The morning mist clung to the training ground like a secret, soft and thick, obscuring the line between the physical and the ethereal.
In the gray haze behind the ruined temple, Jaka moved—not with elegance, but with a fury disguised as rhythm. His fists hammered the air.
His feet danced against invisible foes, creating a brutal yet graceful choreography of violence. Every breath was a rebellion, a defiance against the invisible forces that had bound him to this world.
He had stopped complaining, stopped asking questions. Now, there was only one thing that drove him forward—determination. He pushed his body to its limits, each strike a statement, each movement a demand for change.
Ra Kuti stood by the ancient archway, a silent figure framed by the mist. In his hands, a wooden sword rested—still, serene, a perfect mirror of his posture.
The old master had observed people for decades, guiding warriors through grief and growth. But Jaka was different.
There was something raw, something ferocious in the way Jaka fought. It wasn't just about skill. It wasn't even about the fight. It was about something deeper, something that resonated through every punch, every kick.
Ra Kuti had seen many faces of grief—some were soft and subdued, others harsh and jagged. But Jaka… Jaka's grief was carved into his movements, honed into the rhythm of his body. He wasn't just fighting; he was at war with himself.
"You fight like a man chasing his own ghost," Ra Kuti said quietly, his voice cutting through the fog like a knife.
Jaka didn't answer. His sweat dripped to the ground in rhythmic patters, and his breath came in sharp, jagged gasps. His eyes burned with something Ra Kuti couldn't name.
"You've found purpose, haven't you?" Ra Kuti continued, his words like an ancient riddle. "Or perhaps a vision in the flames of your sorrow. Many come here to forget. But you... you seem like a man who remembered."
Jaka paused. He turned slowly, his dark eyes locking with the master's. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, filled only with the sound of Jaka's labored breathing.
"I remember everything," Jaka replied, his voice low and steady, but the weight of his words pressed on the air between them.
It wasn't just grief anymore. No. It was betrayal. Betrayal by the game, by the logic he once trusted. Betrayal by the illusion of control that had once been his greatest strength.
Ra Kuti studied him, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to unravel the boy's complex web of thoughts.
"It seems, by my eyes, the rules you once built… they're no longer yours to control, are they?" he said softly. "You once believed in order, in structure. But now, you seek to shatter it."
Jaka clenched his fists, a muscle in his jaw tightening, didn't say a word but deep down in his mind, he answered Ra Kuti questions.
I built this world. Brick by digital brick. I thought I understood it, thought I could control it. But now... it controls me.
Ra Kuti's gaze softened, though he said nothing. He knew that the true battle for Jaka wasn't on the training ground—it was in his soul.
"You walk like one fated to face something ancient," Ra Kuti mused aloud, his eyes scanning the ruins behind them. "A sleeping power, perhaps. One that calls challengers to test its strength."
Jaka almost smiled, but it was a twisted thing, a grin devoid of humor. He let Ra Kuti believe that. Let them all believe he was chasing legends, that he was on some noble quest to face an ancient power. In truth, the force he sought to confront was himself—the version of himself that built this world, brick by digital brick.
That version of Jaka thought omniscience meant wisdom, and design meant destiny. But that man was weak. Too weak-willed, comfortable in modern age established peace, never ready for the war that was coming.
"I'm not chasing legends," Jaka said, his voice cold. "I'm not even chasing an ancient power." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "I'm chasing truth. I'm going to break this world, not for revenge, but to see what will rise from the wreckage once the lies fall."
Ra Kuti's eyes held his for a moment, deep understanding in their depths. "Then you have a long road ahead of you, Jaka. The world you seems seek to break... it will not go down without a fight."
Jaka nodded, his gaze hardening. "I know."
He turned back to his training, throwing himself into his movements with renewed intensity.
The world beneath his feet pulsed faintly, like it knew. A system responding to its prodigal architect—with recognition, or resistance.
Either way, Jaka will playing by its rule.
But he would tear them down, piece by piece, until nothing was left but chaos, using everything he know in this game.
From a distance, Dyah Netarja watched Jaka, her gaze soft but filled with something deeper—a quiet concern.
She had seen the boy fall once before, spiraling into an abyss of emotional turmoil after his first kill.
But now, he stood again, unbroken, training like a madman. There was a difference now, though. This time, it wasn't desperation that drove him. It was purpose.
A warm smile crossed her face, though her heart twisted in a way she hadn't quite understood. She could see the changes in him, the weight he carried now.
"What do you think?" asked Arya, one of Ra Kuti's most trusted soldiers, his voice low. "A boy who trembled in grief—now he's standing again, training in madness just days after Mekarjati happened?"
Dyah's gaze never wavered. "I don't know. But I hope he will be fine, eventually," she said softly. "I think he's finding something. Something that will give him strength."
Nala, another seasoned warrior, stood by, watching Jaka's movements with a critical eye. "Strength? Or madness?" she muttered, though her words were more thoughtful than harsh. "The boy is training like a man possessed. I don't think he knows what he's truly chasing."
Dyah Netarja looked up at Nala, her smile faint but sincere. "Maybe he doesn't. But perhaps that's what he needs. He's not just training his body anymore. He's training his soul."
Arya nodded, but there was an unspoken concern in his eyes. "We'll need to be careful. Jaka's not the same person we used to know. He start becoming someone... different."
Dyah Netarja's smile faded slightly, and she turned her gaze back to Jaka. The boy who had once been so full of light, so full of laughter and jokes, was slipping further into the shadows.
But even so, she will be his light and accompany him into the shadow, to not let him fall into abyss anymore.
From the edge of the clearing, Laksita watched in silence, hidden in the fog. She clutched her notebook tighter, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned every movement. There was a puzzle here, one no scholar had solved. Jaka was not just a fighter. He was something more—something deeper than grief, deeper than training.
She couldn't yet put her finger on it. All she knew was that Jaka was no ordinary person, and perhaps, he wasn't even bound by fate.