"Very well, my child… have you truly mastered the Keris Kala Niskala and become its rightful bearer?" asked Ancestor Nala, his voice deep and his gaze sharp, as if piercing through the layers of Baskara's soul.
"I've given you one offensive technique of the keris," he continued. "This technique is called Heart-Core Piercer. As the name implies, it doesn't just strike the physical heart, but can tear through the core of one's soul. But know this—it doesn't stop at one form. It can evolve… even to an extreme. I myself don't know its true limits."
Ancestor Nala's tone carried both awe and caution. "This technique depends on the depth of your soul. Each spiritual realm differs in strength. Some are weak, some strong, and some are protected by soul treasures. If you meditate upon this technique to its highest peak… I'm not certain even soul treasures could withstand it."
He took a deep breath before continuing. "Do you know why the Keris Kala Niskala was kept in the ancestral lands? It's because that blade doesn't merely absorb spiritual power—it also reflects karma. Just like we bear the burden of past mistakes, this keris can return it to its source."
He looked deeply into Baskara's eyes. "To be honest… I myself have never wielded the keris. It was passed down by ancestors long before my time. And thankfully, Elder Pradipa retrieved it before it could fall into the hands of the Surya clan."
"Of course, I agree that the keris should be entrusted to you," he said with certainty. "Because you're not an ordinary child, Baskara. Even among noble families and grand sanctuaries… I've never seen anyone like you. You are rare. Your potential—I cannot explain. Perhaps it's your natural brilliance, or maybe your destiny has already merged with the cosmic order."
He nodded slowly. "In our time, we merely taught martial arts… a little meditation, and offered basic guidance. But you—without any formal tutelage, you've broken through the limits. Realm after realm, you passed through alone. And now… the proof stands before me."
"And remember, Baskara… in this conflict, you must stay focused on your training," said Elder Pradipa, his voice gentle yet firm. "Do not interfere, even if nobles are involved. Our family is protected, even should the Tirta Negara nobles fall. And trust me, the ancestors will not remain idle if their kin are in danger."
Those words were more than advice—they were a warning born of deep affection. Elder Pradipa knew his grandson was not like other children.
Baskara merely nodded, his face showing deep understanding. Though young, his mind far surpassed his age.
"Understood, Grandfather," Baskara replied firmly. "I will focus on mastering this technique… and understanding this temple relic with all my heart."
He could sense the silent worry in both of his elders. It only deepened his resolve.
"Good. That brings us peace of mind," Ancestor Nala said with a soft nod.
"And this is also for you," he added, lifting his left palm.
From within the silent meditation chamber, filled with spiritual energy, emerged a pitch-black piece of hide. Upon its surface were glowing white sigils that pulsed with the rhythm of space and time. The patterns were foreign, yet carried profound meaning, readable only by those attuned to the language of the soul.
"This is the Soul Storage Hide," Ancestor Nala explained. "It can store items up to a cubic meter in volume. I've filled it with spiritual plants, rare medicinal materials, and basic inscription skills—so that you can study them gradually."
He handed it to Baskara, who received it with utmost reverence.
"Thank you, Ancestor," said Baskara, bowing deeply, full of gratitude. He knew this was more than a gift—it was a sign of trust and a great hope.
Though he wasn't given the full inheritance, Baskara understood that what he received was the essence of a true legacy: knowledge, power, and a path to growth. Even Elder Pradipa beside him could feel how deeply Ancestor Nala cared for his grandson. He knew this valuable resource was given not just out of affection, but as an investment in their family's future.
If Baskara became strong in the days to come, then their faction of the family would grow stronger too—perhaps even rise in rank within the great family's power hierarchy.
Seeing such dedication, Elder Pradipa bowed in respect. "Thank you, Ancestor."
But Ancestor Nala only smiled calmly. "No thanks needed. You are my descendants. It is only right that I take care of you. But in return..."—his gaze sharpened though his tone remained gentle—"…you must also protect our family in the days to come."
"Of course, Ancestor," Elder Pradipa answered resolutely.
"Very well, then. Now, return to your respective duties," Ancestor Nala said, ending the meeting with quiet yet commanding grace.
And so their conversation ended, wrapped in a silence heavy with meaning.
Elder Pradipa slowly left the temple, returning to his residence to resume his role as head of the family. His steps were firm, yet his eyes held a gleam of hope for his grandson's future.
Meanwhile, Baskara stepped out into the ancestral land, returning to his meditation chamber. His heart was full of resolve, carrying with him the legacy of knowledge, hope, and a sacred responsibility. There, he would delve deeper into the inherited techniques, study the contents of the Soul Storage Hide, and continue his journey through the spiritual realms.
In the quiet of the temple, Ancestor Nala resumed his meditative pose. Yet his awareness stretched far, reaching across space and time. He was not merely meditating—he was watching, guarding his lineage from behind the unseen veil. Though his eyes were closed, he still saw the dangers to come… and the hope now embodied in the young figure named Baskara.
And that night returned to silence, though never truly still. For within that silence, fate was slowly being written—by the hands of the ancestors.
In a grand palace-like mansion, guards moved briskly in every corner—alert and exuding authority. A row of luxury cars lined up neatly in the yard, standing as silent witnesses to the nobility's grandeur. Inside the opulent main hall, a dignified man sat confidently, clad in aristocratic garb—a batik robe adorned with the intricate patterns of the Tirta Negara noble family.
This man was Adipati Wirasantra Matwadewa, the head of the Tirta Negara noble family. His neatly combed black hair and thick mustache emphasized his commanding presence. He sat on the family leader's main chair, calmly smoking a cigarette, though his eyes were sharp and calculating.
"So... when will the heads of the tier-one to tier-three families arrive and give us their answer?" he asked flatly but firmly.
"Likely any moment now, Sir," replied a servant standing beside him. This was no ordinary servant, but the one responsible for managing the Duke's daily schedule.
"Very well, then. Prepare the reception. We will welcome them properly," Wirasantra replied with a subtle, meaningful smile. "And make sure our elders are also ready. This is no ordinary gathering."
At the heart of Tirta Negara City stood a majestic skyscraper—the residence of the Jayakarta noble family. Armed guards patrolled its perimeter with strict discipline. The building was not just a symbol of power, but also a political and spiritual fortress that demanded respect.
Inside the grand hall—used exclusively for family deliberations—the top figures of the Jayakarta family were gathered. The atmosphere was heavy and tense. They were discussing a major issue: the battle for the Eternal Flame Jewel (Api Manik Abadi), a spiritual heirloom currently held by the Tirta Negara nobles.
"So, have you gathered all the information?" asked a burly man seated in the main chair, wearing a royal batik robe laced with gold. He was Mahadipa Darmasena, the head of the Jayakarta noble family—the highest-ranking noble of the capital, wielding influence far beyond this city.
"Yes, Sir," answered his loyal servant and the family's right-hand man, handing over a high-tech device to Mahadipa.
Mahadipa nodded, scrolling through the data intently. "Hmm... just as I thought," he muttered with a cold smile. "The Atmadewa family are true cowards. They had to seek help from tier-one to tier-three families just to protect a single heirloom. Hahaha... Pathetic."
His eyes narrowed, full of schemes. "Then, it's time to surprise those lesser families who dared to support them. We'll cut off their backup, one by one."
"Yes, Sir. It will be done," the servant replied respectfully before stepping away.
Mahadipa turned to his other subordinates. "Have our forces arrived in this city?"
"All units are assembled, Sir. We await your orders," one of them answered eagerly.
"Don't rush. We mustn't be reckless. Don't involve civilians who lack spiritual abilities. If we're careless, the central government might start watching us. That's what we must avoid."
"Yes, understood, Sir."
Mahadipa stood, his footsteps echoing across the marble floor. "Alright, listen... We can't just behead Atmadewa—that's too obvious. Instead, we'll cut off their legs—the ones who support and uphold them."
One of his subordinates frowned in confusion. "Sir, what do you mean...?"
"It means we'll force Atmadewa's allies to retreat through fear and pressure. Once they lose support, then we strike the heart of the Atmadewa family. Subtle, gradual... but devastating."
He looked at them one by one. "Do you understand me now?"
They all responded in unison, "Yes, Sir!"
Atop one of Tirta Negara's towering skyscrapers, two slender figures stood silently, blending into the night's shadows. They were elite spies from the Atmadewa noble family—master infiltrators long trained in Jagat Sukma, a spiritual domain for covert operatives.
Their footsteps were as soft as the wind, their breath barely traceable. Their skills in infiltration, camouflage, and survival under extreme pressure had been honed since childhood. Undoubtedly, they were invisible shadows amidst the city's splendor and power.
"Any suspicious movement?" one of them asked through telepathy, keeping communication silent amidst the rooftop breeze.
"Several vehicles just left the Darmasena family's main building," replied the other, focused through a specialized scope. "But I can't determine what realm they're using. This device only enhances physical sight, not spiritual or telepathic detection."
He gripped the custom-built scope—crafted by the Atmadewa family's alchemists, etched with intricate sigils for distance focus. While it couldn't read minds or conversations, it could clearly observe movements from afar without being detected.
"Alright, keep watching that building. I'll follow the departing vehicles and see where they're headed," his partner said. Slowly, his body faded from view, cloaked in Atmadewa's signature stealth technique.