At that very moment, far from the city center in the ancestral lands, Baskara opened his eyes wide. The intense tremor of the battle raging in Tritanegara struck both his soul and body at once. The earth quivered subtly, the sky emitted an unnatural heat, and the wind carried the scent of scorched metal.
"That battle… damn it…" he murmured under his breath, jaw clenched. "Do they really intend to obliterate the entire city?"
Without hesitation, Baskara activated a secret technique: Silent Step. With a single breath and a movement as light as a shadow, his body vanished from sight, merging with the natural flow of energy. Dozens of kilometers seemed to fold, becoming mere steps within a silent corridor of time.
Within minutes, he had arrived in front of his house.
Upon reaching the front door, Baskara burst inside. His breath was slightly heavy with anxiety, though his body showed no sign of fatigue.
"Mother! Are you alright?" he called out, his eyes scanning the entire room.
His mother, Tirta, who had been sitting inside, immediately stood and embraced him tightly.
"Baskara, why did you leave the house? It's far too dangerous, my son," she said with deep concern, gripping his arm tightly.
Baskara exhaled in relief. "Of course, every family compound has been shielded by Grandpa's formations... But I still worry about you, Mom."
Tirta looked into her son's eyes, then slowly shook her head. "I understand... But don't forget your own safety either, my dear. You're far too precious…"
Baskara nodded, then asked gently but firmly, "Then... where is Father now?"
Tirta sighed. "Your father is with the Atmadewa family. I don't know if they're involved in the conflict or merely observing from afar. But believe me, your father knows how to take care of himself. So stay calm."
"Alright, Mom…" Baskara replied softly, though his mind was still in turmoil.
It wasn't that he didn't want to intervene—but the outside world was far too dangerous now. If his true power was revealed, attention would quickly shift from the Eternal Flame Jewel. Every eye—filled with greed and ambition—would turn to him.
His grandfather and the ancestors had warned him:
"Do not reveal your power unless absolutely necessary. Beyond the sky, there is always another sky. We cannot protect you from everything."
Two days had passed.
The battle between the two great patriarchs had finally begun to subside. Their bodies heaved, breaths ragged, and their auras dimmed—not from peace, but from sheer exhaustion.
Mount Loka Geni, once a majestic peak crowned with a fiery crater, had been reduced to a barren hill. Its summit lay shattered, leaving behind a massive crater filled with boiling lava, belching smoke into the ashen sky.
The vast forests that once spread for hundreds of miles around the mountain had vanished. Leaves had burned away, tree trunks blackened into charcoal, and the soil turned into a dry, brown wasteland. The air was heavy with the scent of ash and embers.
Suddenly—the air around Mount Loka Geni trembled.
The sky seemed to fold in on itself. A dark vortex formed a black ring in the heavens, and from within it, two figures stepped out.
One wore a full military general's uniform adorned with national emblems, his posture firm and his gaze sharp and probing. The other wore a long robe of soft cloth embroidered with the insignia of an ancient monastery, his face calm and wise, as if untouched by time.
Though they were both centuries old, their appearance remained youthful, dignified, and imposing. The aura emanating from them made the sky feel heavy, and even the two patriarchs who had just battled looked up with furrowed brows.
One of them spoke, his voice heavy, like a suffocating presence—but full of authority.
"Have you had your fill of destroying cities and the forests around them?"
It was the voice of the national general, a top military figure respected across the entire nation.
While the air hung in tense silence, the robed man—the head of a great monastery and a senior advisor to the state—spoke in a calm yet weighty tone.
"You have disrupted nature's balance and endangered countless innocent lives," he said, staring directly at the two patriarchs. "I ask that you compensate for the damage as much as you are able. And as for the treasure... let it remain with the Atmadewa family. The Darmasena family has already suffered too many losses and clearly lacks the strength to claim it."
His words weren't loud, yet none dared to argue. His voice carried the authority of the ancestors and legitimacy from the heavens.
The great battle had ended… for now.
After the sky-shaking, earth-splitting battle, both noble houses—Patriarch Jayakarta and Atmadewa—were directly sanctioned by the central government. The fines imposed were beyond ordinary… vast and nearly unimaginable. Collapsed skyscrapers, burned forests, and innocent casualties—all had to be accounted for.
How? That would be determined by the central government through the nation's highest court. What was certain was that both great families would be preoccupied for years, gathering resources to pay damages and restore what was lost.
Tritanegara had become a land of scars.
Smoke still clung to the sky, and remnants of the battle lingered in the air. All governmental, trade, and military activities had been diverted toward the city's full recovery.
Meanwhile, the second- and third-tier families under the protection of the Tirta Negara nobility were also affected. While they weren't directly charged with reparations, the losses they endured were undeniable. Their lands were scorched, assets destroyed, and many family members were injured. The only thing they could perhaps be grateful for was that the Jayakarta nobles had now withdrawn from Tirta Negara.
For now, the external pressure had eased.
This massive news spread rapidly across the land.
TV screens, radio broadcasts, and online networks all replayed reconstructed footage of the epic battle. Citizens—from remote villages to high-rise offices—watched in silence. They were stunned… afraid… and full of questions about the future.
Though the skies above Tirta Negara began to clear, the shadows of that battle would linger for a long time—in the hearts of the people and in the pages of history.