Genesis Maker: The Indian Marvel (Rewrite)-Chapter 76: : The Heart of Kamal Aasthan

Ananya laughed, a bright sound that cut through the solemn moment. "I'll try, Samrat."

With final bows and murmured blessings, the crowd began to disperse, their voices buzzing with excitement as they headed back to the construction sites or their homes in old Ujjain. Aryan watched them go, a warmth settling in his chest. This was why he fought—for their dreams, their futures.

Turning, he faced Kamal Aasthan. The palace loomed across the lake, its reflection shimmering in the clear turquoise water. A majestic bridge, wide enough for twenty men to walk abreast, stretched from the shore to the palace gates, its arches carved with lotus patterns. The blue sky and golden sunlight danced on the lake's surface, creating an enchanted sight that felt alive, as if the palace breathed with Bharat's spirit.

Aryan stepped onto the bridge, his boots soft against the polished stone. Enthusiasm sparked in him, a boyish excitement to explore what the blueprint had wrought. This was his seat, his sanctuary, and he wanted to know every corner of it.

As he approached the gates, he paused, struck by their grandeur. The massive double doors, crafted from dark teak, soared twenty feet high, inlaid with bronze panels depicting scenes from Bharat's past—chariots racing, sages meditating, rivers flowing. Surrounding the gates, the outer walls gleamed with white marble, etched with intricate designs that pulsed faintly. Aryan squinted, realizing they were runic symbols, woven into the stone like a protective spell. He felt their energy, a subtle hum that promised safety and strength.

Flanking the gates stood four marble statues, each ten feet tall. They were warriors, their features sharp and timeless, clad in ancient Indian armor—curved swords at their hips, shields bearing sun emblems. Their eyes, carved with uncanny detail, seemed to watch him, guardians of Kamal Aasthan. Aryan nodded to them, a silent acknowledgment, before pushing the gates open.

They swung inward smoothly, revealing a wide courtyard that took his breath away. The façade of the palace rose before him, a symphony of arches and columns, its golden walls catching the light. Balconies with filigree railings jutted out, draped with flowering vines that smelled faintly of jasmine. At the center, a grand staircase climbed to the main entrance, flanked by two fountains shaped like blooming lotuses, their waters sparkling with flecks of crystal.

To the sides, gardens stretched out, alive with mystical plants. Aryan wandered closer, spotting herbs he recognized from ancient texts—tulsi glowing with a faint aura, brahmi vines curling around trellises, their leaves shimmering like emeralds. Unfamiliar flowers bloomed in vibrant hues, some pulsing softly as if breathing. A cluster of silver lotuses swayed in a pond, their petals catching the sunlight like mirrors. The air here felt charged, the blueprint's magic nurturing life that was both earthly and otherworldly.

Aryan climbed the staircase, his steps echoing, and entered the Grand Hall. The space was vast, its ceiling soaring fifty feet, supported by slender pillars carved with stories of Bharat's heroes. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows, casting patterns of peacocks, rivers, and mountains across the marble floor. At the far end, on a raised dais, stood the throne—a simple yet commanding seat of dark wood, inlaid with gold and cushioned with crimson silk. Above it, a circular window framed the sun, its rays framing the throne like a halo.

He approached, running a hand along the throne's armrest. It felt warm, as if it recognized him. Hidden runes pulsed beneath the wood, hinting at defenses he'd explore later. This was no mere chair—it was the heart of his rule, a place to guide Bharat forward.

Turning, he explored the hall's edges, finding alcoves with cushioned benches and low tables for advisors to gather. Tapestries hung on the walls, woven with threads that shimmered like liquid gold, depicting Bharat's landscapes—Himalayan peaks, Kaveri's flow, the Thar's dunes. Each felt alive, their colors shifting subtly as he passed.

Beyond the Grand Hall, Aryan wandered through corridors lined with teak doors, each leading to chambers designed for purpose and comfort. One room, a library, held shelves that stretched to the ceiling, already filled with leather-bound books—some ancient, others blank, waiting for new knowledge. A skylight bathed the room in soft light, and a carved desk sat ready for late-night study. Another chamber, a training hall, had polished wooden floors and racks of weapons—swords, spears, even a chakram—alongside modern equipment like padded mats and climbing walls, blending old and new.

He found a private suite, its balcony overlooking the lake. The room was luxurious yet simple: a wide bed with silk linens, a teak wardrobe, and a low table holding a silver tea set. A hidden panel in the wall revealed a small laboratory, its counters lined with vials and strange devices that hummed faintly—linked, he sensed, to his Sub-Dimensional Space. This was where he'd experiment, pushing the boundaries of his powers.

Security features caught his eye throughout. Runes glowed softly in doorframes, ready to seal rooms against intruders. Marble statues in corners, smaller versions of the gate guardians, stood poised to activate if needed. Narrow slits in the walls hid passages for quick escapes or ambushes, their entrances disguised as carvings. The palace was a fortress, its beauty concealing its strength.

Hours passed as Aryan explored, each room revealing new wonders—a meditation chamber with a lotus-shaped skylight, a dining hall with a table that could seat fifty, a rooftop garden where stars seemed to linger in the daylight. Every detail, from the cool marble underfoot to the scent of sandalwood in the air, felt like Bharat's soul given form.

Finally, he returned to the Grand Hall, standing before the throne. The palace was more than he'd imagined—a home, a stronghold, a beacon.

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- Ujjain, Bharat -

- May 1, 1937 | Late Afternoon -

Aryan settled into the throne, its dark wood warm beneath his hands, as if it knew him. The Grand Hall stretched out before him, silent now, its stained-glass windows casting soft colors across the marble floor. He'd explored every corner of Kamal Aasthan—gardens, chambers, hidden defenses—but a quiet curiosity tugged at him. The palace was a system creation, alive with secrets. He wanted to know them all.

Closing his eyes, he activated his Analysis skill, a faint hum filling his mind as the system scanned the palace. A holographic panel flickered to life in his vision, glowing with data that scrolled steadily. Aryan leaned forward, his heart quickening. The information was clear, detailed, and far beyond what he'd noticed in his wanderings. Kamal Aasthan wasn't just a marvel—it was a masterpiece tied to his very being.

The palace's defenses were the first to catch his eye. A multi-layered barrier enveloped the structure, invisible but powerful, woven from runes etched into the walls. The system described it as intelligent, able to distinguish friend from foe. For threats, the barrier was near indestructible, shrugging off physical attacks, energy blasts, even illusions, which it filtered and negated with precision. Aryan's lips curved into a smile—this was a fortress fit for a Samrat. But a note made him pause: the barrier's full strength was tied to his current power level, Tier 5. If the strength of the attack reached Tier 6, it would remain an ordinary magical defenses for it, unless he upgraded himself in power level first. A challenge for later, he thought, but one he'd meet.

The throne beneath him was next. The system revealed it was no mere seat—it was bound to his growth, evolving alongside his power. At Tier 5, it amplified his presence, subtly boosting loyalty, justice, and fairness in those who served Bharat. As he grew stronger, new effects would unlock, though the system kept those vague for now. Aryan's fingers traced the throne's armrest, feeling the faInt pulse of runes within. It was more than a symbol; it was a partner in his rule.

Then came the palace's hidden heart: a deep underground control center, accessible only through a staircase beneath the throne. The entrance would open for his unique energy signature, ensuring no one else could enter. Inside, an Energy Generator—modeled on his mutant Energy Absorption and Redistribution X-Gene—collected ambient forces from the environment: sunlight, river currents, even the earth's pulse. This fueled the palace's runes, tools, and defenses, making it self-sustaining. Aryan's eyes widened. The system's ingenuity was staggering.

The control center also housed a panel where he could reshape the palace's layout or expand it, provided he supplied materials and energy. He could activate the marble statues—those warrior guardians at the gates and in corners—as sentries to defend the palace. Even damage to the walls or structure could be repaired to its peak state, again at a cost of energy and materials. Aryan's chest swelled with pride. Kamal Aasthan was alive, adaptable, a reflection of Bharat's resilience.

He sat back, the holographic panel fading. The palace was everything he'd hoped and more—a sanctuary, a stronghold, a tool for his nation's future. His people's cheers from earlier echoed in his mind, their faith in him now matched by this marvel they'd helped create. He felt ready, grounded, as if the throne itself steadied his resolve.

With a thought, Aryan channeled a pulse of his energy into the throne, matching the signature the system described. A low rumble sounded, and the throne slid forward smoothly, revealing a hidden staircase descending into darkness. Cool air rose from below, carrying a faint hum of power. Aryan stood, his curiosity alive again, and descended the steps, each one lighting up with soft runes as he passed.

The staircase spiraled deep, opening into a wide chamber that felt like stepping into a blend of magic and science. The control center was sleek yet ancient, its walls smooth stone etched with glowing symbols. In one corner, a separate room housed the Energy Generator, a towering cylinder of crystal and bronze that pulsed like a heartbeat, faint arcs of light dancing within. Tubes ran from it into the walls, feeding the palace above.

The main room held the control panel, a broad console of polished obsidian inlaid with runes. Above it, a wide screen flickered, ready to display any corner of Kamal Aasthan at his command. Aryan approached, running a hand over the panel. It hummed to life, a holographic interface appearing, showing a map of the palace—every hall, garden, and hidden passage. He tapped the screen, and it zoomed to the Grand Hall, then the rooftop garden, crisp and clear. He could watch over his home, his people, from here.

Aryan stepped back, taking it all in. The control center was a masterpiece, blending the mystical with the practical, just like Bharat itself. The generator's steady pulse felt like the nation's heartbeat, strong and enduring.

He returned to the panel, his fingers hovering over the controls. There was so much to learn, to test. The palace could grow, adapt, just as he would. For now, though, he let the screen show the lake outside, its turquoise waters sparkling under the fading sun. The sight calmed him, a reminder of why he was here.

Aryan climbed back to the Grand Hall, the throne sliding back into place behind him.

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