The moment his plan solidified, Vijay felt an unexpected wave of mental clarity, as if a key had turned in a lock deep within his mind. His earlier fear and confusion were pushed firmly into a distant corner. Only then was he able to focus and begin a careful examination of Adhithan's fragmented memories.
Moving by habit, Vijay rose and turned off the gas pipe's valve. In the dimming light of the wall lamp, he watched the flame sputter and die. He sank back into his chair. As his fingers absently traced the cold brass cylinder of the revolver in his lap, he pressed a hand to his temple. Like the most attentive spectator in a darkened theatre, he began to slowly, painfully, reconstruct Adhithan's memories from the severe yellow gloom.
Perhaps due to the trauma of a bullet piercing his skull, Adhithan's memories were like shards of shattered glass—not only discontinuous but also missing entire, crucial sections. How had that elegant revolver come into his possession? Had it been suicide or murder? What was the meaning of the words scrawled on the wall: 'This world shall perish. Lucifer shall reign again'? Who were the two charred bodies nearby? Had he participated in some bizarre event two days prior?
It wasn't just these specific memories; even foundational knowledge seemed damaged or erased. In this state, Vijay doubted Adhithan could have graduated had he been in university. And it had only been days since Adhithan left the campus, with no time to rest. He had an interview in two days at Chikkala University's History Department…
In the Kingdom of Neithal, graduates didn't traditionally remain at their alma mater… His professor had given him recommendation letters for both Chikkala University and the Ithambadal University…
Through the window, Vijay silently watched the yellow moon setting in the west, its slow fade continuing until a faint glow brightened the east, gilding the horizon.
A commotion stirred in the apartment. Soon, footsteps approached his door.
"Maneka must be awake… she's always punctual," Vijay thought with a soft smile. Filtered through Adhithan's memories, seeing Maneka truly felt like looking at a sister.
But I don't have a sister… he immediately corrected himself.
Maneka was different from Rasan and Adhithan. Her basic education hadn't ended with Sunday classes at the Chandra Temple. When she reached school age, the Kingdom of Neithal had enacted the 'Fundamental Education Act.' Public primary and secondary school boards were established with special funding, increasing the kingdom's investment in education.
Within three years, numerous public primary schools were founded, conditional on the integration of many temple schools, a move to strictly maintain secularism and prevent education from being caught in the doctrinal clashes between the Storm God (Jupiter), the Night Goddess (Chandra), and the God of Steam and Engineering (Mercury).
Compared to the Sunday school costing a copper coin per week, the public primary school's fee of three kazhanji per week seemed high. But the former taught only one day a week, while the latter held classes for six. Overall, the cost was much lower, almost free.
Maneka was unlike most girls. From a young age, she was fascinated by gears, springs, and piston cylinders. Her dream was to become a steam engineer.
Understanding the value of education, Rasan—who himself had suffered from its lack—supported his sister's dreams as fervently as he had Adhithan's university aspirations. After all, the Chikkala Technical School was only considered secondary education. She didn't need the advanced knowledge of a language or liberal arts school.
Last July, fifteen-year-old Maneka passed her entrance exams and fulfilled her dream, becoming a student in the Steam and Engineering Department of Chikkala Technical School. Consequently, her weekly school fee rose to nine kazhanji.
Meanwhile, Rasan's company was suffering due to the situation in the Southern Continent. Profits and trade transactions had plummeted. Over a third of the employees had been laid off. To keep his job and maintain their standard of living, Rasan had to take on grueling assignments, often working overtime or traveling to harsh environments. He had been deeply engrossed in one such task these past few days.
It wasn't that Adhithan hadn't wanted to help share his elder brother's burden. But born into an ordinary family and having attended an ordinary language school, he felt a profound sense of inadequacy upon entering university. For instance, the ancient Aden language, the root of all Northern Continent languages, was something noble and wealthy children learned from infancy. He, however, had only begun studying it at university.
He faced many such disparities. Adhithan had poured nearly all his energy into his studies, often burning the midnight oil and rising at dawn, just to keep pace, ultimately graduating with average results.
These memories of his elder brother and younger sister were still active in Vijay's mind when the door handle turned. He startled, suddenly remembering the revolver in his hand.
This gun will frighten Maneka! And I still have a head wound!
With Maneka about to enter, Vijay pressed his cheek, urgently opened a desk drawer, tossed the revolver inside, and locked it.
"What's going on?" Maneka asked, her eyes curious and confused.
She was still in the bloom of youth. Though her face was thin and slightly pale from lack of nutritious food, her skin retained a healthy glow, revealing a young girl's beauty.
Meeting his sister's brown eyes, Vijay composed himself. He picked up an object near his hand and calmly placed it on the drawer, as if to conceal the revolver's presence. He brought his other hand to his cheek, the sensation confirming the wound had already healed!
He picked up a silver pocket watch, pressing its crown gently. The lid sprung open.
Inside was a picture of the brothers' father. This was the most valuable item left by their father, an Imperial Army Sergeant. Though a second-hand piece frequently repaired, it often failed. Rasan, who had once enjoyed carrying it for prestige, had been embarrassed by it one too many times and finally left it at home.
Maneka truly had a talent for engineering. After understanding the watch's mechanics, she borrowed tools from her technical school and attempted to repair it. Recently, she claimed to have fixed it!
Vijay looked at the open watch. The second hand was motionless. Absentmindedly, he wound the pocket watch by turning the crown.
However, after several turns, he heard no sound of tightening springs. The second hand remained still.
"It seems to be broken again," he said, trying to make conversation as he looked at his sister.
Maneka gave him an unreadable look, walked over quickly, and took the pocket watch.
Standing in place, she pulled the crown upwards and gave it a few simple turns. The familiar tick-tock of the second hand resumed.
Pulling the crown up was usually for setting the time… Vijay's face immediately went blank.
Just then, a distant bell from a temple chimed. It rang six times, its sound delicate and far away.
Vijay offered an awkward, polite smile.
Maneka gave her brother a sharp look, then turned and walked toward the cupboard. She fetched her washing supplies and a towel, opened the door to leave, and headed for the public bathroom.
Why did her reaction carry a hint of scorn and impatience? Why is she looking at me like I'm a stranger?
Vijay lowered his head and chuckled. He closed the pocket watch lid with a click, then opened it again.
He repeated this action, his scattered thoughts coalescing into a single question.
Click! The watch opened. Clack! It closed…
Maneka returned from washing to find her brother still mindlessly opening and closing the watch.
Her gaze clouded with irritation again. In a sweet but strained voice, she said, "Adhitha, take all the leftover chapatis. Buy new wheat flour today. We need meat and peas too. Your interview is coming up. I'll make you mutton soup with pea porridge."
As she spoke, she pulled a small stove from a corner. With some coal, she set a pot of water to boil.
Before it boiled, she opened a lower cupboard and took out what seemed like a treasure—a tin of low-grade tea leaves. She put about ten leaves into the pot, pretending it was real tea.
Maneka poured two large cups of the weak brew and shared the last two pieces of chapati with Vijay.
It wasn't good, but Vijay ate. He still felt weak and famished. He forced the dry bread down with the tea, grumbling inwardly.
Maneka finished eating a few minutes later. After adjusting her long black hair tied back with a ribbon, she looked at Vijay. "Don't forget to buy new flour. Only eight kazhanji should be needed. The weather's warm, so the flour will spoil quickly. Also, get mutton and peas. Don't forget!"
She did care for her seemingly slow-witted brother. It had to be stressed again… Vijay nodded with a smile.
"Alright."
Regarding the Kingdom of Neithal's kazhanji (copper coin), Vijay reconciled Adhithan's muscle memory with his own.
Maneka said nothing more. She stood and began cleaning up. After setting aside the last piece of bread for lunch, she picked up the bag she had sewn herself for her books and writing materials, ready to leave.
It wasn't Sunday, so she had a full day of classes.
It took about fifty minutes to walk from their apartment to Chikkala Technical School. There were public bullock carts costing one kazhanji per kilometer, capped at four within the city and six in the suburbs. To save money, Maneka always left early and walked.
A few moments after opening the main door, she paused on the threshold, half-turning back. "Adhitha, don't buy too much mutton and peas. Rasan might be back on Sunday. Oh, and eight kazhanji for flour is enough. Don't forget."
"Okay. Okay," Vijay replied, a touch of irritation in his voice.
Simultaneously, he repeated the word 'Sunday' in his head several times.
Watching his sister close the door and leave, Vijay suddenly sighed deeply. Soon, his thoughts converged on the Luck Multiplication Ritual.
Forgive me, Maneka… I need to go home.
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Note: This is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to existing novels, characters, or events is unintentional and coincidental. All characters, scenes, and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are not intended to infringe upon any copyright.