In the official residence of Prime Minister Mordan, the atmosphere had become thick with awkward silence after the initial burst of excitement from Mordan and Umang.
General Amit sat frozen, eyes locked on the masked figure in white robes standing behind him. He hadn't blinked once since turning around. The Ether Clone—Sir Heart—stood completely still, returning the gaze without a word, his presence filling the room like quiet pressure.
Mordan and Umang exchanged a quick glance. They recognized the signs immediately: Sir Heart had come for business. This wasn't a casual visit.
Mordan cleared his throat, breaking the tension with practiced calm.
"Sir Heart, please—let's sit and chat. Would you like tea? Coffee? Any refreshments?"
The question carried weight. The first time they met, Mordan had been too tense and overwhelmed to host properly. The second time, Sir Heart had appeared only long enough to collect the disciples and vanish. This was the first real chance to extend proper courtesy.
Mordan understood politics. Pure business relationships rarely lasted. If he could turn this connection into something warmer—genuine rapport, mutual comfort—it would benefit India far more than cold transactions ever could.
The Ether Clone regarded him for a moment, then gave a small nod and moved to the chair beside General Amit. He sat with effortless grace.
General Amit waited for Mordan's subtle signal before sitting as well. He remained silent, deciding to save his questions for later—once this mysterious figure was gone.
The Ether Clone finally spoke, voice calm and warm.
"You don't need to bring tea or coffee."
With a casual wave of his hand, two elegant fruit baskets and a porcelain jar of tea—complete with four matching cups—materialized on the table in a soft shimmer of light.
"Let's chat while eating."
He picked up a fruit that resembled a perfectly ripe pear but glowed faintly with inner luminescence, and took a bite.
Mordan and Umang had seen miracles before, so their surprise was brief. They quickly composed themselves, each reaching for a fruit.
Mordan selected one—an unfamiliar deep crimson orb the size of a small apple. He bit into it.
The flavor exploded across his tongue—sweet, crisp, impossibly rich, like every perfect fruit he had ever tasted distilled into one transcendent experience. In the same instant, strength surged through his body like a warm tide—his fatigue vanished, muscles felt renewed, mind sharpened to crystal clarity. He felt at least twice as powerful as moments ago.
His expression melted into pure bliss.
Umang watched his Prime Minister's face and understood instantly. He took a fruit of his own and bit down.
The same heavenly taste. The same rush of vitality and power.
Across the table, General Amit—who had been stunned into silence by the sudden appearance of the fruit baskets and tea jar—finally swallowed his immediate questions. He decided to hold them for later, once this mysterious figure left.
But he became confused after seeing the expression of Mordan and Umang.
To him, it was just fruit. Exotic, unfamiliar, glowing faintly perhaps, but still fruit. He couldn't fathom why the Prime Minister and Umang were reacting as if they had tasted ambrosia from the gods themselves—eyes half-closed in bliss, faces slack with wonder, soft exhales of pure satisfaction escaping their lips.
Amit watched Mordan take another slow, reverent bite of the crimson orb, saw Umang's shoulders visibly relax as though years of accumulated stress had melted away in a single chew. Their expressions bordered on euphoric.
He shrugged mentally. Let me see what the fuss is about.
He picked up a fruit that looked like a blue apple—smooth, glossy, faintly glowing. He took a cautious bite.
His eyes widened instantly.
The flavor hit him like a revelation—sweet, tart, refreshing, layered in ways no earthly fruit had ever come close to. Then the power rushed in: his heartbeat strengthened, old aches vanished, his body felt lighter, stronger, younger. His mind raced with sudden clarity.
He couldn't hold back.
"This is amazing…!"
The words burst out louder than intended. He stared at the half-eaten fruit in disbelief, then immediately took another bite—then another—devouring it with unrestrained excitement.
He reached for another fruit—blue again—and took a slower bite this time, savoring it properly.
The office remained quiet except for the soft sounds of eating and the occasional clink of teacups as the Ether Clone poured tea for everyone.
No one spoke for several minutes.
The fruits were simply too good.