Dawn had yet to fully break when Arka stirred from sleep. His body still ached from yesterday's toil, muscles taut with exhaustion, but something was different this morning—an unfamiliar energy coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses, making him feel more awake, more alive.
With careful movements, so as not to wake his mother, he pried up the loose floorboard. The Cadurian ring still lay there, its dim glow pulsing faintly in the gloom of their hut, as if it bore a light of its own.
He picked it up and slipped it into the pocket of his worn-out shirt. Today, he needed to be more cautious. Mr. Surya would no doubt watch him more closely after yesterday's incident.
"You're up already, dear?" his mother's raspy voice broke the silence.
Arka turned, offering her a soft smile. "Yes, Ma. How are you feeling this morning?"
"The same," she replied, returning his smile with one of her own—frail, but brave. "But don't worry. I'll be just fine."
A lie. One they both understood would never become truth without the proper medicine. And medicine meant money—money they never had enough of.
"I promise I'll bring your medicine home today," Arka said, taking her cold, slender hand in his. He didn't explain how he planned to get the money.
After making sure she'd eaten the bland porridge and sipped some warm water, he kissed her forehead and left. His steps felt lighter today, driven by the strange new hope that came with yesterday's discovery.
On his way to the fields, he stopped by the small village market. His eyes scanned each passerby, sharp and calculating. Who would he choose for his first experiment?
"Hey, Arka!" a voice called from behind.
It was Jono, his childhood friend—broad-shouldered and always smiling—rushing over. He worked at the fish ponds owned by the village's wealthiest landowner. "I heard Mr. Surya scolded you yesterday. You alright?"
Arka gave a brief nod. They had grown up together in this village—both fatherless, both poor. But where Arka was wiry and quiet, Jono was muscular, outgoing, and charming enough to catch the attention of nearly every girl in Sukamaju.
"Just a pay cut," Arka said, feigning indifference. "Nothing new."
Jono clapped him on the shoulder. "If you need help paying for your mom's medicine, I can lend you some of my savings."
For a moment, Arka was tempted. But he shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll earn it today."
Jono frowned, puzzled by the certainty in Arka's voice. "How? Mr. Surya's not exactly known for generosity."
Arka gave him a cryptic smile. "I have my ways."
They walked together, Jono chatting about his job at the ponds while Arka half-listened, his thoughts drifting back to the ring in his pocket—to the power now at his fingertips.
As they reached the fork in the road, an idea struck Arka. He called out, "Jono, wait!"
The taller boy turned. "What's up?"
"Can you check my eye? It's been stinging since earlier. Maybe there's something in it." Arka stepped closer, positioning himself directly in front of Jono so their eyes met up close.
Jono squinted, examining him. "Don't see anything. Probably just dust. Feel better now?"
Arka nodded, hiding a smile. "Yeah. Thanks."
Their eyes had met. The experiment could begin.
"You're late!" Mr. Surya's voice bellowed as Arka arrived at the fields. Several other laborers had already begun plowing under the morning sun, their backs bent like broken branches.
"Sorry, Sir. My mother's ill," Arka replied, bowing his head in mock humility. But beneath the gesture, his eyes flickered with a complex storm of emotions—resentment, anticipation.
"Excuses, always!" Surya barked, slapping the back of Arka's head with his pudgy hand. "Grab a hoe and get to the north end. Slack off again and I'll dock your pay completely!"
Arka obeyed, picking up a rusted hoe from the tool shed and heading toward the northernmost plot—an area rarely visited, bordering the pine forest.
For hours, he worked the earth in mechanical rhythm, muscles straining while his mind wandered. He waited patiently—for the moment when the overseer would take his lunch and the others were too preoccupied to notice.
When the sun hung high, Arka slipped into the tall brush at the field's edge. Hands trembling with anticipation, he drew out the Cadurian ring and slid it onto his finger.
"With the eyes I've seen, grant me the form," he whispered, reciting the incantation from the ancient scroll.
The same sensations returned—a stabbing chill that sank into his bones, followed by a burning heat. But this time, he focused his mind on Jono's face, willing the transformation to begin.
He pulled a shard of mirror from his pocket, breath hitching as he watched his reflection. Slowly, his cheekbones shifted, his nose broadened, his jawline thickened. It felt like molten wax was molding his face under unseen fingers—painful, but bearable.
And then, the face in the mirror… was no longer his. Not entirely.
Hints of Jono were there—the arch of the brow, the shape of the nose—but the result was off. Like a surreal painting attempting a likeness but falling just short. It wasn't a perfect imitation.
"What went wrong?" Arka muttered, frustration rising. He repeated the spell, concentrating harder on every detail he could recall of Jono's face.
The changes happened again, but the result remained the same—a face that was part Jono, part himself.
His thoughts returned to a line in the scroll he'd skimmed too lightly before: "Eyes must meet with depth. The soul must see the soul, to cast a perfect shadow."
"Was I too shallow when I looked into his eyes?" he whispered. He replayed the moment in his mind—it had been brief, under the pretense of a dust particle. No real connection. No true gaze.
He bit his lip. He would need a deeper bond. A longer stare. He would try again—with a different target.
Quickly, he stowed the ring and crept back to the field. His half-Jono face had to be hidden. He pulled his straw hat low over his eyes and resumed work, heart racing with thoughts of his next chance.
The opportunity came near the end of the day. Mr. Surya was making his final inspection, barking criticisms and occasionally swatting a worker on the head.
When he reached Arka, he scowled. "You! Take off that hat when I speak to you!"
Slowly, Arka raised his head and removed the hat, locking eyes with his master—small, piggish eyes set in a round face that had always looked down on him.
For a second, Surya hesitated, a flicker of confusion in his expression. "What's wrong with your face? You look… different."
"Nothing, Sir," Arka said calmly, holding the gaze with a quiet intensity that made the older man visibly uncomfortable.
"Stop looking at me like that, you idiot!" Surya snapped, shoving Arka's shoulder. "Who do you think you are, staring at me like that?"
But Arka didn't flinch. He kept staring, absorbing every detail, diving deeper into those eyes.
"Sorry, Sir. I'm just listening closely," he replied.
Disconcerted, Surya broke the gaze. "Take your pay and go. Tomorrow, you start early. We're clearing the trees in the east lot."
"Yes, Sir," Arka said, a small, hidden smile playing on his lips.
The connection had been made—longer, deeper. The second experiment was ready.
Night had fallen when Arka reached the river that cut through the village. He didn't go straight home. After collecting his meager wages—again docked for some petty reason—he bought his mother's medicine and made sure she drank it before drifting into sleep.
Then, under the pretext of washing clothes, he slipped away.
The riverbank was quiet, bathed in the pale glow of a crescent moon. He found a secluded spot behind thick shrubs and scanned the darkness to ensure he was alone.
With trembling hands, he drew out the Cadurian ring and slipped it on once more. The chill spread instantly.
"With the eyes I've seen, grant me the form," he whispered, this time focusing with all his hatred and intent on Mr. Surya's face.
The transformation surged through him—stronger, more vivid. Bones shifted with a muted crunch, skin molded like clay. Arka bit down hard, drawing blood to keep from screaming.
When it was done. he raised a shard of mirror to his face, the moonlight catching on its jagged edge. His breath caught.
The reflection that stared back was not his own.
It was Mr. Surya—down to the tiniest, most damning detail. The ruddy, bloated cheeks that flushed with rage. The double chin. The bulbous nose, its pores yawning wide. The beady, merciless eyes he knew too well. Even the lines etched around his eyes and mouth had settled in with haunting precision.
"I did it," Arka whispered—but it wasn't his voice. It was Surya's low, grating growl, the voice he'd loathed for as long as he could remember.
He lifted his hand to his borrowed face, feeling the unfamiliar slickness of oily, coarse skin—so unlike his own, sun-scorched and dry. Even the fine moustache bristling over his upper lip felt unnervingly real beneath his fingers.
Heart pounding, Arka rose to his feet. His entire body had shifted, reshaped down to its smallest bone. He walked to the riverbank, gazing at the still water below.
There he stood—Mr. Surya in flawless form. It would've bordered on absurdity, if it weren't so terrifying.
But Arka didn't laugh.
His mind swirled with the possibilities this new form unveiled.
With this body, he could walk through Surya's front door. Command the guards. Give orders to the servants. He could unlock the vault said to house his master's hidden wealth.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured to the reflection, a cruel smile—Surya's own—curling across his face. "You'll pay for everything, Mr. Surya. Every insult. Every blow. Every drop of sweat you wrung from me."
He lifted his hand, studying the Cadurian ring that now seemed to shine brighter, pulsing with quiet triumph. The crimson gem at its center winked at him in the shadows, as if pleased with the result.
In the distance, a single bell tolled from the village, marking midnight. Time to return.
"Return me," he whispered, reciting the words from the scroll. A chill swept through him, and the bones cracked once more as they returned to their original place.
When he looked into the river again, it was his own face that stared back—gaunt, with a sharp jaw and eyes now burning with unshakable resolve.
He gripped the Cadurian ring tightly, feeling its silent thrum in rhythm with his heartbeat. For the first time in his life, Arka didn't feel powerless.
He held a weapon now—one that would shape his fate from this moment on.
With steady steps, he turned from the river and made his way back to the hut.
Tomorrow, the real game would begin.
And Mr. Surya would never see it coming.