The question wasn't whether Rajan had set a trap.
Was how many.
Bharat stood in the underground parking garage beneath Imperial Secure Holdings, watching Vikram's team unload equipment from a nondescript delivery van. Black duffel bags. Lockpick kits. Portable EMP devices that looked like oversized flashlights.
Fourteen men.
Sixteen days left to live.
One vault between him and survival.
Peacock's voice crackled through the earpiece.
[PEACOCK]: Biometric lock disengaged. You have a twelve-minute window before the system reboots.
[BHARAT]: And the mechanical override?
[PEACOCK]: Still analyzing the key. Those divine wards are old—pre-colonial era. The scan's incomplete.
[BHARAT]: Meaning?
[PEACOCK]: Meaning I can't tell if Rajan booby-trapped it or if it's just naturally cursed.
[BHARAT]: Great. Love those odds.
Mira grabbed his arm.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
"Bharat—"
"We've been through this."
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Saw the fear there. The exhaustion.
She'd been up for thirty-six hours straight, cross-referencing Rajan's security protocols with Peacock's hacked blueprints, trying to find blind spots that didn't exist.
"If something goes wrong—" she started.
"It won't."
"But if it does—"
"Then you run."
Pause.
"I'm not leaving you."
"Yes, you are."
His voice was flat. Final.
"That's the deal, Mira. You get out. You testify. You make sure Rajan pays."
"And you?"
"I get the Oath-Gold. Break the curse. Or die trying."
Pause.
"Either way, the story ends."
She looked like she wanted to argue.
But didn't.
Just kissed him.
Fast. Hard.
Like she was trying to memorize the shape of his mouth.
"Don't die," she whispered.
"I'll try."
"That's not good enough."
"It's all I have."
Vikram walked over.
"We're ready."
"Everyone clear on the plan?"
"In and out. Twelve minutes. No heroics."
"And if we get caught?"
Vikram smiled. Cold.
"We don't."
They moved.
Fourteen shadows slipping through the parking garage like smoke.
Bharat activated the Codex—just enough to overlay divine script across his vision. Golden wireframes mapped the building's infrastructure: electrical conduits, ventilation shafts, pressure-sensitive floor panels.
And the tripwires.
Invisible to normal eyes.
But lit up like Christmas lights in divine sight.
"Stop," Bharat said quietly.
The team froze.
"What is it?" Vikram asked.
"Laser grid. Three inches off the ground. Crosses the entire hallway."
"Peacock said this floor was clear."
"Peacock was wrong."
Bharat crouched.
Traced the light patterns with his finger.
The lasers were threaded through the air in a complex lattice—some horizontal, some diagonal, all of them leading to pressure sensors embedded in the walls.
Silent alarm.
Touch one, and security would know.
Touch two, and the vault would lockdown.
Touch three, and the whole building would go into emergency protocol.
"Can you see them?" one of the younger mercenaries asked.
"Yes."
"How?"
"Divine sight. Covenant perk."
Pause.
"Follow my steps exactly. Don't deviate."
They moved.
Single file.
Bharat leading.
He stepped over the first laser—ankle height, glowing faint gold in his vision. The team followed, trusting him completely. Trusting that the dying god-child could see what they couldn't.
Second laser.
Third.
A diagonal one that cut across the doorway like a guillotine blade.
"Duck," Bharat said.
They ducked.
Crawled under.
One by one.
Like soldiers in a war zone.
Twelve minutes became eleven.
Eleven became ten.
They reached the vault door.
Massive.
Steel-reinforced titanium.
Three locks: biometric, mechanical, divine.
Peacock's voice:
[PEACOCK]: Biometric's down. Mechanical's your problem. Divine lock... I have no idea.
[BHARAT]: Helpful as always.
[PEACOCK]: I try.
Bharat pulled out the brass key.
The one Rajan had thrown at him.
The one that might be trapped.
The one he had no choice but to use.
"Everyone back," he said.
"How far?" Vikram asked.
"As far as you can get without leaving the hallway."
"Bharat—"
"Now."
They retreated.
Bharat stood alone.
Facing the lock.
Key in hand.
He activated the Codex fully.
Divine script flooded his vision—diagnostics, warnings, probability calculations.
ANALYZING: Mechanical Lock (Vault 3-Alpha)
Divine wards detected: 7 layers
Trap signatures: POSITIVE
Estimated lethality: 94%
Recommended action: DO NOT PROCEED
"Well," Bharat muttered. "That's encouraging."
He inserted the key.
Turned it.
Slow.
Steady.
Click.
Nothing happened.
No explosion.
No poison gas.
No divine lightning.
Just silence.
Then:
A sound.
Faint.
Like wind chimes in a distant room.
The vault door opened.
Three inches.
Then stopped.
Bharat pushed.
Nothing.
Pushed harder.
Still nothing.
"Peacock?"
[PEACOCK]: I'm seeing it. The door's locked from the inside.
[BHARAT]: How is that possible?
[PEACOCK]: Manual bolt. Old-school. Someone has to be in there to open it.
[BHARAT]: Or?
[PEACOCK]: Or it stays closed forever.
Vikram walked up.
"We're at eight minutes."
"I know."
"Can you get it open?"
"Working on it."
Bharat pressed his palm to the door.
Activated divine authority.
Golden light spilled from his hand—pouring into the gap, searching for the mechanism.
COST: 6 hours lifespan
New countdown: 15 days, 18 hours
His legs wobbled.
The cold rushing in.
Deeper this time.
Colder.
"Bharat—" Mira's voice from behind.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I'm functional."
The bolt disengaged.
The door swung open.
Inside:
A vault.
Small.
Maybe ten feet by ten feet.
Walls lined with safety deposit boxes.
And at the center:
A pedestal.
Empty.
"Where's the gold?" Vikram asked.
"Good question."
Bharat walked to the pedestal.
Saw the dust outline.
Something had been here.
Recently.
But now:
Nothing.
Except a photograph.
Face down.
On the pedestal.
Like someone had left it as a joke.
Bharat picked it up.
Turned it over.
And stopped breathing.
The photograph showed two people.
A man and a woman.
Holding hands.
Smiling.
Standing in front of a temple he didn't recognize.
The man:
Dev Kapoor.
Mira's father.
The woman:
Bharat's mother.
Twenty years younger.
Pregnant.
"What the fuck," Bharat whispered.
Mira appeared beside him.
Looked at the photo.
Went pale.
"That's... that's my father."
"I know."
"And that's—"
"My mother."
Pause.
"Why would they—"
"I don't know."
"When was this taken?"
"I don't know."
"Bharat, why is this photo here?"
He turned it over.
On the back, written in neat script:
"Insurance."
—R.S.
Rajan Singh.
"He knew," Bharat said quietly.
"Knew what?"
"That we'd come here. That we'd find this."
Pause.
"The Oath-Gold was never here."
"Then where—"
"Somewhere else. Somewhere we can't reach."
Vikram's voice, sharp:
"We're at five minutes. Security rotation incoming."
"Bharat, we need to move," Mira said.
But he couldn't.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
The photograph.
His mother.
Dev.
Holding hands.
"Why would your father know my mother?"
"I don't know."
"Mira—"
"I don't know, Bharat!"
Her voice cracked.
Tears streaming down her face.
"I don't know why he's in that photo. I don't know why the gold's gone. I don't know—"
Bharat grabbed her shoulders.
"Breathe."
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can."
He looked at the photo again.
At his mother's smile.
At the way Dev's hand covered hers.
Protective.
Familiar.
Like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"We're leaving," Vikram said. "Now."
"Agreed."
They ran.
Back through the hallway.
Over the lasers.
Under the tripwires.
Bharat's divine sight guiding them through the invisible maze.
Four minutes.
Three.
Two.
They burst into the parking garage.
Van doors open.
Engine running.
"Go!" Vikram shouted.
They piled in.
The van peeled out.
Tires screeching.
Security lights flaring behind them.
But they were out.
Gone.
Disappeared into Mumbai traffic like ghosts.
Inside the van, silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Vikram looked at Bharat.
"Where's the gold?"
"Gone."
"Gone where?"
"I don't know."
"That wasn't the plan."
"Plans change."
"So what do we do now?"
"I don't know."
Bharat looked at the photograph.
Still clutched in his hand.
His mother.
Dev.
The temple.
"Mira," he said quietly.
"What?"
"I need to talk to your father."
"Why?"
"Because he has answers."
"What kind of answers?"
Bharat looked at her.
Saw the fear there.
The realization dawning.
"The kind that explain why you're involved in this."
"I'm involved because you needed help."
"No."
He held up the photo.
"You're involved because someone planned it."
"Bharat, that's insane—"
"Is it?"
Pause.
"Your father knew my mother. Twenty years ago. Before I was born."
"So?"
"So why didn't he tell you?"
Silence.
"Why didn't he tell you," Bharat continued, "that the person you'd be helping was connected to him?"
"Maybe he didn't know—"
"He knew."
Bharat's voice was cold.
Flat.
Like something inside him had frozen over.
"He knew. And he sent you anyway."
"Sent me to do what?"
"I don't know. Yet."
Mira looked at the photo.
At her father's smile.
At the way he held Bharat's mother's hand.
"This doesn't mean—"
"It means something."
Pause.
"And we're going to find out what."
The van stopped.
Safe house.
Abandoned warehouse in Dharavi.
The kind of place where people disappeared and no one asked questions.
They filed out.
Vikram's team securing the perimeter.
Mira pulling out her phone.
"I'm calling him," she said.
"Good."
"What are you going to say?"
"Nothing."
Pause.
"You are."
She stared at him.
"You want me to—"
"Ask him about the photo. About my mother. About why he's been lying."
"Bharat—"
"Do it, Mira."
His voice wasn't angry.
Wasn't pleading.
Just tired.
Like he'd run out of ways to be surprised.
She dialed.
Three rings.
Then:
"Mira?"
Dev's voice. Warm. Concerned.
"Where are you? Are you safe?"
Mira looked at Bharat.
He nodded.
"I need to ask you something," she said.
"Of course. Anything."
"Do you know Bharat Singh's mother?"
Pause.
Long.
Too long.
"Why are you asking?"
"Because I found a photo. You and her. Twenty years ago."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Where did you find that?"
"Rajan's vault."
"Mira—"
"Answer the question, Dad."
Silence.
The kind that felt like the world holding its breath.
Then:
"Yes. I knew her."
Mira's hand shook.
Bharat leaned closer to the phone.
"How?" Mira asked.
"It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
"Mira, this isn't—"
"Now, Dad. Or I'm gone."
Pause.
"She was... involved in something. Something dangerous."
"What kind of something?"
"Divine politics. The kind that gets people killed."
Pause.
"I helped her. Tried to protect her."
"From what?" Bharat cut in.
Silence.
"Who is this?"
"Bharat Singh. The person you've been using your daughter to manipulate."
"I haven't—"
"You sent Mira to help me. Knowing we were connected. Knowing whatever happened to my mother involved you."
"Bharat—"
"Why?"
Silence.
Crackling over the line.
Then:
"Because I owed her."
"Owed her what?"
"A debt I could never repay."
Pause.
"And when I saw you—saw what was happening to you—I knew I had to intervene."
"By using Mira?"
"By giving her a chance to help someone who mattered."
"I didn't ask for her help."
"No. But you needed it."
Bharat's jaw tightened.
"What did you do to my mother?"
"I tried to save her."
"From what?"
"From the same people trying to kill you."
Pause.
"Rajan?"
"Not just Rajan. The entire Singh family. They wanted her dead."
"Why?"
"Because she knew too much. About the Oath-Gold. About the divine contracts."
Pause.
"About you."
Bharat went still.
"What do you mean, about me?"
"You weren't supposed to survive, Bharat. The curse—the binding—it was meant to kill you before you were born."
"But it didn't."
"No. Because your mother made a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"The kind that cost her everything."
Mira looked at Bharat.
Saw the color drain from his face.
"What did she trade?" he asked quietly.
"Her freedom. Her future. Her life."
Pause.
"She gave it all to keep you alive."
Bharat's hand closed around the photo.
Crumpling it.
"And you knew."
"Yes."
"And you said nothing."
"I couldn't. The deal was sealed. Telling you would've broken it."
"So you let me suffer."
"I let you live."
Pause.
"Where is she now?" Bharat asked.
Silence.
"Dad?" Mira's voice, shaking.
"She's alive," Dev said finally. "But not... herself."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the deal consumed her. She's in a place between life and death. Waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to break the curse. Or die trying."
The line went dead.
Mira stared at the phone.
"He hung up."
"I noticed."
"Bharat—"
"Your father used you."
"He was trying to help—"
"He was trying to clear his conscience."
Bharat threw the photo on the table.
"He let my mother rot for twenty years. Sent you to babysit me. And now—"
"Now what?"
"Now we find her."
"How?"
Bharat looked at the Codex.
At the new quest notification appearing in his vision.
NEW QUEST: THE MOTHER'S PRISON
Objective: Locate and free Bharat's mother
Location: Unknown (Divine trace required)
Difficulty: EXTREME
Reward: +30 days lifespan, +Maternal Blessing (passive)
Failure penalty: Mother's soul erased permanently
Time limit: None (but host lifespan still active)
"We find the temple," Bharat said.
"What temple?"
"The one in the photo."
He picked up the crumpled picture. Smoothed it out.
"This was taken somewhere. Some place important enough to photograph."
"Bharat, there are ten thousand temples in India—"
"Not like this one."
He pointed to the background.
A carving on the temple wall.
Faint but visible.
"That's a divine seal. Pre-Vedic era."
"How do you know?"
"Because the Codex is highlighting it."
Golden script overlaid the photo—translating, analyzing, cross-referencing.
LOCATION IDENTIFIED:
Temple of the Unborn Vow
Region: Rajasthan
Status: Abandoned (200+ years)
Divine signature: ACTIVE (maternal covenant detected)
"Rajasthan," Bharat said.
"That's a thousand kilometers away."
"Then we better start driving."
Mira looked at him.
"You're serious."
"Completely."
"Bharat, we just failed a heist. Rajan knows we're coming. Your lifespan is down to fifteen days—"
"Fifteen days, eighteen hours."
"That's not better!"
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Saw the tears.
The fear.
The exhaustion.
"I'm going," he said quietly. "With or without you."
"Why?"
"Because she's my mother."
Pause.
"And because your father owes me the truth."
Silence.
Then:
"I'm coming with you."
"Mira—"
"Don't argue. I'm coming."
Bharat almost smiled.
Almost.
"Fine. But we do this my way."
"Which is?"
"Fast. Dangerous. Probably fatal."
"So, business as usual."
"Exactly."