unease lingered—a feeling that their adventure was far from over. The mysteries of the supernatural world had not been fully unveiled, and the enigmatic forces that had once bound them together still whispered in the background.

As the train wound its way through tunnels and valleys, a new story began to take shape—an adventure that promised to lead them deeper into the heart of the unknown. The bonds of family and friendship had been strengthened by their shared experiences, and the echoes of the past served as a reminder that the journey was never truly over.

With an open ending to their epilogue, the three families looked ahead to the adventures that awaited them in the mystical landscapes of Gangtok. The train's wheels continued to turn, carrying them toward a future filled with mysteries, wonder, and the enduring bonds that bound them together.

But as they gazed out at the majestic mountains, a question lingered in their minds—a question that would propel them into another story, another journey, and another realm of enigma and adventure: What other secrets did the Himalayas hold, and what mysteries awaited them in the heart of the mystical mountains?