On that same morning, beneath a snowfall foreign to this tropical land, seven red roses stood upright upon a nameless field of white.
No sun shone upon them, and no hands had planted them.
Though they seemed modest, even accidental, they remained—waiting, as if they had long known their time would come.
A gentle wind stirred, carrying with it flecks of ice and whispers buried deep within the past.
Then, one of the petals began to tremble—not from weakness, but because the hour had finally arrived.
The oldest rose, its hue paling with age, released itself from its stem.
Yet it did not fall.
It drifted, light as breath—like the final exhale of someone whose story was done.
Then, the youngest rose—its hue the boldest—followed, stirred not by wind, but by something quieter: a subtle awareness, like the faint tremor of understanding. As though the old must never walk alone, and the young must never be left behind, the remaining five loosened themselves one by one, drifting free in quiet agreement.
They floated on—spiraling through snowfall, gliding past the veils of morning mist—until they arrived at the forecourt of an old bureau, still standing proud in the heart of Bandung: one of the last great guild sanctuaries that had never truly slept.
Once raised with iron bones and chalk-white walls bound not by wealth, but by hope, the building now wore a skin of copper-tinted glass, reflecting the city's restless light like a solemn monolith from a forgotten golden age. On the outside: modern, sealed, precise. But within—old spirits lingered. Vaulted halls. The scent of coffee and steel. Footsteps that never ceased.
The guild still lived.
And it was busy.
In the corner of the room, a massive screen displayed streams of ranah activity from towers across the archipelago. The flow of information pulsed ceaselessly, like blood through a nation's veins.
The missions on offer ranged widely—from escorting caravans to border cities, investigating ranah anomalies in schools, to high-risk expeditions into S-class dungeons deep within the Eighth Tower.
Here, they weren't merely working.
They were surviving.
Though the bureau had long been absorbed into the official government structure, the air of combat never quite left its walls. The spirit still lingered—etched into the building itself, as if it remembered. As if it knew the world had not yet found peace… and that the children of tomorrow still needed protecting, even if they had no idea what was coming.
Then, the main doors creaked open, unveiling a woman with long, black hair that shimmered beneath the chandelier's light. Her steps were graceful, parting the crowd without brushing a single soul—like the air itself shifted to make way for her.
She was Nita, one of the last surviving Celestial Guardians following the wrath of the Azal entity that had once inhabited Sylvia. Though her face was familiar to all, those who truly understood would recognize her presence by the aura that enveloped her: calm, powerful, and as sharp as a blade freshly honed.
"Isn't that Lady Nita?"
"Yes. I heard she just returned from a major mission in Sumatra."
"She's incredible. Her aura is so strong, it sends chills down my spine just from her walking by."
A female officer behind the front desk quickly stood, nearly dropping her clipboard. "S-sorry, Lady Nita... c-can we assist you in any way?"
Nita didn't answer immediately. Her eyes swept the room before she spoke quietly, "Yuda. Where is the boy?"
As if the universe itself had responded faster than the bureau's system, the person she asked for appeared almost out of nowhere from the western corridor. His steps were calm, one hand tucked into the pocket of his school uniform pants, while the other held a piece of plain bread. A messenger bag casually hung from his left shoulder, and his slightly disheveled hair seemed at odds with the morning breeze.
Yuda. A sixteen-year-old teenager who was more often mistaken for an ordinary intern than the heir to a power that could shake the very foundations of time.
His sharp eyes never glanced at Nita. Even when they crossed paths, he barely turned his head—not out of fear, but a mild annoyance, like someone who just wanted to get on with their day without any unnecessary pleasantries.
"Yuda," Nita called.
He still didn't look at her. His voice came out flat. "What? If this is about training, I already know. If not, just ask the Bureau Chief."
Nita only gave a faint smile, unsure whether she should be annoyed or amused. In her eyes, the boy reminded her too much of his older brother, Karya.
"You're really starting to resemble your brother, Karya," she said, matching her pace with Yuda. The sound of her high heels echoed lightly on the marble floor. "Six months without seeing you, and this is how you treat a woman who's been worried sick, huh?"
Yuda didn't quicken his step, nor did he slow down. "Don't talk about people who've been dead for so long. Besides, I never asked you to worry."
Nita chuckled softly, then lightly touched Yuda's arm with her fingertips—as if testing whether the boy still had warm blood running through his veins. "Still, I sent fifty messages. Fifty, Yuda! And not a single one you replied to. I actually thought you'd run off to some foreign land and changed your name."
"Seriously? You know the internet signal in Bandung is awful."
"Oh, really?" Nita tilted her head slightly, then smirked. "I heard you live just two kilometers from school. Could it be... you were purposely ignoring me?"
"Maybe," Yuda replied, shrugging in a nonchalant gesture.
Nita watched him for a long moment before laughing—a soft, almost playful laugh, but with an underlying strength in its tone. "Still cold as ever. But that's fine. Cold can feel sweet when the one who's frozen is someone like you."
They passed by people, heading toward the main entrance, where sunlight filtered through the tall windows, spilling onto the polished floor.
"I just got back from Sumatra," Nita said, her tone shifting to something more serious, though the faint smile still lingered at the corner of her lips. "There's something off about the Seventh Tower. The energy… it feels like a shifting wave. It's not wild, but it's unstable. Almost like it's waiting for something."
Yuda remained silent, listening.
"I thought," Nita continued, glancing at him sideways, "this would be the perfect time to see how far you've come, Karya's little brother."
Eventually, Yuda stopped right in front of the main door. His gaze was empty, staring ahead, but his jaw... tightened slightly.
"If all you wanted to know is how much I've grown, why didn't you come six months ago?"
Nita smiled, this time softer. "Because I knew you weren't ready then."
Yuda turned to her, saying nothing. Only his gaze replied—dim, layered, and deep—like memories too tangled to hold, yet never truly understood.
"And by the way," Nita said, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers, "I'll be stopping by your school today. Just a light orientation about the world of Nusantarana. A routine formality from the central office."
Yuda clicked his tongue instantly. "While you're there, don't even think about talking to me. I don't want anyone knowing we know each other."
Nita raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Oh my, are you embarrassed to be associated with someone like me? I thought we were special."
"I'm serious."
"All right, all right," she said, bowing slightly and raising both hands in mock surrender. But then, an idea lit up her face. "I can pretend… but on one condition."
Yuda said nothing, giving her room to continue.
"As I said, this is the perfect time to see how far you've grown. So, how about a sparring match? In the duel hall. Right now."
"And if I win?" the boy asked, his face betraying no real interest.
Nita narrowed her eyes slightly, a small grin forming. "Then I'll honor your request. I might even disappear from your life completely."
Without pause, Yuda turned and strode off toward the building's right wing—where informal combat tests were usually held. Not the official training room, but enough to test one's breath… and nerve.
Nita followed him with a faint smile, her eyes fixed on the boy's back as he walked ahead. "Such unexpected fire," she murmured. "You probably don't even realize how much you resemble him back then."
Their footsteps echoed down the corridor leading to the main hall—a wide, arched chamber housing the first enclosed training floor ever built after the era of tower conquest. High-hanging lights shone down on the worn-out floor, one that had seen countless renewals, yet still bore the scent of iron and sweat—an air charged with the unyielding spirit of warriors.
As they entered, several heads turned toward them. Nita's soft-blue dress flowed lightly behind her graceful, steady steps. Her name needed no announcement; one look was enough. Everyone knew who she was—one of the Seven Celestial Guardians.
Some adventurers paused their training, narrowing their eyes as they noticed a teenage boy walking close behind her. They murmured, exchanged glances, silently wondering—who was he? Her brother? Her apprentice? Or just some acquaintance? But none of them truly knew the answer.
Yuda walked expressionless, his posture firm and his face cold, as if entirely indifferent to the fact that he had just walked ahead of a living legend—one of the Seven Guardians of humanity. The skeptical stares and biting whispers meant nothing to him. They… knew nothing.
"Who's that kid?"
"No idea. Probably gonna run the moment he gets hit with a single move."
Nita, who caught the whispers, only responded with a faint, knowing smile. But Yuda said nothing. His eyes were fixed solely on the open arena—soon to become their battleground. Without a word of warning, he leapt to the center, swung his sling bag to the ground, and drew a slow breath—as if summoning something from beyond the boundaries of time.
The atmosphere began to shift.
The air turned heavy.
"Nusantarana's release: Re-existence…"
Beneath Yuda's feet, thin cracks began to form in the shape of a circle. A thick black mist slithered upward, revealing glimpses—of a head, massive jaws, and a hulking, horned figure. And then, it emerged.
A Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Silent breath hissed from its throat, and blood-red eyes burned dimly beneath the lights.
The entire hall froze in stunned silence before several voices broke through—laced with disbelief, even fear.
"W-w-w-wait, isn't that…?"
"A prehistoric beast? But that's… that's his power! That's Karya's power!"
Nita was struck speechless for a moment. Her eyes widened ever so slightly before softening—almost smiling. "So you've come this far, Yuda. Even Karya couldn't pull off a summoning of this scale without preparation. You truly are—"
But before she could finish the thought, Yuda's voice snapped through the air like a blade.
"Enough! Don't you dare speak the name of someone you couldn't even save!"
Silence. Nita said nothing. Her lips pressed shut, her gaze lowered briefly, and she let out a soft sigh. A weight from the past—shared between them—had now been fully unearthed. But then, a thin smile tugged at her lips. Not a joyful one, but bitter—laced with understanding and fractures that had never truly healed.
She stepped into the center of the arena, her demeanor shifting entirely.
"So, you still blame me?" she said calmly. "But doesn't that mean… you haven't really let him go?"
"Bastard...!"
At that very moment, the Tyrannosaurus Rex let out a deafening roar, erupting just as Yuda spat the curse. The entire hall trembled, and with the ancient beast making the first move—
—the duel had officially begun.
***
Meanwhile, the fog in front of the bureau began to thin as morning crept steadily across the sky. Snow wrapped itself around the building's foundations, leaving fresh prints atop a white layer that had only recently fallen. Members of the guild passed by—some clutching scrolls of missions, others laughing softly as they tossed scraps of bread to crows perched on bare branches.
But few noticed the two unfamiliar silhouettes approaching the main gate.
One wore a dark cloak, the hood veiling most of their face. No guild insignia. No national emblem. Just a mute silhouette, each step heavy with the weight of an unspoken history.
Beside them, an older man walked with a slightly stooped frame, his cloak no less tattered. And his eyes… his eyes seemed to pierce through the mist—gazing into a world unseen by ordinary minds.
Before them lay seven flowers—once gently placed there—now frozen in time, lined in silent tribute. Though the wind had stirred a few petals, the formation remained untouched, as if preserved by something subtler than time itself.
Without a word, the younger figure stepped forward, unknowingly crushing three of the flowers beneath polished black shoes.
The older man paused, turning to glance at his companion.
"What is it?"
"Just… flowers."
The three flowers were crushed—buried under a fate that would never allow them to bloom again. Amidst the slowly receding snow, he picked up only one. Its petals were red, upright and defiant, as if daring the hand that reached to claim it.
But the touch was no ordinary touch.
As his cold fingers brushed the stem, the flower trembled… and its color began to change. The red bled down to its base, swallowed and replaced by a deep, purplish bruise-like hue. The energy it absorbed—thick, dark, and lingering—flowed inward, a silent mark of a pact none dared to name.
The old man said nothing more. He simply watched his companion, eyes unreadable. And the younger figure, still facing forward, tightened his grip around the flower, then slipped it into his cloak, pressing it close against his chest.
Moments later, as they resumed their steps toward the building, a loud explosion erupted from within, followed by raucous applause and cheers. Several guild members turned toward the noise, then rushed off—drawn by a duel unlike any other.
The old man glanced at his companion, a wide grin creeping across his face as realization dawned. "It's been… a long time since my skin shivered at the scent of a Re-existence force. Are you reminiscing about… someone?"
Without sparing him a glance, the other man replied curtly, "Be quiet and focus. You old fossil."
They stepped through the entrance, vanishing into the corridor's shadow. Outside, snow still fell. The three trampled flowers no longer stood, and the one that was taken… could never be replaced. The remaining three waited silently—perhaps for its return, or perhaps for the one who carried it.
Back inside the dueling hall, the crowd roared—wave after wave of gasps and shouts rising like a tide. Some spectators had already retreated to the sidelines, unable to fathom how a mere boy could have inherited the power of Re-existence.
For that art, once, belonged to Karya—one of the Seven Names etched into the Fifth Generation of the Celestial Guardians: Windah, Sylvia, Karya, Wisesa, Alex, Cinta, and Nita.
And now, watching the Tyrannosaurus Rex take form—one of the twelve beings permitted to be returned to existence—they could do nothing but stare in awe.
Amid the cracks and lashes of clashing ranah energy, Nita danced through the chaos. Her body twisted gracefully, threading between fangs and claws like water slipping through rock. One sweeping strike, wrapped in a veil of her own energy, carved the air with such force it forced the ancient beast to stagger—one massive leg buckling beneath its weight.
But that hadn't been her true target.
With a smirk cutting across her face, Nita launched herself directly toward Yuda. In one fluid breath, she wreathed her other hand with her own brand of ranah energy—a dense, spiraling force that shimmered violet-gold.
Yuda felt it the moment the air tensed, that sharp pull of imminent danger. While straining to maintain the Tyrannosaurus's presence—its existence hanging on the thread of his concentration—he braced himself, coating his entire body in a protective shell of ranah energy.
The moment before impact stretched—one heartbeat echoing louder than the crowd, louder than the beast's growl, louder than everything.
Then the clash came.
Explosion rang out as they collided—fist to fist, wrist to wrist. Their forearms clashed like hammer on anvil, sparking bursts of light and shockwaves that rippled across the arena.
Each time their limbs met, arcs of ranah energy burst outward in visible pulses. Nita moved like a storm—fierce, erratic, and precise—while Yuda stood like bedrock. Every blow he received was absorbed and returned, grounded through the full armor of energy that wrapped his entire body. Unlike Nita, who focused her ranah only into her arms for speed and precision, Yuda had turned his entire body into a weapon—and a shield.
When they finally broke apart, their feet sliding back across scorched tiles, Nita's breath turned visible in the cold morning air. She grinned, wiping a trickle of blood from her lip.
"Impressive. You saw through my trap, didn't you?"
Yuda didn't speak. He didn't need to. The fury in his eyes said more than any insult could.
Behind him, the resurrected Tyrannosaurus-Rex rose again, steam rising from its cracked hide. The beast growled low, waiting—poised, hungry—for a signal from its master.
But Nita, relentless, let a teasing lilt return to her voice.
"So, you must've read through my Biography. Could've just asked me … tonight."
Fury clenched Yuda's jaw. Every word from her was a dagger, and he had no patience left for games. He planted his feet wide and drew his breath deep—not with hesitation, but with resolve.
Then, he roared:
"Nusantarana's Released, Re-existence: Rise … Titanoboa!"
A tremor cracked the arena floor. Dark, polished ranah energy spiraled upward and twisted, taking form in the air. From that whirl of energy emerged a colossal serpent—scales glistening black and violet, its length stretching nearly fourteen meters, muscles rippling beneath armored flesh. It hit the ground with a weight that made the entire hall shudder—over two thousand five hundred pounds of brute terror.
The audience barely had time to process the monster's arrival before Yuda raised his hand again.
And then—
"Not enough. Rise … Pteranodon!"
People gaped in disbelief, clutching their heads—some even collapsed to their knees—as a massive flying reptile slowly but surely emerged above the grand hall's ceiling. With a wingspan over ten meters wide, the ancient beast cast a shadow so vast it nearly swallowed the entire room in darkness, like a curse born from a forgotten age.
Nita instinctively took a step back. Her chest tightened under a pressure that all Nusantarana warriors loathed to feel: intimidation. The Tyrannosaurus-Rex, the Titanoboa, and the Pteranodon stared her down, three ravenous wolves in monstrous form, eyes gleaming with hunger that knew no satisfaction.
And there he stood—Yuda—barely upright, breath ragged, eyes locked onto his opponent as he muttered through clenched teeth, "Damn it… Every nerve in my body is screaming from summoning just three of them. I can't even begin to imagine the pain Karya endured when he manifested all the Re-existences back then."
At the same time, Nita understood: these ancient beasts weren't just a visual threat—they were a living reminder of bitter truth. Defeat. Inevitable. But just as quickly, she cast the thought aside. She had fallen before. She had lost before. But she had never once stepped back.
Her lips curled into a grin, half mocking, half resolute. "You really are something, Yuda…" she said, her voice slightly winded. "If that's what you want, then I'll have to—get serious now."
She took a breath, closed her eyes, and let the energy rise from deep within her chest.
The floor rumbled.
Ranah energy burst from beneath her feet, wrapping her body in radiant waves—then transformed. It was no mere barrier, but armor alive—layered, jointed with pulsing light, molded to her form like the battle regalia of a forgotten goddess.
The crowd was silent, spellbound.
Yuda frowned, subtly shifting his stance back. "At last… Mangkar," he thought, recognizing it instantly.
It was the second stage of the five-tiered ranah arts—a technique that enveloped the entire body in a suit of armor, far beyond the basic reinforcement he himself had used earlier. This was superior defense, both elegant and resilient.
Nita finally opened her eyes. Her gaze was sharp, brimming with unwavering confidence.
"I won't let the feral stares of your creatures intimidate me," she declared. Then she lowered into a stance. "Get ready… Yuda."
And in a flash, she launched forward.
With her right arm extended, Nita formed a dense orb of energy, spinning at blinding speed. As she hurled it toward the Titanoboa, the blast erupted like a compact storm of lightning.
Yuda held his breath. It wasn't just destructive—it reflected and absorbed the residual force from the previous explosion.
"She's using Sasa," he realized.
That was the first stage of the five ranah techniques. A skill that allowed the user to strengthen attacks, amplify techniques, and catalyze ranah to a more advanced level. Under certain conditions, it could even be combined.
And as a clear demonstration, Nita had combined Sasa with her signature technique, Absorb and Bounce, making the attack far more dangerous.
Though the Titanoboa managed to evade the core of the strike, part of its scaled body was torn open by the burst of energy. Thick black blood splattered onto the floor.
Yuda cursed inwardly, beginning to feel the crushing weight of the duel. But before he could react, another energy orb surged directly toward him.
On instinct, he dove into a roll. The technique slammed into where he had just stood moments ago, obliterating it completely.
At that moment, Nita spotted a golden opportunity. Yuda was off-balance, completely exposed. But just as she was about to move—
Her eyes shot upward—and there it was. The Pteranodon, diving toward her at a terrifying speed.
"Damn it—!"
The flying predator crashed into her with devastating force. The impact resounded far beyond the building's walls. Now pinned beneath its dagger-like talons, Nita lay breathless and crushed beneath the monstrous weight of the Pteranodon.
Cracks splintered across the arena floor, some even reaching the spectator stands.
In the midst of unspeakable pain, Nita still found it in herself to smile beneath the helm of her ranah armor.
She exhaled raggedly and murmured,
"Freedom, huh? Damn you, Karya… You're probably laughing your ass off in the afterlife right now."
Her voice trembled, her eyes fixed on the Pteranodon flapping its wings above.
"But I'm sorry. I don't intend to follow you just yet… because what I truly want—"
"—is to see how far your little brother can go."
The tide had truly turned. Though Yuda hadn't moved, he remained pinned in place—on his knees, supported only by legs that trembled more violently with each passing second.
This was one of the many consequences borne by the so-called "fortunate" Nusantarana—those who had inherited one of the Seven Primordial Skills—when they pushed their powers beyond reason.
Even so, Yuda still clung to belief. He was convinced that his limits could be shattered, even if it meant setting his soul ablaze in the sea of ranah.
Nita lay crushed beneath the Pteranodon's claws, her body and Mangkar armor ravaged. Yet her eyes—fierce and unyielding—remained fixed on the sky, darkened by ancient wings. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She merely drew in a deep breath, concentrating fully, channeling her ranah from deep within her chest, igniting a faint glow that crept slowly through her broken form.
That light was no ordinary light.
It didn't shine brightly, but rather gently—soothing—almost as if it carried the memory of her original body… and was guiding her back to it.
The wounds across her body slowly began to close. Even the shattered bones fused again, like fractured glass finding its porcelain. Muscle, skin, and flowing blood—all of it returned as though time itself had been rewound.
"Ranah Kuasa: Nirmala..." Nita whispered, mostly to herself.
Yuda, still kneeling some distance away, could only watch through ragged breaths. He knew that technique. Anyone ever mentored by Karya knew it well—Nirmala: the highest form of regeneration, a skill that allowed the body to return to its original state. Though, not all injuries could be restored… for reasons even the most skilled Nusantarana couldn't always explain.
The Pteranodon's grip began to falter, and before it could take flight again, Nita's body flared—glowing brighter—before detonating a surge of ranah energy at point-blank range. The ancient beast was hurled backward in an instant.
Smoke curled off her form—residue from the toll of Nirmala—but slowly, steadily, Nita rose to her feet. "You recognize this skill, don't you, Yuda?" she said with a faint smile, her stance asserting she had yet to fall. "Ah, this reminds me of Putra Tigaaksara. His mastery over Nirmala far surpasses mine."
Yuda only responded with a panicked grin, barely registering her words. His mind swarmed with strategies—each one collapsing under its own weight. Inwardly, he cursed, "Sasa and Mangkar were bad enough, but now… she's actually using Nirmala? Damn it! How in the world do you defeat a woman like this‽"
Without hesitation, he commanded the three primordial beasts to strike in unison. The Pteranodon dove from above, the Tyrannosaurus-Rex charged from the ruined flank of the hall, and Titanoboa shook the earth with a seismic tremor.
But Nita didn't flinch. She stood still—seemingly defenseless. Until, unexpectedly, a transparent dome of ranah materialized around her, intercepting the incoming attacks. Part of the energy was absorbed; the rest was redirected. Pteranodon crashed down, Titanoboa recoiled, and Tyrannosaurus-Rex crumpled against the shattered floor.
Yuda said nothing—watching as all three creatures slowly dissolved back into their original form: dense, swirling ranah mist. He knew they hadn't fallen solely because of Nita's counterstrike.
He had reached his limit.
Cold sweat ran down his temple. His breathing was labored. His knees barely held his weight. His ranah reserves were nearly drained, and exhaustion had pierced beyond the physical. Yet what tormented him most... was the overwhelming sense of helplessness.
"Enhancement, defense, and now… regeneration. A perfect combination. It feels like I'm fighting a wall that can regrow itself."
Yuda's vision blurred for a moment. But within that haze, a flash of memory emerged—a faint recollection from his childhood, of Karya telling him stories about a legendary creature, one revered above all in the ancient Chinese legends.
Suddenly, Yuda looked up. His eyes lit with a mad conviction—that he could do what his brother once did.
"I'll do it…!"
Though his hands trembled, he raised them. Blood began to drip from his nose, yet he continued muttering the full incantation—one that should never be uttered in a condition like this.
"I know... Sasa isn't just about enhancing a skill. This ranah technique is far more than that. If I can apply it to Re-existence, I won't just be able to manipulate a creature's weight or size... I'll be able to merge them—into one complete entity!"
And then it happened.
A roar exploded across the battlefield, a sound long forgotten by the people of this land—like thunder cracking endlessly across the skies, just like the storms that had once devastated this nation years ago. The bodies of the fading beasts began to shudder, drawn together by an invisible force. Lines of energy pulsed between them. Flesh fused. Bone locked. Their forms melted into one another.
The audience froze. Even Nita couldn't suppress the chill coursing through her veins.
And in the center of the arena... the silhouette of a colossal beast took shape. Long and serpentine, with wings, scales, and eyes glowing red like searing coals.
"Not perfect, I know…" Yuda grinned weakly, barely breathing.
"…but enough to make you shiver, isn't it?"