At the residence of the Baskara family, behind an old wooden door engraved with protective runes, Tirta sat cross-legged in silence. Her face looked pale, yet the gleam in her eyes remained steadfast with dedication and perseverance. In front of her, a spiritual cauldron swayed gently over her true flame—a bluish-green fire, calm yet steady, the signature of a second-rank alchemist.
Thin wisps of smoke curled toward the ceiling, carrying a bitter, warm, and sharp aroma. Inside the cauldron, various herbs swirled slowly—carefully blended and refined over days of meticulous preparation. Every drop of the brew was the result of sacrificed time, energy, and unwavering concentration.
> "If I fail… all these rare ingredients will go to waste. I must not falter," Tirta muttered inwardly, gritting her teeth.
The room's curtain fluttered lightly from a breeze of spiritual wind, but that wasn't what made Tirta flinch.
Knock knock knock…
"Mom, I'm home!" Baskara's voice called out from beyond the door. His tone was cheerful and light, like a boy returning from a long journey.
Tirta closed her eyes briefly. Her heart trembled. It had been more than two weeks since she last heard that voice in person. But… she couldn't respond. She couldn't move. Even the slightest motion could ruin the refinement she had nurtured day and night.
She let out a soft sigh within and refocused her awareness on the swirling liquid in the spiritual cauldron. Drop by drop, the essence formed patterns of energy. The warm aura pulsed gently in sync with her spiritual rhythm.
Outside, Baskara stood silently before the door. He could clearly sense his mother's spiritual aura, deeply concentrated.
Slowly, Baskara's awareness extended like a thin mist, enveloping the entire house. Walls, floors, and even the tiniest corners untouched by light—he could feel them all. His breathing was calm, his eyes half-closed. He wasn't prying—he was becoming one with the place he had grown up in.
Inside the refining room, he saw his mother… sitting cross-legged, hair slightly messy, hands trembling from exhaustion, yet her eyes remained focused on the dancing spiritual flame before the cauldron. Tirta's body glowed faintly under the pressure of the energy she had drained.
> "Mom... you really are 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 settling on young leaves. The energy traced along the walls, slipped through the window, seeped through air vents, and entered the refining room without disturbing her spiritual rhythm.
Once the room was bathed in his aura, Baskara began channeling energy directly into his mother's body. He flowed it into her Soul Meridian—not to alter the flow, but to reinforce and soothe it.
The unstable weariness that once trembled in Tirta's body began to fade, slowly becoming stable and warm. The once-wavering true flame now settled, glowing brighter than before.
Tirta frowned. She felt something. But there was no disturbance. No foreign vibration. All she felt was… serenity, strength, and a gentle affection.
> "What is this…?" she wondered faintly.
But she didn't search for the source. She merely closed her eyes for a moment and allowed the energy to flow.
> "Thank you… whoever you are…"
Outside the room, Baskara gave a faint smile. He didn't want to disturb his mother any further.
The living room of the Baskara household felt warm, even though the scent of conflict had begun to creep through various corners of the city. He sat relaxed on the teakwood chair usually used by his father, watching a special news report from Tirtanegara City—about strange incidents at night, blocked convoys, and rising tensions among the noble families. Baskara watched calmly, but in silence his mind analyzed every possibility.
Hours passed. Soft footsteps echoed from the back corridor. Tirta emerged from the refining room, her face a little tired, but her motherly warmth still radiated as she saw her son in the living room.
"Son, you're home," Tirta said with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Sorry, I was a bit busy, so I couldn't open the door right away."
Baskara stood up slowly and approached his mother. "It's okay, Mom. I figured you were busy, so I just let myself in," he replied, embracing her with a gentle smile that rarely appeared on his usually composed face.
They sat side by side, and Baskara looked at his mother with quiet concern.
"By the way, you look really tired," he said.
Tirta exhaled softly. "I've been refining some energy recovery potions for our family… especially for those helping the Atmadewa family."
Baskara raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"So, the Atmadewa family didn't share those pills with our family either, huh, Mom?"
Tirta laughed softly, though her smile was bitter.
"Of course, they gave some… but only to the elders. As for the elite members from second to third-tier families like ours, well… we have to rely on ourselves."
Baskara crossed his arms casually, his eyes sharp though his lips curled into a smirk.
"Hmph… their name is grand, but their stinginess is astonishing. Spiritually poor—if not poor of heart too," he said mockingly.
Tirta just shook her head gently.
"My son, in this world… even kindness is measured by interests. Don't be surprised."
Baskara only gave a crooked smile.
"Yeah… but people like that won't last long once the heavens intervene."
Tirta smiled warmly as Baskara hugged her playfully. "You silly boy…" she murmured, stroking the head of a child who had grown into a wise and calm young man—yet in her eyes, he was still the little boy who once cried when lost in the backyard garden.
"So, Mom… what about my siblings who study abroad? Are they coming home or not?" Baskara asked, his tone curious but laced with a hint of unease.
Tirta looked out the window for a moment before replying.
"For now, they're staying at school, dear. The school has forbidden them from returning for safety reasons. We don't want them to enter a conflict zone unprotected."
Baskara nodded slowly, a faint crease forming on his brow. He fell silent for a moment, then asked again,
"And… Dinda? How is Dinda doing, Mom?"
Tirta gazed at her son gently.
"I know you worry most about Dinda. But don't worry, she's fine. Her school is well-guarded by local officers and some second-tier family watchers. 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 on each other, but always caring deeply.
"And Dad? Where is he now, Mom?" he asked again.
Tirta took a slow breath.
"Your father is in the main hall, gathering with the elders and family representatives. It seems they're discussing strategies to deal with pressure from the Surya and Atmadewa families."
She then gave a sly smile.
"Do you miss your father too?"
Baskara chuckled.
"Heheh… maybe a little. But I miss you the most," he said, hugging Tirta tighter, making her smile in emotional warmth.
They sat together in a rare moment of peace amid the chaos outside. This calm moment became a simple yet meaningful escape for Baskara.
He didn't ask about meditation techniques, nor alchemy, for within him lay knowledge far beyond what his parents could teach. That day, he only wished to be a normal child… basking in his mother's warmth.
That morning, sunlight passed through the window slats, illuminating the living room warmed by their closeness. Tirta still wore her worn alchemist robe, but her eyes lit up as Baskara pulled out something from a small black leather pouch hidden in his robe.
"Oh right, Mom… I got you a gift," Baskara said, his voice gentle yet proud.
From the pouch, he pulled out an extraordinary hairpin. It looked like a transparent, gleaming stone, with fine golden veins curling like living roots on its surface. It was engraved with intricate spirals and angular lines—an elegant blend of spiritual defense and latent offense.
"Wow… it's beautiful. Where did you get this?" Tirta asked, her eyes widening in amazement. She touched the hairpin carefully, feeling the soft yet powerful spiritual aura emanating from it.
Baskara smiled, puffing out his chest with mock arrogance.
"Hehehe… I asked Grandpa for it. Thought it'd suit you," he replied, holding back the truth that he had forged it himself using techniques learned from books passed down by his ancestors.
"You little rascal… you really know how to pick treasures," Tirta said with a chuckle.
Baskara looked at his mother and said,
"Later, I'll bring you more beautiful spiritual accessories, stronger and more elegant."
Tirta nodded lovingly. Though she didn't fully understand how far her son had come, she felt a great power growing within him—something beyond her reach or understanding… but she was certain it would become the light of their family one day.
Even though the day was bright and full of laughter, the world outside the Baskara household was far from peaceful.
The conflict between the Jayakarta and Tirta Negara noble families was escalating. The scent of schemes, betrayal, and hidden power spread across the city.
The Eternal Fire Gem—a sacred relic of immense power—had become the central prize in the battle between high-ranking families.
Baskara, now calmly sitting beside his mother, slowly lowered his gaze to the window. In his mind, he knew:
If war broke out, their family would be in the center of it.
And even though he was told not to reveal his powers…
when the time came, he would 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 glow of the 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 inside was silent, as if welcoming him back into the quiet world where he could reflect and refine himself.
His eyes closed. His body still. His consciousness slowly sank inward, like dew seeping into the earth.
In his meditation, he descended into the depths of his soul—a spiritual space where the Pancawarna Stone resided. Once an ordinary stone, it had now fused with his soul, forming a multicolored crystal that reflected his spiritual strength and inner essence.
Now, the color of his soul had grown brighter. A clear green glow blended with soft violet and streaks of flowing gold across the surface of his soul.
"Hmm… looks like my soul has made progress," Baskara muttered inwardly. He didn't just see the change in color—he felt the vibrations of his soul become lighter, more alive, and more balanced.
At that moment, he withdrew his consciousness back to the physical world. His body remained still in a seated posture, but his eyes were now open. The air around him was still calm, but he did one thing immediately…
He expanded his awareness throughout the entire family compound.
His senses spread like a gentle mist—seeping from room to room, through halls and corridors, from the front courtyard to the rear garden, even up to the watchtower on the eastern side of the ancestral home.
He examined every heartbeat, every flow of energy, every spiritual vibration.
No intruders. No anomalies. Everything felt calm… for now.
But Baskara knew this calmness wasn't a sign of lasting peace.
It was the stillness of water before a storm.
And when the storm came, he would be ready.
"I'll remain in the shadows… but if they touch my family… I will move."
That night, he let out a breath and sank once more into meditation, slowly unlocking the knots of energy within him.