The golden chandelier swayed lightly above Ronnie's head as he stood on the third-floor balcony of his mansion. A cold wind rushed through the courtyard, but it barely touched him. His blood was too hot.
From his vantage point, he could see the full stretch of their ancestral estate—marble towers, and the polished white training arena below where dozens of warriors were training in synchronized rhythm. Elemental drills fired off like fireworks—bursts of flame, water whips, wind spirals—but he barely noticed them.
A soft buzz crackled beside him.
Vajra, his sentient weapon, leaned lazily against the railing.The basic shape of it was a symmetrical, metal scepter with a central sphere and a set of prongs radiating from each ends being more elaborate and lotus-shaped.
*Still hesitating, Prince of Heaven?*
(Dialogues of Vajra will be in between *____*.)
The voice echoed in his head—taunting, regal, impossible to ignore.
Ronnie didn't answer. He couldn't.
His hand tightened against the railing until his knuckles turned pale.
*Waiting for another reminder? Another tale about someone surpassing you? Someone born without a name, touching the skies?*
"Shut up," he muttered.
*Then do something about it.*
Lightning flashed in his pupils. He turned away.
.
.
.
.
Ronnie stormed down the polished staircase, passing by towering portraits of his ancestors— His father's portrait—Kashyapa in full attire like a sage —hung above the others, watching.
For a moment, Ronnie slowed. Stared.
He didn't like how his father always looked like he was judging him. Even in paint.
.
.
.
.
He reached the basement hall.
"Swarg-Lok"
he summoned his territory.
As he stepped in, the transition was instant.
Swarg-Lok bloomed before him but this time in all its majesty. floating palaces, golden clouds, and skies rippling with lightning. Artificial yet real. Built from his divine link. The skies bent to his will, but felt cold… empty.
Witnessing Raj's strength and Om's will not give up triggered something in him.
This was Inheritance. And his burden.
He stepped into the air. A circular platform of light appeared beneath his feet. The moment he touched it, streaks of divine lightning shot out from his chest, rippling across the dome of Swarg-Lok like a warning to all lesser gods.
His weapon floated beside him, now awakened.
*So why does it feel like you're still chasing shadows?*
"I'm not chasing," Ronnie growled. "I'm just not finished preparing."
*You're preparing for insects.*
"No," he said. "I'm preparing to dominate."
.
.
.
.
The next few hours blurred into pain.
Ronnie stripped his shirt off and began the drill. He moved like a beast possessed—lunges, mid-air flips, spear jabs, rotating lightning strikes—all executed with near-perfect form. Vajra shifted into different weapons as he trained: a javelin, a bow, twin gauntlets.
Each move drew on a different form.
Each strike summoned the storm.
His sweat evaporated the moment it touched his skin, burnt by the divine heat of his surging power. His skin crackled—lightning tattoos glowing under the surface, his eyes illuminated like molten silver.
But his mind… wandered.
He remembered the report.
Om. Ambushed. Twenty Rathi-class warriors. Barely survived. Killed two.
He shouldn't care. But something about it irked him. Not because Om survived. But because he fought with his broken Inheritance even though he knew the result.
Ronnie's anger flared. And with it… a confusing respect.
"I hate that I don't hate him," he growled under his breath.
*You pity him.*
Vajra said softly, this time without mockery.
"No."
*Then stop thinking about him.*
.
.
.
.
He paused his drills.
Swarg-Lok flickered as his concentration dipped. The floating cities trembled. His focus required stillness—and Ronnie's was cracking.
He let the energy disperse and sat down on the platform. Chest heaving. Arms shaking.
He stared at his own hands.
"I'm not second," he whispered. "And I never will be."
.
.
.
.
He didn't realize someone else had entered until he heard the slow clap.
Clap. Clap.
Ronnie turned.
His father, Kashyapa, stood in the gateway—dressed in his casual clothes, his presence calmed Ronnie.
He did it with silence.
"You're panting too hard," he said.
Ronnie stood, tensed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing, but I'm seeing how far the King of Heaven has fallen."
Ronnie's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Kashyapa walked forward, arms behind his back, inspecting the surroundings. "Swarg-Lok responds to your mood. Right now, it feels unstable. Hollow. You're not training to grow stronger, Ronnie. You're training to silence your insecurity."
"I'm training to surpass them."
"Who? Raj? Or that broken boy?"
Ronnie flinched.
Kashyapa didn't miss it.
"I told you before. You're not competing against them. You're supposed to join them."
"I don't want to join," Ronnie snapped. "I want to rule."
A pause.
Then Kashyapa smiled—but it was hollow.
"That's the difference between you and a true king."
Ronnie's fists clenched. Sparks danced along his arms.
Kashyapa turned to leave. "You inherited God King's power. But you haven't inherited its will. Until then, you're just another boy with too much lightning and not enough direction."
Ronnie stepped forward. "I don't need your approval."
"thats why Your brother chose Om, not you."
The words hit harder than any thunderbolt.
Then he was gone.
.
.
.
.
Ronnie stood frozen for minutes, maybe hours.
The throne of Swarg-Lok hovered behind him—empty. Waiting. But it mocked him now.
He looked up at the storm-filled dome.
"Then I'll become the storm."
.
.
.
.
Training resumed—but it was different now. More savage.
He didn't hold back.
He unleashed his full power.
He summoned lightning from every pore.
His skin cracked. His bones screamed. His eyes bled divine tears.
He trained until Swarg-Lok trembled.
---
By nightfall, he collapsed at the edge of the divine lake. The water rippled with soft blue light as he dipped his feet into it.
Above, the clouds parted slightly, revealing a sky that mirrored his turmoil—unsettled, but alive.
He whispered:
"I'll surpass Raj."
A pause.
"I'll destroy Om."
Another pause.
"…Or I'll die trying."
The clouds above rumbled. Not in protest.
But in acknowledgment.
And then Vajra's voice, one last time before silence.
*Then get up. Again.*
Ronnie did.