Chapter 11: The Return to Blood Island
The morning sun rose over Kinabalu Peak, its golden rays piercing the mist that clung to the jungle, casting a warm glow across the clearing. Rentap Buana, stood tall. His tattered green shirt was now a memory, replaced by a simple tunic crafted from the jungle's fibers, its edges frayed but sturdy, covering the scars that marked his back, ribs, shoulder, and the two claw marks on his arms—the *Claw Path*'s gift and the *Mark of Mastery*. The fisherman's knife at his belt, once dulled by fish scales, now gleamed with the blood of beasts, and the staff in his hand, worn smooth by training, felt like an extension of his soul. Mira's coral pendant pulsed warm against his chest, her memory a steady flame that had guided him through every trial. Guru Harimau Jati stood before him, his scarred frame relaxed for once, his tiger pelt cloak catching the light. "Phase 1 is done, boy," he said, his voice a low growl softened by pride. "You've earned the *Mark of Mastery*. Now, return to Blood Island. Carry what you've learned, and prepare for Phase 2."
Rentap's heart swelled, the flame within him—the fire that had grown through each challenge—burning steady, a beacon of his resolve. "Back home?" he asked, gripping the staff, the *Jungle Stalk*, *Tiger Claw Slash*, *Leaping Fang Strike*, and *Feral Roar Strike* now part of his being.
Harimau Jati nodded, his eyes glinting with a mix of approval and caution. "Your village needs to see the man you've become. But don't think this is rest—Kinabalu's lessons follow you. The mountain's favor is a double-edged blade. Use it wisely." He handed Rentap a small pouch of dried meat and herbs, a parting gift, then stepped back. "Take the trail to Kota Belud. A boat awaits. Go, and return when the time calls."
Rentap bowed, the pendant warm against his skin, Mira's giggle a quiet encouragement. "Thank you, sir," he said, his voice firm with gratitude. He turned to the trail, the jungle parting as he stepped onto the path that would lead him back to the mainland. The flame within him pulsed, a fire tempered by the mountain's trials, ready to face whatever awaited him on Blood Island.
The journey to Kota Belud took three days, the terrain familiar yet different through his new eyes. He moved with the *Jungle Stalk*, his steps silent as he navigated the steep slopes and dense undergrowth, his senses sharp from weeks of training. The air carried the scent of orchids and salt as he neared the coast, the sound of waves crashing against the shore a distant echo of his past. At Kota Belud, a weathered fisherman recognized him—Lina's uncle, Pak Samad—and offered a boat, his eyes widening at the tiger pelt and the scars. "Rentap?" he asked, his voice rough with surprise. "You've changed, boy." Rentap nodded, climbing aboard, the boat rocking as he pushed off, the sea stretching before him like a mirror of his resolve.
The voyage to Blood Island was rough, storms battering the small craft, waves crashing over the bow. Rentap navigated by starlight, Mira's pendant his guide when clouds smothered the sky, its warmth a whisper of her presence. Hunger gnawed, the pouch's rations dwindling, but he pressed on, the flame within him burning brighter with each stroke of the oar. On the fourth dawn, Blood Island loomed ahead, its cliffs jagged against the horizon, the village nestled below. Rentap beached the boat, his legs trembling as he stepped onto the coral-strewn sand, the scent of salt and smoke filling his lungs.
The village buzzed with life—fishermen hauling nets, women weaving rattan, children singing beneath banyan trees—but the air held a tension Rentap hadn't felt before. As he walked through the streets, the tiger pelt drawing stares, whispers followed him. "He's back," they murmured, "the boy who left." Lina spotted him first, sprinting across the beach, her short dagger bouncing at her hip, her braid swinging like Mira's once had. "Rentap!" she cried, her grin wide but her eyes searching. "You're alive! And look at you—stronger, tougher!" She stopped short, taking in the scars, the pelt, the staff. "What happened up there?"
Rentap offered a faint smile, the pendant warm against his chest. "Kinabalu changed me," he said, his voice steady. "I've learned to fight, to survive." He didn't elaborate—some truths were his alone—but Lina's eyes sparkled with pride, her chatter filling the air as she led him to the village center.
Pak Din hobbled forward, his face carved by salt and sorrow, his once-sharp eyes softening at the sight of Rentap. "Boy," he rasped, his voice rough as driftwood, "you've come back a warrior." He studied the pelt, the scars, the new strength in Rentap's frame. "The mountain did that?" Rentap nodded, bowing slightly, the weight of Blood Island pressing on his shoulders. Pak Din shoved a bamboo tube into his hands—fish, rice, a flint—his gesture gruff but warm. "Don't forget us," he growled. "And don't die out there again."
The village gathered, their whispers turning to cheers as Rentap recounted his trials—sparing the details of Mira's memory, but sharing the tigers, the jungle's wrath, the *Mark of Mastery*. His words carried a quiet power, the flame within him glowing as he spoke, a fire that inspired awe and hope. But beneath the celebration, Rentap sensed something amiss—glances exchanged, voices hushed when he approached. That night, by a fire on the beach, Lina confided in him, her voice low. "Raiders have been seen near the straits again," she said, her eyes dark. "Since you left, they've grown bolder. Some say they're looking for something—or someone."
Rentap's grip on the pendant tightened, Mira's scream echoing in his mind. "They won't find me weak," he said, his voice hard, the flame within him flaring. The village slept, the sea whispering its secrets, but Rentap stayed awake, the tiger pelt wrapped around him, the *Mark of Mastery* on his arm a quiet promise. The flame burned steady, a step closer to Taming Jiwa, though its whispers remained faint, a distant call that now carried the weight of his home's danger.