Chapter 8: The Flame Within
The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy of Kinabalu Peak, casting dappled light across the clearing where Rentap Buana stood. At sixteen, his body bore the marks of his journey—scars crisscrossing his back and ribs, fresh wounds from the jungle's wrath on his shoulder and leg, and the faint claw mark on his arm, glowing softly as a sign of the mountain's favor. The tiger pelt draped over his shoulders felt heavier today, a mantle of survival earned through blood and grit. His tattered green shirt hung in shreds, barely clinging to his frame, and the fisherman's knife at his belt, stained with the blood of beasts, was a silent testament to his trials. The staff in his hand, worn smooth from days of training, felt like an extension of himself, its weight familiar as he faced Guru Harimau Jati. Mira's coral pendant pulsed warm against his chest, her memory a steady flame that fueled him through every challenge. The guru, his scarred frame radiating a quiet intensity, stood with his tiger pelt cloak catching the light, his eyes sharp as ever. "You've survived Kinabalu's wrath," he said, his voice a low growl. "Now we refine the flame within you."
Rentap's body ached, but the spark inside him—the flame that had grown with each trial—burned brighter, eager to be shaped. "Refine it how?" he asked, his grip on the staff steady, the *Jungle Stalk*, *Tiger Claw Slash*, and *Leaping Fang Strike* now instinctive after days of relentless training.
Harimau Jati's lips twitched in a rare smirk. "Your strength is raw, untamed—like a fire that burns without direction. Tiger Martial Art will give it focus, turn it into a weapon." He dropped into a low stance, his staff raised, and gestured for Rentap to mirror him. "Today, you'll learn the *Feral Roar Strike*—a move that channels your inner flame into a single, devastating blow. It's not just power. It's intent, spirit, the essence of a tiger's fury."
Rentap crouched, mimicking the guru's stance, his body coiled with anticipation. Harimau Jati moved first, demonstrating the *Feral Roar Strike*—a sudden lunge forward, his staff whipping through the air with a roar that echoed through the clearing, the strike slamming into a wooden dummy with enough force to splinter it into pieces. The air seemed to crackle with the energy of the blow, and Rentap felt the guru's intent, a wave of raw power that shook the ground. "You channel your flame here," Harimau Jati said, tapping his chest, "and release it here." He pointed to the staff's tip. "Feel it. Let it out."
Rentap nodded, the pendant warm against his skin, Mira's giggle a quiet encouragement. He stepped forward, focusing on the spark within—the flame that had flared against the tiger, the jungle's wrath, the echoes of the *Claw Path*. He lunged, mimicking the guru's motion, his staff cutting the air as he roared, the sound raw and primal. The strike hit the dummy, cracking its surface, but it didn't splinter. Rentap stumbled, the recoil jarring his arms, his breath ragged. Harimau Jati's gaze hardened. "Weak," he barked. "You're holding back. The flame isn't just anger—it's everything. Your pain, your love, your will. Again."
They drilled the *Feral Roar Strike* for hours, the sun climbing higher, sweat soaking Rentap's shredded shirt. Each attempt pushed him closer to the edge, his body screaming, but he dug deeper, drawing on Mira's memory—her smile, her scream, the weight of her absence. He roared again, the sound tearing from his chest, and struck, the staff slamming into the dummy with a crack that echoed through the clearing. The dummy split in half, its pieces scattering across the ground, and Rentap stood panting, the flame within him burning brighter, a fire that felt alive. Harimau Jati grunted in approval. "Better," he said. "But you're still a cub. Keep going."
The training stretched into the afternoon, Harimau Jati pushing Rentap to refine the *Feral Roar Strike* while weaving it with the *Jungle Stalk*, *Tiger Claw Slash*, and *Leaping Fang Strike*. The guru set up a course through the jungle—dummies hidden among the trees, their positions marked by subtle signs Rentap had to track. "Move unseen," Harimau Jati said. "Strike with the *Feral Roar*. Don't stop until they're all down." Rentap stalked through the jungle, his steps silent, his senses sharp as he hunted the dummies. He found the first behind a boulder, creeping close with the *Jungle Stalk*, then unleashed the *Feral Roar Strike*, the staff shattering the dummy with a single blow. The second he took with a *Leaping Fang Strike* from a low branch, the third with a *Tiger Claw Slash* from the shadows, and the fourth with another *Feral Roar Strike*, the flame within him surging with each strike, a fire that danced with the jungle's rhythm.
By the time he felled the last dummy, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the jungle floor. Rentap's body trembled, his wounds throbbing, but the flame within him burned steady, a power he was beginning to understand. Harimau Jati emerged from the trees, his expression a mix of scrutiny and pride. "You're starting to feel it," he said, his voice gruff. "That flame—it's the seed of Tiger Martial Art's true power. But it's still wild. Tomorrow, we temper it further."
Rentap wiped sweat from his brow, the tiger pelt heavy on his shoulders. "What's next?" he asked, his voice hoarse but determined.
Harimau Jati's eyes glinted, sharp as a tiger's. "You've fought beasts, faced the jungle's wrath, survived its echoes. Tomorrow, you'll face a rival—a student of mine, older, stronger. He'll test your flame, see if it holds." He gestured to a stream nearby. "Wash. Eat. Rest. You'll need your strength."
That evening, Rentap sat by the fire in the clearing, the stone pillars looming around him, their tiger carvings glinting in the firelight. He chewed on dried meat, the day's lessons replaying in his mind—the *Feral Roar Strike*, the way the flame within him surged with each blow, the rhythm of the jungle blending with his own. The claw mark on his arm glowed faintly, a quiet reminder of Kinabalu's presence, its favor and its claim. He clutched Mira's pendant, her memory sharper than ever—her giggle, her scream, her hazel eyes full of trust. "I'm getting closer, Mira," he whispered, the fire casting shadows that danced like the flame within him.
Sleep came slowly, the jungle's sounds a backdrop—crickets, the distant howl of a gibbon, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Dreams flickered through his mind—Mira running through the jungle, her braid swinging, a tiger's roar echoing in the distance, the flame within him burning brighter, a step closer to the power of Taming Jiwa, though its whispers remained faint, a distant call on the path ahead.
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