The family shrine stood like a wound in the city.
Old stone. Older grudges.
The kind of place where the dead held more power than the living.
Bharat stood at the entrance—a massive wooden door carved with scenes from the Mahabharata, warriors frozen mid-battle, gods watching from clouds that looked like they were judging you.
Behind that door, his family was gathering.
The quarterly ancestral rite.
Mandatory attendance.
Mandatory submission.
He'd ignored the summons for three months.
But today, he couldn't.
Because today, he needed something they had.
The vault key.
The real one.
Not the biometric access Rajan had installed.
But the original key—forged two hundred years ago when the family vault was first built, blessed by a priest who'd since become a legend, hidden somewhere in the shrine's inner sanctum.
Peacock's intel had been clear:
"Rajan keeps a backup system. Manual override. Old school. If the biometric fails, the mechanical lock still works."
"And the key?"
"Hidden in the family shrine. Probably in the offering vault."
"Can I just take it?"
"Not without divine permission. It's consecrated. Touch it without the right to, and you'll trigger a curse that makes your current one look like a blessing."
So here Bharat was.
Standing at the threshold.
Waiting.
The door opened.
Uncle Ramesh.
Seventy-three. Perpetually angry.
The kind of man who treated family gatherings like military inspections.
"You're late," Ramesh said.
"I'm here."
"That's not the same thing."
"Close enough."
Ramesh's eyes narrowed.
"You know the rules. Remove your shoes. Wash your hands. Bow at the threshold."
"I know the rules."
"Then follow them."
Bharat looked past him.
Into the shrine's main hall.
Saw them.
The family.
Fifteen people.
Aunts. Uncles. Cousins.
All dressed in traditional white.
All kneeling.
Facing the altar where his grandfather's portrait hung like a judgment.
And at the center, standing where the priest should be:
Rajan.
Of course it was Rajan.
Because the universe had a sense of humor.
And it was cruel.
"The ceremony starts in five minutes," Ramesh said. "If you're not kneeling by then, you're not welcome."
"I'll kneel."
"Will you?"
Pause.
"Or will you make a scene like you always do?"
Bharat smiled.
Not friendly.
Sharp.
"I'll be on my best behavior."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
He stepped inside.
Removed his shoes.
Washed his hands in the brass basin.
The water was ice cold.
Or maybe that was just him.
The curse making everything feel like winter.
He walked to the threshold.
Stopped.
Everyone was watching.
Waiting to see if he'd bow.
Waiting to see if he'd submit.
Tradition dictated three prostrations.
Full body to the ground.
Forehead touching stone.
The ultimate gesture of respect.
Or humiliation.
Depending on how you looked at it.
Bharat looked at Rajan.
Rajan looked back.
That particular smile.
The one that said I've already won.
Then Bharat did something unexpected.
He knelt.
Right there.
In the doorway.
Blocking the entrance.
"What are you doing?" Ramesh hissed.
"Kneeling. Like you asked."
"Not there. Inside."
"I'm good here."
Bharat placed his hands on the threshold.
Flat.
Palms down.
Like he was claiming it.
"The ceremony requires all attendees to kneel before the altar," Ramesh said.
"I'm kneeling."
"You're blocking the door."
"Am I?"
Pause.
"Huh. Didn't notice."
Rajan stood.
Slow. Deliberate.
"Bharat. Move."
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"My legs. Weak from the curse. You understand."
Lie.
Obvious lie.
But what were they going to do?
Drag a dying man away from the threshold?
In front of the ancestors?
In front of the gods?
"This is disrespectful," Aunt Priya said.
"This is strategic," Bharat replied.
"You're making a mockery of tradition."
"I'm participating. Isn't that what you wanted?"
He looked at Rajan.
"I'll move. After the ceremony."
"After?"
"After someone gives me the vault key."
Silence.
The kind that felt like the air had turned to glass.
"What key?" Rajan said carefully.
"The one hidden in the offering vault. The mechanical override."
Pause.
"The one you're going to need when your fancy biometric system fails tomorrow night."
Rajan's expression didn't change.
But his jaw tightened.
Just a fraction.
Enough.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do."
"There is no mechanical key."
"There is. Great-grandfather Mohan had it made. Two hundred years ago. Blessed by Pandit Sharma."
Pause.
"Kept in the family shrine in case of emergency."
How did Bharat know this?
Peacock.
Who'd spent three days hacking into historical archives, bribing retired priests, and piecing together the family's secret history like a detective solving a cold case.
"Even if such a key existed," Rajan said slowly, "it wouldn't be yours to take."
"It's not yours either."
"I'm the family head."
"You're a thief wearing a title."
Gasps.
Actual gasps.
From the aunts. The uncles.
Like Bharat had just slapped God.
"How dare you—" Ramesh started.
"How dare I what? Tell the truth?"
Bharat looked around the room. At the faces. The judgment. The quiet hatred they'd all been cultivating for years.
"You all know what he is. What he's done."
"Bharat—" his mother's voice. Weak. From the back.
She was here.
Of course she was here.
They'd brought her.
Wheelchair. IV drip. Barely strong enough to sit up.
But here.
Because family duty trumped health.
Always did.
"Ma," Bharat said quietly. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you."
"Probably not."
Pause.
"But here we are."
Rajan stepped forward.
"You want the key."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to rob your vault tomorrow. And I'd rather have a backup plan."
More gasps.
Louder this time.
"He's admitting to planning a crime!" Priya shrieked.
"In front of witnesses!" Ramesh added.
"In front of the ancestors!" someone else shouted.
Bharat looked at them.
Really looked.
Saw the fear there.
The certainty that he'd crossed a line they could never uncross.
"You're all complicit," he said quietly.
"What?"
"You know what Rajan's been doing. The bribes. The theft. The temple gold."
Pause.
"You know. And you've done nothing."
"That's different—" Ramesh started.
"How? Because it's not your problem?"
"Because it's not our place to—"
"To what? Act? Care?"
Bharat laughed. Bitter.
"You're not a family. You're accomplices."
Rajan's hand moved.
Just slightly.
Toward his pocket.
Where Bharat knew he kept his phone.
One call away from security.
From police.
From ending this.
"Make the call," Bharat said.
"What?"
"Call security. Have me arrested."
Pause.
"But know this: the moment I'm in custody, I start talking. About the gold. The bribes. The offshore accounts."
"You have no proof."
"I have Peacock."
"A hacker? No court would—"
"I have divine authority."
Bharat activated the Codex.
Just enough.
Golden light spilling from his hands like liquid fire.
"I can make the gods testify."
Lie.
Complete lie.
But they didn't know that.
Rajan's hand froze.
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
Pause.
"Test me."
Silence.
Long enough that Bharat thought Rajan might actually call his bluff.
Then:
"What do you want?"
"The key. Access to the offering vault. And safe passage out."
"In exchange for?"
"I don't destroy the family name."
Pause.
"Yet."
Rajan looked at the family.
At the aunts and uncles watching like this was theater.
At Bharat's mother, tears streaming down her face.
At the altar. The ancestors. The gods.
"Fine."
He walked to the offering vault.
Pressed his palm to the lock.
Divine script flared.
The vault opened.
Inside:
Gold offerings. Silver bowls. Incense holders.
And at the very back, in a sandalwood box:
A key.
Brass. Old. Intricate.
The kind of thing that looked like it could open anything.
Or nothing.
Rajan took it.
Held it.
"This key opens the mechanical lock. But the vault itself is warded."
"I know."
"Touch the gold without divine permission, and you die."
"I know that too."
Rajan walked over.
Stopped three feet away.
"You're not going to succeed."
"Maybe."
"You're going to die in that vault."
"Possibly."
"And when you do, I'll make sure everyone knows you died a thief."
Bharat looked at him.
Really looked.
Saw the hatred there.
The fear.
The certainty that Bharat was a problem that needed to be erased.
"If I die," Bharat said quietly, "Peacock releases everything. Every file. Every recording. Every piece of evidence."
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
Pause.
Rajan threw the key.
Hard.
It hit Bharat's chest. Bounced. Clattered to the stone floor.
"Take it. Choke on it."
"Thanks."
Bharat picked it up.
Felt the weight.
Heavier than it should be.
Like it was carrying two hundred years of family history.
Or two hundred years of curses.
He stood.
Legs shaking but functional.
Walked to his mother.
"Ma."
"Bharat, please—"
"I'll be okay."
"You're dying."
"I know."
Pause.
"But not today."
He kissed her forehead.
Felt her hand grip his.
Weak. Trembling.
"Don't do this," she whispered.
"I have to."
"Why?"
"Because if I don't, nothing changes."
He walked to the door.
Stopped.
Looked back at Rajan.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"If there's a trap in that vault—pressure plates, poison gas, whatever—I'm coming back."
"You'll be dead."
"Ghosts can be very persistent."
He left.
Door closing behind him like a final judgment.
Outside, the sun was setting.
Mira was waiting.
"Did you get it?"
"I got it."
"What did it cost?"
"Everything I had left."
She looked at him.
Saw something in his face.
Something broken.
Or breaking.
"They hate you now."
"They always did. Now it's just official."
"Bharat—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I'm functional."
Pause.
"That's all that matters."
His phone buzzed.
Peacock.
[PEACOCK]: Saw the shrine surveillance. You really know how to make an entrance.
[BHARAT]: It's a gift.
[PEACOCK]: You pissed off the entire family.
[BHARAT]: They'll get over it.
[PEACOCK]: Will they?
[BHARAT]: Probably not.
[PEACOCK]: About the key...
[BHARAT]: What about it?
[PEACOCK]: I'm seeing trace signatures. Divine wards. Old ones.
[BHARAT]: Meaning?
[PEACOCK]: Meaning Rajan might've done something to it.
[BHARAT]: Like what?
[PEACOCK]: Like turn it into a trigger.
Bharat looked at the key.
Brass. Intricate. Innocent.
Or deadly.
[BHARAT]: Can you scan it?
[PEACOCK]: Not remotely. Need physical access.
[BHARAT]: When?
[PEACOCK]: Before you use it.
[BHARAT]: We're out of time.
[PEACOCK]: Then you're out of luck.
[PEACOCK]: Because if that key is trapped, the moment you turn it in the lock, every ward in the vault activates.
[PEACOCK]: And you die.
[PEACOCK]: Instantly.
Bharat closed his eyes.
Of course.
Of course Rajan would booby-trap it.
Of course the one thing he needed to survive would be the thing that killed him.
"What is it?" Mira asked.
"The key might be trapped."
"Might be?"
"Probably is."
"Can we check?"
"Not in time."
Pause.
"So what do we do?"
"We use it anyway."
"That's suicide."
"It's calculated risk."
"That's the same thing."
"Not quite."
He looked at his countdown.
15 days, 22 hours.
At the quest timer.
36 hours until vault closure.
At the key in his hand.
At the impossible choice.
"Tomorrow night," he said quietly.
"Tomorrow night what?"
"We find out if Rajan's smarter than me."
"And if he is?"
"Then I die in a vault instead of on a street."
Pause.
"At least it's poetic."
Mira grabbed his hand.
"Don't joke."
"I'm not."
"Bharat—"
"I'm serious. If I'm going to die, I'd rather it mean something."
She was quiet.
Then:
"It already means something."
"What?"
"You're fighting. That's more than most people do."
Bharat looked at her.
Really looked.
Saw the tears she was trying to hide.
The fear she wouldn't say out loud.
"I'm not giving up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
They drove.
Into the burning city.
Toward tomorrow.
Toward the vault.
Toward whatever ending waited.
The question wasn't whether the key was trapped.
Was whether Bharat was smart enough to survive it.