After five days at his family residence, and ensuring that both his father and mother were in good condition, Baskara finally decided to return. Though a trace of worry lingered, he knew that delaying his training any longer would be a form of negligence toward his primary responsibility: sharpening his strength for a future full of storms.
> "This peace is borrowed time… not eternal," he muttered before bidding farewell.
With a warm hug and a simple piece of advice from his mother, and a calm nod from his father, Baskara left home. He walked beneath the moonlight, treading a secret path to the ancestral land—a path known only to those acknowledged by the family's guardian spirits.
Upon arriving at the ancestral land, he walked through the mist, following a trail that only appeared under spiritual steps. The ancient temple reappeared before him, silent and strong, its walls etched with the carvings of time, its stones trembling with the aura of ancestral relics.
This time, his purpose was clear: to conquer the temple's treasure passed down by his forebears.
He had previously received the Keris Kala Niskala and partially understood the Piercing the Heart's Core technique—but that move was still too deep and wild for him to tame now.
> "I must strengthen my foundation first," he thought, stepping into the temple's main chamber.
He sat at the meditation altar, opening his awareness and focusing on the temple's treasure known as the Guardian Soul of the Ancestral Land—a form of spiritual power embedded within a hidden dimensional space inside the temple.
Baskara slowly opened his eyes, his breath steady, yet beneath that calm, a storm was beginning to grow. In silence, he began to realize that Astadi Candika was no ordinary relic—it was the manifestation of ancestral will, a legacy that bore both destruction and protection.
Within him, he could feel echoes from the past… like chants and mantras lingering in stone. He knew every carving on the temple wasn't mere decoration, but seals, systems, and keys to summon power.
> "If this truly belongs to the ancestors… then I must prove myself worthy of inheriting it," Baskara whispered.
The next step was clear: soul synchronization. He had to align his spirit and will with the soul of the temple. If he failed, then Astadi Candika would remain just a stone—or worse, absorb his power.
Baskara sat cross-legged at the center of the now-awakened temple chamber. The old stones pulsed gently, as if responding to the beat of his soul. He regulated his breathing, diving into his consciousness, merging with the temple's spiritual current.
Braakkk…!
A sound like a dimensional gate opening. Golden-red light surrounded him, then everything turned dark. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the physical temple chamber, but within Astadi Candika's inner realm—the trial space of the soul.
The sky was dark like eternal dusk, the ground made of black stone cracked with dim red light. Around him stood three towering, majestic figures. White hair, piercing eyes, and bodies cloaked in grand robes adorned with ancient symbols.
One stepped forward, his voice deep, like an echo from the past.
> "O blood heir… what right do you claim to wield our relic?"
Baskara bowed in respect. "I claim no right… I only wish to fulfill the destiny passed down to me."
The second figure followed, his eyes glowing red:
> "Destiny is a burden, not a gift. We did not pass down this relic to be a symbol—but a tool. Can you control it?"
The third, the oldest and calmest of them all, said:
> "Then face it… face your own ancestral shadow. If you fail, your soul will merge with this temple, becoming a new guardian who can never leave."
Suddenly, the three merged into one being: the Grand Ancestral Shadow, a figure robed like a temple, eyes burning with fire, holding a trident of light. The spiritual pressure was immense—even Baskara's breath began to seize.
Baskara slowly stood, his body heavily burdened, yet his soul's eyes shone bright. Behind him, his own shadow appeared—equally strong, like a colder, doubtful version of himself.
Two opponents, one arena. One truth, one path.
The inner battle began.
The Grand Ancestral Shadow stood firm, while Baskara's own shadow faced him—appearing just like him, but with empty, cold, nearly mocking eyes.
> "You want power?" the shadow asked flatly. "Is it to protect… or just so you'll no longer feel weak?"
Baskara said nothing. The shadow stepped forward.
> "You meditate, train in silence, reject the world's stage… but deep in your heart, don't you long to be acknowledged? Respected? No longer dismissed like when you were a child?"
The shadow stared directly into Baskara's soul.
> "Are you truly training for peace… or out of fear? Fear of failure? Fear of not being enough?"
Baskara drew a slow breath. "I'm not afraid… I just don't want to rush."
The shadow swung its arm. Suddenly, hundreds of overlapping voices echoed around them—mockery, jealousy, false praise.
> "You close your ears, but the voices still dwell inside. Will power silence them all?"
Red light from the cracked ground began to rise, forming walls that entrapped him.
> "If you can't face this, then this temple is not yours. You'll become a stone guardian—forever."
Baskara closed his eyes for a moment. Then he answered softly, yet firmly:
> "Power isn't to silence outer voices. It's to calm the inner ones. If I let doubt win, I'll become a slave to my own strength."
Slowly, he raised his right hand, and a five-colored light from his chest soul pulsed outward, forming a glowing stupa pattern.
Boom!
His shadow self burned in the light, fading into a bowing silhouette… and vanished.
The Grand Ancestral Shadow simply nodded.
> "You have defeated the greatest enemy… yourself."
Astadi Candika then merged with his soul. A pillar of light descended from the sky of the inner temple, solidifying their bond.