Ra Kuti stood near the edge of the royal camp, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon as the morning mist slowly lifted. But his thoughts drifted far from the battlefield. A tightness coiled in his chest—unease, though he couldn't name its shape. Like a shadow brushing just out of sight. His fingers twitched. His usually calm demeanor felt… off.
"Ra Kuti, you look distracted. Something on your mind?" came a familiar, teasing voice.
He turned to find Dyah Netarja standing nearby, arms casually behind her back, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Ra Kuti gave her a half-smile, but his eyes held a weight she hadn't seen before. "I was thinking about something, Princess."
She raised an eyebrow. "The seasoned warrior, having doubts? Now that I have to see."
He chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual confidence. "It's not doubt. I've been considering taking on a student. A ten-year-old boy caught my attention."
Dyah Netarja frowned, clearly intrigued. "A boy? Ten years old? And what's so special about him—what makes him worthy of your attention instead of me? You've been with me since I was little, Ra Kuti. I've begged you to train me more times than I can count."
Ra Kuti stiffened slightly. He hesitated before responding, his eyes drifting to the ground. "I've only trained a few people before, Princess. My focus has always been my duty—to the Queen, to the warriors, and to the kingdom."
Dyah Netarja crossed her arms, her expression growing serious. "But you're my champion. You've been my protector and mentor. Why won't you train me?"
He exhaled deeply, finally meeting her gaze. There was a softness in his eyes, almost paternal. "It's not that I don't want to. But you're still young. Your body isn't ready for the kind of training I would give. It's too delicate—especially at your age."
"I'm not fragile, Ra Kuti," she countered, tilting her head. "I've been practicing on my own."
Ra Kuti shook his head, the gesture slow, deliberate. "I know you're strong, but your body is still growing. I've seen what happens to those who push too hard too soon. They break. I won't let that happen to you."
She looked down, absorbing his words in silence. But after a pause, her voice returned—quiet, probing. "That's not the whole reason, is it?"
He fell silent again. Then, reluctantly, he gave a small nod. "No. It's not."
Her eyes narrowed. "So what is it?"
Ra Kuti glanced around to ensure no one was within earshot. When he spoke, his voice was lower, almost reverent. "It's your mother."
"My mother?" she echoed, confused. "What does she have to do with this?"
He leaned in slightly, eyes sharpened by memory. "Her wrath is... unfathomable."
Ra Kuti let the memories flood back.
"I've seen the fiercest warriors fall silent at her mere presence. If you were to get hurt during training—especially if I was the one who pushed you too far—your mother would..."
He paused, grimacing. "Let's just say, even General Gajah Mada would turn into a small, trembling baby elephant under her fury."
Dyah Netarja blinked. Then, suddenly, she burst into laughter, holding her stomach as her body shook with amusement.
"Wait—Gajah Mada? A baby elephant? You're serious, aren't you?"
Ra Kuti didn't flinch. He simply raised an eyebrow, his face the picture of solemn truth.
"I am serious. I don't care how strong I am or how much experience I have. The Queen's fury... it's no joke. No man—no matter how mighty—wants to be on the receiving end of it. Even your father warned me."
She wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "Hahaha... that's the funniest thing I've heard in years. I learned something new today."
Ra Kuti couldn't help but smile, a genuine warmth in his expression.
He crossed his arms, nodding with mock gravity. "Well, I'm glad I could humor you. And believe me, surviving the palace means knowing which battles not to fight—especially ones involving your mother's temper."
Dyah Netarja's laughter faded into a thoughtful silence. "So you're waiting... until I'm older. Until my body is stronger."
"Exactly," he said with a small nod. "When you're ready, I'll train you. But for now, I'll keep pretending I'm too busy with other duties."
She crossed her arms again, lifting her chin. "Well then, I'll hold you to that. The day I'm ready, you will train me. And you won't be able to run from it."
Ra Kuti let out a deep, amused rumble of a laugh. "You're persistent. I'll give you that. But until then, just keep practicing. And for the love of the gods, try not to get yourself in trouble."
Dyah Netarja winked. "No promises. But I'll make sure you remember your promise."
Ra Kuti shook his head with a fond sigh as she turned and walked away, her posture radiating both pride and mischief. She was growing up fast—too fast, perhaps. But maybe, just maybe, one day she truly would be ready.
As she disappeared into the distance, Ra Kuti's expression shifted—softness giving way to vigilance. He turned toward two nearby warriors, both standing at quiet attention.
"Prajurit Arya. Prajurit Nala," he called.
The two soldier stepped forward and bowed their heads. "Yes, Senapati?"
Ra Kuti's voice was calm but firm. "Princess Dyah Netarja is heading to the village center. You are to escort her and remain by her side. No distance, no distraction. She is not just our princess—she is the heart of this camp and Majapahit's future. Understood!?"
"Sir, yes sir!" they replied in unison, fists over their chests.
He watched as they hurried off to catch up with her, then muttered to himself, "And if anything happens to her... the Queen will claim my head no matter what happens... scary."
As the morning sun climbed higher, Dyah Netarja made her way toward the village center. Her royal cloak drew respectful nods from the people, but she greeted them with warmth and familiarity.
Today's agenda was no less important than strategy or swordplay—she was here to inspect the village market and meet with local merchants, continuing her efforts to improve trade routes and bolster the regional economy. For her, leadership was more than command—it was understanding the people's needs and guiding them forward.
Hours passed.
At the outer perimeter of the camp, two sentries stood on alert as a barefoot boy approached—dusty, lean, but determined. His eyes were sharp, scanning every detail of the camp, even as he came to a stop just beyond the guarded threshold.
"Halt," one of the guards barked. "No entry without clearance. State your name and purpose."
The boy raised his chin. "My name is Jaka. I'm here for Master Ra Kuti. He told me to come."
The guards exchanged wary glances. "Senapati Ra Kuti doesn't see just anyone. Especially not children."
Before the conversation could escalate, a voice rang out from within the camp—firm, unmistakable.
"Let him through."
Ra Kuti stepped into view, arms folded, his eyes locked onto the boy. The guards stepped aside instantly, saluting as he passed.
The boy stepped forward without hesitation.
Ra Kuti looked him up and down, then nodded slowly. A faint, approving smile touched his lips.
"Jaka," he said, voice low but steady. "You're right on time."
The test was about to begin. And in that moment, Ra Kuti knew—this boy might shape more than just battles. He might shape destinies.