At the Baskara family residence, behind an old wooden door etched with protective sigils, Tirta sat cross-legged in silence. Her face looked pale, but the glint in her eyes still shone with perseverance and dedication. In front of her, a spiritual cauldron swayed gently above her true flame—a bluish-green fire, calm yet steady, characteristic of a level 2 medicine refiner.
Thin smoke curled toward the ceiling, carrying a bitter, warm, and pungent aroma. Inside the cauldron, various herbs spun slowly, having been refined for days. Each drop of that concoction was the result of time, effort, and deep concentration.
> "If I fail… all these rare ingredients will be wasted. I can't falter," Tirta muttered inwardly, gritting her teeth.
The curtain swayed slightly in the breeze of spiritual energy—but that wasn't what startled Tirta.
Knock knock knock…
"Mom, I'm home!" Baskara's voice came from behind the door, cheerful and light, like a child returning from a long journey.
Tirta closed her eyes for a moment. Her heart trembled. It had been over two weeks since she last heard that voice in person. But… she couldn't reply. Couldn't move. Even the slightest motion could ruin the refinement she had been tending to day and night.
She merely sighed inwardly and refocused on the swirling liquid in the spiritual cauldron. Drop by drop, it formed patterns of energy. The heat aura pulsed gently in rhythm with her spiritual flow.
Outside, Baskara stood motionless in front of the door. He could clearly sense his mother's spiritual aura, focused and unwavering.
Slowly, Baskara extended his awareness like a thin mist enveloping the entire house. The walls, floors, even the darkest corners—he sensed them all. His breath was calm, his eyes half-closed. He wasn't peeking—he was becoming one with the place that raised him.
Inside the refinement chamber, he saw his mother… sitting cross-legged, hair slightly messy, hands trembling from fatigue, yet her gaze remained focused on the spiritual flame dancing beneath the cauldron. Tirta's body glowed faintly from the pressure of the energy she had exhausted.
> "Mom… you're such a hard worker. But you don't have to bear all this alone," Baskara murmured softly.
He raised one hand and released his energy—gentle, like morning dew on young leaves. That energy flowed along the walls, through windows, slipping through air gaps, and entered the refinement chamber without disturbing his mother's spiritual rhythm.
Once the entire room was bathed in his aura, Baskara began channeling energy directly into his mother's body. He guided it through her Nadi Sukma pathways—not to alter the flow, but to reinforce and soothe it.
The weary aura that once fluctuated unsteadily within Tirta began to stabilize, becoming warm and steady. The once-wavering true flame now steadied, even glowed brighter than before.
Tirta frowned. She felt something. But there was no disruption. No foreign vibration. All she sensed was… peace, strength, and a gentle, loving presence.
> "What is this…?" she wondered faintly.
Yet she didn't seek the source. She simply closed her eyes and let the energy flow.
> "Thank you… whoever you are…"
Outside the room, Baskara smiled faintly. He didn't want to disturb his mother any further.
The living room in the Baskara household felt warm, even though outside, the scent of conflict had begun to spread from various corners of the city. He sat relaxed on the teakwood chair his father usually used, watching a special broadcast from Tirtanegara City—reports of strange incidents at night, blockaded convoys, and growing tension among noble families. Baskara watched calmly, but in silence, his mind analyzed every possibility.
Hours later, soft footsteps echoed from the back corridor. Tirta emerged from the refinement chamber, her face slightly tired, but maternal warmth still radiated as she saw her son in the living room.
"You're home, dear," Tirta said with a smile, wiping sweat from her brow. "Sorry, I was busy, so I couldn't open the door right away."
Baskara rose slowly and approached his mother. "It's okay, Mom. I knew you must be busy, so I just let myself in," he replied, hugging her with a rare soft smile on his usually calm face.
They sat side by side, and Baskara looked at his mother with deep concern.
"By the way, you look really tired," he said.
Tirta let out a soft sigh. "I've been refining some energy-restoring medicines for our family… especially for those helping the Atmadewa family."
Baskara raised an eyebrow, chuckling.
"So, the Atmadewa family didn't give those pills to our family too, Mom?"
Tirta chuckled lightly, but her smile was tinged with bitterness.
"Of course they did… but only for the elders. As for the elites from second and third-tier families like ours, well… we have to rely on ourselves."
Baskara crossed his arms casually, his eyes sharpening though his lips curled into a cynical smile.
"Hmph… big name, but incredibly stingy. Poor in virtue—if not poor in heart too," he scoffed.
Tirta only shook her head gently.
"Son, in this world… even kindness must be measured by benefit. Don't be surprised."
> Baskara gave a crooked smile.
"Yeah… but people like that won't last long once the heavens decide to intervene."
Tirta smiled gently as Baskara hugged her while joking. "You're still the same…" she muttered, stroking the head of the boy who had now grown into a wise and calm young man—but in her eyes, he was still the little boy who used to cry when he got lost in the backyard.
"So, Mom… what about my siblings who are studying abroad? Are they coming home or not?" Baskara asked with curiosity, though a trace of unease slipped into his voice.
Tirta looked toward the window for a moment before answering.
"For now, they're staying at school, dear. The school has forbidden them from returning home for safety reasons. We don't want them caught in the conflict without protection."
Baskara nodded slowly, though a faint crease appeared on his brow. He was silent for a moment before asking again,
"And… Dinda? How is she doing, Mom?"
Tirta looked at her son with tenderness.
"I know you worry most about Dinda. But don't worry, she's doing fine. Her school is heavily guarded by local officials and family representatives from the second-tier clans. She even sent a letter a few days ago."
A faint smile appeared on Baskara's face. Dinda wasn't his blood sister, but they had grown up like siblings—sometimes bickering, often tattling, yet always looking out for each other with sincerity.
"So, where is Dad now, Mom?" he asked again.
Tirta took a deep breath.
"Your father is in the main hall, meeting with the elders and family representatives. They're probably discussing strategies to deal with the pressure from the Surya and Atmadewa clans."
She gave a wry smile.
"Do you miss your father too?"
Baskara chuckled softly.
"Just a little. But I miss you the most," he said, hugging Tirta more tightly, bringing a warm smile to her face.
They sat together in a rare moment of warmth amid the chaos of the outside world. That quiet moment became a simple but meaningful escape for Baskara.
He didn't ask about meditation techniques or alchemy, for within him lay knowledge far beyond that of his father or mother. That day, he just wanted to be a normal child… to be pampered and feel the warmth of family.
That morning, sunlight streamed through the slats of the house's window, illuminating the living room warmed by their togetherness. Tirta still wore her worn alchemy robe, but her eyes sparkled as Baskara pulled a small black leather pouch from beneath his robe.
"Oh right, Mom… I have a gift for you," Baskara said softly but with a proud tone.
From the pouch, he took out an exquisite hairpin. It looked like a shimmering transparent gem, with fine golden veins spiraling like living roots on its surface. Intricate spirals and angular glyphs were carved onto it—a perfect blend of spiritual defense and latent attack.
"Wow… it's beautiful. Where did you get this?" Tirta asked, eyes wide in admiration. She gently touched the hairpin, feeling the soft yet strong spiritual aura emanating from it.
Baskara grinned, puffing out his chest and pretending to boast.
"Hehe… of course I got it from Grandpa. I thought it would suit you," he replied, holding back the truth that he forged it himself using techniques he learned from a book gifted by his ancestors.
"You really do have an eye for good things…" Tirta chuckled.
Baskara looked at his mother and said,
"I'll bring more jewelry and spiritual tools for you in the future… stronger and more elegant ones."
Tirta nodded lovingly. Though she didn't know how far her son had come, she sensed a growing power within him—something she couldn't touch or understand… but she believed it would become the family's light one day.
Yet, though the day was bright and filled with laughter, the situation outside the Baskara family home was far from peaceful.
The conflict between the noble houses of Jayakarta and Tirta Negara was heating up. The scent of scheming, betrayal, and hidden powers stretched across the city.
The Eternal Flame Gem—a sacred treasure of immense power—had become the focal point of the high-clan struggle.
Baskara, now sitting peacefully beside his mother, slowly lowered his gaze toward the window. In his mind, he knew:
If war breaks out, their family will be caught in the crossfire.
And even though he had been told not to reveal his strength…
when the time comes, he will protect his family—from the shadows, like an unseen guardian spirit.
After a simple dinner with his mother, Baskara returned to his room. Under the dim light of a spiritual stone embedded in the wall, he slowly closed the door, took a deep breath, and sat cross-legged in the center of the room. The air was silent, as though welcoming him back to the quiet world where he always reflected and honed himself.
His eyes closed. His body still. His consciousness slowly sank inward, like dew being absorbed by the earth.
In that meditation, he descended into the depths of his soul—a spiritual chamber where the Pancawarna Stone resided, once an ordinary stone, now fused with his spirit, forming a multicolored crystal that reflected the essence of his spiritual strength and identity.
Now, the colors of his soul began to brighten. Clear green light blended with soft purple and golden hues that flowed gently across the surface of his spirit.
> "Hmm… it seems there's progress in my soul," Baskara murmured inwardly. He didn't just see the change in light—he could feel the vibration of his spirit becoming lighter, more vibrant, and more balanced.
At once, he pulled his awareness back to the physical world. His body remained seated, but now his eyes were open. The air around him was still calm, but there was one thing he immediately did…
He extended his consciousness across the entire family estate.
His awareness spread like a gentle mist—seeping from room to room, hallway to hallway, from the front courtyard to the back garden, even to the top of the eastern watchtower of the ancestral home.
He examined every pulse of life, every stream of energy, and every spiritual vibration.
No intruders. No anomalies. Everything felt peaceful… for now.
But Baskara knew, this calm was not the sign of lasting peace. It was the stillness before the storm. And when the storm comes, he will be ready.
> "I will remain in the shadows… but if they touch my family… I will move."
That night, he took a deep breath and sank once more into meditation, gently unraveling the knots of energy within.