The afternoon sun hung low over the Himalayan peaks, its pale glow scattered by drifting snow. The facility was bathed in a strange quietness that felt unnatural, a silence like the forest was holding its breath.
At the main entrance, Dawon, the giant lion, lay sprawled across the frosted tiles. His tail swished lazily, golden eyes half-closed in drowsy comfort. Each exhale misted in the cold air, yet his ears twitched every few seconds, ever alert despite his apparent slumber.
Inside the facility, Om sat cross-legged in his room, his body unmoving, eyes closed. His breathing was steady, his consciousness half submerged within himself. The inheritance symbols faintly glimmered beneath his skin as he meditated. The room around him was bare, save for a desk stacked with unused papers and a single dim lamp.
But elsewhere, his clone—possessed by Zero—was far from stillness. In the digital labyrinth of the facility's secured servers, Zero drifted with Om's likeness like a phantom. Layers of encrypted firewalls and hidden surveillance codes parted before its presence.
[Accessing archives…] Zero's voice reverberated in mechanical calm, its tone stripped of emotion. The clone's eyes flickered, holographic screens blossoming in the void around it. Streams of data unfolded—past candidates of the Central University of Inheritors, records of triumphs, failures, deaths. Every name, every rank, every shattered destiny glowed in rapid succession.
[Cross-reference completed.] Zero announced coldly. [Probability of survival for this year's candidates—seventy percent.]
[Master, your statistical odds are looking good for this year.]
But Om, meditating elsewhere, heard none of this. His breath remained steady, his mind detached. Until…
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In Narad's Office
At the far top of the facility, Narad sat buried under towers of parchment and modern tablets alike. His once pristine desk was now a battlefield of documents, receipts, coded letters, and official seals from foreign embassies. Across from him, Sara, her expression tired but focused, sifted through stacks of handwritten reports.
"Tomorrow," she muttered under her breath, brushing strands of hair from her face. "By this time tomorrow, every inheritor without a licence under this nation's roof will be departing for the World Inheritor's Association. And we still don't have half the paperwork cleared."
Narad exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The bureaucrats will choke on their own red tape, as always. But the Association won't wait. If even a single form is misplaced, one of these children may lose their right to even stand in the trials."
Sara frowned. "You mean to say their futures rest on ink and paper?"
"Not just ink," Narad corrected grimly. "On politics, on hidden hands, on power struggles we cannot even see. Remember that, girl."
Sara replied with a sigh, "it's like this every year."
The air was tense. They worked in silence, broken only by the scratch of pens and the shuffle of pages. But the peace would not last.
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Outside, a footstep echoed against the snow-blanketed stones beyond the main gate. Dawon's ears twitched. His golden eyes opened wide, narrowing as a presence touched his senses. At first faint, but quickly swelling—like a tidal wave threatening to crush everything.
The lion rose, muscles coiling, his mane bristling. His breath came faster, mist spraying in heavy bursts. The presence only grew stronger. Dawon stepped forward, his claws scraping against the stone.
Another footstep.
Another.
The ground itself seemed to tremble.
And then… Dawon froze. His instincts screamed. That presence wasn't just overwhelming—it was suffocating. Unnatural. Something in his blood told him to back away. To yield. To survive.
A deep rumble escaped his throat, turning into a sudden roar that shattered the silence. The sound echoed like thunder across the entire facility. Windows trembled. Birds scattered from the treeline in the forest where transmigrated beasts were taken care of.
In Narad's office, the roar was deafening. Papers scattered like leaves caught in a storm. Both Narad and Sara stiffened, their bodies instinctively tensing.
"That…" Sara whispered, her pen falling from her fingers. "That wasn't a warning roar. That was—"
"Fear," Narad finished sharply, rising to his feet. His expression hardened. "Dawon… is afraid."
They dropped everything. Chairs toppled as both of them bolted for the door.
Meanwhile, in his room, Om's concentration shattered. The echo of Dawon's roar pierced his meditation like a blade. His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. But what chilled him wasn't just the sound—it was the feeling inside it. Fear. Desperation.
At his current level, Dawon feared no one inside the facility. No instructor, no inheritor. No ordinary threat could make that beast tremble.
A single thought gripped Om's mind. "Has the facility been attacked?"
He didn't wait. He shot to his feet, bolting out of his room, panic etched across his face.
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The Reception
The lift doors opened with a hiss. Om felt it the moment he stepped out. The air was heavy. Thick. Suffused with a bloodlust that pressed against his lungs, drowning him in invisible waves.
Every step toward the main entrance only intensified the suffocating aura. His breath grew ragged, his pulse erratic.
And then he saw them.
Narad and Sara stood frozen in the reception hall, their bodies rigid, their faces pale. Their eyes were fixed on the scene outside, but neither dared move closer.
A few meters ahead of them, Dawon crouched low, his massive frame shivering violently. His fangs were bared, but his legs quaked with weakness.
Om's gaze followed Dawon's line of sight—and froze.
A man stood at the gate. A shadow against the snowy light, his figure casual yet commanding. The aura of bloodlust poured from him like a tide.
But as the wind shifted, Om saw the face. Familiar. Too familiar.
His body locked. His throat constricted. And before he could stop them, tears welled up and fell silently down his cheeks.
"Raj…" Om whispered.
The figure at the gate smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. His voice carried easily across the distance, calm and clear.
"Om… I'm back."
The murderous intent that had filled the area vanished like smoke blown away by the wind. The suffocating pressure melted into calm. Only silence remained.
In that silence, Om's feet moved before his mind caught up. His eyes blurred with tears as he rushed forward. His chest burned, his breath ragged, but he didn't care.
He crashed into Raj and threw his arms around him, clinging as though afraid Raj would vanish again.
"Brother…" Om choked out, voice breaking.
Sara's hand froze mid-air. Narad's eyes widened. Both realized—this was the first time Om had ever called him that.