Azazel and Shadow stepped out of the dense forest and into the village of Simpang. The first thing Azazel noticed was the beauty of the place. Terraced rice fields sprawled across the landscape, each level reflecting the sky like a mosaic of mirrors. Mist hung low in the hills, weaving around the houses made of wood and straw. Yet, despite the picturesque scenery, there was something unsettling beneath the surface. The air felt tense, and every shadow seemed to hold a secret.
Shadow sniffed the air, ears twitching. The wolf stayed close to Azazel, as if sensing the strange energy of the place. Azazel adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and tried to take in the sight of Simpang without letting the eerie feeling overwhelm him.
"Looks normal enough," Azazel murmured. Shadow let out a low growl, as if disagreeing.
The village appeared lively at first glance. People bustled about, carrying baskets of vegetables or leading buffalo down to the rice paddies. Children ran in the muddy streets, chasing each other and laughing. But when Azazel looked closer, he saw the fear that lurked in the villagers' eyes, the way they glanced over their shoulders or avoided stepping into shadows.
He had just started down the main dirt path when a cheerful voice called out to him. "Well, now! A stranger in Simpang? That doesn't happen every day."
Azazel turned to see a man with a wide, friendly smile and a hat made of woven straw. The man was standing behind a cart laden with various goods: fruits, handmade jewelry, and woven baskets. His face was tanned from working under the sun, and his eyes crinkled with genuine warmth.
"Welcome, welcome!" the man continued. "I'm Budi, a humble merchant. You look like you've traveled a long way, friend."
Azazel smiled back, grateful for the warm greeting. "Yeah, it's been a journey," he replied. "I'm Azazel, and this is Shadow." He gestured to the wolf at his side. Shadow eyed Budi warily but made no move to threaten him.
Budi's eyes widened with delight. "A wolf companion! How extraordinary! You must have some amazing stories to tell." He reached into his cart and pulled out a shiny red apple, tossing it to Azazel. "Here, a welcome gift. Simpang isn't as lively as it used to be, but we still know how to be hospitable."
Azazel caught the apple and thanked him. He took a bite, savoring the crisp, sweet flavor. "So," he said between bites, "is it always this... quiet around here?"
Budi's smile faltered, and his eyes darkened. "Ah, you noticed," he said quietly. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There's trouble in Simpang. Strange, dark trouble. The kind that keeps good people awake at night."
Azazel's curiosity was piqued. "What kind of trouble?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.
Budi glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "Supernatural trouble," he said. "It started with the rice dying, even in fields that had been fertile for generations. Then people began disappearing—men and women taken in the dead of night, their screams echoing through the hills. Some say it's a curse. Others whisper about angry spirits."
Azazel exchanged a look with Shadow. His mission had always been to help where he could, but curses and angry spirits were a different kind of challenge. "Do you know who might be able to tell me more?" he asked Budi.
The merchant brightened. "Ah, that would be our village chief, Pak Ketut. A wise man, though burdened with the weight of our troubles. You'll find him at the big house in the village square." Budi paused, eyeing Azazel curiously. "Are you here to help us, Azazel?"
Azazel hesitated. Was he ready to take on another burden after everything he'd already faced? But he couldn't ignore the pain and fear he saw in the villagers' eyes. "I'll do what I can," he said. "Wherever there's trouble, I try to make things right."
Budi clapped him on the shoulder, his smile returning. "Then you're more welcome here than you know," he said. "If you need anything—a charm, a meal—come find me."
"Thanks, Budi," Azazel said, feeling a flicker of hope in the merchant's kindness. He continued down the path, with Shadow trotting alongside him.
---
The village square was a bustling hub of activity, but there was an air of forced normalcy. Women sold vegetables from woven baskets, and an old man played a soft, mournful tune on a bamboo flute. But there were no jokes, no hearty laughter. People moved as though a shadow loomed over them.
Azazel approached the largest house, built from sturdy wood and decorated with intricate carvings of dragons and mythical beasts. Two guards stood at the entrance, their spears crossed.
One of them, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward. "State your business," he said gruffly.
"I'm here to speak with the village chief," Azazel said. "I hear Simpang is in need of help."
The guard studied him, taking in the sword strapped to Azazel's side and the wolf at his feet. Finally, he nodded and gestured for Azazel to enter. "Chief Ketut will want to hear from you," he said.
Inside, the house was dimly lit, with woven mats on the floor and the smell of incense lingering in the air. At the center sat a man with deep lines etched into his face, his hair streaked with gray. He wore a simple robe and a necklace made of carved bone. His eyes, though tired, held a sharp intelligence.
"Welcome, stranger," Pak Ketut said, his voice measured. "I am Ketut, the village chief. What brings you to Simpang in these dark times?"
Azazel bowed respectfully. "I'm Azazel," he said. "I've heard about the troubles here, and I want to help."
Ketut leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Many have come promising help," he said. "Hunters, warriors, priests. None have succeeded. What makes you different?"
Azazel hesitated, feeling the weight of the chief's doubt. "I've faced darkness before," he said simply. "And I'm still here."
Ketut studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "We are desperate," he admitted. "Our people live in fear, and hope is slipping away. If you truly wish to help, you are welcome to try."
He gestured to a map on the table. "The attacks have been centered around the northern rice fields," he said. "Strange creatures have been seen—spirits or demons, no one knows for sure. If you wish to help, that is where you should begin."
Azazel nodded, taking in the information. "I'll look into it," he promised.
The chief's eyes softened, and he nodded. "May the spirits of the land watch over you," he said. "And be careful. The darkness here... it is not like anything you have faced before."
---
Azazel and Shadow left the chief's house, stepping back into the square. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the village. Azazel's mind raced with thoughts. A curse, creatures, missing people—this was more than he had expected.
"Looks like we've got work to do," he said to Shadow. The wolf wagged its tail slightly, ready for whatever came next.
Before they could leave the square, a young girl ran up to them, clutching a small bunch of wildflowers. "Mister!" she called out, her voice high and bright. She held the flowers out to Azazel. "For luck," she said.
Azazel knelt down, a smile breaking across his face. "Thank you," he said, accepting the flowers. "I'll need all the luck I can get."
The girl giggled and ran off, her laughter the first genuine sound of joy Azazel had heard since arriving. He stood, his heart feeling just a little lighter.
"Alright, Shadow," he said, straightening up. "Let's find out what's really haunting this village."
Together, they made their way toward the northern rice fields, the mist swirling around them like a shroud. The sun dipped below the hills, and darkness began to creep over Simpang. Azazel gripped his sword tightly, knowing that whatever awaited them would not be easy. But he had faced the darkness before, and he would face it again, with Shadow by his side.