Chapter 4: Echoes of the Claw
The dawn air on Kinabalu Peak carried a chill that bit at Rentap Buana's wounds, the fresh scars on his back and ribs stinging as he rose from his makeshift bed of leaves. At sixteen, his body was a canvas of pain—bruises from sparring with Guru Harimau Jati, gashes from the tiger hunt, and the lingering ache of his blistered hands. The tiger pelt, now draped over his shoulders, felt heavy with the weight of survival, its stripes a stark contrast to his tattered green shirt. Mira's coral pendant hung warm against his chest, a quiet pulse of memory as he faced the clearing where the stone pillars stood, their tiger carvings watching like silent judges. The fisherman's knife at his belt, bloodied from the hunt, was a reminder of the beast he'd slain, but today's lesson promised a different kind of challenge. Guru Harimau Jati stood at the clearing's center, his scarred frame bathed in the morning light, his eyes sharp as ever. "You've killed a tiger," he said, his voice a low growl. "Now you'll learn to move like one."
Rentap squared his shoulders, the pelt shifting against his skin. "I'm ready, sir," he said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. The spark of strength he'd felt during the hunt—the raw, untamed pulse that had surged through him—still simmered within, waiting to be shaped.
Harimau Jati nodded, his tiger pelt cloak catching the light as he moved. "Tiger Martial Art isn't just strikes. It's instinct, flow, the dance of a predator." He dropped into a low stance, his body coiled like a spring, and gestured for Rentap to mirror him. "Today, you refine the *Tiger Claw Slash* and learn the *Leaping Fang Strike*. Watch. Feel. Become."
Rentap crouched, mimicking the guru's stance, his staff gripped tightly. Harimau Jati moved first, demonstrating the *Tiger Claw Slash* with a fluid sweep of his arm, the motion a blur of power and precision. "It's not just strength," he said, his staff cutting the air with a sharp whistle. "It's speed, intent. You strike to overwhelm, to break their spirit before their body." Rentap followed, his own slash slower, less polished, but he felt the rhythm of the move, the way it flowed from his core to his hands. The guru corrected him with a sharp tap of his staff against Rentap's elbow. "Looser," he barked. "You're a tiger, not a fisherman hauling nets."
They drilled the move for hours, the sun climbing higher, sweat soaking Rentap's shirt. His arms burned, but he pushed through, each slash growing sharper, more instinctive. Harimau Jati's approval came in grunts, rare nods, but Rentap felt the difference—the spark within him aligning with the motion, like a flame finding fuel. By midday, the guru introduced the *Leaping Fang Strike*—a lunging attack that combined a forward leap with a downward thrust, mimicking a tiger's pounce. Harimau Jati demonstrated, soaring through the air with a grace that belied his size, his staff slamming into a wooden dummy with a crack that echoed through the clearing. "You strike from above," he said, landing lightly. "Pin your prey. End it."
Rentap tried, his first leap clumsy, his thrust off-balance. He landed hard, the staff jarring his hands, and the dummy remained untouched. Harimau Jati didn't laugh, but his eyes glinted with challenge. "Again," he said. Rentap gritted his teeth, Mira's smile flashing in his mind—her trust, her scream. He leaped again, higher this time, his body twisting mid-air as he brought the staff down. The dummy splintered, the impact jarring his arms, but he landed on his feet, panting. Harimau Jati's lips twitched. "Better," he said. "But you're still a cub. Keep going."
The training stretched into the afternoon, Rentap's body pushed to its limits. He practiced the *Leaping Fang Strike* until his legs trembled, each leap a test of endurance, each strike a lesson in precision. Harimau Jati drilled him relentlessly, correcting his form, pushing him to move faster, strike harder. "A tiger doesn't hesitate," the guru growled, parrying Rentap's thrust with a flick of his staff. "It acts. You think too much, boy." Rentap nodded, wiping sweat from his brow, and threw himself into the next leap, the spark within him burning brighter with every move.
As the sun dipped low, Harimau Jati called a halt, leading Rentap to a stream to wash the sweat and grime from his skin. The cold water soothed his wounds, but his mind churned with the day's lessons. The *Tiger Claw Slash* and *Leaping Fang Strike* felt like extensions of himself now, their rhythms syncing with the pulse of his inner strength. But Harimau Jati's words lingered—*a tiger doesn't hesitate*. Rentap had always fought with purpose, driven by Mira's memory, but hesitation had crept in during the tiger hunt, a flicker of fear when the beast pinned him. He clutched the pendant, whispering, "I'll be stronger, Mira. For you."
That evening, they sat by the fire in the clearing, the stone pillars casting long shadows. Harimau Jati carved a piece of wood with a flint knife, his movements deliberate. "You're learning," he said, not looking up. "But the jungle tests more than your body. Tomorrow, you'll face the *Echoes of the Claw*—a trial of spirit. The mountain will speak. You'll listen, or you'll break."
Rentap's heart quickened. "What kind of trial?" he asked, the tiger pelt heavy on his shoulders.
Harimau Jati's eyes met his, glinting in the firelight. "Kinabalu holds memories—fights, deaths, the spirits of tigers past. You'll walk the *Claw Path*, a trail where the mountain's echoes live. Face them. Conquer them. Or they'll haunt you forever." He tossed Rentap a piece of dried meat, his voice softening. "Sleep well, boy. You'll need your strength."
Rentap lay down, the pelt wrapped around him, the fire's warmth a small comfort against the mountain's looming presence. The stone pillars seemed to watch, their tiger carvings alive in the flickering light. Dreams came in fragments—Mira's laugh, the tiger's roar, the guru's voice—*a tiger doesn't hesitate*. The spark within him glowed, a flame growing with each trial, a step closer to the power of Taming Jiwa, though its whispers remained faint, a distant promise on the path ahead.
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