The sky outside the window had begun to darken, signaling the arrival of night. Tirta had already taken Baskara back to the guest room to rest. Meanwhile, Eyang Pradipa and Teguh remained in the room. The atmosphere had calmed, but the shadow of what had just happened still lingered heavily in the air.
Eyang Pradipa lit a small crystal hanging in the corner of the room. A soft blue light glowed from it, casting a calming, almost magical aura. He sat cross-legged on an old rug and motioned for Teguh to sit with him.
"I know you're confused," Eyang said, his voice deep but gentle. "But it's time you learned part of the truth."
Teguh stared straight ahead, his face tense. "What really happened, Eyang?"
Eyang Pradipa looked into the glowing crystal. His eyes reflected the blue light like an ocean holding ancient secrets.
"Baskara… isn't just gifted," he said slowly. "He was born without a normal life vein. When he didn't cry at birth, many assumed he was weak. But the truth is—he was born outside the usual path. Outside the fate meant for ordinary humans."
Teguh furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
"His life vein can't be read. It can't be mapped. But his strength… it's like an ancient well—bottomless and without limits. Do you know what that means?"
Teguh was starting to realize it, but didn't want to say it aloud.
Eyang Pradipa answered as if reading his mind. "He's not just a potential heir. He may very well be… a destroyer and rebuilder of eras."
Silence.
Teguh swallowed hard. "That's… a legend. An old myth. About immortal beings that could turn the world upside down."
"It's not a myth if the signs are real," Eyang Pradipa cut in. "And the signs are already here."
He lowered his head, his voice now a whisper—almost a prayer:
"Baskara must never be tamed. He must never be turned into a weapon. He has to grow… as his own person."
Then Eyang looked at Teguh sharply, sharper than before.
"And you, as his father… you must be ready to lose everything to keep him free."
The morning sun hadn't fully risen, but its rays had already slipped through the carved wooden windows of Eyang Pradipa's residence. A breeze from the back garden carried the scent of damp leaves and the earthy aroma of homegrown herbs.
Inside the main room, Teguh and Tirta sat across from Eyang Pradipa, who was sipping warm tea from a thinly gilded clay cup. The scene looked peaceful, but both Teguh and Tirta felt a quiet tremor inside their chests—bracing themselves to let go of something precious.
"Well," Teguh said softly, his voice respectful yet firm, "we've thought this through since yesterday. We want to entrust Baskara to you… for you to guide him yourself."
Eyang Pradipa slowly raised an eyebrow. His gaze pierced through Teguh, as if reading everything in his heart. Tirta, sitting beside her husband, bowed her head briefly, then looked up at her father-in-law, her eyes wet but steady.
"He's… not an ordinary child," Tirta added gently, "and we realize that hiding him would only limit the light that God has placed within him."
Eyang Pradipa carefully set his cup down on the table. His aged yet strong hand reached out and rested on the shoulder of his grandson, who stood beside Teguh and Tirta.
"And you want me to shape him?" he asked, softly but firmly.
"Yes, Father," Teguh answered clearly. "Not just in meditation and martial arts… but also in values. We're afraid that if he grows up too powerful without a moral foundation, someone might use him for the wrong purposes. We believe only you can guide him."
Silence wrapped the room. The garden wind gently stirred the silk curtains by the window. Birds chirped quietly, as if bearing witness to the moment.
Eyang Pradipa closed his eyes briefly, drew a long breath, and smiled faintly.
"Very well," he said, his voice carrying both authority and warmth. "I accept this duty. This child… will become more than just a blood heir. He will learn to be a guardian of conscience and legacy."
Tirta's eyes reddened. She stood and embraced her son tightly.
"You be good, okay? Listen to everything your grandfather says. We'll come visit often," she whispered lovingly.
Baskara only nodded, silently. Though still a child, there was an odd maturity in his eyes. He knew this wasn't just a regular goodbye. It was the beginning of a long journey that would shape his fate.
After a few heartfelt hugs and unspoken glances, Teguh and Tirta bowed deeply in a final gesture of respect.
"We're leaving now, Father."
"Go in peace," replied Eyang Pradipa, rising to his feet and watching them step out the door.
And as the main door closed gently behind them, the old man turned to his grandson and said softly, almost like a sacred vow:
"Alright, Baskara… your time has come."
"Long ago, before civilization knew metal or scripture, meditation was the language our ancestors used to unite with the universe," Eyang Pradipa said, his voice flowing like an ancient bedtime tale.
But after those words hung in the air, his face turned somber. His eyes stared deep into the night's darkness, as though peering across centuries.
"But that all changed… when the earth's vitality began to fade," he continued. "Whether from human greed or the natural order, the world's spiritual power started to dim. The land stopped whispering, the waters stopped responding to prayer, and even the wind no longer echoed the voices of meditators. We call that era the Dim Age."
"For centuries," he went on, "meditation became an empty ritual. Many forgot it. Many abandoned it. Until one day… the world stirred once more."
Baskara listened without blinking.
"In the 20th century of the old calendar, signs of awakening came like a flood. Spiritual energy, dormant for millennia, suddenly surged back into the world. It didn't just affect humans… the earth itself began to evolve. Mountains grew taller. Trees changed—some could move, some could feel. Animals became aware of their inner spirit, and some even began to meditate—naturally."
"The natural barriers that once separated conscious beings from the unconscious… dissolved. The earth seemed to be reshaping itself, forging a new harmony among all who lived on it."
Baskara swallowed hard. "So… now every creature can meditate?"
"Not as quickly as humans," Eyang Pradipa replied, shaking his head. "But yes. They have their own paths. Slow, but certain."
Then his voice grew heavier:
"That great shift shook the entire world. So humanity decided to reset everything—timekeeping, history, even civilization itself. The old calendar ended. Now we live in the 13th century of the new calendar—an era where spiritual power is not just heritage, but necessity."
He locked eyes with Baskara.
"And you… you were born right in the eye of that storm. With a body that defies norms. With potential that… may not be understood through old teachings alone."