Ch.103: An Evening in the West

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- New York City, United States -

- January 7, 1938 -

The Varga villa sat comfortably in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of Manhattan—stone walls, tall windows, and delicate vines curling up from the private garden. A wrought-iron gate wrapped the property like an old, regal bracelet. Even here, among the polished marble and designer chandeliers, there was a warmth to the house that made it feel lived-in. Real.

Inside, the scent of baked rosemary chicken, soft buttered bread, and lemon-zest soup lingered through the rooms. The dining hall glowed under a crystal light, its glow soft against the gentle laughter that filled the air.

Elias Varga sat at the head of the table, a man both sharp and soft in equal parts. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, his green eyes alert even during a quiet family dinner. The lines around his eyes had deepened over the past two years—less from age, more from the pressure of steering the Kalachakra Group through the ever-shifting terrain of global politics and shadow economies.

Beside him sat his wife, Marina—strong and elegant, a woman with a warm smile and sharp wit, who had stood beside him through decades of uncertainty. Across from them were their two daughters: the older, Sofia, 18 this year, dressed in a neat navy-blue blazer over her Harvard prep notes and looking slightly distracted; and beside her, twirling spaghetti with childlike grace, was little Lila, just thirteen, but with eyes that noticed more than most.

"Papa," Lila said suddenly, her fork pausing midair. "Can we go to Bharat sometime soon?"

Elias paused, glancing up from his plate with a mild smile. "Bharat, hmm? What's got you thinking of that tonight, my sweetheart?"

"I was just thinking…" she began, a little hesitantly, "about Big Brother Aryan. I miss him. And I've been hearing things in school lately."

Marina turned to her daughter with a raised brow. "What kind of things?"

Lila shrugged, pushing her fork through her food idly. "Well, the usual snobby talk… kids boasting about how their parents are investing here or there. Normally I don't care. But some were saying their families are trying to move into Bharat. That Stark Industries is expanding there. That it's becoming the next big thing."

Sofia looked up from her notes at that. "Bharat's been in the news a lot lately. There's talk about how it's transformed in just a few years. Clean energy, education reforms, new cities coming up like clockwork. People are starting to whisper that it might replace Britain as a world power within the next decade."

Elias chuckled lightly, sipping his wine. "They're not wrong. Bharat isn't just rising. It's rewriting the game."

Lila tilted her head. "But… we knew before anyone else, didn't we? That Big brother was someone different. Special. After all, he's not just part of Bharat's story… he is the story."

Her voice softened at the end, and Marina reached over to gently tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Elias leaned back, his fingers tapping the glass stem. He looked at his youngest daughter—this bright-eyed girl who just a few years ago had been pale, weak, fighting a sickness that doctors from Vienna to Boston had no name for. Until Aryan. Until that quiet, strange, miraculous boy from Bharat had touched her forehead, whispered something in a language older than time, and changed her fate forever.

It still haunted him—how powerless he had felt then. And how easily, how gently, Aryan had given her life back.

"I've been to Bharat more times than you both probably realize," Elias said, breaking the silence. "The world's just beginning to notice what His majesty, Samrat Aryan has built there. But I've seen it up close. The cities are alive—breathing, evolving. The energy grids powered by that Prāṇa fuel… they make everything feel like it belongs in the future. And yet, somehow, it still feels like walking through something ancient. Sacred."

"And you never took us with you?" Sofia asked with a playful glare.

He smiled guiltily. "Work trips. Meetings. And… it wasn't always safe. Not because of Bharat—because of Europe."

At that, the air shifted a little. Unspoken truths hovered between them.

Elias's expression darkened just a touch. "His majesty had already warned me that a war is coming, and I have no doubt about that, the signs are already there now, more clearer that ever. The winds are changing. Germany… they've been watching us. The Kalachakra Group's rapid growth—especially in defence, medical technology, energy—it's drawn eyes. Especially because I'm Romani."

He didn't need to say more. His daughters were sharp, even Lila in her youthful way. They knew the whispers that followed their father's success. The resentment. The envy. The danger.

"That's why we came here, didn't we?," Marina added quietly. "To stay ahead. And stay safe."

"Yes But also," Elias said, straightening with a faint grin, "because His majesty needed us here."

Sofia blinked. "In New York?"

He nodded. "He's building more than just a nation. He's laying the foundations for a new world order. Quietly. Patiently. Kalachakra is one of his tools. And now, with our headquarters in New York, Los Angeles, and even D.C., we're positioning ourselves to control the flow of influence before the storm breaks."

"But no one knows he's behind it. Don't they?" Lila asked.

Elias smiled again, a twinkle in his eye. "That's the point. To the world, I'm just a Romani businessman who got lucky. To the elite, I'm a player they're still trying to size up. But to him, I'm exactly what he needs—someone who can move through the smoke, shape the board, and keep the empire invisible."

There was a silence then—not the awkward kind, but the kind that makes you feel connected without needing words.

Lila leaned her chin on her hand. "I still want to go. I want to see him again. And I want to see what everyone's whispering about."

Sofia laughed. "You just want to ride an elephant again, don't you?"

"I liked that elephant," Lila said, sticking out her tongue. "Besides, it's more than that. I want to understand where we come from. Papa said our ancestors were from Bharat, right?"

Elias nodded softly. "From the northwest. Generations ago, long before our people wandered through Europe."

He looked at his daughters, both so different yet united in spirit. And in that moment, he made a decision.

"We'll go," he said.

Both girls looked up, surprised.

"We'll go to Bharat. Not just for work. For us. To possibly meet with His majesty. To see what he's building with our own eyes."

Marina looked at him, then smiled gently. "It's time, isn't it?"

"Yes," Elias said quietly. "Before the storm comes, before the world turns… it's time we go home. Even if only for a while."

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- Unknown Location, Berlin -

- January 8, 1938 -

The room was dimly lit, but not out of carelessness—this was intentional. Shadows here weren't an accident; they were part of the design. Heavy curtains blocked the pale winter light. A single desk lamp cast a small, amber halo across a thick file spread open with foreign names, logos, and maps.

The man behind the desk wasn't military, at least not by uniform. But his cold eyes, leather gloves, and posture said otherwise. He was young—but not in a way that suggested inexperience. His youth was sharp, calculating, and filled with ambition. His name wasn't known to most. Only a few within the growing roots of Hydra knew him by his codename—Günther Schädel.

The symbol of Hydra, not yet burned into public fear, sat neatly embossed on the back of the file. A snake with many heads. Each one hungry. Each one watching.

Across from him, a short, stout man stood stiffly. Nervous. A few beads of sweat gathered at his collar, despite the cold air.

"Varga," Günther said quietly, turning a page in the file. "Gypsy. Green eyes. Married. Two daughters. Rose from the shadows. No military past. Educational trails leading to Paris and New York. Though higly skilled , a fairly Ordinary Person. Yet, now? Chairman of one of the fastest expanding corporate entities in Europe and now the Americas."

He tapped the photo pinned to the corner—a formal one, clipped from a Swiss finance report. Elias Varga, smiling faintly in a dark suit. Impeccable. Mysterious.

"No one grows this quickly unless someone powerful is pushing them. Or unless they're dangerous."

The stout man cleared his throat. "Kalachakra Group… it doesn't appear to be government-backed. We've found no obvious connections to the Allies. Their books are clean. Suspiciously so."

Günther's gaze lifted, cold and focused. "Exactly. Too clean. It smells like a ghost is holding the pen."

He closed the file.

Hydra wasn't yet what it would become—there were no flying machines or advanced weapons yet. But the roots were sprouting. Tightly-knit cells across Europe, silent networks running beneath the surface of banks, universities, and political circles. All whispering one vision: control from within. If the world wouldn't surrender to chaos, it would be guided into it.

"We've made attempts to reach out," the aide said. "Dummy investment arms, invitations for their board of directors to closed forums. No response."

Günther stood up slowly, walking toward the tall window that overlooked the Berlin skyline. Snow fell in gentle flakes, blanketing the rooftops.

"They're clever. They know how to dance around our presence. But they made one mistake."

He turned sharply.

"Though hidden well enough for others. But, they made themselves visible to the sharp eyes of Hydra."

Kalachakra Group had recently registered a major asset purchase in New York. Then Los Angeles. Then Amsterdam. All legal. All precise. All cloaked in politeness and clean money. But Hydra had ears. And this new entity was not born from any traditional power block.

"And the chairman," Günther said, "is of Gypsy descent."

There was something bitter in the way he said it—not just prejudice, but calculation. Elias's ethnicity, in Hydra's eyes, wasn't just a weakness to exploit—it was a thread to pull. A way in.

"Sir, we've also confirmed that Kalachakra has strong export ties to Bharat. That seems to be the central hub. But oddly, the Bharatiya leadership makes no public mention of the group."

Günther narrowed his eyes.

"So they trade heavily in Bharat, but remain invisible there politically?"

"Yes. It's… unusual."

That was putting it lightly.

To Günther, it meant one thing—there was someone else in the shadows. Someone more powerful than Varga.

But even if they didn't yet know who, it didn't matter. Because Kalachakra had opened a door.

And Hydra planned to walk through.

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- Elsewhere – A Hydra Cell in Prague -

Two men sat across a table in a quiet backroom of a vintage clothing shop. The shopkeeper was just a cover—a retired operative now managing intel drops and safe house logistics. A ledger lay open before them, but not for clothes.

"This," said the senior operative, pointing at a circled city—Ujjain, "is where we believe a major node of Kalachakra's eastern operations functions from. A spiritual city, reborn in the last two years. Too fast. Too perfect."

"Religious money?"

"Unlikely. Too scientific. They're building something over there—power grids, advanced labs, technology that doesn't match global timelines. And all of it hidden under the excuse of cultural restoration."

The younger agent frowned. "So what's the plan?"

"Infiltration. We don't storm the castle. We walk in through the back door. Their supply chains. Their finance sectors. Maybe even through their growing American branches."

"And if Varga resists?"

The older man gave a thin smile.

"Everyone breaks eventually."

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- Back in Berlin -

Günther Schädel returned to his desk. He flipped open a fresh folder marked with Kalachakra's latest American subsidiary—Vantari Holdings, based in New York.

"Start here," he muttered.

"They've planted a flag on our continent. Let's see how strong their roots really are."

He tapped the Hydra sigil once.

And in the silence that followed, the many heads of the serpent watched, waited, and began to move.

Unseen by all of them, behind all the layers of money, offices, and names—they had no idea.

No clue that Kalachakra's spine wasn't Elias Varga.

But someone else.

Someone who had walked between stars, rewritten destiny, and was now building a future far stronger than they could comprehend.

And he had already seen them coming.

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