Phase 1: Rise of the Orphan Blade
Chapter 1: The Crimson Vow
Part 2: The Blade's Call
The blood was still on my hands when I left the mangrove maze, not just staining my skin but sinking deeper, into who I was becoming. I'm Rentap Buana, though at sixteen, I was barely Rentap, an orphan of Blood Island who'd just killed ten pirates and found himself staring down a path he couldn't unchoose. I want to share with you what came next—not the glory or the legends, but the moments that shook me, shaped me, when I found a blade that wasn't just metal and met a man who saw something in me I didn't yet see myself. This is the part of my story where the island spoke, and I started learning what it meant to answer.
After Kadir pulled me from the maze, the world felt different, like I'd crossed a line that changed the air I breathed. The jade rune in my pocket was quiet now, its glow dim but warm, like a friend waiting for me to catch up. My ribs ached from the pirate's kris, the gash shallow but raw, and my kerambit, still crusted with blood, hung heavy at my waist. Kadir didn't say much as we trekked back to the village, his kirin-topped staff tapping roots like he knew every secret the jungle held. I kept glancing at him—this old man with a Kerisforge Clan tunic, jade embroidery catching the fading light. Who was he? Why me? The rune pulsed faintly, as if to say, Trust, for now.
The village was a storm of whispers when we arrived, torchlight spilling from the longhouse, voices clashing like waves. Kadir had marched me in, my bloodied state drawing gasps, and when he told them I'd killed ten pirates alone, the silence was heavier than their stares. Lila, the shaman, had warned me about the weight of my vow, and her words stuck like thorns: That blood—it doesn't wash away. She was right. I felt it, not just on my hands but in my bones, a mark I'd carry. But Kadir's claim—that the island had chosen me, that I'd train with the Kerisforge Clan—lit something inside me, a spark of purpose brighter than my fear.
That night, alone by the sea, I held the rune, its soft glow painting my fingers. The waves asked questions I couldn't answer: What was this thing? Why did it feel alive? What did Kadir mean, the one? All I knew was the vow I'd made at Crimson Cliff, the blood I'd spilled in the maze, and the path Kadir was offering. I wasn't ready, but the island didn't seem to care. It had plans, and I was caught in them.
The next morning, Kadir found me at the village edge, sharpening my kerambit on a coral stone. The sun was barely up, the sea a restless silver, and my ribs still throbbed, wrapped in a crude bandage Lila had tied. "You're not one for rest, are you?" Kadir said, his voice rough but with a hint of a smile. His eyes, sharp as polished coral, studied me, like he was looking past my skin to something deeper.
"Didn't sleep," I admitted, keeping my gaze on the blade. "Too much… everything."
He nodded, leaning on his staff. "Blood does that. First time's the hardest. It'll settle, but it never leaves." He spoke like he'd been there, and I wondered what fights had carved the lines in his face. "Come with me, Rentap. There's something you need to see before we leave for Kerisforge."
I hesitated, the rune warm in my pocket. Leave? I'd never been beyond Blood Island's shores, never imagined a world past its cliffs. But the maze, the pirates, the vow—they'd changed that. I slid the kerambit into my waistband and followed, my heart a mix of dread and hunger.
Kadir led me along the coast, past the village's fishing nets and into a stretch of jungle where the trees leaned low, their roots clawing at the sand. The air was thick, heavy with salt and the hum of unseen life. He moved like he belonged here, his staff parting vines with ease, while I stumbled, still sore, still shaken. We reached a cliff face, its coral streaked with red veins, and Kadir stopped at a crevice barely wide enough for a man. "In here," he said, slipping inside.
I followed, the rune pulsing stronger now, like it knew where we were. The crevice opened into a cave, its walls glistening with coral and quartz, reflecting a faint, unearthly light. The air was cool, tingling with something I couldn't name, and the ground sloped down to a pool of water, so still it looked like glass. At its center, on a pedestal of woven roots, was a keris—a blade unlike any I'd seen. Its seven waves gleamed, each curve pulsing with jade light, its hilt wrapped in starlit thread. It wasn't just a weapon. It was alive, its aura rippling like the sea under moonlight, anime-style energy waves shimmering in the air.
I froze, the rune burning in my pocket, its glow syncing with the keris's pulse. "What is that?" I whispered, my voice small in the cave's hush.
Kadir's eyes softened, but his voice was steady. "Taming Jiwa. The keris of seven waves, forged by Ancient Emperor Eldrin in the Celestial Forge, its soul bound to the Sky Nexus. It's been waiting, Rentap. For you."
I shook my head, stepping back. "Me? I'm nobody. Just an orphan who got lucky in a fight." The words spilled out, raw and honest, my fear louder than my vow.
Kadir's laugh was low, warm. "Luck doesn't kill ten pirates with a fish knife. The island chose you, boy, same as it chose this blade. That rune you're hiding—it's part of Taming Jiwa, a piece of its soul. You felt it, didn't you? On the cliff, in the maze?"
I swallowed, pulling the rune from my pocket. Its glow matched the keris, jade light dancing across the cave. "I felt… something. Like it was talking to me."
"It was," Kadir said, stepping closer. "Taming Jiwa carries a Sufi soul, a whisper of Eldrin's ally, Ancient Emperor Assyafiee. It speaks through mantras, through the heart. It chose you because you vowed to fight, not for glory, but for others. That's rare, Rentap."
I stared at the keris, its waves seeming to move, like water frozen in time. The cave's light pulsed, anime-style, vibrant and alive, and I felt a pull, like the blade was looking back at me. "What does it want?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"To be wielded," Kadir said. "To tame the chaos—beasts, men, even the stars. But it's not just a weapon. It's a bond. Take it, and you're tied to its path, to the Sky Nexus, to a fight bigger than Blood Island."
I reached out, my hand trembling, and touched the hilt. A shock ran through me, warm and electric, like the rune's pulse but a hundred times stronger. Visions flashed—stars swirling, a kirin roaring, a man in jade armor chanting mantras that shook the sky. I gasped, pulling back, the rune glowing so bright it lit the cave. "I'm not ready," I said, panic rising. "I'm just a kid."
Kadir's hand gripped my shoulder, steadying me. "No one's ready, Rentap. But you're here. That's enough for now." He guided my hand back to the keris, and this time, I didn't pull away. I lifted it, light as a feather despite its size, its waves gleaming with jade fire. The cave hummed, the pool rippling, and I felt it—a voice, not words but a feeling, ancient and kind, welcoming me.
I held Taming Jiwa, my kerambit forgotten, and knew nothing would be the same. The rune dimmed, its job done, but the keris's pulse was mine now, a rhythm I couldn't ignore. Kadir watched, his eyes proud but heavy, like he knew the cost of what I'd taken. "We start tomorrow," he said. "You've got a lot to learn."
Back in the village, Kadir gave me one night to prepare. I sat in my hut, Taming Jiwa across my lap, its glow soft but constant. The village was quiet, the sea's roar my only company. I didn't know what Kerisforge Clan was, or what training with Kadir meant, but the keris felt like a promise—of power, of purpose, of a fight I was only beginning to understand. My ribs still ached, my hands still shook, but the vow I'd made at Crimson Cliff felt closer, like I could almost touch it.
Dawn came too soon. Kadir was waiting at the village edge, his staff planted in the sand, the jungle behind him alive with birdsong. "Ready?" he asked, though his eyes said he knew I wasn't.
"Not really," I said, Taming Jiwa sheathed at my side, its weight both strange and right. "But I'm here."
He nodded, a flicker of approval in his gaze. "Good enough. We're not going far, not yet. Blood Island's got lessons to teach before Kerisforge."
He led me to a clearing in the jungle, a flat stretch of earth ringed by coral stones, the sea's hum faint but ever-present. The air was thick, heavy with the promise of heat, and Kadir faced me, staff in hand. "Astra-Nusantara Silat," he said, "is more than fighting. It's the island's heartbeat, the sea's flow, the jungle's strength. You know Flowing Tide, but that's a child's step. Taming Jiwa demands more."
I gripped the keris, its pulse syncing with my own. "What's next, then?"
"Storm Claw," Kadir said, dropping into a stance, his staff raised. "It's the second layer of Silat, rooted in the storm's fury. It's not just movement—it's intent, channeled through mantra. Watch."
He moved, staff whipping through the air, each strike sharp and fluid, like lightning dancing with waves. The air crackled, anime-style energy waves rippling from his strikes, faint but real, pulsing with jade light. He chanted, low and rhythmic, words I didn't know but felt, like the rune's hum made voice. "Ya Rahman, Ya Rahim," he intoned, the mantra weaving into his strikes, each blow stronger, faster, the ground trembling faintly.
I stared, my mouth dry. This wasn't the Silat I'd learned, all basic stances and clumsy spars. This was power, alive and fierce, tied to the island's soul. "How do I do that?" I asked, feeling small.
Kadir stopped, staff planted, his breath steady. "You don't, not yet. Storm Claw needs focus, spirit, a heart that's true. Taming Jiwa will guide you, but you've got to listen. Start with the mantra. Feel it, don't just say it."
He taught me the words, simple but heavy: Ya Rahman, Ya Rahim—names of mercy, of compassion, rooted in the Sufi soul of Taming Jiwa. I tried, my voice awkward, the keris warm in my hand. "It's not working," I said, frustrated, after a dozen failed attempts, my strikes weak, no energy waves, no pulse.
Kadir didn't laugh. "You're fighting it, Rentap. The keris isn't a tool—it's a partner. Close your eyes. Feel its soul."
I did, reluctantly, the jungle's hum filling my ears. I held Taming Jiwa, its warmth spreading through me, and whispered the mantra, letting it flow, not forcing it. Something shifted—a flicker, like the rune's spark, and when I swung the keris, a faint jade wave rippled, barely visible but there, trembling in the air. I opened my eyes, gasping. "Did you see that?"
Kadir nodded, a rare smile breaking his face. "That's the start. Storm Claw is yours to learn, but it'll take time. The keris trusts you. Trust it back."
Days blurred into weeks, Kadir's clearing my new home. He was relentless, waking me before dawn, drilling Storm Claw until my muscles screamed. The mantra became my anchor, each chant drawing me closer to Taming Jiwa's soul. I saw flashes—visions of a kirin, its jade scales gleaming, or a man in starlit armor, his voice like the sea. Assyafiee, Kadir called him, the Sufi emperor whose spirit lived in the keris, guiding me through whispers I couldn't yet understand.
Kadir taught me more than Silat. He taught me the island—its ley lines, invisible threads of power that pulsed beneath the cliffs, tying Blood Island to the Sky Nexus. "Taming Jiwa draws from them," he said one evening, as we sat by a fire, the keris glowing softly. "But they draw from you too. Your heart, your vow. That's why it chose you."
I didn't feel chosen, not really. I was still the kid who'd stumbled through the maze, who flinched at the memory of blood. But Taming Jiwa didn't care about my doubts. Its pulse was steady, urging me forward, and Kadir's lessons—harsh but fair—gave me something to hold onto. He showed me how to move with the keris, its waves cutting cleaner than my old kerambit, each strike a balance of grace and fury. Storm Claw wasn't just about hitting harder; it was about intent, channeling the mantra's power into every move, jade waves flickering stronger with each day.
One morning, as I practiced, Kadir stopped me, his staff blocking my strike. "You're holding back," he said, eyes narrowing. "Why?"
I lowered the keris, my breath ragged. "The maze… the blood. I keep seeing it. What if I'm not supposed to be this?"
Kadir's face softened, but his voice didn't. "You are, Rentap. The blood's part of it, same as the vow. You fought for your people, not yourself. That's what Taming Jiwa sees. Let it guide you, or it'll burn you out."
I nodded, the keris's warmth steadying me. That day, I swung harder, chanted louder, and the jade waves grew, shimmering like the sea under stars. Kadir watched, silent, but his eyes said enough: I was starting to become what the island wanted.
By the end of the month, I wasn't the same boy who'd knelt at Crimson Cliff. Taming Jiwa was part of me, its pulse as familiar as my own, its weight a comfort at my side. Kadir's lessons had sharpened me, not just my strikes but my heart, teaching me to listen to the keris, to the island, to the vow I'd made. The jungle clearing felt like home, its coral stones witnesses to my sweat and growth.
One evening, as the sun bled red over the sea, Kadir sat me down. "You're ready for the next step," he said, his staff across his lap. "Kerisforge Clan's waiting, but you'll need more than Storm Claw. Four others will train you—Suri, Rahim, Laila, Tengku. They'll teach you stealth, strength, spirit, tactics. Taming Jiwa demands it all."
I gripped the keris, its glow soft but fierce. "When do we leave?"
"Soon," Kadir said, his eyes on the horizon. "But Blood Island's not done with you yet. There's a trial coming, something to test what you've learned. Be ready."
I didn't ask what he meant. The rune, the keris, the vow—they'd already shown me the island had its own plans. I looked at Taming Jiwa, its waves catching the firelight, and felt its soul, Assyafiee's whisper, urging me forward. The pirates were just the start. Out there, in the jungles and seas of Easternasia, my fight was waiting, and I was beginning to believe I could face it.
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