One late afternoon, after enduring another long day, Kaivan walked home under the gentle glow of the setting sun. The sky was painted in soft shades of orange, wrapping the world in fleeting warmth. Along the quiet road, he noticed in the distance the figure of an old woman standing beneath a large tree. Her faint smile seemed to carry a meaning he couldn't quite grasp.
Kaivan slowed his steps, narrowing his eyes. Something about her felt strangely familiar, stirring memories long buried.
"Is this the road to Hegarmanah?" the old woman asked. Her voice trembled, fragile, as if she were someone lost in a storm, reaching for even the faintest light of hope.
"Of course not. This road leads to the western district," Kaivan replied coldly. His words cut like a knife, extinguishing the fragile spark of hope in her expression. He hoped that would end the unwanted encounter, but her eyes remained fixed on him, deep confusion flickering in their depths.
He glanced at the folded map in her trembling hands. Clearly, it wasn't helping. Though he fought to ignore it, something in the lines of her aged face tugged at him.
"That's a map, isn't it?" he asked flatly, his tone more command than question. The woman's hands shook as she adjusted the paper, but it was clear she couldn't make sense of it.
"Yes, Kaivan, this is the map. But isn't this where I am now?" she asked, pointing with her wrinkled finger at a spot on the page. Her eyes lifted to his with a frail glimmer of hope—already fading into despair.
Kaivan fell silent. The emptiness in her gaze stirred something in him, a faint trace of the humanity he thought he had buried under his cold exterior. His green eyes lingered on her quivering hands, her purple-tinted glasses, the fragility of her presence.
"…I'm sorry, Grandma," he murmured, his voice softer this time. He gently took the map, analyzing it carefully. "We're here, not where you're trying to go."
"Do you have any money? If you'd like, I can call you a taxi," he offered, awkwardly, trying to mask the unexpected compassion rising in him. She gave a weary smile, fishing out two crumpled bills from a tiny pouch.
"This is all I have, dear," she whispered, handing him twenty thousand rupiah. Kaivan hesitated, frowning. He quickly calculated the fare in his head—at least fifty thousand.
"…That's all you brought?" he asked cautiously. She nodded, still forcing a smile through her exhaustion.
"There's money at home. Come, let's go to my friend's house first," the old woman said suddenly, gently tugging at his arm. Her touch was frail, her steps small, leading them off the main road and onto a path curiously close to Kaivan's own home.
He followed, though unease gnawed at his chest. "But isn't your house in Hegarmanah?" he pressed. She only shook her head.
"I used to live here once," she answered calmly, deepening Kaivan's confusion. His sharp eyes caught the bulging bag she carried. Driven by instinct, he carefully searched it and found an ID card.
"Belana Berliana, Jalan Hegarmanah," he read aloud. The name and address left him more unsettled. The road they were on didn't match.
"Grandma… your house is on Hegarmanah Street, isn't it? Just like on your ID?" Kaivan asked gently, trying to confirm her true destination. From the beginning, something about her had felt off.
The old woman only smiled faintly. Her eyes were distant, as though drifting in thoughts far beyond his reach. Kaivan frowned, doubt tightening inside him. But leaving her alone in such a state—no, that wasn't an option. Not for someone like Kaivan, who, despite his solitude, carried a fragile heart and an unexpected sense of duty.
"…I'll take you home by angkot, Grandma. Just pay me back later, alright?" he suggested. His tone was polite, though uncertainty gnawed at his mind. He knew relying on a late-night angkot in a city this size was a gamble.
The woman gave a slow nod, silent but compliant. Kaivan led the way, guiding her to the nearest stop. When the angkot arrived, he carefully helped her climb aboard, ensuring her frail body kept its balance. Through the ride, Kaivan sat in silence, torn between responsibility and doubt.
"…Did I make the right choice?" he wondered, the question echoing quietly within him.
The weight of guilt pressed heavily on Kaivan's shoulders, gnawing at him with each step. Maybe he was just too kind for his own good—or maybe this was simply a habit he could never escape.
When the angkot screeched to a halt, Kaivan and the old woman stepped off. The street before them stretched long, lined with towering trees that swallowed the dim light of the sparsely placed street lamps. The silence of night pressed down, eerie and suffocating. Kaivan scanned the rows of houses, searching for some sort of clue.
"Which one's your house?" he asked, glancing at the old woman. "And… you have money for the fare, right? So I can head home afterward?"
The old woman nodded firmly. "My house is the one with many trees at the gate," she said, her calm voice carrying a faintly mysterious tone.
Kaivan followed her gaze. Ahead stood a grand gate. Behind it loomed a mansion far too large, too extravagant for someone like her.
"Are you sure this is your house?" Kaivan asked skeptically. "You didn't even remember the street name earlier. And look—there's a digital lock on the gate. Does this really belong to you?"
The old woman only smiled faintly. Her wrinkled hands, trembling from age, reached for the keypad and entered a string of numbers. A soft beep echoed, and the gate swung open with a mechanical hum. Kaivan froze, eyes widening.
"Seriously…?" he breathed, disbelief slipping from his lips. Curiosity burned brighter in his chest.
"Yes. This is my home," the old woman said as she stepped forward. "How could I forget the code to my own gate?"
Kaivan furrowed his brows. Something felt off, yet he found himself following her. They crossed a wide courtyard, the mansion before them glowing warmly under its lights. Yet that very warmth felt uncanny—like a facade hiding something immense and unknown.
Inside, the house was filled with well-kept furniture. A faint fragrance lingered, nostalgic yet unsettling. Kaivan lowered himself onto the sofa, forcing his mind to calm.
But the silence was too thick. Too deliberate. A sudden draft swept through the room, sending a chill down Kaivan's spine. The air shifted—dense, almost suffocating.
"There it is," rasped a voice behind him.
Kaivan jolted, whipping his head around. "Grandma! I—I didn't hear you move." His voice trembled. The woman's gaze, sharp and unfathomable, pinned him in place.
Without another word, she extended an old book toward him. Its cover was wooden, worn, etched with intricate carvings that seemed alive. "This book… it must be given to you, Kaivan."
He stared at it, hesitation plain in his eyes. The book looked ancient, dangerous even, yet undeniably alluring. "For me? Not money? And who said this book should be mine?"
"The book itself," the old woman answered curtly. She cracked it open, revealing pages scrawled with shifting letters, twisting and reforming as if they possessed a will of their own.
Kaivan's breath caught. Against his better judgment, his hand reached out, fingertips brushing the parchment. The words stilled, rearranging into a single chilling line:
"My bearer: Kaivan Badrika Alijaya."
His heart thundered. The silence of the mansion grew oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of a wall clock. His hands trembled as he held the heavy tome, tracing the runes carved into its wooden shell. A breath shuddered from his lungs as he forced his voice to rise, weak as a whisper.
"So… what exactly is this book, Grandma?" he asked. His eyes, uncertain and searching, clung to hers—half-dreading, half-longing for an answer that wouldn't crush what little peace he still held.
Before him, the old woman sat in silence, yet there was something alive in her eyes—a faint light, impossible to describe. She raised her teacup with deliberate grace, her lips brushing the rim with an elegance that belonged only to someone who had long mastered the art of tranquility.
She set the cup back down on the table, her soft voice breaking the stillness with words that carried weight. "This book…" She paused, letting her words hang in the air like unfinished notes in a melody. "…is a book that offers guidance. Once, it belonged to someone I respected dearly, perhaps even more than just a friend. He was my husband."
Her voice rang with nostalgia, like a gentle breeze carrying the fragrance of bygone days. Her gaze lingered on the book as if she could still see the figure she once cherished. A profound silence filled the room, pulling Kaivan into an invisible whirlpool of mystery.
But in that almost sacred stillness, Kaivan suddenly broke the mood with a question, his voice louder than before. "By the way, Granny," he said after a stiff pause, "do you have some money for my fare home?"
The solemn air shattered like glass struck by a stone. His question was a sudden gust that scattered the silence, clashing the profound with the mundane.
The old woman chuckled softly—a laugh that seemed to mask something deeper. "Hahaha, you're quite funny. You haven't changed at all." Her smile remained serene, but Kaivan sensed something beyond amusement hidden in her aged eyes.
"Huh? What do you mean, I haven't changed?" Kaivan frowned, confused, as if she already knew him better than he knew himself.
He accepted the money quickly, slipping it into his pocket with a bewildered expression. There was no time for thanks. His hasty movements only highlighted the contrast between his clumsiness and the woman's careful composure.
"Kaivan," the old woman suddenly called, her voice gentle but laced with meaning. He froze mid-step, half-turning back toward her. "Be careful. Do not lose your way again."
Kaivan looked at her, puzzled. The words sounded like a simple reminder about going home, nothing more. "Of course I know the way home," he muttered, his tone tinged with frustration though he tried to remain polite.
The woman did not answer. Instead, she smiled faintly, as if telling him he would need to find the meaning for himself. Her eyes rested on him with an uncommon tenderness, as though she had known him for a long time.
Kaivan held her gaze for a moment. Something about her stare unsettled him—like a mirror reflecting parts of himself he didn't recognize. "I don't know what you mean… but I'll try." His voice dropped lower, almost like a reluctant promise.
A moment later, Kaivan impatiently shoved the book into his bag. His motions were hurried, as though he wanted to escape the strange atmosphere enveloping the room. Yet before he stepped out, he cast one last glance at the old woman.
"So… I can leave now, right?" he asked, trying to end the awkward moment.
"Of course, Kaivan. But remember one thing." She raised her finger, her voice calm but firm. "Stay in Denial." The words sounded less like advice and more like a warning.
Kaivan furrowed his brows, struggling to grasp her meaning. "Denial? I'm not that kind of person," he shot back, irritation in his voice. Her cryptic words frustrated him.
She did not respond. She only smiled again, her expression softer this time, as if convinced that he would someday understand. That smile carried a strange pull, like an unseen embrace.
Finally, Kaivan stepped out, leaving the old woman still seated in her calm composure. Outside, the night breeze blew gently, the cold air brushing across his face. The sky was full of stars, yet his heart remained clouded with questions. He pulled out the book, staring at its cover etched with mysterious runes.
"What kind of secret are you hiding?" he murmured to himself before tucking it away once more. With heavy steps, he walked away from the house, unaware that his life had already shifted forever.
The farther he went, the more he felt something strange. The bag that carried the book seemed to emit an unseen presence, an energy that called to him from within the darkness. He stopped, frowning at it. His heart pounded harder, as if answering something he could not yet comprehend.
The night wind grew stronger. The once quiet street felt unfamiliar now. Kaivan tried to distract himself, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the money. "Huh, she gave me extra. Maybe I'll buy something to eat."
When he finally arrived home, Kaivan opened the door, careful not to make a sound, a bag of fried tofu dangling in his hand. The faint aroma of a simple dinner still lingered, wrapping the house in a sense of warmth that clashed with the emptiness inside him. His mother, a woman whose smile was always gentle, sat on the sofa, absorbed in the glow of the television.
"You're late today. Where have you been? Go on, eat first," her soft voice drifted through the room, like music soothing his restless heart. Her gaze was full of affection, yet she asked for nothing in return.
Kaivan paused by the doorway, slipping off his shoes with his head slightly lowered. "Just out for a walk, Mom. Nowhere special… I already ate, I bought some tahu sumedang," he answered curtly, forcing a faint smile.
His mother simply nodded, choosing not to press him further. Without another word, Kaivan headed for the stairs, his bag hanging from his shoulder like an invisible weight dragging him down. At the top of the steps, he halted, drew in a long breath, and finally pushed himself toward his room.
"Tome Omnicent…" he whispered, eyes fixed on the cover of the book. His fingers brushed over its rough surface, a chill running through him that felt far too unnatural. Carefully, he opened to the first page. Strange symbols shifted across the paper, flowing like water, alive—calling to him, whispering his name from the depths of darkness. Goosebumps rose on his skin, his heart pounding louder with each beat.
The world around him blurred away. When his vision cleared, Kaivan stood in an unfamiliar wasteland, a world drowning in ruin. The sky above was no longer blue but a suffocating black, like spilled ink that devoured every trace of starlight. Clouds the color of dried blood churned and rolled, sending tremors that rattled his bones. The air itself pressed in on him, heavy with dread—Kaivan nearly forgot how to breathe.
The ground beneath him was fractured like shattered glass. From the cracks, crimson light seeped through, accompanied by a thunderous rumble, like the earth itself groaning in agony. Kaivan stood frozen in the chaos, his body both weightless and unbearably heavy, as though gravity itself had been rewritten. Something immense lingered in that desolation, a presence so overwhelming it made him feel smaller than dust.
Then came the blast. A deafening explosion ripped through the air, shaking his eardrums violently. From the horizon, colossal silhouettes emerged—towering giants, and creatures hovering ominously in the sky above the battlefield without end. Their bodies were vast, crowned with wings, yet their heads were disturbingly small, grotesquely disproportionate. Burning red eyes glared at Kaivan, glowing like embers as if to judge his very existence.
Gunfire cracked through the air. Human screams mingled with endless detonations. Kaivan's gaze caught a man and woman sprinting hand-in-hand toward a glowing white portal, leaving behind a dazzling trail of light. He turned again, spotting a band of humans—pitifully small compared to the titans—fighting with everything they had. Tanks roared, firing round after round. Fighter jets streaked low across the sky, unleashing missiles into the fray. The scene unfolded like a nightmare that refused to end.
Kaivan realized with horror that he was standing at the very center of this battlefield. His knees trembled, yet his body refused to move. All he could do was watch as humanity, fragile yet unyielding, continued to resist, even when victory was nowhere in sight. The monsters' guttural roars drew closer with every step, each tremor rattling the ground like the end of the world.
He tried to scream—but his voice vanished into the cacophony.
Suddenly, nine figures vaulted past him. Humans, clad in specialized armor, weapons gleaming, every movement sharp and practiced. Their formation spoke of countless battles fought together. One of them signaled, rallying the others to strike.
From above, the winged monstrosity unfurled its wings wide. A blazing sphere of red energy bloomed in its grasp, burning so brightly Kaivan had to shield his eyes. Yet even with his eyelids clenched shut, he still felt its searing heat, a deadly radiance that threatened to consume everything.
And then—darkness. Absolute silence swallowed the war.
When Kaivan opened his eyes again, he found himself alone, standing amid the same desolation. But something had changed. A voice resonated in his skull, one he did not know, yet it carried an eerie familiarity. The vibration of it filled every corner of his mind.
"Are you the Omniruler?" it hissed, mocking.
"No matter how many times… you still fail." The voice was firm, dismissive, each word laced with scorn. Kaivan felt as though it was not merely speaking to him—but piercing into his very soul.
Kaivan awoke with ragged breaths, as though he had just sprinted for miles. Cold sweat drenched his body, and his chest tightened with every inhale. But more than that, the dream had left something far deeper—an undeniable sense that what he had seen wasn't merely an illusion. There was something real about that world, and Kaivan felt he had no choice but to face it.
Even with fear clawing at him, the book seemed to call to him once more. With hesitant steps, he approached the desk and opened the tome for the second time. This time, the page before him had changed. The cryptic symbols had shifted into words—clear sentences that froze his body in place. The moment his eyes traced them, he felt as if the letters themselves were a command he could not refuse.
"My bearer, Kaivan Badrika Alijaya."
Kaivan swallowed hard, fear and awe twisting together inside him. What did this book truly want from him? Why him, of all people, to shoulder a destiny that felt far too immense for any one person to bear? He knew then that his life could never return to what it once was.
"W-what… what does this mean?" he whispered, his voice trembling. It was as if he stood on the edge of a vast abyss, unsure of what lay beneath. And yet, in the depths of his heart, he already knew—his life had irrevocably changed. This book was no mere object. It was something far greater, far stronger, and far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.
His body felt heavy, not from physical exhaustion but from the sheer presence of the Tome Omnicent resting in his hands. Even with its weathered wooden cover, the book felt alive, as though it were staring back at him. The silence around him grew suffocating, as if the entire world had stopped spinning, leaving him alone with this mysterious entity.
With trembling lips, Kaivan finally forced the words out.
"What does this mean? Are you… speaking to me?" His voice was small, nearly drowned in the stillness of the room. Yet in his mind, the question reverberated, shaking the very core of his soul.
Suddenly, the pages of the book began to move on their own, as if unseen hands were flipping through them. On the next page, words slowly formed—each letter appearing as though written by an invisible quill. The message struck Kaivan's chest like a thunderclap:
"I am the reflection of what you do. Everything you speak and act upon is mirrored within me. Whether good or evil, all is revealed without disguise."
Kaivan froze, his eyes glued to the words. The statement crashed into him like an unseen storm. His body trembled—not from cold, but from the realization that this book was no mere object.
With trembling hands, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he opened them again, confusion filled his expression. "How could that old woman know about me? How could she possibly have given this to me?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
The pages stirred once more, the sound of paper brushing against paper forming a delicate melody that filled the room. Then, more words appeared—elegant yet commanding.
"That old woman knew nothing. It was I who chose you, Kaivan. It was I who shaped the events so you would find me. All of this was planned."
Kaivan's heart skipped. The declaration was so direct, so absolute, that it felt like a hand had just torn apart the fabric of his reality. This book didn't just record events—it orchestrated them. It wielded power far beyond human comprehension, bending fate itself and arranging the flow of time.
Carefully, Kaivan closed the book, his movements slow as though afraid of wounding the entity he now knew was alive. Still, his mind couldn't stop spinning. Who is it? Why me? And what was the meaning of that dream?
Outside the window, dawn painted faint traces of night across the sky. But within Kaivan's heart, night had only just begun. He knew—this was the start of a long journey into a world overflowing with mysteries and secrets yet to be uncovered.
Minutes slipped by in silence. At last, Kaivan sat by his desk, setting the book down in front of him with utmost care. His fingers brushed across its strange texture, almost pulsing beneath the wooden cover. With a steadier voice, he finally asked:
"Why did you choose me? And… what are you?"
The response came faster this time, as though the book had grown more comfortable with their dialogue. "I am drawn to living beings with profound emotional and mental depth. I can grant you knowledge of all things involving understanding, prediction, information, or the feelings of living creatures. But one boundary is absolute—you may not ask about my Creator."
A chill crept down Kaivan's spine. The book had limits. It wasn't simply omniscient—it was bound by rules. His thoughts spiraled. Who placed these restrictions? And why was its Creator forbidden to be spoken of?
"Your Creator…" he whispered, almost inaudible. "You mean God—the one who made you? Then… God really does exist?"
The reply slammed onto the page with such force that Kaivan nearly toppled from his chair. "Of course! Without God, how could life exist? But it was not God who created me. When humans say everything 'just happened,' that is merely their excuse for what they cannot answer."
The tone was sharp, even sardonic, yet Kaivan couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at his lips. There was something strangely refreshing about it, as though he were conversing with an old friend.
"Then… did your Creator choose me?" he asked, this time with newfound courage. His eyes fixed on the blank page as it filled once more.
"Cannot answer," the book replied curtly, with a casualness that both frustrated and intrigued him.
Kaivan let out a long sigh, resting his chin in his hand. It felt like he was speaking to a mentor cloaked in riddles—one who knew everything yet offered only fragments. But beneath the mystery, he felt something else too—a strange, undeniable bond forming between himself and the book.
The morning sun crept slowly over the horizon, its golden rays slipping through the gaps in Kaivan's curtains. The soft glow bathed the room in warmth, while the fresh air drifting in through the slightly open window brushed against his face like a tender caress. In the quiet of his bedroom, the world felt achingly serene.
A girl approached, her movements light. Her fingers brushed the book's surface with careful hesitation, as though afraid of damaging it. When her nimble hand turned the first page, she froze. Every page she flipped was blank—no ink, no words, not even the faintest trace of writing.
"Strange," she muttered, her brows furrowing. Still, curiosity outweighed her unease. She kept flipping, eager to uncover something hidden within.
"Kai! Kai! Where did you buy this book? I want one like it too!" she chirped, her cheerful voice shattering the morning's silence.
Kaivan stirred in his sleep, eyelids fluttering open as her voice reached his ears. His vision slowly cleared—only to meet a sight that jolted him awake. His sister was holding the book, flipping through it carelessly. The calm expression on his face vanished instantly.
"Don't touch that!" he shouted, panic and anger mixing in his tone. He scrambled out of bed, hair messy, movements frantic, and snatched the book from her hands.
"What's your problem, Kai? Geez, you're so uptight." She pouted, handing it back with clear annoyance. "It's just an empty book." With a soft huff, she turned and left the room, leaving Kaivan standing frozen in place.
He stared down at the book in his grasp. Then—something impossible happened. Before his eyes, ink began to bloom across the blank pages. Slowly, words and patterns formed, as though an invisible hand was writing them. Sentences etched themselves into the parchment, filled with hidden weight. Kaivan's eyes widened, his breath catching.
"So… that's what you mean. You can only be used by me," he whispered, his voice tinged with awe and a newfound understanding. A strange bond tied him to the tome now, as though it trusted him alone.
The sunlight grew brighter, spilling across the room. Holding the book tightly, Kaivan rose to his feet and headed to the bathroom. Each step felt heavy—not from his body, but from the questions swirling in his mind. Even as the fresh splash of water touched his skin, his thoughts clung to the tome's mysteries.
When he returned, refreshed but restless, he sat before the book again. His gaze deepened, and with firm resolve, he opened it once more.
"So… what kind of future awaits me?" His voice carried steady curiosity, echoing through the quiet room.
"An ordinary life. Marriage, a stable income, an office job."
The answer struck him like a sudden chill. So simple, so plain—an anticlimax against the wonder he had just witnessed.
"If that's it… my life sounds unbearably dull," he muttered, disappointment heavy in his voice.
"The future shifts with the choices you make in the present."
As though responding to his unease, the tome stirred again. Fresh ink emerged, weaving into new words.
Kaivan reread the line over and over, his thoughts unraveling. Doubt clawed at his certainty about life itself.
"Then… what is it that you truly seek?" appeared next, daring him to confront the question within his own heart.
He stared at the glowing words, intensity filling his eyes. The morning light poured over him, silent yet pressing. His fingers brushed the tome's wooden cover, rough and alive beneath his touch, as though the answer lingered just out of reach. His breaths came slow, burdened with thought.
"I just… I just want to help people now. I don't want to keep turning away, pretending not to care," he said at last. Each word carried a quiet resolve blooming deep inside him.
And then, almost to himself, he murmured, "If I hadn't helped that old woman back then… I might never have ended up with this tome at all."
He opened the tome, its pages strangely warm to the touch, as if pulsing with a hidden energy. Ancient text began to emerge before his eyes, flowing across the parchment like ink being written by an invisible hand.
"Go to the supermarket after school," the words declared. "Stop a student who intends to steal."
"A student... stealing?" he muttered under his breath. Confusion crossed his face, though curiosity burned within him. What did this have to do with him? Why was this act important?
Closing the book gently, he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Doubt flickered for a moment, but he quickly pushed it away. "If the book is giving me directions, there must be a reason," he whispered, convincing himself.