"Hey! You!"
The voice was rough and heavy. Rakai turned. A stocky dockworker stood not far away.
"Which ship you boarding?" he asked, eyeing him up and down.
"Westbound merchant ship," Rakai answered shortly.
The man grinned. "West, huh? All the young ones head west. They say gold's scattered there." He stepped closer. "Paid the boarding fee yet?"
Rakai shook his head.
"Thirty silver pieces," the man said quickly. "Or find another bed."
Behind him, two others started approaching. Their smiles looked more like threats.
"I don't have it," Rakai said honestly.
"Then…"
"Hey! Let him go!"
Another voice cut in. An old merchant hurried over.
"He helped me earlier, carried my goods. Don't bother him," he said.
The stocky man laughed shortly. "Then you pay."
The merchant fell silent. Clearly he had no extra money.
Rakai stepped forward slightly. "No need," he said quietly. "I can leave."
"Leave?" The man closed in, reeking of liquor.
"You think this harbor belongs to your ancestors?"
His fist swung.
Rakai moved faster than thought. He blocked the wrist, spun his body, and slammed his shoulder hard. The big man staggered and crashed into a wooden crate. THUD!
"Insolent brat!"
The other two charged together.
Rakai drew one of his father's swords. The noisy crowd instantly went quiet.
"He's got a sword!" someone shouted.
Rakai didn't raise it high.
"I don't want blood on the dock," he said flatly. "Back off!"
The first thug attacked with a club. Rakai sidestepped, his sword sweeping low toward the leg. A scream rang out as the shin bone cracked.
The second tried to stab from behind. Rakai spun, slamming the sword hilt into the man's jaw. A crack sounded, followed by teeth flying onto the wooden planks.
The stocky man rose, face pale.
"This is Srivijaya's harbor," he said nervously. "You'll be arrested!"
Rakai stared at him without emotion. "You started it."
He twirled the sword once, then sheathed it.
Whispers spread quickly. Some looked impressed, others afraid.
But one man watched without overreacting.
"Clean movements."
Rakai turned.
A man around fifty stood a few steps away. Sun-burned dark skin, long hair tied roughly, beard starting to gray. Sharp, cold eyes.
Behind him, a large ship was moored.
Not an ordinary merchant vessel.
Thick hull, full of impact scars. Faded sails, patched as if once burned.
"Who are you?" Rakai asked, wary.
"Khampa," he replied shortly. "Captain Khampa. And you just caught my attention."
"I'm not looking for trouble," Rakai said.
Khampa gave a thin smile.
"Trouble usually finds the right people."
He glanced at the sword at Rakai's waist.
"Ever been a soldier?"
"No. Son of one."
Khampa nodded slowly. "Makes sense. You could've killed them."
"I didn't want to."
"Good." His smile widened slightly.
Moments later, they sat at the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water.
"Where you headed?" Khampa asked.
"Anywhere," Rakai replied. "As long as it's not the palace."
Khampa laughed loudly. "Most honest answer I've heard this morning."
He nodded toward his ship. "Know what that is?"
"Pirate ship?"
"Correct. And you're not running?"
Rakai shrugged. "I don't have many choices."
Khampa studied him for a long time. "Merchant ships will squeeze your strength dry. If you die, they dump you nameless into the sea." He paused.
"On my ship… you might die faster. But at least you'll know who you stand for."
Rakai stayed silent.
"Get on," Khampa said. "I need someone who doesn't panic when blood spills."
"I've never sailed far."
"You'll learn." Khampa stood. "Or sink."
Rakai gave a faint smile. "Sounds fair."
That day, Rakai Saloka boarded the ship Arus Barat.
He didn't yet know the ship would carry his name to places he'd never even heard of.
He only knew one thing: the sea seemed to have already called him.
The name Arus Barat spread faster than most ships. People didn't always say it loudly. Usually just whispers.
"Western Current Pirates…"
The ship wasn't the biggest. Nor the prettiest. Wood dull, patched everywhere. No fancy carvings.
When Rakai stepped onto the deck, the planks creaked softly, as if testing his courage.
"Don't stand there gawking!"
A thin man with a face full of scars stood in front of him.
"Name?"
"Rakai."
"Rakai? No one's called Rakai here. You're 'Newbie' until you earn the name."
Some crew laughed.
Rakai didn't reply. Just nodded.
Life on Arus Barat was simple and brutal.
Wake before dawn.
Haul sails until muscles tore.
Scrub the deck—sometimes fish blood, sometimes human.
"At sea," an old crewman named Sura said one night, "your origins don't matter. What matters is you're still standing tomorrow morning."
Rakai learned fast.
Knots.
Wind direction.
Wave rhythm.
He also learned one more thing: on this ship, rules were enforced without hesitation.
One day a crewman was caught stealing water rations.
Khampa stood before him, face blank.
"You know the rule?"
The man nodded, trembling.
"Good."
No long speech. No shouting. Just a hand signal.
Minutes later, the body was lowered into the sea, stone tied to his feet.
Silence.
Rakai swallowed.
Khampa glanced at him. "You're shaking."
"I'm learning," Rakai answered.
Khampa nodded. "Good. Those who learn usually live longer."
On the third night of the voyage, Khampa sat beside Rakai at the stern, holding a jug of arak.
"You're not a harbor kid," he said.
"No."
"Not an escaped slave either."
"No."
Khampa offered the jug. Rakai took a small sip.
"Your swordplay isn't street-thug moves," Khampa continued. "That's battlefield training."
"My father was a warrior."
"Ah." Khampa smiled faintly. "Makes sense."
He gazed at the dark sea.
"I was born between two worlds. Malay coastal mother. Khmer father from the great western river." He chuckled softly.
"Kingdoms fight each other. Kings come and go. But the sea… stays the sea."
"And you chose life at sea," Rakai said.
"Because only here no one asks who I belong to, where I'm from, or what my past was."
The name Arus Barat carried a reputation. They weren't mindless killers. But when they targeted a ship, it never escaped.
Sometimes just a threat was enough.
Sometimes a fight.
"Khampa's no fool captain," one crew said one night. "He knows when blood needs to spill, when to stay quiet, and when to speak."
That's why many merchants chose to surrender.
That's why the name Arus Barat reached Melaka and Cambodia.
And without realizing it, the more the name was spoken, the more ears heard it.
One quiet night, Rakai stood at the bow. Wind blew his hair back. His hand touched the hidden hilt of his father's sword beneath the cloth.
"Father, Mother. Guide me to the truth," he murmured softly.
The pirate ship Arus Barat sliced through the dark night.
And on the same sea lanes, bigger, more dangerous stories… slowly began to draw near.
"This is just the beginning."