The sprawling courtyard of the Rathore estate was bathed in the harsh, flickering glare of the sacred funeral pyre, thick plumes of white smoke curling into the heavy morning air. Rows of white-clad mourners sat in hushed, reverent silence around the perimeter, watching as the final rites unfolded under the chanting of estate priests.

Shivanya sat beside Abhimaan on the heavy wooden mourning chairs set apart for the immediate family. The rhythmic, crackling snap of the sandalwood fire echoed softly against the stone walls. Srishti and Vidyut—now stepping into the heavy shoes of the primary patriarch and matriarch—sat near the flames, mechanically feeding ghee and sacred offerings into the fire as part of the purification ritual.