The sun had finally crested the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and bruised purple. At the gates of the Peak of the Clouds, Siska Wijaya looked like a ghost of her former self. Her designer heels were ruined by the gravel, and her expensive silk blouse clung to her skin, soaked by the morning dew.
For three years, she had been the icy queen of the business world, looking down on the man who cooked her meals and ironed her clothes. Now, she was a beggar at his doorstep.
"The Master will see you now," Yasmine's voice cut through the air, cold and professional.
Siska flinched. She looked at the woman in the tactical gear—young, beautiful, and radiating a dangerous competence. She felt a sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy. Who was this woman? And how did Arga, the man who couldn't even stand up to her mother, command someone like this?
"Thank you," Siska whispered, her voice rasping.
She was led through the sprawling estate, past gardens that seemed to breathe with a life of their own, and into the grand hall. The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting the light from the massive windows. At the end of the hall, framed by the backdrop of the entire city, sat Arga.
He wasn't sitting on a throne, just a simple chair of dark wood, yet the atmosphere around him was so heavy that Siska felt as if she were walking through water. He was dressed in a simple black robe, his chest partially exposed, revealing skin that looked like it was forged from bronze.
Arga didn't look up from the ancient scroll he was reading.
"Arga..." Siska started, her voice trembling.
"Master Arga," Yasmine corrected sharply, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade.
Arga raised a hand, and Yasmine instantly fell silent, bowing her head. The absolute obedience was chilling.
"Siska Wijaya," Arga finally said. His voice was no longer the soft, hesitant tone she remembered. It was deep, resonant, and carried the authority of a mountain. "You stood at my gate for three hours. That is three hours more than you ever gave me during our marriage."
Siska felt a lump in her throat. "Arga, please. The company... everything is falling apart. Kevin is crippled, his father has declared war on us, and the banks have frozen our assets. My mother is... she's losing her mind. I didn't know where else to go."
"You came to the man you signed away two days ago?" Arga asked, finally looking at her.
His eyes were the most terrifying part. They weren't filled with anger or hatred. They were filled with nothing. To Arga, she wasn't a villain; she was an ant that had once crossed his path.
"I... I made a mistake," Siska sobbed, dropping to her knees on the cold obsidian. "I let my mother influence me. I let the world tell me you were nothing. But please, the people who work for Wijaya Textiles... they have families. If the company collapses, hundreds will be on the street."
Arga stood up. The movement was so fluid it looked like smoke rising. He walked toward her, and with every step, the pressure in the room increased. Siska felt her breath hitching.
"You speak of responsibility now?" Arga stood over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. "When I was your husband, I protected you. You didn't see the business rivals I scared away just by being in your house. You didn't see the accidents that didn't happen because my aura shielded your car. You saw a servant. I saw a wife."
Siska looked up, tears streaming down her face. "You... you protected us?"
"I am the Sovereign," Arga said, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed in her soul. "My presence is a blessing. My absence is a curse. You chose the curse, Siska."
He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, wooden token carved with the image of a rising sun. He tossed it onto the floor in front of her.
"Take that to the Governor's office," Arga commanded. "The pressure on your company will stop. The banks will release your funds. The Wijaya family will survive."
Siska grabbed the token as if it were a lifeline. "Thank you... oh God, thank you, Arga! I'll make it up to you. We can start over. I'll fire the servants, I'll—"
"Stop," Arga interrupted, his voice cutting through her words like a blade. "You misunderstand. I am not saving your company because I love you. I am saving it because I do not want the blood of your workers on my hands as I climb back to my throne."
He turned his back on her, walking toward the balcony.
"Go, Siska. Rebuild your little empire. But know this: from this day forward, we are strangers. If you or your mother ever mention my name to the press, or try to use our past to gain favor, I will not just bankrupt your family. I will erase your entire lineage from the history of this city."
Siska felt a cold shiver of absolute certainty. He wasn't threatening her; he was stating a fact. She realized with a crushing weight that the man she had married was never the man she knew. And the man standing before her now was someone she would never be worthy of again.
"Arga... will I ever see you again?" she asked, her voice small.
"Look at the sun, Siska," Arga said, staring out at the horizon. "You can see it every day, but you can never touch it. That is the distance between us now."
Yasmine stepped forward, gesturing toward the exit. "The audience is over. Leave."
Siska stood up, her legs weak. She clutched the wooden token to her chest and walked out of the hall. As she left the Peak of the Clouds, she looked back one last time. Arga was standing on the edge of the cliff, his silhouette framed by the morning light.
He looked like a god watching over his creation.
Inside the hall, Arga closed his eyes. The last thread of his mortal attachment had been severed.
"Master," General Surya approached, bowing deeply. "The 500-year-old Ginseng has stabilized your base. But my scouts have found something even more potent. A 'Heavenly Lotus' has been spotted in the deep mountains of the North. But it is guarded by a beast that even modern weapons cannot kill."
Arga's eyes snapped open, a fierce golden light erupting from his pupils.
"A spirit beast?" Arga smiled, a terrifying, beautiful expression. "Finally. A real challenge. Prepare the jet, General. It's time I reminded this world's nature who its true master is."
The Sovereign's journey had only just begun. The city was a foothold; the world was the next step.