In the peaceful courtyard of a home, Baskara sat cross-legged beneath the shade of a Kalaban tree. His body was drenched in sweat, his breathing steady, yet his eyes still sparkled with enthusiasm. That afternoon, sunlight filtered gently through the leaves, creating a tranquil atmosphere that could only be felt at home.
Not long after, the soft steps of a woman approached. She carried a tray with chilled herbal tea and brightly colored fruit slices that looked incredibly refreshing. Her face was graceful and beautiful, with a smile as calming as morning dew. In her heart, she murmured, "Such a diligent child."
"Baskara, are you thirsty, dear?" she asked gently as she came closer.
At the sound of her voice, Baskara turned his head with the excitement of a child who had just found his favorite toy. His smile grew wide—pure and joyful.
"Moooom!" he shouted gleefully.
Yes, the woman was his mother, Tirta. A mother whose beauty went beyond appearances, marked by her sincerity and unchanging gentleness.
Tirta chuckled at her son. "Hahaha, you're just the same as always. Even drenched in sweat, your spirit never fades. Come sit, I brought you some drink and Suo spiritual fruit to keep you healthy and strong."
"Alright!" Baskara replied, flopping down again with a grin as bright as the morning sun. He took the drink and fruit with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"Wow! You're the savior of this barren training ground, Mom," he said dramatically.
Tirta let out a small laugh. "You're something else. Training seriously, but your mouth never stops joking."
They sat side by side under the tree as the afternoon breeze carried the scent of leaves and damp earth. While enjoying the Suo fruit, they began talking about his training and Baskara's thoughts about the future.
"Mom, I'm confused. I love training here at home, but my friends say if I join a school, I can learn more advanced techniques. But when I'm with you and Uncle, I can joke around and train while laughing."
Tirta looked at her son with loving eyes. "You're such a peculiar one. Outside, you act all serious like a warrior, but at home, you're like a little boy who won't let me feed him but still sulks if I don't pay attention."
Their laughter echoed together. Amid all the training and thoughts about the future, this little moment under the tree was what mattered most—when Baskara wasn't a future warrior, but simply a boy enjoying laughter with his mother.
The next morning, Baskara sat cross-legged in a small family study room. Before him was an old book titled "Fundamentals of Natural Energy and Spiritual Circulation." It wasn't some secret scripture or advanced martial manual, but rather a common text used by members of the Semediawan family as basic reading. Its content served more as an introduction to martial arts and the connection between humans and nature's spiritual energy.
Page after page, Baskara read with a furrowed brow and puffed cheeks, struggling to understand. The book explained that many people on Earth could harness spiritual power through a special breathing technique called soul circulation. The deeper one's mastery of this technique, the faster they could enter a meditative state. And the better their martial skills, the greater the effect on their body—and on their opponents in battle.
But for a seven-year-old, all of it might as well have been lyrics in a foreign language. Baskara grasped bits and pieces, but couldn't quite visualize the concepts. He closed the book slowly, stared up at the ceiling, then suddenly jumped up and ran to the kitchen, where his mother was preparing breakfast.
"Moooom!" he called out, dragging the book behind him like he was carrying evidence.
Tirta, tasting some coconut-root dough, turned with concern. "Goodness, Baskara. I just sat down and now you're shouting again?"
"Mom! So if I take a slow deep breath, then hold it for five counts, it helps draw in natural energy, right? But why do I get the hiccups instead?"
Tirta stared at him for a few seconds before chuckling. "You hiccup because you drank cold water after training, not because of deep breathing."
"But this book says breathing technique is super important! If you master it, you can meditate faster. So how come I always fall asleep when I try?"
Tirta shook her head as she handed him a glass of warm milk. "That's because you meditate while snuggled under a blanket on your bed, not sitting up straight. No wonder it doesn't work."
Baskara sat and munched on the cake, a puzzled look still on his face. "Mom, teach me how to meditate properly, okay? I'll even skip my nap if it helps me understand all this."
Tirta let out a long sigh. "Fine, but promise me—maximum of five questions a day. Any more and my brain's going to overheat."
"Okay... half-promise!" Baskara replied with a big laugh.
Tirta could only shake her head, though behind her smile was pride. Her child might be small, but his spirit and curiosity burned like an unquenchable flame.
But what Tirta didn't realize was that her son wasn't just any ordinary child. Behind his cheerful and innocent demeanor was a mind far beyond his years. Though just seven, Baskara had already discovered—and read—a basic meditation technique meant only for older, approved members of the Semediawan family.
And with remarkable speed, he had absorbed it in just a few hours. He studied how to absorb spiritual energy from nature by managing breath, focus points in the body, and maintaining a calm mind. Yet, in true Baskara fashion, his approach remained full of color and flair.
That night, in his dimly lit room, he sat cross-legged on a thin mat. The blue light of a spiritual lamp swayed gently from the ceiling. His eyes glimmered, and his lips curved into a familiar mischievous grin.
"Hmm... if I can meditate and feel the energy tomorrow, Mom's going to be so shocked! Heheheh..." he chuckled quietly, lips curling like a trickster from a fairy tale.
But what he was doing wasn't just a child's prank. Beneath the laughter and innocent grin was a secret no one— not even his mother—knew.
Baskara was born with a mysterious anomaly. While in the womb, he stayed inside his mother for ten years. Yes—ten whole years! A pregnancy that defied every law of nature and logic.
Even more astonishing, by the third year, he could hear conversations happening outside the womb. By the fourth, he could understand words and meanings as though his mind developed far beyond his age.
And when he was finally born, there was no crying. No wailing. Just a still face, calm and quiet, with eyes so sharp they made time seem to stop. The midwives froze in awe, their bodies paralyzed by wonder.
Tirta and her husband were speechless—almost unable to believe what they saw. That child, newly born, seemed to hold something indescribable.
Together, they decided to keep everything a secret. They feared that if word got out, their son would become a target—for those who sought to exploit or destroy him.
Now, seven years later, that boy—Baskara—was stepping onto his own path. Unbeknownst to anyone, tonight, he would begin his first real meditation.
With a deep, slow breath, he closed his eyes.
"Tomorrow morning, I'll wake Mom up with a mini wind technique—just to surprise her," he whispered, smiling with satisfaction.
But that night... something unexpected began to stir within him.
Moments after sitting and adjusting his breath as the book described, Baskara began to feel something strange. The air around him felt alive. Subtle energies, once invisible, now shimmered like gentle lights floating freely—dancing in the air like stardust.
He opened his eyes slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "Is this... spiritual energy? It's so abundant..." he whispered. Taking a deep breath, he grinned wider. "Alright then—absorb it! Wushhh!"
Immediately, the floating spiritual energy began to gather above his head, condensing like a misty cloud. Then, like a waterfall, it gently cascaded over him—flowing from his head to his toes. His body felt warm, comfortable, as if embraced by a soft fog flowing through his nose, into his pores, and deep into his veins.
"So warm... and cozy..." he whispered.
But soon, he realized something was off. The room around him began to tremble slightly, a breeze blew in from an indeterminate direction, and several small objects—books, pens, even a sandal in the corner—were tossed and fell to the floor.
"Hmm... why is this happening? The book didn't mention any effects like this," he muttered, his brow furrowed.
From outside the room, light footsteps and a gentle voice called out.
"Baskara...? Did you forget to close the window, sweetheart? Why does it feel like the wind is coming from inside?" came his mother Tirta's voice from behind the door.
Baskara jolted, his eyes wide. "Uh-oh, this is bad!" he muttered quickly.
He jumped to his feet, trying to calm the swirling energy still clinging to his body. "Y-yeah, Mom! I'll close it now! Hehehe!" he replied in a panicked tone, trying to sound casual.
Tirta paused for a moment, then her footsteps receded. She must have thought he'd simply forgotten to close the window—again.
Baskara let out a sigh of relief. "Phew... that was close…"
He sat down again, watching the last wisps of spiritual energy slowly fade from the air.
"Alright... that's enough for now," he murmured, still puzzled. "But why did that happen? The book didn't say anything about the room acting like a windstorm..."
He stretched and yawned deeply. "Okay, sleep first. I'll ask Mom more about it tomorrow. Heheheh..." he chuckled to himself, grinning slightly before lying down on his mat, letting his thoughts drift between satisfaction, curiosity... and a touch of mischief.