Jan 1–Jan 10, 2016
"Lanterns in the Snow"
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A New Year's Beginning
The first morning of 2016 arrived crisp and silent. Snow lay thick across the valley, muffling sound, softening edges, transforming the estate into something out of a painting. The orchards were skeletal silhouettes against the pale horizon, their branches etched with frost. The mansion's glass walls shimmered faintly, golden light spilling into the winter air like warmth refusing to surrender.
Inside, preparations were underway for New Year's night. His mother had insisted on tradition: lanterns strung through the orchard paths, paper stars hung from tree branches, the smell of cardamom and roasted cashews drifting from the kitchen.
The MC allowed himself a rare indulgence — he didn't interfere. He simply walked among his family, watching his mother scold Saras, the humanoid servant, for folding napkins "too stiffly," while his father debated loudly with Dev about whether to open bottles of wine or settle for warm rum.
For one evening, the empire paused. There was no talk of contracts, no whispers of Delhi, no shadows of foreign eyes. Just family, laughter, and the faint music of old Bollywood classics playing through hidden speakers.
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Lanterns in the Orchard
That evening, as twilight fell, the orchard transformed. Lanterns glowed softly, their reflections caught in ice-crusted branches. A small fire pit crackled in the center clearing, around which chairs and rugs were arranged.
His parents sat close together, wrapped in shawls. Saras handed out steaming cups of masala chai, while Dev kept tending the fire, adjusting logs with the precision of an engineer disguised as a servant.
The MC stood slightly apart, watching the scene. The glow on his parents' faces, the laughter, the warmth of shared stories — these were the very things he had fought for across lifetimes.
His mother turned to him suddenly, calling out:
> "Beta, stop standing like a statue. Come sit! This year, you'll laugh with us instead of brooding."
He obeyed, smiling faintly. For a time, he allowed himself to be nothing more than a son.
At midnight, fireworks lit up the distant town sky. Reflections danced across the mansion's glass, the valley briefly illuminated as if touched by firelight from the heavens. His father raised a toast — simple words, yet powerful:
> "To health, to peace, and to the dreams of our children."
The MC raised his glass quietly, knowing those dreams were heavier than anyone here could imagine.
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The Hidden Control Room
But celebration could only last so long. In the silence of early January mornings, while his parents still slept, he retreated to the hidden levels beneath the mansion.
The control room thrummed softly — walls alive with holographic projections, maps stretching across mountain ranges, glowing lines marking planned tunnel routes in Arunachal Pradesh. Aarya's voice filled the chamber, calm, melodic:
> Aarya: "Shipment routes have been finalized. TBM component transports will begin January 12th. Estimated assembly window: ten days."
He studied the maps carefully. Red markers showed border tension zones, green points marked proposed base camps, blue paths outlined potential future corridors through the Himalayas. Each tunnel was more than a road — it was strategy, economy, sovereignty.
With a gesture, he summoned a rotating projection of the TBM itself. The machine gleamed like something alien: a massive cylindrical body, laser arrays integrated into cutting heads, gravity stabilizers ensuring smooth passage. To the untrained eye, it would look like impossible science fiction. To him, it was just another adaptation of Marvel's lost blueprints — refined, scaled, and hidden beneath layers of plausible engineering.
Still, Aarya's voice carried a note of caution.
> Aarya: "Current boring speed exceeds natural geological expectations by a factor of nine. If revealed, it will attract global attention."
He nodded, grim.
> "Then we underplay it. Let the world think we can only achieve a tenth of its power. Enough to shock, but not enough to terrify."
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Family Interlude
Later in the day, he rejoined his parents for a walk along the snow-laden paths. His father spoke about wanting to plant roses once spring arrived. His mother worried aloud that the mansion was "too big" and they would lose each other in its corridors.
The MC reassured them both gently, masking the weight of secrets. Yet inside, he knew: every comfort they enjoyed here was made possible by the technologies he dared not reveal.
When they paused near the orchard's edge, his father placed a hand on his shoulder.
> "You're building something, beta. We don't know what. But… we trust you. Just promise me one thing: no matter how high you rise, never let this —" he gestured at the snowy valley, at the warmth of family — "slip away."
The MC swallowed hard, forcing a smile.
> "I promise, Papa."
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Closing the Chapter
By January 10th, the celebrations had faded, replaced by quiet routine. His parents spent more time in the garden atrium, enjoying warmth beneath the glass dome. Saras and Dev became as natural to them as any human attendants.
But for the MC, each day was consumed by preparation. The first transport convoys were scheduled. The first tunnel would soon break ground.
On the night of January 10th, he stood once more on the balcony, snow drifting silently around him. Lanterns from the New Year's celebration still hung in the orchard, swaying faintly in the cold wind.
He whispered to himself, not as a son, not as a host, but as the architect of a hidden empire:
> "The year of foundations is over. The year of rising begins."
And with that, he turned back toward the control room — toward the future that waited in the mountains.