CHAPTER 6 – The Encounter That Changed Everything | Part C (Final Chapter 6)

“You don’t understand,” Raphael hissed. “I don’t need saving. I want to be seen. I want them to finally see me. You took that from me.”

The Tome began to glow faintly. Words shimmered across its pages, forming a memory: a young boy sitting alone in an empty room, staring at a door that never opened.

“Raphael’s parents... council members. Too busy to notice their own son,” the Tome revealed in quiet light.

Kaivan’s breath hitched. The wound in his side ached, but his heart ached more. “So you’ll destroy everything—just to make them look at you?”

Raphael clenched his fists, his eyes burning. “They never had time for me. I tried everything, but they never looked. If I make the world remember me... if I die for it... maybe they’ll regret it.”

Silence followed—heavy, painful. Raphael’s voice trembled, cracking under the weight of his own words. Kaivan, though weak, slowly reached behind him, gripping the hidden karambit. With a deep, ragged breath, he pulled out the knife still embedded in his back. Blood dripped to the floor, but what he wanted to free wasn’t just himself—it was Raphael’s heart, chained by grief.

Raphael stood still, eyes flickering. In that fragile moment, Kaivan gave a faint, weary smile. “If they finally stop being busy, but you’re already gone... who will you make proud then? All this talk about revenge—it’s just a lonely kid crying for attention.”

The words hit like a blade. Raphael froze. His jaw tightened, chest rising and falling as if he were holding back a storm. Kaivan gripped the knife lodged in his side, yanked it free, and hurled it against the wall. The metallic clang split the air.

“Sometimes, I feel the same,” Kaivan said softly, his voice cutting through the tension. “No one reaches out, no one calls your name. But truth stays the same, even when the world refuses to see it. That’s why I keep walking.”

Raphael trembled. His hand darted to his belt, pulling out a smoke grenade. He threw it to the ground. A burst of thick smoke spread, cloaking the room in a gray haze.

“You have friends. People who care,” Raphael muttered, his voice cracking. “You’ll never understand.”

Kaivan reacted on instinct. Despite the wound, he leapt aside as the smoke flooded the hall, turning it into a maze of shadow and silence. His breath grew heavy. Somewhere in the fog, Raphael’s voice drifted out—low, broken.

“Sometimes doing good only makes you invisible. Like you were never there.”

The words struck deep, stirring old memories Kaivan didn’t want to revisit. But there was no time to hesitate. He moved slowly, eyes narrowed, searching for Raphael’s silhouette in the fog.

A flash of steel. Raphael lunged. The knife sliced through the air—Kaivan twisted, barely dodging, but the blade still grazed his arm. Blood spilled, warm and fast.

“Ugh!” He staggered, breath ragged, but his gaze stayed locked on Raphael—pained, yet unwavering.

Raphael closed in, fury burning in his eyes. “You talk like you know everything, Kaivan! But you’ve never felt what it’s like to be forgotten!”

Kaivan gritted his teeth, his fingers trembling around the karambit. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I don’t know your loneliness. But burning the world won’t heal your scars.”

The smoke thickened, swallowing them both. Raphael’s voice echoed again, cold and hollow. “When everything you do means nothing... when your trust is betrayed... that’s what destruction feels like. You always had light, Kaivan. You never knew my darkness!”

Kaivan stood still, sweat and blood mixing on his skin. He waited, heart pounding. He understood despair—but he had chosen to stand. Because even in a shattered world, there was still something worth saving.

Through the haze, his voice reached out. “Raphael,” he said hoarsely but firm. “I know what it means to be abandoned, broken from the inside. But destroying everything—including yourself—won’t make it stop hurting.”

In a blink, Raphael charged out of the smoke, knife aimed straight for Kaivan’s chest. Kaivan barely blocked, but the blade pierced his arm, crimson splattering across the floor. He gasped, but refused to fall.

“Is this the life you’re fighting for, Kaivan?!” Raphael roared, his eyes burning. “My life never mattered! And you think you can save everyone?!”

Kaivan met his fury with calm fire. “If you truly want to be seen, why erase yourself? You’ll vanish, Raphael. And no one will be left to remember you.”

For a second, Raphael’s eyes wavered—then hardened again. The storm within him surged. He struck once more, faster this time. His movements were wild yet trained, a deadly dance of desperation. Kaivan spun, blocking where he could. Sparks of metal clashed and scattered, echoing through the dying smoke.

Blood dripped again. Small wounds traced across Kaivan’s body, each backward step dragging the weight of something unseen. Raphael gave him no room to breathe, his relentless strikes tearing through the silence like claws of fury.

Outside the crumbling building, Felicia led the evacuation. Her eyes stayed sharp, her weapon steady. Behind her, Radit guarded the rear, though his gaze never strayed far from where Kaivan remained.

“He’ll make it,” Radit muttered, his words like a charm to keep his fear at bay.

Felicia glanced back, her face tense but certain. She knew Kaivan’s resolve—the same strength that once pulled her out of the dark. To her, Kaivan wasn’t just a comrade. He was light—and light was never meant to fade.

“I know,” she whispered, turning her gaze to the building still echoing with the sounds of battle. In silence, she prayed. But within her chest, it was more than prayer—it was faith.

Inside, as the structure groaned and the smoke thickened, Kaivan’s silhouette stood unmoving. His eyes locked on Raphael—the friend now clutching a flashbang grenade, as if the fate of the world rested between his fingers.

Through the shifting light and shadow, Kaivan saw more than an enemy. He saw pain—an old wound burning behind Raphael’s furious gaze.

“Raphael,” Kaivan called softly, his voice calm but firm. “Come with me. Whatever you’re searching for… you won’t find it here.”

Without warning, Kaivan crouched low. His fingers brushed the scorched floor, picking up a small pebble. He flicked it toward Raphael’s hand—just enough to break his focus. The grenade slipped, rolling away from destruction.

“What are you doing?!” Raphael shouted, his eyes splitting between rage and disbelief. He stared at Kaivan as if the world itself had betrayed him.

Kaivan didn’t move. “Because I won’t let you burn yourself just to be heard.”

Raphael’s laughter cracked through the air—rough and bitter. “You think you know me? You have no idea what I’ve been through!”

Flames raged, devouring the walls and ceiling, dancing in shades of crimson and amber amid the collapsing ruins. Thick smoke choked the air, while explosions and stray gunfire echoed like the roar of a living hell.

In the heart of the inferno, Kaivan stood face to face with Raphael. His body was torn and bleeding, yet his gaze did not falter—it pierced through the chaos, finding the one soul he refused to abandon.

“I don’t know everything about you,” Kaivan said quietly, each word steady as steel. “But I know you’re not this monster. You still have a choice.”

The words hung in the air like a prayer among ruins. But fate offered no mercy.

A flashbang, thrown loose by the earlier blast, rolled between them—and then—boom.

A blinding light erupted. The world froze in a white flare, followed by a piercing ring. Kaivan was blind, deaf—but not still.

He moved on instinct, eyes closed, body turning with controlled breath. Even as his senses shattered, his will remained unbroken.

From within the haze of light, Raphael emerged—a dark silhouette, bloodied and trembling, wielding his rage like a blade. He charged—

—but Kaivan was ready.

With senses honed by countless near-deaths, Kaivan raised his arm, deflecting the strike. His motion flowed naturally—the karambit’s chain uncoiled, wrapping around Raphael’s body in one swift motion. The lock clicked tight.

Sparks fell from burning cables above, raining down like fire from hell.

“You don’t understand!” Raphael’s voice cracked, breaking through the roar. “This world is broken! It can’t be fixed!”

Kaivan inhaled, trembling but unyielding. The blade in his hand quivered against Raphael’s throat. Blood dripped from his arm, mingling with ash and flame. Yet within the chaos, a fragile light refused to die.

Amid the fire and falling debris, Kaivan faced Raphael. His breaths came heavy, but his voice was calm—anchored, steady, like a lighthouse in the storm.

“I know this world is a mess,” he said, his gaze cutting through the smoke. “But that’s exactly why we have to start changing it. Here. Now. You and me.”

Raphael froze. His face twisted with turmoil, eyes once sharp now clouded with tears. The hatred that had sustained him began to crumble, replaced by guilt—by grief that had never healed.

“You don’t know… I burned them. The children… the innocent ones. I let them die…”

Kaivan didn’t look away. There was no judgment in his eyes—only deep, wordless understanding. He loosened the chain slightly, allowing Raphael to breathe.

“We all have blood on our hands,” he said softly, each word sinking deep. “We’ve all failed. But failure doesn’t mean it’s over. You can still change. You don’t have to be alone.”

Another explosion shook the corridor, but neither moved. Just two souls standing in the rubble, gambling everything for a sliver of light.

Kaivan took a single step closer. His voice was low, but it struck with quiet force.

“Come with me. I’ll show you what it means to live again. I’ll be the first to see you—not as a terrorist, not as a weapon… but as a person.”

Raphael’s breath caught. His eyes trembled between resistance and longing. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered:

“Why me?”

A fragile question—yet within it lived years of pain, fading hope, and a quiet yearning to be held by the world he’d long rejected.

Kaivan met his gaze. In that silence, he remembered every page of the Tome Omnicent—stories of the forsaken boy who learned hatred when love never came. And in that moment, Kaivan understood: if Raphael could still be saved… then maybe the world could be too.

“Because you have to atone for your regrets,” Kaivan said, his voice firm—gentle, yet burning with conviction. “There’s a strength within you that can change everything. I believe in you, Raphael.”

Those words shattered the wall around Raphael’s heart like a storm breaking through glass. Before he could reply, a deafening explosion tore through the building’s foundation. The ground shook, debris and shards of glass rained down, and flames crawled across the ceiling. Time was running out.

Outside, Felicia moved like a cutting wind. Her eyes narrowed against the smoke as she dashed through the wreckage. “Find Kaivan!” she shouted over the roar of fire and collapsing steel. Her breath came ragged, but her resolve didn’t falter.

Kaivan knew there was no time left. He grabbed Raphael’s arm. “We’re getting out—now!” he hissed. Pain ripped through his injured arm, blood dripping with every movement, but he kept pulling Raphael toward a narrow gap—their only way out.

Raphael followed in silence, his body obeying, but his mind spiraled. Why was Kaivan saving him? Why did he still believe? Inside, guilt and shame began to smother the anger that once drove him.

Felicia tore through smoke and falling beams. Amid the chaos, one thought echoed in her chest: Kaivan. She reached the collapsing doorway, covered in ash and dust, her heart pounding with dread.

Then the dust parted.

In the glow of firelight stood Kaivan—bloodied, broken, but standing. Beside him, Raphael held him steady, his face hollow yet firm.

Felicia ran forward, stumbling over debris. Her eyes widened, filling with relief and tears. “Kaivan! What happened to you?!” she cried, her trembling fingers brushing the blood on his arm.

Kaivan gave a faint smile, forcing the pain down. “Just caught a bit of the blast,” he murmured softly, then glanced at Raphael. “But he came back… and helped me.”

Felicia turned toward Raphael. For a moment, her gaze was wary—but then it softened. “Thank you,” she said, sincere and quiet.

Raphael didn’t answer. Her words struck like lightning in the frozen void of his heart. Why was Kaivan protecting him? Why hide his part in the explosion?

Another blast rocked the ground. They started to run. Heat licked at their backs as flames burst from the walls, chasing them through clouds of smoke and falling ash.

Raphael looked back once. His gaze was empty, yet deep—Kaivan’s voice still echoing in his mind: You must atone for your regrets. The weight he carried wasn’t just in his wounds, but in the soul beginning to melt within him.

From afar, through the haze of fire and dust, a figure emerged—a tall man, his presence blending with the shadows. Each of his steps was silent, deliberate, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

He stopped, eyes scanning the ruins as though reading a message written in smoke and blood.

“If this is the work of another Tome user,” he muttered, voice cold as steel, “then that makes three… in a single country.”

While the outside world trembled with reports from the explosion site, the media spun their own stories: “Terror in the Abandoned Building”, “Terrorists’ Hideout Blows Itself Up.” The headlines gripped the public—caught between curiosity and fear. Uncertainty spread like smoke, wrapping society in a haze of speculation.

In a dim meeting room thick with cigarette smoke, officials stared silently at the projected images. Photos of the ruins filled the screen—one showing Kaivan’s face: young, weary, but sharp-eyed. He wasn’t just another kid. His presence shook the room, forcing bureaucrats to change the tone of their discussion. His name crept into every report, whispering the same question: Who is he, really?

Meanwhile, dusk welcomed Kaivan and his team to an old workshop hidden deep in the Bandung mountains. The place was worn down, surrounded by dense forest and a city beginning to flicker with lights below. The sky burned in shades of violet and orange. Despite its roughness, the workshop offered safety—a wound tended quietly.

Zinnia stood by the door, her violet hair faintly glowing under the sunset. Arms crossed, posture firm, her gaze cut like a blade. She said nothing, but her restlessness was clear. Her foot tapped softly—like the heartbeat of a war clock that refused to stop.

Inside, Frans sat lazily on a rickety chair. His skilled hands toyed with a small bolt, but his eyes never left the doorway. He read every face that entered—Kaivan, Raphael, Felicia—as if flipping through the pages of a blood-stained book filled with secrets. No one spoke. Everyone knew: the storm wasn’t over.

“So,” Frans began lightly, “how was your little trip?” His tone sounded casual, like small talk at dusk. But his eyes were sharp, demanding more than polite answers.

Radit stepped forward with a half-tired grin. “Oh, you know... just a bit of noise. And a few explosions,” he said with a chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. His hand gestures told more than his words—there was tension that hadn’t yet healed.

Frans straightened immediately. “Explosions?” His tone wasn’t a question. It was a demand for honesty.

Zinnia’s footsteps echoed, calm but heavy on the concrete floor. Her eyes pierced through the two unfamiliar figures standing behind Kaivan. “Who are they?”

Kaivan’s voice was steady, a contrast to the air thick with unease. “Raphael, former terrorist. Ethan, ex-gangster.”

The room fell silent. Frans pocketed the bolt. Zinnia’s eyes narrowed. Raphael stood tall and stiff, gaze unwavering. Ethan appeared more relaxed, though the twitch of his neck and restless hands betrayed his nerves.

Zinnia’s tone dropped, cautious but cold. “You’re sure bringing them here is the right choice?” She took a few steps forward, standing nearly face to face with Raphael. Her eyes tested him like blades, and her right hand lifted slightly—ready to react.

Kaivan grabbed a rag from the table, wiping blood and dust off his hands. He shot a sidelong glance at the newcomers, lips curling faintly. “You’re not terrorists or gangsters anymore, right?”

Raphael shook his head slowly. Ethan nodded firmly. Their voices followed almost at once—Raphael’s hesitant, Ethan’s steady and clear.

“I’m sure,” Kaivan said to Zinnia, short but firm. His gaze didn’t waver, and his tone alone silenced her. His words weren’t lofty—but they were unshakable.

Radit chimed in with a crooked smile. “Didn’t make sense to me at first either. But now... I trust him.” His voice was casual, yet his eyes burned with conviction.

Frans stood, crossing the room to clap Ethan’s shoulder. “Welcome. Around here, chaos is normal. You’ll get used to it.” His tone sounded easygoing, but his gaze carried an unspoken warning.

Ethan simply nodded. “Relax. I’m used to noisy places,” he replied, low and steady—no bravado, just truth.

Felicia, who had been standing near the door all this time, finally stepped forward. Her movements were graceful but firm, her eyes focused on Raphael. “You saved Kaivan,” she said softly yet clearly. “Thank you.”

Raphael bowed his head slightly, uneasy under the weight of gratitude. “I just did what needed to be done,” he murmured, his voice tinged with conflict.

Kaivan stood in the center of the cluttered workshop—once an ordinary space, now filled with meaning. Behind him, Raphael and Ethan watched every corner, taking it all in. Kaivan spoke calmly, “We dismantle old phones here. Extract the gold from the circuits. Then sell it.”

There was no pride in his voice. And yet, that was what made his words reassuring. It felt as though this simple work was the quiet foundation of something far greater.

Raphael and Ethan listened in silence. They understood—this place wasn’t just a workshop. It was a beginning. Kaivan turned toward them, his voice calm yet filled with purpose. “You can leave… or stay. And find the meaning of life with us.”

The room fell quiet, the only sound the soft hum of machines breaking the silence. The dim neon light cast long shadows. Kaivan stood in the center—an unmoving point between two restless pasts.

Raphael stared at him. His face was calm, but his eyes held a storm. “What do you want from me?” he asked. The question wasn’t just about Kaivan—it was about the world that had once rejected him.

Ethan, more direct, added, “What’s the endgame here, Kaivan? Why should we follow you?” His voice trembled somewhere between doubt and curiosity. He was used to control. Now, he felt drawn into a path he couldn’t yet see.

Kaivan met their gazes for a long moment. His eyes were steady, but behind them lay exhaustion. He took a breath, glanced around at the faces that had chosen to stay, and spoke softly—each word carrying both pain and hope.

“Everyone here has a story,” Kaivan said, his voice low yet heavy with truth. He gestured toward Radit, who was busy repairing a machine. “He used to be a thief—emotional, reckless—but only because he wanted to survive.” Radit smiled faintly, a quiet peace glinting in his eyes.

“Zinnia,” Kaivan continued, looking toward the girl in the corner. “She doesn’t trust men. Doubt is her last defense.” Zinnia paused, turning her sharp gaze toward him, but didn’t deny it. Their eyes met—honest, wordless.

Kaivan’s gaze shifted to Frans. “Frans… the hopeless romantic with too much ambition. Always torn between love and purpose.” Frans exhaled softly and smiled, as if accepting both his wounds and his pride as part of who he was.

“Thivi… she’s not here, but I once saved her.” Kaivan looked toward the empty corner. “Confident, sharp-tongued… but her heart still longs for home.”

Felicia stood quietly near the back. Kaivan’s expression softened. “A strong girl, bound once by her past.” Felicia smiled faintly—warm, though still carrying the weight of old scars.

Finally, Kaivan looked back at the two newcomers. “Raphael. Ethan. You’re not here by chance. You’re part of this story—not because I chose you, but because the world did.”

He raised the Tome of Omnicent. Its wooden cover was worn, yet it radiated mystery. “This book… chose us.”

Ethan chuckled softly, recalling something. “Ten million—and you almost smashed that shop’s glass case for it.” Yet beneath his humor, his eyes were sharp, questioning: what exactly was this book? And why were they all drawn into the same orbit of fate?

Kaivan nodded. “This isn’t just a book. The Tome of Omnicent gives me direction. Everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve met… it guided me here.”

His words lingered. The room sank into a silence heavy with mystery.

Raphael, still uncertain but intrigued, asked, “Can I see it?”

Without hesitation, Kaivan handed him the book. Raphael opened it—only to find nothing. Page after page, blank and empty.

“There’s nothing here,” he murmured, frowning.

Kaivan smiled faintly, the weight of his knowledge hidden behind his calm. “Only I can see it.”

Without hesitation, Kaivan handed him the book. Raphael opened it—only to find nothing. Page after page, blank and empty.

“There’s nothing here,” he murmured, frowning.

Kaivan smiled faintly, the weight of his knowledge hidden behind his calm. “Only I can see it.”

When night fell, Kaivan stepped outside. The sky was dark, the road quiet. Each step carried the weight of an unfulfilled promise. In his mind, a single question echoed softly in the dark.

The next day, the workshop came alive again. The machines hummed softly. That afternoon, after school, Kaivan returned—to the place where his life kept spinning like a wheel that never stopped.

In silence, he remembered what he had whispered the night before: “I just want to help people now. I don’t want to be apathetic anymore.”

He never imagined that such a small wish would drag him into a storm far beyond his reach.

In the corner of the room, Frans was reading the newspaper. His brows rose.“Damn, that’s rough,” he muttered. “A government official’s kid had his motorcycle stolen. In Cimahi, too.”

Frans’s voice shattered Kaivan’s thoughts. His heart pounded—those words pierced deep, awakening an old memory: the motorcycle he had smashed in a fit of rage… turned out to belong to a high-ranking official’s son, a notorious gang member. The memory lingered like a nightmare suddenly brought into focus.

His phone vibrated. Just a small buzz—but enough to shake his fragile world. He picked it up, and Ethan’s panicked voice burst through the line: “The police are looking for you. They say you’re involved in that stolen bike—the one you pawned to buy the Tome Omnicent.”

The world stopped for a heartbeat.
Kaivan’s face turned pale. His breath caught. He knew it was true—his desperate act for a book that claimed his fate. He had chosen a thorned path, and now the thorns were beginning to pierce back.

The call ended, but its echo wouldn’t fade. With what little hope remained, Kaivan opened the Tome Omnicent. The white pages—blank to everyone else—began to glow faintly, as if drinking in his anxiety.

Words appeared, sharp and undeniable:

“Turn yourself in at Purwakarta. There’s a photo linking you to the explosion. This will lessen your involvement. Meet Raphael. Speak to him.”