EPISODE 4: JENDELA STATUS PERTAMA

EPISODE 4: JENDELA STATUS PERTAMA

Di luar, lolongan serigala masih terdengar. Tapi di dalam gubuk bambu Mbah Ranga, suara yang paling keras justru adalah detak jantung Arka sendiri.

Ia duduk bersila di lantai tanah, menghadap Mbah Ranga yang duduk tenang di depannya. Lampu minyak kecil menjadi satu-satunya penerang, membuat bayangan mereka menari-nari di dinding anyaman bambu. Di luar, sesekali terdengar suara langkah—bayangan berjubah hitam itu masih di sana, berputar-putar seperti serigala yang menunggu mangsa lemah.

Tapi Arka tidak memikirkan itu sekarang. Pikirannya hanya pada satu hal: kata-kata Mbah Ranga tadi.

“Waktunya kau tahu kebenaran tentang darahmu.”

“Darah Karang,” bisik Arka. “Apa itu, Mbah?”

Mbah Ranga menghela napas panjang. Napas seorang tua yang sudah terlalu banyak melihat hidup dan mati. Ia meraih kendi tanah di sampingnya, menuang air ke mangkuk, lalu mendorongnya ke arah Arka.

“Minum dulu, Nak. Tenangkan dirimu. Cerita ini panjang.”

Arka meminumnya, meski tangannya masih gemetar. Air dingin mengalir di tenggorokan, sedikit menenangkan debar di dada.

“Dusun Karang,” Mbah Ranga memulai, “tidak selalu seperti sekarang. Dulu, sebelum kau lahir, sebelum Bajak ada, dusun ini adalah tempat persinggahan para pejuang. Mereka datang dari berbagai penjuru, membawa cerita, membawa luka, dan kadang—membawa rahasia.”

Matanya menerawang, seperti melihat masa lalu yang hanya ia sendiri bisa saksikan.

“Salah satu rahasia itu adalah tentang sebuah klan. Klan Karang. Mereka bukan orang biasa. Mereka punya kemampuan… istimewa. Kemampuan untuk menciptakan, membangun, dan kadang—menghancurkan. Dan darah mereka, Nak, darah itu tidak pernah benar-benar mati. Ia mengalir turun-temurun, menunggu saat yang tepat untuk bangkit kembali.”

Arka menelan ludah. “Jadi… aku…?”

“Kau adalah keturunan terakhir Klan Karang, setahu kakek,” ujar Mbah Ranga pelan. “Itu sebabnya kau bisa merasakan panggilan ‘sumber’ itu. Itu sebabnya daun-daun bergerak saat kau marah. Itu sebabnya Bajak mencarimu.”

“Tapi kenapa Bajak mencariku? Apa mereka juga…?”

“Bajak adalah bayangan,” potong Mbah Ranga. “Mereka juga tahu tentang Klan Karang. Tapi tidak untuk melindungi. Mereka ingin menggunakan darah itu. Menguasainya. Dan jika mereka berhasil…”

Ia tidak menyelesaikan kalimatnya. Tidak perlu. Arka sudah bisa membayangkan.

Di luar, langkah kaki bayangan itu terdengar lagi. Lebih dekat. Arka menoleh ke jendela, tapi hanya melihat kegelapan.

“Mbah, di luar ada…”

“Aku tahu,” potong Mbah Ranga tenang. “Mereka mengawasi. Tapi selama kau di sini, mereka tidak akan berani masuk. Belum.”

“Tapi kenapa? Apa yang mereka takutkan?”

Mbah Ranga tersenyum—senyum misterius yang biasa ia tunjukkan saat akan mengajarkan sesuatu yang penting.

“Mereka takut pada apa yang belum mereka pahami. Dan kau, Nak, adalah misteri terbesar bagi mereka. Tapi kalau kau ingin memahami dirimu sendiri, kau harus melihat ke dalam. Bukan ke luar.”

Ia menepuk lantai di depan Arka.

“Duduklah dengan benar. Pejamkan mata. Lupakan massa di rumahmu, lupakan Karta, lupakan bayangan di luar. Rasakan apa yang selama ini kau rasakan dalam mimpi. Panggilan itu. Biarkan ia datang.”

Arka ragu, tapi ia menuruti. Ia duduk tegak, memejamkan mata, mencoba mengatur napas. Awalnya sulit—pikirannya masih ke Raka, ke Wulan, ke massa yang mengepung rumah mereka. Tapi perlahan, dengan bimbingan suara Mbah Ranga yang dalam dan tenang, ia mulai merasa… sesuatu.

Seperti aliran hangat di dada. Seperti benang tipis yang menarik dari pusat tubuhnya ke arah ubun-ubun. Seperti ada sesuatu yang selama ini tidur, mulai membuka mata.

Dan tiba-tiba—

SEBUAH JENDELA BIRU TRANS PARAN MUNCUL DI DEPAN MATA ARKA.

Ia tersentak, hampir jatuh ke belakang. Matanya membelalak. Di udara, tepat di depan wajahnya, melayang sebuah panel transparan dengan tulisan-tulisan yang bersinar samar dalam warna biru pucat. Aksara kuno—sama seperti yang ia pelajari selama dua tahun terakhir—tersusun rapi dalam barisan yang bisa ia baca dengan mudah.

“Mbah… Mbah, ini… apa ini?!”

Mbah Ranga membuka mata. Begitu melihat jendela itu, raut wajahnya berubah. Bukan kaget—tapi takjub. Seperti seorang arkeolog yang menemukan artefak legendaris.

“Jendela Status,” bisiknya. “Aku hanya pernah membaca tentang ini dalam naskah kuno. Tidak pernah menyangka bisa melihatnya dengan mata kepalaku sendiri.”

Arka menatap panel itu dengan campuran takut dan penasaran. Ia membaca tulisan-tulisan yang muncul:

------------------------------------
NAMA: ARKA
USIA: 7 TAHUN
TIER MANA: F (PEMULA)
MANA POOL: 50/50
SKILL TREE:
- PRODUCTION MAGIC [TERKUNCI]
- MARIONETTE [TERKUNCI]
- STATUS CHECK [TERKUNCI]
------------------------------------

“Mana pool?” Arka membaca keras-keras. “Skill tree? Apa artinya semua ini, Mbah?”

Mbah Ranga mendekat, matanya berbinar. “Itu adalah sistem, Nak. Sistem yang menjelaskan kekuatanmu. Mana adalah energi—seperti yang selama ini kau rasakan. Pool adalah jumlah maksimal yang bisa kau simpan. Dan skill tree… itu adalah cabang-cabang kemampuan yang bisa kau kuasai.”

“Tapi kenapa terkunci?”

“Karena kau belum membukanya. Jendela Status menunjukkan potensi, bukan kemampuan yang sudah dikuasai. Kau harus belajar, berlatih, dan terkadang—menghadapi bahaya—untuk membuka kunci itu.”

Arka menatap panel itu lagi. Ia merasa seperti baru pertama kali melihat cermin—tapi bukan wajahnya yang terpantul, melainkan jiwanya.

“Aku bisa melihat diriku sendiri,” bisiknya. “Benar-benar melihat.”

“Coba,” ujar Mbah Ranga dengan hati-hati, “fokus padaku. Lihat apakah kau bisa membuka jendela untuk orang lain.”

Arka mengangguk. Ia memejam, mencoba mengarahkan fokusnya ke Mbah Ranga. Sensasi hangat itu kembali, menjalar dari dada ke mata. Saat membuka mata—

JENDELA STATUS LAIN MUNCUL.

Tapi kali ini isinya berbeda.

------------------------------------
NAMA: RANGGawARSITA
USIA: 83 TAHUN
TIER MANA: - (NON-PENGGUNA)
MANA POOL: -
STATUS: SAKIT, LEMAH
SISA USIA: 3 TAHUN
------------------------------------

Udara di gubuk itu berhenti bergerak.

Arka membaca baris terakhir sekali lagi. Lalu sekali lagi. Matanya mulai berkaca-kaca.

“Mbah… ini… apa ini?”

Suaranya bergetar. Ia menunjuk ke baris yang bertuliskan “SISA USIA: 3 TAHUN” dengan jari gemetar.

Mbah Ranga membacanya. Untuk beberapa saat, ia diam. Lalu ia tersenyum—bukan senyum palsu, tapi senyum pasrah yang hanya bisa dilakukan oleh seseorang yang sudah terlalu lama hidup.

“Jadi… tinggal tiga tahun,” gumamnya pelan.

Arka tidak bisa menahan diri lagi. Air matanya jatuh. Satu, lalu dua, lalu membasahi pipi tanpa bisa dihentikan.

“Tidak, Mbah… jangan… aku tidak mau kehilangan Mbah…”

Mbah Ranga merangkak mendekat—sangat jarang ia bergerak secepat ini—lalu meraih tangan Arka. Tangannya keriput, dingin, tapi genggamannya kuat.

“Dengar, Nak,” bisiknya dengan suara serak tapi tegas. “Setiap manusia akan mati. Itu hukum alam. Kakek sudah hidup lebih dari delapan puluh tahun—lebih lama dari yang seharusnya. Tapi kau… kau baru mulai.”

“Tapi Mbah… aku tidak siap…”

“Tiga tahun,” potong Mbah Ranga. “Cukup waktu untuk mengajarimu semua yang kakek tahu. Cukup waktu untuk mempersiapkanmu menghadapi apa pun yang akan datang. Jangan menangis, Nak. Tersenyumlah. Karena sekarang kau tahu. Kau tahu apa yang harus kau kejar, dan berapa banyak waktu yang tersisa.”

Arka berusaha menahan tangis, tapi tubuh kecilnya berguncang. Ia memeluk Mbah Ranga, merasakan tubuh tua itu hangat meski kulitnya dingin.

“Aku janji, Mbah. Aku akan belajar secepat mungkin. Aku akan buka semua skill itu. Aku akan buat Mbah bangga.”

Mbah Ranga mengelus rambutnya. “Kakek sudah bangga, Nak. Sejak pertama kali kau datang ke gubuk ini dengan mata penasaran itu.”

Di luar, lolongan serigala terdengar lagi. Tapi kali ini berbeda—ada suara lain di sela lolongan itu. Suara manusia. Banyak manusia. Berteriak.

“Cari ke gubuk Mbah Ranga! Anak itu pasti di sana!”

Suara Karta. Jelas. Menggelegar di malam yang dingin.

Arka menegang. “Mbah… mereka datang.”

Mbah Ranga menghela napas. “Aku tahu. Tapi jangan takut. Kau di sini bersama kakek.”

Ia meraih tongkatnya, berdiri dengan susah payah, lalu berjalan ke pintu. Arka melihat punggungnya yang bungkuk—tapi ada sesuatu di cara berdirinya. Seperti prajurit tua yang siap bertempur sekali lagi.

Suara Karta semakin dekat. Obor-obor mulai menerangi kegelapan di luar gubuk. Bayangan-bayangan bergerak di balik dinding bambu.

“Mbah Ranga! Buka pintu! Kami tahu anak itu ada di sana!”

Mbah Ranga menatap Arka sekali lagi. Matanya lembut, tapi tegas.

“Apa pun yang terjadi, Nak, jangan tunjukkan Jendela Status itu pada siapa pun. Hanya kau yang bisa melihatnya. Itu adalah rahasia terbesarmu sekarang.”

Arka mengangguk, menghapus air matanya.

Mbah Ranga membuka pintu.

Di luar, puluhan obor menyala. Karta berdiri di depan, dikelilingi warga yang wajahnya campuran antara takut dan marah. Di belakang mereka, di kejauhan, bayangan hitam berjubah masih berdiri di bawah pohon—mengawasi.

“Selamat malam, Karta,” ujar Mbah Ranga tenang. “Ada perlu apa kau bawa massa ke gubuk orang tua?”

Karta menyeringai. “Jangan main-main, Mbah. Serahkan anak itu. Atau kami akan masuk paksa.”

Mbah Ranga tidak bergerak. Tubuh tuanya tetap berdiri di ambang pintu, menjadi satu-satunya penghalang antara massa dan Arka.

“Kau tahu,” katanya pelan, “dulu, saat aku masih muda, aku melihat orang sepertimu. Mereka datang dengan obor, berteriak, menuntut. Dan tahu apa yang terjadi pada mereka?”

Karta mundur setengah langkah, tidak siap dengan ketenangan Mbah Ranga.

“Mereka mati,” lanjut Mbah Ranga. “Bukan karena kutukan, bukan karena mantra. Tapi karena sejarah selalu mencatat: mereka yang mengejar ketakutan, pada akhirnya akan dimakan ketakutan itu sendiri.”

“Cukup omong kosong!” Karta melangkah maju. “Kami tidak takut pada cerita-cerita tua!”

Tapi sebelum ia bisa menyentuh Mbah Ranga, dari kejauhan terdengar suara lain.

“BERHENTI!”

Semua menoleh. Raka berdiri di belakang massa, parang di tangan, Wulan di sampingnya dengan wajah pucat tapi mata membara. Mereka berhasil menerobos kepungan di rumah dan berlari mengikuti jejak Arka.

“Raka,” Karta mendesis. “Kau datang tepat waktu. Sekarang kami bisa selesaikan ini sekaligus.”

Raka tidak menjawab. Matanya mencari Arka, dan ketika melihat anak itu berdiri di belakang Mbah Ranga, lega terpancar di wajahnya.

“Arka,” panggilnya lembut. “Ke sini, Nak.”

Arka ingin berlari, tapi Mbah Ranga menahan dengan tangannya.

“Sebentar,” bisiknya. “Lihat.”

Arka mengikuti arah pandang Mbah Ranga. Di kejauhan, di bawah pohon besar, bayangan hitam itu mulai bergerak. Perlahan, tanpa suara, ia melangkah maju ke arah kerumunan.

Dan untuk pertama kalinya, Arka melihat wajahnya di bawah cahaya obor.

Wira. Utusan Bajak.

Tersenyum.

Seperti serigala yang melihat domba masuk perangkap.

Bersambung…

Karakter yang muncul: Arka, Mbah Ranggawarsita, Karta, massa warga, Raka, Wulan, Wira (utusan Bajak).

EPISODE 4: THE FIRST STATUS WINDOW

Outside, wolf howls still echoed. But inside Mbah Ranga's bamboo hut, the loudest sound was Arka's own heartbeat.

He sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, facing Mbah Ranga who sat calmly before him. A small oil lamp provided the only light, making their shadows dance on the woven bamboo walls. Outside, footsteps could be heard occasionally—that black-robed shadow was still there, circling like a wolf waiting for weak prey.

But Arka wasn't thinking about that now. His mind was fixed on one thing: Mbah Ranga's earlier words.

"It's time you knew the truth about your blood."

"Karang blood," Arka whispered. "What is it, Grandfather?"

Mbah Ranga sighed deeply. The sigh of an old man who had seen too much of life and death. He reached for the clay pitcher beside him, poured water into a bowl, then pushed it toward Arka.

"Drink first, child. Calm yourself. This story is long."

Arka drank, though his hands still trembled. Cold water flowed down his throat, slightly calming the pounding in his chest.

"Dusun Karang," Mbah Ranga began, "wasn't always like this. Before you were born, before Bajak existed, this village was a resting place for warriors. They came from various directions, bringing stories, bringing wounds, and sometimes—bringing secrets."

His eyes wandered, as if seeing a past only he could witness.

"One of those secrets was about a clan. The Karang Clan. They weren't ordinary people. They had… special abilities. The ability to create, to build, and sometimes—to destroy. And their blood, child, that blood never truly dies. It flows through generations, waiting for the right moment to rise again."

Arka swallowed. "So… I…?"

"You are the last descendant of the Karang Clan, as far as I know," Mbah Ranga said softly. "That's why you can feel the call of that 'source.' That's why leaves move when you're angry. That's why Bajak is looking for you."

"But why is Bajak looking for me? Are they also…?"

"Bajak is a shadow," Mbah Ranga interrupted. "They also know about the Karang Clan. But not to protect. They want to use that blood. To control it. And if they succeed…"

He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to. Arka could already imagine.

Outside, the shadow's footsteps were heard again. Closer. Arka turned to the window, but saw only darkness.

"Grandfather, outside there's…"

"I know," Mbah Ranga interrupted calmly. "They're watching. But as long as you're here, they won't dare enter. Not yet."

"But why? What are they afraid of?"

Mbah Ranga smiled—that mysterious smile he always showed when about to teach something important.

"They're afraid of what they don't yet understand. And you, child, are their greatest mystery. But if you want to understand yourself, you must look inside. Not outside."

He patted the floor in front of Arka.

"Sit properly. Close your eyes. Forget the mob at your house, forget Karta, forget the shadows outside. Feel what you've been feeling in your dreams. That call. Let it come."

Arka hesitated, but obeyed. He sat straight, closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breath. At first it was difficult—his mind was still on Raka, on Wulan, on the mob besieging their house. But slowly, guided by Mbah Ranga's deep and calm voice, he began to feel… something.

Like a warm flow in his chest. Like thin threads pulling from his body's center toward his crown. Like something that had been sleeping, beginning to open its eyes.

And suddenly—

A TRANSPARENT BLUE WINDOW APPEARED BEFORE ARKA'S EYES.

He gasped, almost falling backward. His eyes widened. In the air, right before his face, floated a transparent panel with faintly glowing blue scripts. Ancient scripts—the same ones he'd been learning for two years—arranged neatly in lines he could read easily.

"Grandfather… Grandfather, this… what is this?!"

Mbah Ranga opened his eyes. Seeing the window, his expression changed. Not surprised—but amazed. Like an archaeologist discovering a legendary artifact.

"A Status Window," he whispered. "I've only read about these in ancient manuscripts. Never thought I'd see one with my own eyes."

Arka stared at the panel with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He read the text that appeared:

------------------------------------
NAME: ARKA
AGE: 7 YEARS
MANA TIER: F (BEGINNER)
MANA POOL: 50/50
SKILL TREE:
- PRODUCTION MAGIC [LOCKED]
- MARIONETTE [LOCKED]
- STATUS CHECK [LOCKED]
------------------------------------

"Mana pool?" Arka read aloud. "Skill tree? What does all this mean, Grandfather?"

Mbah Ranga drew closer, his eyes gleaming. "It's a system, child. A system that explains your power. Mana is energy—like what you've been feeling. Pool is the maximum amount you can store. And skill tree… those are branches of abilities you can master."

"But why are they locked?"

"Because you haven't unlocked them yet. The Status Window shows potential, not already mastered abilities. You must learn, practice, and sometimes—face danger—to unlock them."

Arka stared at the panel again. He felt like seeing a mirror for the first time—but it wasn't his face reflected, it was his soul.

"I can see myself," he whispered. "Truly see."

"Try," Mbah Ranga said carefully, "focus on me. See if you can open a window for someone else."

Arka nodded. He closed his eyes, trying to direct his focus toward Mbah Ranga. That warm sensation returned, spreading from his chest to his eyes. When he opened them—

ANOTHER STATUS WINDOW APPEARED.

But this one's content was different.

------------------------------------
NAME: RANGGawARSITA
AGE: 83 YEARS
MANA TIER: - (NON-USER)
MANA POOL: -
STATUS: SICK, WEAK
REMAINING LIFESPAN: 3 YEARS
------------------------------------

The air in the hut stopped moving.

Arka read that last line once more. Then again. His eyes began to well up.

"Grandfather… this… what is this?"

His voice trembled. He pointed to the line that read "REMAINING LIFESPAN: 3 YEARS" with a shaking finger.

Mbah Ranga read it. For a moment, he was silent. Then he smiled—not a fake smile, but the resigned smile of someone who had lived too long.

"So… only three years left," he murmured softly.

Arka couldn't hold back anymore. Tears fell. One, then two, then soaking his cheeks uncontrollably.

"No, Grandfather… don't… I don't want to lose you…"

Mbah Ranga crawled closer—rarely did he move this quickly—then grasped Arka's hand. His hands were wrinkled, cold, but his grip was strong.

"Listen, child," he whispered, his voice hoarse but firm. "Every human dies. That's the law of nature. I've lived over eighty years—longer than I should have. But you… you're just beginning."

"But Grandfather… I'm not ready…"

"Three years," Mbah Ranga interrupted. "Enough time to teach you everything I know. Enough time to prepare you for whatever comes. Don't cry, child. Smile. Because now you know. You know what you must pursue, and how much time remains."

Arka tried to hold back his tears, but his small body shook. He hugged Mbah Ranga, feeling that old body warm despite its cold skin.

"I promise, Grandfather. I'll learn as fast as I can. I'll unlock all those skills. I'll make you proud."

Mbah Ranga stroked his hair. "I'm already proud, child. Since the first time you came to this hut with those curious eyes."

Outside, wolf howls were heard again. But this time different—there were other sounds amid the howls. Human sounds. Many humans. Shouting.

"Search Mbah Ranga's hut! That child must be there!"

Karta's voice. Clear. Booming in the cold night.

Arka tensed. "Grandfather… they're coming."

Mbah Ranga sighed. "I know. But don't be afraid. You're here with me."

He reached for his staff, stood with difficulty, then walked to the door. Arka saw his hunched back—but there was something in his stance. Like an old warrior ready to fight one more time.

Karta's voice grew closer. Torches began illuminating the darkness outside the hut. Shadows moved beyond the bamboo walls.

"Mbah Ranga! Open the door! We know that child is in there!"

Mbah Ranga looked at Arka one last time. His eyes were gentle, but firm.

"Whatever happens, child, don't show that Status Window to anyone. Only you can see it. That's your greatest secret now."

Arka nodded, wiping his tears.

Mbah Ranga opened the door.

Outside, dozens of torches blazed. Karta stood in front, surrounded by villagers whose faces showed a mix of fear and anger. Behind them, in the distance, a black-robed shadow still stood under a tree—watching.

"Good evening, Karta," Mbah Ranga said calmly. "What business do you have bringing a mob to an old man's hut?"

Karta grinned. "Don't play games, Old Man. Surrender that child. Or we'll force our way in."

Mbah Ranga didn't move. His aged body remained at the threshold, the only barrier between the mob and Arka.

"You know," he said softly, "long ago, when I was young, I saw people like you. They came with torches, shouting, demanding. And you know what happened to them?"

Karta stepped back half a pace, unprepared for Mbah Ranga's calmness.

"They died," Mbah Ranga continued. "Not from curses, not from spells. But because history always records: those who chase fear, will eventually be consumed by that very fear."

"Enough nonsense!" Karta stepped forward. "We're not afraid of old stories!"

But before he could touch Mbah Ranga, another voice sounded from the distance.

"STOP!"

Everyone turned. Raka stood behind the mob, machete in hand, Wulan beside him with a pale face but blazing eyes. They had broken through the siege at their house and followed Arka's trail.

"Raka," Karta hissed. "You came just in time. Now we can settle this all at once."

Raka didn't answer. His eyes searched for Arka, and when he saw the child standing behind Mbah Ranga, relief flooded his face.

"Arka," he called softly. "Come here, Son."

Arka wanted to run, but Mbah Ranga held him back with his hand.

"Wait," he whispered. "Look."

Arka followed Mbah Ranga's gaze. In the distance, under a large tree, that dark shadow began to move. Slowly, silently, it stepped toward the crowd.

And for the first time, Arka saw its face in the torchlight.

Wira. Bajak's envoy.

Smiling.

Like a wolf watching sheep walk into a trap.

To be continued…

Characters featured: Arka, Mbah Ranggawarsita, Karta, village mob, Raka, Wulan, Wira (Bajak's envoy).

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