In the living room dimmed by the morning light, Teguh sat lost in thought. One hand supported his head, while his vacant eyes stared at the cold stone floor. Some minor wounds were still visible on his face and arms—remnants from an unfriendly encounter.
"How could this be...?" he murmured softly. His voice was hoarse, tired, as if the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders.
His mind drifted back to yesterday's events. He had come with good intentions to the Tirta family's house—his wife whom he had loved unconditionally all this time. But the reception from Rivan, Tirta's father, was nothing but a storm of insults.
"You are not worthy of my daughter."
"You never met the conditions we agreed upon!"
"Divorce Tirta, before I take matters into my own hands."
Teguh could still hear the echo of those harsh and cold words. In the past, Tirta's father had never approved of their marriage. Only because Pradipa—the head of the Baskara family—had successfully negotiated for a long time did he finally give his blessing... although now, it seemed that blessing was merely superficial.
Rivan, under the pretext that families more established from the first class had started approaching his daughter, demanded his parental right again: to take Tirta away from Teguh's embrace. For Rivan, prosperity and social status were the measure of love. And Teguh, though from the second class which was equal, was never considered enough.
"I... don't want to let her go," Teguh whispered in his heart, his eyes beginning to moisten.
Suddenly, amid the pain squeezing his chest, there was a soft knock at the door.
Knock. Knock.
The knock was accompanied by a cheerful, light voice—one he didn't recognize.
"Father...!"
Instantly, Teguh froze.
It was a voice he couldn't forget. Warm, clear, and now sounding more mature than he had known before.
Teguh slowly stood, his steps heavy as if treading frozen time. He opened the door—and there, beneath the morning sunlight just slipping in, stood a young man with bright eyes and a wide smile...
"Son... is that really you?" Teguh's voice trembled, hoarse, overwhelmed by uncontrollable emotion.
Tears fell from the corners of his eyes, flowing without shame. The young man's face before him... was too much like Tirta. The long black hair, never cut since birth, now fluttered gently in the morning breeze. In his gaze, it was as if Tirta was present in their child's form, as if mother and child merged into one beam of light descending from the sky.
Teguh closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't bear to imagine losing them both.
Baskara bowed his head slowly, his heart stirred seeing his father so fragile. But when he noticed the small wounds on Teguh's body, and his heavy breath as if carrying a burden, Baskara's gaze instantly sharpened—filled with awareness and determination.
"Father, what happened to you? And... where is Mother? Is she alright?" he asked quickly but calmly.
Without waiting for an answer, Baskara reached into the inner pocket of his robe and took out a softly glowing pill.
"Take this first, it will strengthen your body and ease your internal wounds," he said, handing the pill over.
Teguh accepted it hesitantly but swallowed it without much question. Then they sat down slowly, like two men finally talking heart to heart—not just as father and son, but as two souls bearing the weight of the world.
Teguh began to tell his story. About his meeting with Rivan, the pressure he endured, and the threat to be separated from Tirta. This time, he spoke sincerely to his son, because he realized… Baskara was no longer a child to be shielded from the harshness of the world. Silently, Teguh accepted the fact that his son had grown. Young, but having survived a silent storm incomprehensible to most.
"I will report this to your grandfather, son… Hopefully, Eyang Pradipa can mediate this chaos," Teguh said softly, bitterness in his tone.
But before those words could settle in the air, Baskara had already disappeared from his sight.
Teguh was silent. He knew his son had made a decision. And when the silent child chooses to move... the world must prepare.
Baskara shot through the air, carrying a resolve he had never shown before. His face cold, full of determination. With Silent Steps, he traversed the air like a shadow, causing no wind, breaking no silence.
In a short time, he covered hundreds of kilometers. The air hissed as it parted for him. The spiritual birds who usually guarded the ancestral skies could only bow and give way.
He arrived at his mother's large family compound.
Time seemed to hold its breath, for the wind no longer stirred, and the sky appeared slightly darker than usual...
In the misty morning sky, Baskara stood firm in mid-air, as if the sky gave him footing. His body did not move, yet the aura radiating from him was like glowing embers in silence.
From his height, his eyes scanned Rivan's family compound—a row of luxurious buildings with architecture typical of noble families. But among them all, one striking building caught his gaze: majestic like an ancestral temple, yet infused with modern touches that showed pride and power.
Without many words, Baskara raised his chin slightly, then released a spiritual voice that echoed with authority, shaking the heart of the earth and air:
"Come out, old man... or I will destroy your houses!"
The voice thundered, piercing space and time, heard throughout the compound. The air vibrated, and the mental guardian birds flew away.
Below, a young man standing in the garden with several followers looked up with a mocking expression. In a sarcastic and arrogant tone, he shouted:
"Hey, you young man! So arrogant to want to destroy our family?! You're a disrespectful lizard!"
But before that mocking laugh faded, Baskara stared at the young man flatly. Without emotion, without intent to reply verbally—he merely pointed one finger.
Bruakkhh!!
Instantly, the young man's body was thrown like a broken doll, crashing hard into the building behind him. The wall collapsed, the ground cracked, and the impact left a mark like a wound on the earth's surface.
The incident shocked the whole compound. People shouted, panicked. Some immediately contacted the elite family guards, the holders of power and authority, to prevent further unrest.
But Baskara paid no mind. His steps slowly advanced in the air, approaching the central building that looked like a grand fortress from ancient times. Each step shattered the space beneath his feet, as if reality itself could not withstand the pressure of his power.
The space cracked like broken glass, shattered and then reformed only to be broken again under his tread.
The air grew heavy. The wind stopped moving. Time seemed to freeze.
And behind the window of the main building...
Rivan began to rise from his seat.