Mumbai…
Silver Spoon Hotel…
A grand, chandelier-lit hall in South Mumbai buzzed with voices, clinking glasses, and the perfume of old wealth. Rich mahogany tables, guarded by men in black suits, surrounded the oval-shaped chamber. Every influential business family in Mumbai was seated, from textile giants to real estate emperors.
"The cultivation sects are no longer fairy tales!" one man shouted, banging the table. "They destroyed that entire arms factory in Nashik with just one spell. Do we look like we can stand against that?"
"I say we build private military—drones, surveillance, AI," said another, head of the Patil Conglomerate. "If they fly, we fly. If they shoot fire, we build heat-proof suits!"
"This is not a video game, Mr. Patil!" barked the head of the Deshmukh family. "Cultivators don't follow human logic. They bend laws of nature! Your AI won't survive a single curse spell."
The voices clashed until a quiet thud echoed across the hall.
Everyone turned.
