Ankit finished recounting the tales of his Family and the clones' endeavors.
Then, with unhurried grace, he began walking toward them across the training grounds.
The moment his family caught sight of him, their faces lit up.
"Five months felt like forever!" his younger sister, sanya exclaimed.
They chatted freely—about training breakthroughs, fortress improvements, small daily victories. No one mentioned any shift due to power increase in him. To their senses, Ankit felt utterly mortal again, as ordinary as the earth beneath their feet.
Once, even when he restrained himself, a faint pressure lingered—an unspoken reminder that a higher being stood among them. But now, nothing. No trace of aura, no whisper of immense power. The perfect unity of body and soul granted him absolute mastery; every ripple of essence lay dormant unless he willed otherwise.
He smiled quietly amid their warmth, content to simply be their son, sanya's brother—nothing more, nothing less.
___
Meanwhile, deep within the bustling kitchens of Dark Haven Fortress, the Heart Clone lounged against a counter, tablet in hand, headset on.
Chef puppets—silent, efficient constructs of essence and vyuhas—moved around him like disciplined servants. One stirred massive pots of spiced curry; another kneaded dough for fresh naan; a third sliced mountains of vegetables with blade-like precision. The air filled with rich aromas.
"Add more chili to the ....," the Heart Clone called out casually, eyes fixed on his screen. "And don't forget the rice."
Three months ago, Garena had shaken up Free Fire's system once more. The old monthly Elite Pass faded into memory, replaced by something grander: the Magic Pass.
It arrived only once every six months, a premium seasonal event far more lavish—and far more expensive—than its predecessors. Diamonds flowed like rivers to claim it, but for someone with money, cost meant nothing.
What made the Magic Pass truly "magical" was its phased reveal structure.
Every 15 days, a new wave of themed rewards unlocked automatically for pass holders—no grinding badges, no daily logins required if you bought the premium tier. The drops followed a cohesive fantasy or mythical theme each season, building excitement like chapters in an unfolding story.
Some phases brought quantity: floods of emotes, vouchers, loot crates, and common skins in generous stacks.
Others focused on rarity: a single ultra-exclusive bundle, Element mix weapon skin, or animated avatar that shimmered with particle effects, backed by only a handful of fragments or tokens.
A few phases mixed both—solid mid-tier items in abundance, plus one standout centerpiece like a transforming gloo wall or mythical pet skin.
Players never knew exactly what the next wave held until the countdown ended, fueling endless speculation and hype across forums and streams.
Overall, it felt richer, more cinematic than the old Elite system—rewards that told a story, phased surprises that kept veterans logging in for half a year straight.
The Heart Clone had purchased the current season's Magic Pass the moment it launched. Expensive? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.
Right now, he was deep in a ranked Clash Squad match, squad coordinated over voice chat with old online friends.
His fingers danced across the screen, headshots landing clean as the puppets plated dinner behind him.
Victory flashed across the display.
He grinned, tossed a casual "bye" into the mic, and glanced toward the ovens.
Food was almost ready.
Time to go.
The Heart Clone ended the match with a final flourish, closed the game, and slipped the tablet into his storage ring. The puppets had already arranged the feast into a single unassuming storage ring.
He stepped through space in a blink, appearing beside Ankit with the casual ease of one who had long mastered such arts.
"Here," he said simply, pressing the ring into Ankit's hand.
Ankit accepted it with a nod.
Moments later, the food plates hovered in the air. The entire family gathered—parents, sister, and at the center, little Rudra perched on a raised seat, legs swinging freely.
Rudra was two and a half years old by the calendar, yet no one would guess it.
Essence-rich fortress had cradled him daily, Astra's heavenly milk—thick with primal vitality—had been his first nourishment. Porridge laced with essence herbs, fruits bathed in ambient essence, every meal had quietly rewritten the limits of a mortal child's body.
He looked seven, perhaps eight: sharp eyes bright with curiosity, limbs sturdy and coordinated, voice clear and thoughtful when he spoke. His small hands wielded spoon and fork with adult precision, piling rice and curry onto his plate in generous heaps that would overwhelm a grown man.
Yet Rudra devoured it all without pause, digestion flawless, body converting every ounce into strength and growth. Internally, organs got strong. Externally, his frame carried the quiet power to fell an ordinary adult with a casual shove.
He ate like a king at his own banquet, occasionally offering solemn commentary.
Laughter rippled around the table.
Ankit watched in silence, warmth settling deep in his chest. There would be no fragile childhood for Rudra, only accelerated ascent.
The meal stretched long, filled with stories, teasing, and the simple joy of being together again.
When plates were finally empty and the sky deepened to indigo, the family drifted to the inner garden—an oasis of luminous essence flowers, soft grass threaded with silver essence veins, and trees whose leaves whispered in the breeze.
They settled beneath the largest banyan, cushions and blankets spread across the ground. Fireflies of pure essence drifted lazily, casting gentle light.
Ankit reclined against the trunk, father recounting training tales to wide-eyed Rudra curled in his lap.
No words of cultivation, no mention of stages or clones.
Just family.
The night stretched on, peaceful and eternal.
And in that quiet garden, beneath stars that seemed closer, they rest.