Dawn had not yet fully broken when Arka was already prepared. He stared into the reflection of his weary face in a cracked, lopsided mirror hanging on the wall of his shack. The Cadurian ring felt cold in his palm, as if the artifact possessed its own consciousness and understood what was about to unfold.
"Arka? Are you up already?" His mother's voice called from behind the thin curtain separating their sleeping quarters.
"Yes, Ma. I'm heading into the city today—thought I'd try to find a better job."
He slipped the ring into his clenched fist. "I might be home late."
His mother appeared, her face still pale but more animated than it had been in days. "You're not going to the fields?"
"Not today."
The old woman looked at him, a faint furrow creasing her brow. "You've changed lately, son. Is there something you're not telling me?"
Arka smiled, masking the storm inside his chest. "Just searching for new opportunities, Ma. Don't worry."
"I always worry. The older I get, the more thoughts fill my mind." She sighed. "Never trade your kind heart for anything, Arka. You can always earn wealth, but a good name, once lost, is hard to reclaim."
Her words pierced deeper than Arka had anticipated. Yet the memories—years of humiliation and hardship under Mr. Surya—hardened him once more. He kissed his mother's forehead gently, already feeling the warmth he was about to betray.
"Pray for me, Ma."
Before she could ask anything further, Arka stepped out. The morning air was still cloaked in mist. He walked briskly, heading past the village and into a small forest that separated the settlement from the road to the city.
In the shadow of the trees, Arka paused. He retrieved a change of clothes he had hidden—crisp white shirt, neatly pressed black trousers, and leather shoes he had stolen the night before from Mr. Surya's house. After changing, he slicked back his hair, mimicking the landlord's grooming.
"With these eyes, grant me his form," he whispered, eyes fixed on the Cadurian ring, summoning every detail of Surya's figure into his mind.
A now-familiar sensation rippled through his body—bones shifted, skin stretched, flesh reshaped. His frame expanded, cheeks puffed, and jaw widened. In seconds, Arka was gone. In his place stood a perfect replica of Mr. Surya.
He looked down at his plump, commanding hands, now larger and more powerful. The Cadurian ring adjusted with them, still perfectly snug on his finger. The artifact's power defied belief.
"Let the performance begin," he muttered, now in Surya's deep, haughty voice.
With the measured gait of authority he had rehearsed, Arka stepped onto the main road. Within minutes, a public carriage approached. He raised his hand in an imperious wave, and the vehicle stopped immediately.
"To the city. Now," he commanded.
The driver's eyes widened in shock at the sight of such a wealthy landowner boarding public transport.
"Y-yes, Sir," the driver stammered. "It's an honor, truly."
During the ride, Arka practiced Surya's voice, gestures, and gaze. Every detail had to be perfect. He repeated the facts he had gathered—bank name, account number, birth date, and other personal data stolen from Surya's files.
At this hour, the City of Light looked different. Still quiet, shops just beginning to lift their blinds. In the city's heart stood the grand building of Central Bank of Nusantara, all carved wood and towering columns.
Arka stepped out and handed the driver a generous sum—enough to make the man bow over and over in gratitude.
He checked his appearance once more. He couldn't just look like Mr. Surya—he had to be him: arrogant, impatient, and brimming with power.
At precisely nine o'clock, the bank doors opened. Arka walked in with his chin raised. Other customers stepped aside, recognizing the powerful figure they'd seen before.
"Good morning, Mr. Surya," a bank officer greeted him reverently. "How may I assist you today?"
"I need to speak with the Director," Arka said coldly. "Now."
"Certainly, Sir. Please, have a seat. I'll inform him right away."
Arka sat in the lavish waiting area, observing the elegant interior—teak-paneled walls, ornate chairs, expensive paintings. No wonder Surya felt at home here—where money and power were worshipped alike.
"Mr. Surya, what a surprise," came a deep voice. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit approached, extending a hand. "You're not usually here this early."
Arka stood and shook his hand firmly. "Urgent business, Director. I need to make a large withdrawal."
The man blinked but recovered quickly, his professional smile unwavering. "Of course. Let's discuss it in my office."
They moved to a private room upstairs, even more opulent than the lobby. A large window looked out over the city, the mahogany desk gleamed, and shelves of imported liquor lined the walls.
"Please, have a seat, Mr. Surya. Tea? Coffee?"
"No need," Arka replied curtly. "I don't have much time."
The director nodded and sat across from him. "So, how much would you like to withdraw?"
Arka produced a passbook stolen from Surya's safe. "All of it."
"All of it?" The man's eyes widened. "But Sir, that's… quite substantial. Are you absolutely certain?"
"Do I need to repeat myself?" Arka's voice rose, channeling the fury he'd witnessed countless times in the fields. "I want the money. In cash."
"O-of course, Sir. It's just that… for such a sum, protocol usually requires advance notice."
Arka leaned in, his gaze darkening. "Shall I call the Governor? Or has he forgotten the little favor I did for him last year?"
The thinly veiled reference to the corruption scandal Arka had uncovered in Surya's files hit home. The director's face turned pale. He stood hastily.
"No need for that, Sir. I'll have it arranged immediately."
Arka exhaled slowly as the director left. The hardest part was yet to come—he had to maintain the façade until the money was in his hands and he could disappear.
Ten tense minutes passed. Then the director returned with two staff members wheeling in leather cases.
"This is the full amount, Sir. We've counted it twice to ensure accuracy." He placed several documents on the table. "Please sign here as confirmation."
Arka picked up the pen. His hand trembled slightly, but he forced the signature to flow. Thankfully, the director was too nervous to examine it closely.
"Thank you for your assistance," Arka said, lifting the heavy case. "I trust this remains strictly confidential."
"Of course, Mr. Surya. We deeply respect our clients' privacy."
Arka strode out with steady steps, fighting the urge to rush. His heart pounded. This had gone almost too smoothly. Suspiciously so. But as he reached the steps outside the bank, a voice froze him in place.
"Surya? What are you doing here?"
He turned—slowly. The voice was unmistakable. There, a few paces away, stood the elegant figure of Madam Surya, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Didn't you say you were managing the eastern fields today?" she asked, stepping closer. "And what's that you're carrying?"
Arka's mind raced. Gossip in the village had said Madam Surya was visiting relatives in another city. Clearly, the rumor was wrong—and now he had to improvise.
"Change of plans," he said coolly. "Urgent financial matters."
She studied him, frowning. "You look… different. Are you unwell?"
"Just tired. Didn't sleep last night, too much on my mind." Arka tried to redirect. "Why are you in the city? Weren't you supposed to be with your sister?"
"I came back early. Wasn't feeling well," she explained, still eyeing him closely. "Just stopped by my favorite fabric shop after the doctor."
She took another step forward, peering into his face. "Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes look… strange."
His pulse quickened. He stepped back instinctively, widening the space between them.
"I need to go. I have an important meeting with Big boss."
"Big boss? But isn't he abroad?" Her confusion deepened. "Surya, what's going on—?"
"I'll explain later," Arka cut her off, already turning away.
Without waiting for a response, Arka turned and walked briskly away from the bank. He could feel madam Surya's suspicious gaze boring into his back, but he didn't dare look over his shoulder. His pace quickened into a near-run as he rounded the corner.
He didn't head straight for the city's outskirts. First, he needed to change his appearance—news of the large withdrawal would soon spread. Clutching the suitcase, he slipped into a narrow alleyway, careful to ensure no one was following.
Behind a stack of wooden crates, Arka crouched and opened the suitcase for the first time. His eyes widened. Inside was more money than he had ever seen in his life. A decade of laboring on Mr. Surya's fields wouldn't have earned even a fraction of this.
He took a small bundle and tucked it into an inner pocket he had sewn into the lining of his shirt. The rest he sealed back in the case. Holding his breath, Arka whispered, "Return me."
A chill spread across his face. His bones shifted beneath his skin, and in seconds, his body reverted to its original form—lean, sharp-featured, with unkempt black hair. He shed Mr. Surya's shirt and trousers, replacing them with the worn clothes he had hidden in a small bag. The stolen clothes were folded neatly and packed away in the suitcase along with the money.
Arka peeked out from the alley. The streets were beginning to fill with vendors and morning shoppers. Now dressed like any other village youth, he strolled casually, the suitcase an awkward contrast to his appearance. A few passersby gave him puzzled looks, but no one stopped to question him.
On the city's edge, he found a quiet tea stall. He ordered a cup and settled into the darkest corner, thoughts churning. He couldn't return to the village just yet—not with a suitcase full of stolen cash. It would be too suspicious. But staying in the city too long was equally dangerous. Sooner or later, Mr. Surya would realize the money was gone.
As he sipped the lukewarm tea, Arka unfolded a small map he had found among Mr. Surya's documents. It marked a remote plot of land in the mountains, about an hour's journey from the city. According to the papers, it was a secret investment—a bolt-hole in case of disaster.
"Perfect," Arka murmured. He would go there, stash most of the money, then return to the village as though nothing had happened. When the time was right, he would slowly transform his life, drawing no suspicion.
But it wouldn't be easy. The Cadurian ring had granted him a new form, but Arka knew impersonating someone required more than just their appearance. He needed to study their mannerisms, gestures, speech patterns, even their personal knowledge. His encounter with Madam Surya had nearly unraveled everything.
"I need to be more precise," he whispered to himself. "More careful. Flawless."
He finished his tea, paid in coins, and stepped back into the street with a light gait. At the far end of the road, a crowd had gathered. From the buzz of conversation, he caught wind of a report: a wealthy man had claimed his identity was stolen—a fraudster had posed as him and withdrawn all his savings.
"There! That's him!" Madam Surya's voice rang out from the distance. She pointed toward the bank, speaking to a group of uniformed officers. "He went that way!"
Without looking back, Arka turned casually in the opposite direction. The city had many exits, and he had studied the map carefully the night before. He would take an unused path, one rarely traveled, making sure no one could trail him.
At the marketplace, he paused at a stall and bought a wide straw hat and a plain cloak to further obscure his appearance. Disguised anew, he made his way toward the southern gate, his plan crystallizing with each step.
By dusk, Arka reached the edge of the forest that lay beyond the city's southern border. Beneath the thick canopy of trees, he paused, drawing a deep breath. For the first time that day, he allowed himself a wide grin—a grin of triumph.
"This is just the beginning, Mr. Surya," he whispered to the wind. "The real game has only just begun."
Arka glanced down at the Cadurian ring on his finger. It shimmered in the fading light, as if celebrating their victory. And yet, beneath its glow, he sensed a faint unease—as though the ring had a will of its own. As though he was not the only one profiting from their silent pact.
He pushed the feeling aside and continued walking. The sky darkened, and a full moon rose over the eastern hills.
Far in the distance, torches flickered along the main road. The search had begun. But Arka was already too far, too transformed, to be found—at least not in the form they were looking for. By morning, he would return with a new face, a new voice, a new identity.
With the Cadurian ring on his hand, he could become anyone.
And that was a power beyond price.