"Where the hell have you been, you idiot?!"
Mr. Surya's voice thundered across the fields as Arka approached. The portly man stood with his hands on his hips, face flushed red with fury. The other farmhands watched from a distance—too afraid to intervene, yet unable to look away.
"S-sorry, Sir," Arka stammered, instinctively slipping the ring into the torn pocket of his threadbare trousers.
Mr. Surya seized Arka by the collar and hoisted him up so that his feet barely touched the ground. "You were probably lazing behind that banyan tree again, weren't you? You think I'm a fool?"
The acrid smell of tobacco clung to Mr. Surya's breath as it hit Arka's face. Normally, such a confrontation would leave him trembling. But today was different. A strange calmness, cold and steady, spread from the ring in his pocket and coursed through his limbs.
"I'm docking your pay today," Mr. Surya snarled, shoving him to the ground. "Half. And you should be grateful I'm even letting you work tomorrow."
The other laborers bowed their heads, pretending to be busy. No one dared speak on Arka's behalf. In Sukamaju Village, losing your job meant starvation—and starvation meant death.
"But sir, my mother is ill. I need—"
"Not my problem!" Mr. Surya snapped. "Get back to work or you won't see a single coin!"
With trembling hands, Arka picked up his hoe and returned to tilling the soil. But his thoughts had already left the fields. They were far below the surface—deep in the underground chamber where the ring now hidden in his pocket had whispered of destiny, and in the ancient scroll that promised to change everything.
He worked in silence the rest of the day. The weight of the ring in his pocket felt unnatural, as if the object possessed a gravity of its own. Every so often, when he was sure no one was watching, his fingers would reach for it—just to be sure it was still there.
By the time he was finally allowed to leave, the sun had dipped below the horizon. His body was exhausted, his spirit simmering with quiet rage. Half a day's pay—barely enough to buy the medicine his mother needed. His eyes drifted toward Mr. Surya's mansion in the distance, with its high iron gates and armed guards. One day, he whispered to himself. One day, the tables will turn.
The ramshackle hut on the village's outskirts was the only place Arka could call home. A leaking thatched roof, crumbling bamboo walls, and a damp earthen floor bore silent witness to a life slowly being worn away.
"Arka, is that you?" came the faint voice of his mother.
She lay on a bamboo cot in the corner, her frail frame wrapped in a thin blanket. The beauty she once possessed had long faded, replaced by hollow cheeks and dark rings beneath sunken eyes. The illness had been gnawing at her for far too long.
"Yes, Mother," Arka whispered, kneeling beside her and wiping the cold sweat from her brow. "How are you feeling today?"
"A little better," she lied, as they both knew she would. "Have you eaten yet?"
He shook his head. "Later. I brought home a bit of pay." He pulled twenty thousand rupiah from his pocket and placed it in her hand. "It's not much. Mr. Surya docked me because..."
He stopped himself. There was no need to burden her further. Instead, he rose and fetched a bowl of water from a wobbly wooden table. Gently, he helped her drink.
"You're a good boy, Arka," she whispered after a sip. "Your father would've been proud."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. He wasn't so sure. What pride was there in being a pawn with no future? But he said nothing, only held her hand until she drifted to sleep.
Once certain she was asleep, Arka retrieved what he had found. The gold ring gleamed under the soft flicker of the oil lamp, the blood-red gem at its center pulsing like a living heart. It promised secrets. Power.
Carefully, he pulled the parchment scroll from his shirt. The ancient script stretched before him, beckoning to be read. Driven by an irresistible curiosity, Arka studied each word, each phrase, committing the incantations and instructions to memory.
"With blood, the shadow shall take form," he whispered, repeating the line inscribed on the scroll. "Eyes must meet eyes, and the face shall be yours."
His fingers brushed the gemstone. According to the scroll, the Cadurian Ring required the wearer's blood for its first activation—to form a bond. Once awakened, it would grant the power to assume the visage of anyone whose eyes had locked with the wearer's.
"A power to become someone else," he murmured, imagination spiraling. He could be anyone—a wealthy merchant, a noble... even Mr. Surya himself.
His hand trembled at the thought. With a power like this, he could change everything. No more poverty. No more humiliation. He could earn the money to heal his mother. Earn wealth—revenge, even.
He weighed the risks. What would be the cost? Was it worth the reward?
His gaze returned to his mother's sleeping form—her fragile body fighting a disease they had no means to treat. Then he thought of Mr. Surya, of his riches, his cruelty, the way he treated workers like cattle.
His mind was made up.
From the corner of the room, he retrieved a shard of an old mirror—his mother's only prized possession from a better past. With a trembling breath, Arka slid the Cadurian Ring onto his finger.
Following the scroll's instructions, he took a rusty needle from his mother's sewing kit. Without hesitation, he pricked his fingertip. A bead of dark red blood landed on the gem, vanishing into it as though absorbed.
"With my blood, I bind," he whispered. "With my eyes, I see. With my face, I become. Cadurian, awaken."
An odd sensation bloomed from the wound, crawling up his arm and spreading across his body. A chill crept into his bones, followed by a feverish heat that made his skin damp with sweat. The words of the incantation tumbled from his lips.
"Show me your power, O Ring of Mimics. Let me become the perfect shadow of what I behold."
His heart pounded. He lifted the mirror shard and stared at his reflection—a gaunt young man with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. For a moment, nothing happened. Only the hush of night and the soft rhythm of his mother's breathing filled the silence.
Then, slowly, something shifted.
The skin around his eyes rippled like disturbed water. A strange tingling crept across his face, like a thousand ants marching beneath his flesh. He bit back a cry, fearing he might wake his mother.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the transformation ceased.
The face staring back at him in the mirror was still his—but different. Fresher. Younger. As though years of hardship had been peeled away, revealing an idealized version of himself.
"This is only the beginning," he whispered to the reflection. "Tomorrow... tomorrow will be different."
With great care, Arka hid the ring beneath a loose floorboard, along with the scroll and the mirror shard. He lay beside his mother, the strange sensation still thrumming beneath his skin.
Tomorrow, he would begin experimenting with the Cadurian Ring's true power. First, he had to understand how it worked. Then... Mr. Surya would get what he deserved.
With that thought, Arka closed his eyes. In his dreams, he saw shifting faces—his own among them, slowly morphing into Mr. Surya's, complete with the man's infamous cruel smile.
And for the first time in his sorrowful life, Arka smiled in his sleep—a smile no one would recognize.