General Wo extended his hand toward Om.
"Show me."
Om's heart thumped. His lips tightened. He looked inward.
Zero…
[Do it. Controlled demonstration. Minimal risk. Proceed.]
Om hesitated a moment longer, then whispered, "Vajra Kaya."
Instantly, golden Sanskrit characters ignited across his skin, flowing in radiant patterns. They pulsed, glowing like molten script, etching his arms, his chest, his forehead. The room filled with an aura of strength so raw it felt like the air itself vibrated.
At the same moment, Dawon's body shimmered with the same script, golden light flowing like rivers across his fur. He stepped forward, luminous, every muscle singing with borrowed power.
Dev stumbled back, eyes wide. General Wo's lips parted slightly—though he masked it quickly.
None of them recognized the ancient characters. To them, it was just another anomaly of Om's "broken inheritance."
General Wo reached out his hand. Om extended his own.
The General's palm pressed against Om's. For a moment, silence. Then Wo's brows furrowed, as if sensing the pulse of power beneath Om's skin. A moment later, he exhaled slowly.
"You speak the truth," he said at last, releasing Om's hand. "Even with a broken inheritance, you've achieved this much… remarkable. Truly remarkable."
Om exhaled, and the golden characters sank back into his flesh, fading into nothing. Dawon's glow vanished as well, leaving the room dim and ordinary again.
Dev slumped in relief. "You see? He wasn't lying."
General Wo smiled faintly and gestured toward the chair. Dev, still jittery, quickly dragged it forward. Wo Zhen sat gracefully, folding one leg over the other. His eyes sharpened again.
"Now then," he said, "tell me what happened in that forest. Everything."
Om inhaled. Then spoke. "When we went to finish my kill quota, we found… nothing. No beasts, no tracks. It was eerie. Then Dawon suddenly ran in a direction, and we followed. Along the way we saw beasts—lots of them—all moving the same way. At the end, we saw them entering a cave. Thousands of them. Just as we were about to enter, meteors began to rain. That's when I blacked out."
Dev picked up from there. "I carried Om on Dawon's back and we escaped. That's all. The authority soldiers found us afterward."
General Wo tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And… you saw nothing inside the cave?"
Om shook his head firmly. "No."
Another long pause. Finally, Wo Zhen stood.
"Very well. Your statements match the reports. Thank you… for your cooperation."
He gave them both a final nod—his eyes lingering curiously on Dawon one last time—then left the room.
The door shut. Silence.
Only then did Om exhale deeply, shoulders relaxing.
Zero, he thought, I owe you again.
[Acknowledged. Survival probability increased. Continue maintaining fabricated narrative.]
Om smiled faintly. He lay back on the bed, though sleep felt far away. Outside, the Forbidden Zone remained a mystery, and the cave's secret gnawed at him. But for now, at least, they were safe.
.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, in General Wo's office
General Wo Zhen walked through the polished corridors of the Chinese Authority's sector headquarters, his boots echoing sharply against the stone floors. Two aides trailed behind him, carrying stacks of reports and devices. His face remained unreadable, but inside his mind, questions tangled like a storm.
He shut the office door behind him, dismissing the aides with a wave. Only when he was alone did he let the mask slip. His brows furrowed, and he dropped heavily into his chair.
"The boy…" he muttered. "And the beast."
The moment Om's body lit up with Sanskrit characters replayed in his mind. Wo Zhen had fought countless inheritors, also studied variations of broken, incomplete, and rare inheritances. But never had he seen symbols like those. They weren't fragments of some shattered gift—he felt something oppressive in their presence.
He leaned back, eyes narrowing.
"Bhanu's report said the lion was frail, half-dead when chosen. Yet now… it radiates vitality. And that boy, his aura doesn't fit his words."
He drummed his fingers on the desk.
"They're hiding something. But what?"
For a fleeting moment, a thought crossed his mind—something ancient, forbidden.
"Did they encounter an opportunity in the forest?" But he shook it away with a grunt.
"No. Impossible. Those things are long buried. The world has no place for them anymore."
Still, unease clung to him like a shadow.
---
Back in the dormitory
Dev had finally fallen into a restless sleep, his head resting against the chair's backrest. Dawon's heavy breathing rumbled like a soft drumbeat in the quiet. Om, however, remained awake. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, but his mind was far elsewhere.
Zero, he called inwardly.
[Yes?]
"Do you think he suspects?"
[General Wo Zhen seems cautious by nature. He doesn't accept simple answers easily. But for now, he lacks proof. He will watch, but he won't act rashly.]
Om's lips pressed into a thin line. "Proof… that's all that separates truth from lie in their eyes."
[Correct.]
[Which is why you must remain consistent. If you waver, even once, suspicion will become certainty.]
Om closed his eyes, exhaustion finally dragging at his body. His last thought before sleep claimed him was simple:
"Then I'll just have to become someone who never wavers."
.
.
.
.
The morning air trembled with the roar of engines. Across the barren grounds, inheritors from other nations stood in rigid lines, uniforms still stained with dust. Above them, shadows stretched as multiple aircraft descended—sleek silver hulls of the Chinese Authority, black-winged carriers of Europa, and the broad, heavy crafts of the American Federation. At the far edge of the field, the insignia of the Himalaya Nation shimmered proudly on a pair of gunmetal transports.
Dev straightened his posture, adjusting the hem of his jacket, though the fatigue under his eyes betrayed him. Beside him, Om stood calm as ever, his hands resting loosely at his sides. Around them, their fellow Himalaya inheritors whispered nervously, eyes darting between the aircraft and the figure sprawled casually on the ground before them.
Dawon, the lion.
His golden mane caught the early sun, his immense body stretched out across the dirt as though he had not a care in the world. Each breath that left him rumbled like a drum, echoing faintly over the murmurs of the gathered crowd. Soldiers, officers, and even the inheritors of other nations found their gazes drawn, some in awe, others in unease.
"Is it really asleep?" one voice whispered.
"Sleeping… or pretending," another muttered, stepping back.
The tension thickened. Om's expression never shifted, though his eyes flickered once toward Dawon.
Then a sharp crackle split the air—an amplified voice over comms.
"All inheritors of the Himalaya Nation," it rang out, firm and commanding, "prepare to board."
The ground itself seemed to hold its breath as every eye turned toward Om and the sleeping lion at his feet.