The sun dipped low on the horizon. Golden light turned orange, then faded as shadows grew longer. A large crowd—young, old, and in-between—all dressed in white, stood gathered around a large ceremonial fire.
Om stood closest to the flames, tightly holding Raj's hand. His eyes remained fixed on the burning pyre.
As the sun finally vanished, the crowd began to slowly disperse. From among them, Ronnie approached Om.
"He gave you a chance to be something. Don't waste it."
Om heard him but didn't respond. He didn't even look up.
Ronnie turned away and left with the others.
Only Raj and Om remained at the site. They waited in silence until the flames had fully died down. Once the last ember faded, Raj helped Om collect his grandfather's ashes into a clay pot. Together, they left the ceremonial ground.
Outside the site, a sleek black luxury car rolled to a stop in front of them. From within stepped a tall man in a formal white suit, with neatly combed brown hair and a well-trimmed beard.
"Hello, Master Om. I'm Narad, Mr. Shiv's lawyer," the man said politely.
"Hello, I'm Raj," Raj introduced himself.
"Good. It's a good thing you're both here. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to you at my office. It concerns Mr. Shiv's will—for both of you."
.
.
.
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The Hidden Office
The ride was long and silent. When they finally arrived, Raj was stunned.
A 50-floor tower, modern and extravagant, stood tall in the middle of a thick forest—protected by military-level security. Cameras, guards, checkpoints. Raj's jaw dropped.
"Mr. Narad… what is this place? Who are you?"
"I'll explain everything. Please come inside first—there's something I need to show you."
Eight armed guards walked in two lines, flanking Om and Raj as they followed Narad into the building. Inside, Narad led them to a sleek, elegant office on one of the top floors.
Raj and Om took their seats, both still trying to process everything.
Narad stood before them with a small golden box in his hands. He held it with a gentle reverence, as if it contained something priceless.
"First, my condolences to you both," he said softly. "I know Mr. Shiv meant everything to you. He was my mentor, my benefactor… my elder. I owe him a great deal."
Om, gripping the clay pot, stood up and handed it to Raj.
"He never mentioned anything about you. Or about any of this," Om said sharply. "So don't waste our time. Just say whatever you have to say and let us go."
"Om, calm down. Be respectful," Raj interjected—sternly for the first time.
Om was taken aback. Raj had never scolded him before.
"It's alright," Narad said calmly, placing a tray of tea in front of them. "Please. Let's have some tea."
Raj accepted gratefully. Om ignored his cup.
Narad cleared his throat and continued.
"The white fruits used before the inheritance ceremony are extremely rare. They're auctioned once a year, and even wealthy nations have to wait for years to obtain them."
Raj leaned forward, his voice a disbelieving whisper. "Wait... are they really that expensive? Like, a hundred million points?"
Narad smiled faintly. "Many times that. But this year… by Mr. Shiv's request, one quota was granted to Om. And another fruit—purchased privately from the auction—was reserved for you, Raj."
Om's eyes narrowed.
So it's true, he thought. The only reason I got the fruit… was because of Grandpa.
Raj blinked in disbelief.
"Wait, are you serious? I'm… I can attend the inheritance ceremony?"
"Yes. But keep in mind—many others your age will attend this year as well. Mr. Shiv always believed in your potential. But because you weren't selected for a quota, he made arrangements in secret."
Narad opened the golden box and revealed the fruit.
It radiated with a gentle white glow—pure, warm, and slightly humming.
Raj, startled, immediately shut the box.
"This is too much. He… he already paid for my food, my clothes. I never had to work because of him. But this? White fruits are priceless. How could he afford something like this?"
"Don't worry about that now," Narad said gently. "And listen—there's more to the will."
Om leaned forward, finally interested.
Narad noticed the change. He smiled slightly.
"Raj… since you're too old to enroll in any Inheritor Academy, you will receive private training here, in this facility.
And Om… if you succeed in gaining admission into C.U.I.—the Central University of Inheritors—and qualify at the level of at least Maharathi, then…
You will receive all your answers."
Raj blinked again, confused.
"Mr. Narad, that's asking too much! Even Rathi-level warriors fail the entrance exam! And there's no public criteria—you can score high and still not get selected!"
Om stood up slowly.
"I'll do it."
Raj turned, shocked.
Narad laughed heartily.
"Haha! That's what I was hoping to hear."
He walked around the desk.
"And now, the final part of the will: From today onward, you both will live here, with us."
Just then, the door opened and a strikingly beautiful woman entered. She wore a black formal suit, high heels, and walked with confidence.
Raj gasped, dropping his teacup onto the floor. It shattered with a clatter.
The clay pot flew into the air—and was caught effortlessly by the woman.
"Idiot," she muttered softly, her eyes on the broken cup.
She handed the pot to Om gently.
"This is Sara, my assistant," Narad said.
"She'll show you to your rooms."
"Yes, sir." Sara turned to them with a soft smile. "Please follow me."
As they began to leave the office, Narad called out one last time:
"Hey! One more thing. All your expenses—training, equipment, housing—will be taken care of by us. So feel free to ask for anything."
"Thanks, Mr. Narad," Raj said gratefully.
Om didn't reply. He walked ahead.
When the room finally emptied, Narad slowly sank to his knees. His composed face broke.
Tears rolled down silently.
"Grandpa… rest in peace."
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Appendix: Warrior Classifications
* Rathi – Can battle 5,000 warriors simultaneously.
* Ati-Rathi – Can fight 12 Rathi-class warriors (or 60,000 opponents).
* Maharathi – Can battle 12 Ati-Rathis (720,000 enemies).
* Ati-Maharathi – Can fight 12 Maharathis.
* Maha-Maharathi – Can fight 24 Ati-Maharathis. Only one exists, the current head of the W.I.A. (World Inheritors Association).
In this world, Rathis are common. Ati-Rathis are rare. Maharathis are extremely rare—only around 1,000 exist. Fewer than 100 are Ati-Maharathis. And there is only one Maha-Maharathi.