"Don't stand like that, people will think you're a statue," a deep voice greeted him.
Rakai turned. Captain Khampa stood nearby, tall frame wrapped in a dark brown sea coat. His face was hard, carved by wind and sun, yet his eyes were calm—like a man at peace with death.
"At sea, look forward, not back," Khampa continued.
Rakai nodded. "I'm just… making sure my footing holds, Captain."
Khampa chuckled shortly. "If your footing fails, the sea will teach you how to stand."
"I'll learn fast, Captain."
The conversation barely ended when a shout from the mast shattered the morning.
"SHIP ON THE PORT BOW!"
Heads snapped up. Rakai sharpened his gaze. In the distance, two ships maneuvered roughly toward each other. Even from afar it was clear: one fat merchant vessel, heavily laden; the other a small pirate ship trying to exploit its prey's sluggishness.
Captain Khampa narrowed his eyes. "Small-time pirates and a fat merchant… in my waters."
His tone was cold.
"Raise extra sails," he ordered. "We cut right between them."
The deck exploded into furious activity. Commands echoed. Ropes pulled taut, sails billowed. Arus Barat surged forward like a predator scenting blood.
Rakai's heartbeat quickened. His hand instinctively touched the hilts of his father's two long swords at his waist—now extensions of his life.
"Hahaha, hey Lingga boy!" a massive crewman bellowed. "If you're gonna puke, do it now!"
Rakai gave a thin smile. "Relax. I'd rather make others puke blood."
Rough laughter erupted around him.
Minutes later, Arus Barat closed in. The small pirate ship panicked, realizing a bigger predator approached. They tried to veer away—too late.
"Ram them broadside!" Khampa commanded.
Wood slammed wood. The impact shook everything. Rakai nearly fell but caught his balance. Shouts, cracking timber, and gunpowder stench mixed together.
"PREPARE FOR BOARDING!"
Arus Barat's crew leaped onto the small pirate ship first. Blood flowed fast. Rakai didn't wait for a second order. He jumped, landing on the enemy deck with both swords drawn.
A pirate yelled and swung an axe. Rakai sidestepped half a pace, left sword blocking the axe, right sword slashing clean across the throat. Blood sprayed. The body dropped silently.
"Two swords!" someone shouted in awe.
Rakai moved like a dance of death. Light steps, calculated swings. His twin long blades spun—one attacking, one defending—creating a rhythm that made enemies hesitate before dying.
But the fight wasn't over.
On the other side, the merchant ship—originally the target—tried to flee in the chaos. Captain Khampa saw it and smiled crookedly.
"We're not done," he said quietly.
Arus Barat pulled away from the sinking pirate wreck and gave chase.
This time resistance was organized. The merchant's guards were well-armed. Arrows flew. One Arus Barat crewman fell with a short scream.
Rage rose in Rakai. He charged forward, deflecting arrows with his blades, then leaped over the merchant's rail.
"I am Rakai Saloka!" he roared. "And the sea today belongs to no one else!"
He broke through the guard line. Twin swords flashed. One thrust to the gut, one slash to the shoulder. Brutal yet graceful, like an old legend come alive.
From afar, Captain Khampa watched, eyes blazing.
"That boy…" he muttered. "No ordinary kid."
Less than an hour later, the battle ended. The merchant ship fell to Arus Barat. Chests of silk, spices, gold, and ceramics filled the deck.
Victory cheers shook the air.
Rakai stood panting, body covered in small cuts, blood—some his, some others'. Crew surrounded him.
"You're insane!"
"Those two swords are like demons!"
Captain Khampa approached, slapping Rakai's shoulder hard.
"From today," he declared loudly, "you're no longer just crew. You are Arus Barat."
Cheers exploded louder.
Rakai gazed at the distant sea. In his chest, old vengeance pulsed quietly—but now he had a ship, a crew, and a path toward a greater destiny.
This was only his first voyage.
And the sea had not yet shown its cruelest face.
FEAST ON ARUS BARAT
Night fell slowly over the open sea, cloaking Arus Barat as she sailed calmly under a half-moon hanging pale in the sky. Salty wind blew gently, just enough to rustle the sails, as if the sea itself exhaled after a day of blood and steel. Torches flared on deck. Orange firelight danced across the hardened faces of the crew—faces that returned today with laughter and loot.
Shouts of joy burst out. Barrels of arak were cracked open, poured into wooden bowls, passed hand to hand. Some crew beat small deer-hide drums, rhythm raw and wild. Sea shanties echoed—songs of storms, women left behind, and gold that was never enough.
Rakai Saloka stood a little back, twin long swords sheathed across his back, body still aching. Small wounds on arms and shoulders had been roughly cleaned. He watched the feast with eyes not yet fully believing. This morning he was just a youth stepping onto a pirate ship. Tonight his name was already shouted.
"Two Swords! Two Swords!"
The chant came from a group near the mainmast. Rakai sighed, then stepped forward. Someone thrust a bowl of arak at him. He drank; the burn scorched his throat, warming his chest.
"You fought like a starving shark earlier," said a big man with a scar splitting his cheek—Bara Guntur, Arus Barat's deck brawler. "Never seen a newbie leap into the thick of it without hesitation and not die."
Rakai smiled faintly. "I just did what you all do. I'm learning with you."
"Bullshit," another laughed. "You stabbed, slashed, and moved like you were born a warrior."
On the other side of the deck, a small circle sat. Wira Pamalayu, sharp-eyed helmsman who rarely spoke; Sangka Biru, long-fingered archer always alert; Lembu Anjani, ship's blacksmith with soot-black hands. They told stories—of villages left behind, ships sunk, captains dead from choosing the wrong wind.
"Arus Barat never runs from a fight," Wira said quietly. "That's why we're still alive. Captain Khampa knows when to strike, when to wait."
Captain Khampa's name was spoken with respect. He hadn't joined the drinking yet. He stood at the stern, back straight, black hair streaked with gray tied neatly. Malay-Khmer blood showed in his strong jaw and patient eyes.
He watched his crew like a father watching children. Occasionally his lips lifted in a rare, thin smile.
Rakai gathered courage and approached.
"Captain," he said.
Khampa turned. "Rakai Saloka." He said the name firmly. "Sit."
They sat on a low bench near the stern. The party noise faded into the distance, replaced by creaking wood and lapping waves.
"You fight with two swords like someone who's already lost a lot," Khampa said bluntly.
Rakai paused. "I lost my parents."
Khampa nodded, as if he'd guessed. "The sea is full of people like us. Loss makes your hands honest."
"I don't know if it's honest or just anger," Rakai replied.
Khampa stared at the sea. "Anger can move a ship. But dreams make it sail far."
Rakai looked at him. "What's your dream, Captain?"
For a moment Khampa's face hardened. Torchlight cast sharp shadows in his eyes. "To make Arus Barat a home for those rejected by land. A sea route free from tyranny—kings or pirates crueler than kings."
Rakai remembered the whispered name among the crew: Chen Tsu Ji.
"And revenge?" Rakai asked softly.
Khampa gave a short, humorless laugh. "Revenge is a choice." He drew a deep breath. "Chen Tsu Ji burned my village on the Khmer coast. Took children for forced crew. My wife… died at sea, chased by his fleet."
Rakai clenched his fist. "I've heard his armada rules the Malacca Strait."
"Rules with brutality," Khampa said. "One day Arus Barat will meet him again. And that day, there will be no songs."
Laughter erupted again. Some crew began dancing, leaping on deck. Bara Guntur pulled Rakai. "Come on, Two Swords! Drink more!"
Rakai stood. Before leaving, Khampa added, "Rest soon. Tomorrow the sea may not be kind."
Rakai returned to the feast. He listened to Sangka Biru's tale of an arrow duel in a storm; Lembu Anjani's story of repairing the keel under fire; Wira Pamalayu's lesson on reading night currents without stars. Every tale carried hope.
Mid-feast, Rakai briefly drew his twin swords—not to fight, but to wipe dried blood. Torchlight gleamed on steel. The crew fell silent a moment, then cheered louder.
"Arus Barat!"
"Arus Barat!"
Night deepened. Arak ran low. One by one, crew slept in deck corners. Rakai leaned against a mast, staring at the black sea. He felt something unfamiliar—not vengeance, not rage—but belonging.
At the stern, Captain Khampa still stood alone. Two figures gazing different directions, bound by sea and a destiny that would one day demand its price.
That night, Arus Barat sailed over calm water.
Too calm.