The sky was still cloaked in deep blue when the first crow of the rooster signaled the arrival of dawn in the hills of Indrakarta. A thin mist lingered between the ancient trees surrounding the old hermitage, veiling the world in sacred stillness—as if the universe itself was holding its breath.
Raka sat cross-legged on a rough straw mat. His breathing was slow, but his soul was restless. In front of him, Resi Gantarajaya looked like a relic brought to life—his dull white turban, a worn robe made of coarse hemp, and eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand years of wisdom.
The scent of sandalwood incense gradually filled the room, blending with the smell of wet earth, sweat, and aged iron—a symphony of fragrances from the world of Maheswara.
"Sit," the Resi spoke.
His voice rang like thunder through the mist—deep and firm, yet with the gentleness of morning dew. The wooden hut where they sat no longer felt like a simple old structure, but a sacred chamber—a place where knowledge descended from the heavens to the earth.
Raka obeyed, sitting upright with a straight spine. He understood—what the Resi was about to impart was not merely a lesson. It was a foundation—the root of this entire new world.
"If you wish to survive in this realm," the Resi began, his voice low, "and more than that—forge your own fate—you must understand one thing: Maheswara is upheld by Knowledge."
A breeze stirred, shifting the bamboo curtain behind them. Sunlight seeped through, casting a beam across the wooden floor between them—like a spotlight illuminating the stage of wisdom.
Raka swallowed hard, his eyes reflecting that golden light.
"There are three primary branches of Knowledge in Maheswara," the Resi continued, his voice echoing like the call of the ancient forest. "First, Kanuragan—the knowledge of the body and physical strength. Second, Kwisenan—the knowledge of the intellect and the unseen, encompassing incantations, spells, and the mysteries of the cosmos. Third, Kadeyan—the knowledge of spirit, soul, and the path that leads to the ancestors and unseen beings."
As he spoke, the Resi raised his hand, forming a triangle in the air—as if symbolizing the three pillars of existence.
"But all three branches," he said sharply, glancing at Raka, "stem from a single source: Éra."
He stood slowly, took a clay jug from the corner of the hut, and poured water into a black bowl adorned with ancient beads. Strangely, the water glowed with a soft silvery light, like a star dissolved into liquid.
"Éra is the Breath of the World," he whispered. "It flows through the veins of the earth, dances in the air, whispers through the leaves, and ignites the soul. From Éra comes movement, power—even consciousness itself."
Raka froze. In his mind, he compared it to concepts from his former world—mana, chi, prana, life force. But Éra felt... more alive. It wasn't just energy. It responded. It chose.
"If that's so," Raka spoke softly, "what becomes of those who possess little Éra?"
The Resi smiled. But it wasn't a gentle smile. It was a test.
"A good question. But… it is foolish to fight with Éra alone." He began to pace slowly around Raka. "For a true battle is a symphony—of body, mind, emotion, instinct, and most importantly—soul."
He stopped behind Raka and whispered, "Do not call me teacher… if all I do is train you to store Éra like an empty jar."
The hairs on Raka's neck stood on end. That sentence shattered a fragile illusion inside him like a hammer.
He recalled a quote from an old book—The Art of War:
"If you are not strong, then be clever.
If the world opposes you, become someone it cannot ignore."
"So… what should I do first?" he asked, boldly.
The Resi turned. His hand pointed toward the courtyard of red earth, surrounded by bamboo and stone.
"Train your body. Sharpen your senses. Hone your mind. Purify your spirit. Then, and only then, will you be worthy to touch Éra."
The days that followed were hell for his body—but heaven for his soul.
Raka rose before the sun. His body, still unused to this world, was wracked with pain—but his will was steel. He practiced ngurubi, breathing and leg exercises that made his lungs burn. He slammed himself into the ground for tundun, Maheswara's version of push-ups—done with stones strapped to his back.
To strengthen his core, he performed padekkan, holding a curled-up position for fifty counts with a jug balanced on his head. Then came galung-badan, lifting his body from a hanging bamboo beam while channeling Éra to avoid it leaking out.
His bones creaked. His muscles screamed. But he did not stop.
He pounded hardwood with a metal pestle until his knuckles bled. He kicked bamboo poles with sepu batok technique until his shins turned blue. Every night, he repeated the basic forms of Tapak Kilat, Rajapati Naga, Sigar Banyu, and Luwang Langit—until his movements became a deadly dance.
Sweat dripped endlessly, forming patterns on the earth.
Raka had no desire to merely survive in this world.
He wanted to master it.
From afar, Resi Gantarajaya watched in silence. Each movement from his new pupil showed not only diligence—but the will to break through his own limits.
He had seen many students come, desperate to master spells quickly. But Raka was different. Beneath his frail body burned a spark of resolve capable of igniting destiny.
"Jagat Maheswara… bear witness," the Resi murmured, his eyes narrowing toward the horizon. "This disciple shall not walk with Éra alone. But with his entire soul."
And the sky answered with a flash of golden light on the eastern horizon.
A new dawn.
A new fate.
The world of Maheswara… seemed to have found one of its destined changers.