Chapter Thirteen:The Flame of Gunung Hitam

The heat struck Budin like a hammer.

Each step on the blackened earth sizzled beneath his sandals. The once-lush jungle had given way to an ashen landscape of molten cracks and scorched trees, their branches bare and clawing at the sky. Smoke drifted lazily from the crater of Gunung Hitam, the dormant volcano that loomed before them like a slumbering beast.

Rania wrapped a cloth around her mouth. "The air here burns. Breathe slowly."

Budin nodded. His sweat-drenched tunic clung to his skin, and his throat was already dry. But deeper than the discomfort was a different fire—one he couldn't explain. It pulsed in his chest.

"It's the mountain," Rania said, noticing his hand pressed over his heart. "It calls to those who carry fire in their spirit."

They climbed in silence until they reached a wide stone platform carved into the mountain's side. In its center stood a metal brazier, the flames within flickering blue instead of orange.

Across from it waited a woman.

She was tall, with shoulders like a warrior's and eyes like smoldering coals. Her robes were dyed in deep crimson, and fire danced across her fingertips with no effort. Her skin bore glowing marks—tattoos of old flame-sigil scripts that moved slowly, like lava.

"Budin of Kampung Hijau," she said, voice crackling. "I am Pendeta Bara, guardian of the Sixth Form: Api Jiwa, the Flame of Spirit."

Budin stepped forward, bowing low. "I am ready for your trial."

Her eyes narrowed. "No. You are not. Fire does not accept the ready. It accepts only the willing."

She flung a single spark into the air.

It exploded into a wall of flame behind Budin, sealing the path. The heat intensified, waves rolling off the stone like a tide.

"You will not fight me," Bara continued. "You will fight yourself."

From the brazier, flames rose and twisted, forming a humanoid shape. Slowly, it solidified into a figure identical to Budin—same size, same stance, even the same determined glare.

His fire double raised its hands into a silat stance.

Budin stepped back, stunned. "Is that—"

"Every flame has a shadow," Bara said. "Yours burns with fear, anger, pride, and pain. You must conquer it."

The double lunged.

---

The battle began in silence, save for the roar of fire.

Budin dodged the first strike but was immediately countered by a sweeping kick. He hit the ground hard. His double fought like him—but better. No hesitation. No fatigue. Only precision.

This wasn't like the trials before. The fire clone knew him. Every flaw. Every delay in thought. Every overused move.

Budin ducked a spinning elbow, rolled, and struck with a palm to the chest—but his double caught it, twisted his wrist, and sent him tumbling again.

"You can't outfight fire," Bara called from the edge. "It will always burn hotter than your body."

Budin lay gasping, the heat pressing down like a mountain. He was too tired to move, too heavy with sweat and defeat.

He thought of his mother, of the nights she stayed awake weaving cloth to support him. He thought of his father, taken from him by shadows. He thought of Rania's quiet strength. Of every fallen guardian he'd honored with a bow.

His heart surged.

He stood, even as his knees shook.

"I'm not fighting to be better than myself," Budin whispered. "I'm fighting to be braver than I was yesterday."

The fire clone paused.

Budin took a stance—looser, freer.

Not to defeat. But to accept.

He moved differently now, flowing like burning silk. Instead of resisting the flame, he moved with it—redirecting, absorbing, returning it with calm.

Strike met strike, but now Budin guided the energy rather than blocked it. His fire double faltered.

Budin stepped in close, pressed his palm against the clone's heart, and exhaled slowly.

The clone burst into harmless cinders, vanishing into the rising smoke.

---

The fire around the platform dimmed.

Bara approached, the flame-tattoos on her arms glowing softer now. "You did not extinguish the fire. You tempered it."

Budin bowed. "My shadow is part of me. I won't run from it."

With a nod, Bara reached into the brazier and pulled out a scroll encased in obsidian. "The Sixth Form is now yours. Use it wisely. Fire can build—or destroy."

Budin accepted it with both hands.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She turned her back. "You will find no rest on the path ahead. The Seventh Temple lies beyond the realm of spirits."

Budin looked to Rania, who had remained silent throughout.

"Beyond…?"

Rania's voice was solemn. "The final trial is not of this world. We must enter the Veil of Mist, where the Ancients sleep."

Budin didn't flinch.

The fire inside him was no longer rage or fear. It was resolve.

"Then we go," he said. "One last temple. One last form."