Their carriage rolled slowly past the main gates of Madya Nagara—the cultural, political, and intellectual heart of the Kingdom of Indrabumi. This city was more than a capital; it was a pulse, a breath, the lifeblood of all Maheswara. The very core of the Éra flowed through it—where history, legend, and destiny converged into one long, drawn breath.
Towering walls loomed over them, carved from ancient stone that shimmered faintly, like the skin of gods etched into temple reliefs. Glowing inscriptions of old Maheswari script adorned the surface—not merely decorative, but integral to the city's arcane protection. These letters pulsed with Éra, the pure energy that powered Maheswara's magical technologies. The soft glow seemed to breathe with the city's rhythm. Each pulse was a steady beat from the Manik Éra, the central crystal distributing energy to every part of the city.
Every guardian pillar was embedded with primary Éra crystals, radiating an invisible protective field. In times of crisis, these crystals linked together to form the Dome Shield, an impenetrable defense against both physical and astral attacks. Watchtowers were more than sentry posts—they were the city's communication hubs. At their peaks, thin metal discs slowly spun—lempung srawung, devices of mental resonance allowing direct thought-to-thought speech between sentinels.
As the carriage moved along the main avenue, Madya Nagara unfolded like a world within a world. The city balanced the elegance of ancient architecture with practical magical technology. The streets were paved with jet-black stones set into symmetrical patterns. Between each tile, faint blue veins glowed—not water, but Éra channels: the energy arteries that powered homes, markets, and defensive bastions. These streams also served as a data network, transmitting vibrations through resonant stones to relay information across the city.
The streets teemed with life—faces from every corner of the realm. Cloaked Manusa Wisesa walked past with embroidered Éra motifs, sharp-eared Ardhian in cloud-patterned silk robes glided by, while towering Manusa Siyung, half-beast and half-human, hauled crates of exotic goods. The air was laced with the scent of scorched metal and wild blossoms—a fusion of progress and nature's roots.
Rows of houses stood neatly, built from teak and lava stone, finely carved and weathered with dignity. Their limasan roofs rose like dragon horns, symbols of ancestral spirit. Though traditional in appearance, each home was connected to a house stone—a small crystal within a household altar, storing and channeling Éra for daily use: cooking, water purification, climate control, even warding off wandering spirits. Each stone resonated with one of the Panca Titah, the Five Pillars of Éra: Banyu (Water), Geni (Fire), Angin (Air), Lemah (Earth), and Swara (Sound). Families chose their primary element based on tradition and need.
The city's buildings were resilient yet flexible—designed to sway with the quakes of Raga Lindu, the trembling spine of the land. Engineers from the Tirthamaya Academy had crafted anti-quake systems using Éra pillars—columns infused with stabilizing spells that moved in harmony with the earth. Some larger structures even hovered slightly, suspended by softly glowing Éra artifact supports—ancient ingenuity built to defy earthquakes and volcanic tremors.
Not far from the main road stretched the open-air market—an earthly garden of colors and voices. Tents adorned with tribal patterns lined the square. Vendors from all races offered strange and wondrous wares: pulsing fruits used for healing potions, liquid metal that hardened under incantation, and tiny glowing creatures used as living lamps. Tools for everyday life were also present—heat-preserving urns, wind-summoning brooms, and whispering mirrors.
The market air was thick, yet intoxicating. The blend of incense, rare spices, and metallic steam created a symphony that stirred every sense. Bartering, laughter, children's chatter, and the jingling of enchanted tools formed the city's ceaseless music. Along the market's edge, a communication corridor pulsed—stones flickering with light, transferring visual messages from crystal to crystal in an instant.
But at the center of it all stood Watujaya Mandhira—the grand palace at the city's core. White stone pillars encircled its central courtyard, while its massive dome spun slowly, a model of Maheswara's solar system, powered by Éra. At its pinnacle, the Lempung Batin—the city's central control crystal—was embedded, linking the palace to the entire Éra network. It was the brain and heart of Madya Nagara, where all information and energy flowed, synchronized, and were sent anew.
Even the skies above were alive. Overhead, Éra Shields—personal flying discs—glided gracefully, steered by handheld Éra controllers. They were ridden by nobles, wealthy merchants, and scholars of the academy. Great birds and winged beasts joined the airways, their movement guided by Cakra Lintang, a spell-based navigation system charting stars and spells alike.
For Laras, it was all like a dream—a world she had never dared imagine: grand, tangible, overwhelming. She gazed in awe at the floating buildings, doors that opened at the touch of a palm, and communication corridors where people spoke to glowing stones.
Beside her, Raka absorbed it all with wide eyes. It was too soon for him to understand everything, but something in his gaze reflected purpose—an awe mixed with a silent question. The city was speaking to him, and deep inside, he felt that someday, he would have to answer.
The carriage slowly climbed a stone path toward the elevated grounds where the Dwiwana Academy stood—the most revered institution for martial, arcane, and mystical studies in all Maheswara. The academy was not merely a school—it was a threshold, a border between the mundane world and the realm of power.
The sight of the academy was awe-inspiring. Its walls were made of polished obsidian, inscribed with softly glowing Éra sigils. A grand arched gate towered above, guarded by two statues: one holding a sacred book, the other wielding a weapon. They were not mere sculptures, but living golems—awakened through the rare Ajian Nyawa Logam, the Art of Metal Life, mastered only by the grandmasters.
In the courtyard, hundreds of youths had gathered—sons and daughters from remote villages, nobles of the great capital, even descendants of rare races spoken of only in legend. Some wore patched clothes and hopeful eyes; others gleamed in enchantment-woven robes or inherited armor, greeted with reverence or scorn.
Among them, some bore proud family names. Others carried only burning resolve. Race, caste, and bloodline were badges of pride—at first. But within the lands of Dwiwana Academy, they were mere ornaments. Behind its towering gates and Éra-forged spires, only one law held power and filtered the worthy:
Power decides all.
This was the place where fate was forged, where honor was stolen or remade. The weak would fade into shadows; the strong would carve their names into history. And they all knew—only those who endured, fought, and surpassed their limits deserved to remain.
On a raised stone podium, a young man stood tall. His voice rang like thunder through the air:
"This academy is not for those who seek rescue. It is for those who seek to conquer the world!"
Cheers erupted like a storm, shaking the very ground.
Laras, standing at the edge, stared hard at the crowd. This world was more brutal than she had imagined. But deep within her, a small fire had begun to burn. Before her lay not just trials—but a chance to rewrite her fate.
Raka looked up to the sky. The Maheswara sun dipped westward, casting golden light across the walls of Dwiwana Academy. The city was beautiful—but the weight it carried was immense.
He murmured to himself,
"Beautiful... but feel heavy."
Laras turned toward him. She too understood—beneath this city's beauty, trials awaited. But she also knew one thing with certainty:
This was her stage.
The world of Maheswara had opened its gates to them—
not as guests,
but as pawns
in a far greater game.