Next night, the kid was sobbing in his bed, his face turned crimson as his grip tightened on his pillow. When the father entered the room, he gently sat beside him and ruffled his hair, his touch was warm and soothing. But the kid hides his face below the pillow.

  The father explained, his voice calm, “I will be back in a week.”

  The kid replied, his voice crackled, “You promis…ed that you will finish the story.”

  To which the father replied, “And I will keep my promise.” He further added, removing the pillow, “Your mother has allowed you an hour extension to your bedtime.”

  The kid jumped onto his father, a smile ran across his face, his eyes full of excitement, “You’re the best.”

  the father replied, maintaining his calm demeanor, “We will celebrate afterwards. Let’s, first complete the story.”

  The boy sincerely sat on his bed, his eyes locked in as the father continued...

  In the car, trying to break the tension, Amarath commented on Krishnam, “He is built like a Greek god,” a hint of jealousy also creeped as he crackled his knuckles, “An IITian, a national level tennis player, and on top of that, his father is a business tycoon.”

  Sachet’s gaze locked with Amarath’s, and the intensity in his eyes made Amarath uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, leaning back, avoiding the weight of the stare.

  Then Sachet spoke, his voice dropping into a deeper register. “You’re the grandson of Ashwa and the son of Keshava.” His words hung in the air, thick with meaning. He pointed towards the road ahead, the silence stretching as his tone grew heavier. “These roads in front of you… they aren’t built from petals and cement.”

  “They are forged from blood,” Amarath finished, his voice steady but thick with realization.

  Sachet’s expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “And even though I was the adopted one, still your father treated me like his own brother…”

  He continued, his voice growing quieter, more somber. “Your Grandfather….

  Ashwa, a veteran of World War II, fought valiantly for the British Army but was tragically captured by the Nazis. He endured unimaginable horrors in Treblinka, where prisoners were subjected to inhumane conditions, surviving on human excrement and urine. Official records state that 70 individuals escaped the camp, but there was a 71st—the unsung hero—your grandfather.”

  “I know this,” Amarath snapped, his hand waving dismissively.

  Sachet voice grew cold as he shot back, “Just shut up! And listen to me.”

  Amarath’s brows furrowed, the sting of words cutting through him. He replied, his voice barely a whisper as he lowered his gaze, “Why are you behaving like this?”

  Sachet, unblinking, retorted, “Because this is not a joke.” He stormed off toward the accelerator, his frustration evident in every moment as he continued, “Realizing the futility of serving the British, your father renounced his allegiance and joined the independence movement. Leaving everything behind, he journeyed to Trinarayanpur, with nothing but a photo of Lord Shiva as his steadfast companion”

  “Why that photo?” Amarath asked, narrowing his eyes as if trying to pierce through the mystery.

  Sachet paused; his expression unreadable. “I didn’t know,” he replied quietly, a shiver of unease hanging in the air. “But I know this,” he added, his voice low and steady. An eerie silence crept into the space between them, thick with unspoken truths. Then Sachet's gaze shifted toward Amarath, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. “Your grandfather was blessed by Lord Shiva with the ability to wield lightning.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  As he spoke, a small flicker of sparks flickered across Amarath’s fingertips.

  Sachet’s smirk deepened as he observed the spark. “That spark in your hand,” he said, a touch of reverence in his tone, “it comes from him. And your immense strength…” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “…that comes from your father.”

  Amarath asked, “But why?” his voice tight with frustration as he slammed on the dashboard

  To which Sachet replied, unhinged “It’s your destiny.”

  Amarath, his eyes closed, clenching his hair, he asked, “What destiny?”

  Sachet with a tone depth replied, “You should know that.”

  Amarath, his voice barely a whisper as his gazed lowered even more, “Why?”

  Sachet smirked. “Your father…”

  “Had the ability,” the father finished, his voice picking up where Sachet left off, the words flowing effortlessly as if they were two sides of the same truth.

  The kid, squinting with skepticism, replied, “I’m sure now, it’s a fictional one.”

  The father smirked, his tone cutting through the boy’s thoughts. “Don’t jump to conclusions, my son.” With a pause, the father’s gaze deepened as he continued…

  Sachet’s car veered toward the graveyard, a sprawling expanse as vast as a stadium.

  Pointing to it, he said, “This is your lineage’s gift to this town.”

  Amarath froze, his eyes popping wide, mouth agape, as he stared at the enormity of the graveyard.

  The graveyard, a silent witness to history. Sachet explained how, at the end of British rule, Trinarayanpur’s resources made it a target for exploitation. The Britishers wanted it so, they offered 50% of the town’s resources to Kesari, a failed super-soldier experiment, who was tasked with wiping out all the 50,000 residents, including your grandfather.

  "Wait, so what happened after that?" Amarath's voice was filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

  Sachet’s voice grew grim. "Your grandfather fought to protect this land. But in the end, the one he fought against… either died that night or fled."

  A flicker.

  For a split second, Amarath saw it. The dust-choked battlefield. The towering warrior standing over Ashwa, fists clenched, eyes burning red.

  That face. (The first para of the 1st Chapter)

  The flicker was gone in an instant, but Amarath’s heart pounded. His lips parted, his voice barely a whisper.

  "That man…"

  Sachet’s gaze sharpened. "Kesari."Amarath, intrigued, asked, "So, it was just the beginning?"

  Sachet’s tone darkened. "The second instance came when your father…..."

  Amarath, without thinking, finished his verse, “Against my grandfather.”

  Suddenly, a bright light burst from the ancient box, piercing the dark cabin with an eerie glow. Amarath’s gaze snapped toward the source, his attention fully drawn to the radiant beam. Ignoring Sachet’s presence beside him, he slowly, almost reverently, lifted the lid. “Amarath, what’s that light?” Sachet snapped, struggling to control the car through thick fog.

  Amarath’s hand started trembling, sweat dripping from his forehead as he stared at the crimson river flowing inside the box. Panic seized his chest like an iron grip. With a shaky gasp, he hurled the box onto the dashboard, his heart racing.

  Sachet slammed on the brakes, the screech of the tires slicing through the tense silence. He spun around, his eyes wide. “Did you open that box?” His voice was sharp, louder now, demanding an answer.

  Amarath, still shaking, nodded. A grim realization settled in, heavy as lead. It was as if some unseen doom had already sealed their fate.

  Without wasting another second, Sachet yanked the gear lever into first, his knuckles white. “It’s a curse your grandfather placed on Keshava,” he said quickly, his voice low but urgent.

  Amarath gripped the seat, his knuckles turning white, a question bubbling up inside him. “But why?”

  Sachet’s gaze never wavered from the road as he maneuverer the car toward the temple. “He turned against your grandfather,” Sachet explained, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. “All your doubts will be cleared later. Right now, I have no idea what might happen.”

  What really happened to Kesari? Was the ancient box somehow linked to him? And, more importantly what did Sachet know that made even him afraid?