Near the ceremonial site of W.I.A., excitement buzzed through Om's class like static in the air. They stood together, trying to mask their nervousness behind smiles and small talk. Over the loudspeakers, a voice echoed:
"[Himalaya Nation, please be ready. In 5 minutes, report to the Monolith Incharge with your assigned volunteer, Mr. Bhanu.]"
A hush fell over the students. The nervousness became tangible—hanging over them like a fog. Even Raj, always the picture of confidence, was visibly uneasy.
Om, usually composed and expressionless, clenched his fists. Frustration simmered beneath his calm surface.
"So far, life has never been in my hands. But… if I can get a powerful inheritance today, maybe—just maybe—I can finally change my fate."
But the thought was fleeting. Doubt crept in.
"Can it really happen? Luck and I were never friends. Every time I smile, it feels like a meteor of sorrow crashes into my world."
He thought back to how recently everything had seemed to change—finding the library, the lavish new room, and that white fruit. It all felt like a dream. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something would ruin it.
In the distance, the current group at the Monolith had just finished. They submitted their reports and began moving away. Om watched, but to him, the towering Monolith didn't look like a path to power—it looked like a meteor falling right for him.
Raj, noticing Om lost in thought, placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
Before Om could respond, Bhanu appeared.
"Everyone, come. Follow me."
Raj turned to Om, raising his voice.
"Om? Hey! Are you even here?"
"Huh? What—?" Om blinked as if waking up.
"It's time. Let's go," Raj said firmly.
A wave of pressure struck Om. His face turned pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart pounded like a war drum. Breathing felt like lifting boulders.
Raj noticed.
Even while battling his own anxiety, Raj reached out and grabbed Om's hand.
"Hey… we can't control anything now. So just go with the flow."
Om didn't fully understand. But something about Raj's grip steadied him.
As they reached the Monolith, the class lined up—five rows of ten students each, with the rest forming a queue behind.
Up close, the Monolith was surprisingly plain. Earlier, from afar, it had shimmered with mystery. Now, it just looked like a large, silent slab of stone.
The incharge addressed them sternly.
"I hope all of you have consumed the white fruit. If not, we are not liable for what happens next."
"Yes, sir," the class responded in unison.
"Groups of ten, step forward and form a circle around the Monolith."
Ronnie's group was first. They stepped forward, circling the Monolith.
"Now, place your hands on the surface—but be warned: if you lose contact for any reason, do not touch it again. Understood?"
They nodded.
"Close your eyes. Feel it."
As instructed, the group closed their eyes and touched the Monolith. Within seconds, faint glows—red, blue, green, violet—began to shimmer from their bodies. Om watched, spellbound.
Minutes passed. One by one, students removed their hands—except Ronnie.
The Principal, watching from nearby, looked concerned.
"Why hasn't Ronnie withdrawn?"
But the incharge's expression shifted to excitement.
"No need to worry, sir. In fact—congratulations. If the Monolith is taking this long, it means Ronnie is being offered multiple inheritances."
The Principal's eyes widened. He turned to the students.
"Everyone, listen! This might mean our nation is about to witness the rise of its first Ati-Rathi!"
But the incharge quickly interrupted.
"Sir, you're still underestimating him. Those who've received choices from the Monolith have always reached at least Maha-Rathi level in history."
A stunned silence fell over the class. Then, like a spark igniting a fire, cheer and awe exploded among the students.
All fear, all hesitation vanished.
Om, too, smiled. He didn't feel jealous. He felt proud.
"Our nation finally has its hero."
Moments later, Ronnie opened his eyes—golden aura flickering in his gaze. He turned to glance briefly at Om, something unreadable in his eyes.
The incharge stepped forward.
"State the name of your inheritance."
Ronnie's voice came deep, calm, and powerful.
"God-King: INDRA."
Gasps. Silence. Then thunderous whispers.
Both Bhanu and the incharge exchanged knowing looks.
"We must inform the higher-ups," they thought simultaneously.
Ronnie bowed to his principal, touching his feet.
"I wish you a great future, my boy," the principal said, eyes moist with emotion.
One by one, other groups stepped forward. Two more successfully completed their trials—rumors spreading that each had received at least Ati-Rathi class inheritances.
Then came Om's group—the fourth.
"Surround the Monolith. Place your hands on it. Close your eyes," came the familiar instructions.
They obeyed.
At that moment, a tall man in shining metal armor, a massive claymore strapped to his back, approached the gathering.
"Who is Ronnie?" he asked.
Ronnie stepped forward.
"That's me."
"Mr. Bhanu, come with me. Bring the boy."
Bhanu nodded. "Ronnie, let's go."
The two of them followed the armored man into the distance.
Meanwhile, Om felt… something. A tiny spark in his mind. Then—nothing.
"What… was that?" he thought, eyes snapping open.
He looked down. His hand—not touching the Monolith.
Everyone else in his group was still connected, still immersed.
Around him, classmates whispered, all eyes now on Ronnie walking away.
Om turned to look, tears brimming in his eyes.
"They don't need someone like me anymore. Our nation has its hero."
A painful peace settled in his heart.
And without realizing it… Om reached out and touched the Monolith again.