The first light of dawn stretched across the horizon, painting the skies above Trowulan (Majapahit's capital) in hues of orange and pale gold. The kraton was unusually quiet, the bustle of servants and courtiers not yet begun. Only the sound of cicadas and the distant crow of a rooster disturbed the silence.
Adrian now Hayam Wuruk stood at the edge of the inner courtyard, his robe plain, without the heavy embroidery of statecraft. Today, he was not a king to be worshiped before the masses. Today, he was a man seeking to measure another.
Gajah Mada arrived with little ceremony. No entourage, no banners, only a single aide who remained outside the courtyard gates. The Mahapatih bowed deeply, his large frame bent with controlled grace.
"Your Majesty requested me," he said, his deep voice carrying in the quiet air.
"I did." Adrian gestured toward a small pavilion shaded by bamboo and flowering tanjung (Spanish cherry trees, often planted in palace gardens for their fragrant blossoms). A stone table stood at its center, carved with intricate lotus designs. On it lay a wooden board marked with squares, its pieces already set catur (traditional Javanese chess, symbolic of strategy and governance).
Gajah Mada raised an eyebrow. "You would play catur at dawn, Your Majesty?"
Adrian's lips curved into a faint smile. "I would see how the Mahapatih wages war without blood."
They sat. Adrian moved the first piece a pawn forward.
For a time, the two men played in silence. The only sounds were the click of ivory pieces upon wood and the distant song of waking birds. Yet beneath the surface, each move was a question, and each countermove an answer.
"You cut the nobles yesterday," Gajah Mada said at last, sliding a knight to block Adrian's advance. "It was bold. Too bold, perhaps. You will make enemies."
Adrian captured the knight with his bishop. "Enemies are inevitable. But fear not, Mahapatih. I do not act without thought. When a tree is diseased, you do not water it you prune it."
The Mahapatih's dark eyes studied him. "And what of the roots? Roots run deep. Too deep for any one man to cut."
Adrian leaned back, his gaze sharp. "Then I will plant new trees. Ones that bow to the crown, not strangle it."
Their pieces clashed. Pawns fell, knights danced across the board, bishops sliced into enemy lines. Gajah Mada played cautiously, reinforcing his defenses, waiting for opportunities. Adrian, by contrast, pressed relentlessly, sacrificing pieces without hesitation to gain control of the center.
"You play ruthlessly," Gajah Mada observed.
Adrian smirked. "In war, hesitation is death. In rule, mercy to traitors is cruelty to the people."
The Mahapatih leaned forward, eyes glinting with something almost like approval. "Then perhaps you are not the boy I thought."
Their match neared its climax. Gajah Mada launched a counterattack, driving his rook deep into Adrian's lines. But the king anticipated it, luring him further until his queen swept across the board in a decisive strike.
"Checkmate," Adrian said softly, placing the queen before Gajah Mada's king.
For a long moment, silence hung between them. Then the Mahapatih chuckled, low and rumbling. "Few have defeated me at catur, Your Majesty. Fewer still with such… cruelty."
Adrian leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Remember this game, Mahapatih. For I do not play for victory alone. I play to remake the board itself."
Gajah Mada studied him with renewed intensity. Slowly, he inclined his head. "Then perhaps Majapahit has found the king it needs."
The sun rose higher, spilling golden light across the courtyard. Two men sat across the catur board one a legendary general, the other a transmigrant king reborn. Neither trusted the other fully, but both recognized what the other represented: power, vision, and the possibility of shaping history anew.
In that quiet dawn, an alliance was forged not of friendship, but of necessity.
---
The catur board remained between them, its pieces frozen mid-battle, as the first rays of the sun streamed across the courtyard. Adrian Hayam Wuruk rested his hands upon the table, his expression calm yet sharp.
"You test me with words as well as with pawns, Mahapatih," he said. "Now let us speak plainly."
Gajah Mada inclined his head, his heavy jaw set. "Very well. Your decree has stirred the court. The nobles grumble like dogs denied scraps. They will not sit idle."
"Let them grumble," Adrian replied smoothly. "Their wealth is not the kingdom's strength. The true wealth lies in the people and in the flow of trade that passes through our lands."
The Mahapatih's brow furrowed. "Trade is fickle. Merchants are loyal only to profit. Today they come with ships of pepper and silk, tomorrow they may turn to China or India."
Adrian leaned forward. "Which is why Majapahit must offer more than spices. We must offer stability. A farmer who keeps his grain, a craftsman who knows the value of his coin, a merchant who trusts that the currency in his purse will not be debased all these are stronger than armies. Soldiers fight for pay, but men live for bread."
He gestured with a hand. "Tell me, Mahapatih, do you know how many versions of kepeng (copper coins pierced with a hole in the center, used for trade) circulate in our markets?"
Gajah Mada's eyes narrowed. "…Dozens. Some from China, some minted here, some… counterfeit."
"Precisely." Adrian's lips curved faintly. "A kingdom that cannot control its coin is a kingdom that bleeds. Merchants cheat with false copper, nobles hoard gold, and the people starve when prices change with the wind. I will forge a standard. A coin of Majapahit, equal in every port, trusted in every market. With it, I will bind both merchant and peasant to the crown."
The Mahapatih was silent for a long moment, his dark eyes searching the young king's face. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Ambitious. Dangerous. But if you succeed, Majapahit will grow richer than even Srivijaya in its prime."
Adrian's smile sharpened. "I do not plan to succeed, Mahapatih. I plan to rule."
---
Their talk stretched as the morning deepened. Adrian spoke of law written, permanent, carved not in whispers but in stone. He spoke of teaching letters to the sons of farmers, of training scribes not only from noble houses but from the villages.
"The nobles will howl," Gajah Mada said grimly.
"Let them," Adrian replied. "Every man who can read my decrees is a sword in my hand. And when the people see me as the giver of knowledge, they will call me not tyrant, but…" He paused, the faintest smile touching his lips. "They will call me Rajasa Negara."
Gajah Mada tilted his head. "Rajasa Negara?"
"The Lion of the Kingdom," Adrian explained, his voice low but steady. "A name the people will whisper in the markets and fields. Not the formal titles of court those are for ceremonies. But a name born of the people's own mouths. A name that binds me to them."
The Mahapatih's eyes glinted, amused yet thoughtful. "A dangerous thing, to let the people name their king. Names can become weapons."
Adrian's gaze turned to the horizon, where the sunlight spilled across the distant fields. "Then let them forge my weapon. I will wield it gladly."
---
By the time the audience ended, the sun was high, and the kraton had awakened fully. Servants bustled through corridors, and the sound of gamelan drifted once more across the courtyards.
As Gajah Mada departed, his aide following at a distance, the Mahapatih glanced back one last time. His eyes met the young king's, and for a fleeting instant, there was something like respect.
Adrian stood alone in the pavilion, his shadow long against the stone. He touched the catur board, sliding a pawn forward with a fingertip.
"A new coin, a new law, a new name," he murmured. "Majapahit will not remember the boy I replaced. They will remember me."
His smile was cold, determined.
"Rajasa Negara the Lion of the Kingdom."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with promise.