Azazel strolled down a narrow dirt path that twisted through the heart of Simpang. Shadow trotted beside him, ears perked and eyes alert. The morning sun had just begun to peek over the misty hills, casting golden light over the terraced fields. Despite the beauty, Azazel's thoughts were heavy with worry.
He needed answers.
"Let's hope this old herbalist knows something," Azazel murmured, his hands tightening into fists. Shadow tilted his head, giving Azazel a look that seemed to say, Really? We're taking advice from someone who probably talks to plants all day?
Azazel chuckled, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. "You've got a point, Shadow. But sometimes the people who talk to plants have the most to say."
They arrived at a small cottage at the edge of the village, half-hidden by vines and flowering herbs. The scent of rosemary and sage wafted through the air. Azazel knocked on the wooden door, and it creaked open almost immediately.
An old woman with wild white hair and eyes sharp as hawk's peered out. She wore a necklace of dried herbs and a smirk that hinted at more wisdom than her frail appearance suggested. "Well, well," she said, her voice scratchy but warm. "What brings a young warrior and his fluffy shadow to an old woman's hut?"
Azazel swallowed his nervousness. "I'm looking for Rin, the herbalist," he said. "I was told you might know something about the curse on this village."
The woman cackled, a sound like dried leaves rustling in the wind. "I am Rin, boy. Come in, before my herbs start gossiping about you." She shuffled back into the dim interior, and Azazel exchanged an amused glance with Shadow before stepping inside.
---
Rin's home was a chaotic yet strangely comforting place. Shelves overflowed with jars of dried plants and roots. Strange symbols were etched into the wooden walls, and in one corner, a large cauldron bubbled with a liquid that smelled suspiciously like mint and mushrooms.
Shadow sniffed the air and sneezed, making Azazel stifle a laugh. "Careful," Azazel whispered, "one sneeze and you might turn into a frog."
Shadow huffed, clearly unimpressed.
Rin gestured for Azazel to sit on a stool while she herself settled into a rocking chair. "So," she said, her eyes narrowing, "you've tangled with that cursed relic, haven't you? It's in your aura. Dark and tangled, like a stormcloud."
Azazel's heart skipped a beat. "You can see that?"
The old woman nodded, her gaze growing serious. "Yes. But tell me, boy, why do you seek to break this curse? Curses are tricky things, born of anger, betrayal, and pain. Only a fool tries to unravel one without knowing the whole story."
Azazel took a deep breath, thinking back to his vision in the Whispering Hills. "I want to help this village," he said. "And... I guess I want to prove to myself that I can do some good. I've made mistakes in the past. People have suffered because of me."
Rin's sharp eyes softened, just a fraction. "We all have ghosts chasing us, Azazel. Some of us make friends with them, others let them haunt us forever." She leaned forward. "The curse on Simpang is older than you or me. It began with a betrayal—an ancestor of these villagers once made a pact with a powerful sorcerer. When the villagers turned on him, he cursed their descendants with endless suffering."
Azazel frowned. "A sorcerer? Who was he?"
Rin rocked slowly, her chair creaking. "His name was Malik. He was a man of immense power, but also immense pride. The betrayal broke him, and his spirit never left these hills. His rage fuels the curse to this day."
---
Azazel left Rin's cottage with a head full of swirling thoughts. He found a quiet spot near the rice fields, where he sat with Shadow by his side. The wolf watched him intently, as if sensing his inner turmoil.
"Betrayal," Azazel whispered, picking up a smooth stone and rolling it between his fingers. "It's a wound that never truly heals, huh?"
He remembered his own pain, the way he'd been betrayed in the past. His father's face flashed in his mind, and he clenched his jaw. The guilt, the anger—he carried it everywhere, like a heavy chain.
Shadow nudged him, pressing his warm head into Azazel's shoulder. The wolf's silent comfort made Azazel chuckle, a small, sad sound. "You're right," he said, running a hand through Shadow's fur. "No use brooding, is there?"
Shadow gave him a look that clearly translated to, *You're getting dramatic again.* Then, the wolf rolled onto his back, paws in the air, tongue lolling out.
Azazel burst out laughing. "Oh no, a mighty wolf, defeated by his own fluffiness!" He reached over and playfully tickled Shadow's exposed belly. Shadow wiggled, sneezing again and making a series of comical snorting sounds.
For a moment, the shadows in Azazel's heart felt lighter.
---
Feeling a bit more hopeful, Azazel made his way back to the village center, where Rin was waiting. The old herbalist had gathered a small crowd of villagers, all looking anxious and curious.
Rin raised a bony finger. "If you truly wish to break the curse, Azazel," she announced, "you must face Malik's lingering spirit. Only by confronting him can you hope to set things right."
A murmur ran through the villagers. Harun, the tall and serious farmer, crossed his arms. "Face a vengeful spirit?" he asked skeptically. "And what if he curses us even worse?"
Laila, the gentle woman who often spoke for the hopeful, stepped forward. "We have to try," she said. "Living in fear forever is no way to live at all."
Azazel felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. "I'll do it," he declared, his voice steadier than he felt. "But I need your trust—and any help you can offer."
Rin nodded solemnly. "You'll need more than courage, boy. You'll need a tether to this world, something that reminds you of your purpose. Spirits like Malik feed on doubt."
Azazel thought for a moment. Then he smiled and looked at Shadow. "I think I already have my tether."
Shadow's ears perked up, and he sat up straight, looking proud. *See?* his expression seemed to say. *I'm more useful than I look!*
Harun sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well," he muttered, "at least you've got a wolf who knows how to make us laugh."
---
As the villagers prepared for Azazel's confrontation with Malik, one of the elders, Pak Budi, insisted on cooking a "hero's meal" for Azazel. The smell of spices and sizzling vegetables filled the air, making everyone's mouths water.
Azazel watched with a mixture of awe and concern as Pak Budi added a *ridiculous* amount of chili peppers to the pot. "Um, Pak Budi," Azazel ventured, "are you sure that's... edible?"
Pak Budi waved him off. "Nonsense! Spicy food gives warriors strength!"
When the meal was finally served, Azazel took a cautious bite. His eyes widened, and his face turned bright red. He gasped, his mouth on fire, and Shadow howled with laughter (or at least, it *sounded* like laughter).
Laila rushed over with a jug of milk, giggling. "Here, drink this! Before you melt!"
Azazel gulped down the milk, tears streaming from his eyes. "Okay," he wheezed, "I'm pretty sure that meal just cursed me worse than Malik ever could."
The villagers burst into laughter, the tension breaking for a precious moment. Even Harun couldn't help but chuckle.
Pak Budi looked offended but then grinned. "Fine, fine. Next time, I'll tone it down. Maybe."
---
With spirits a little higher, Azazel gathered his supplies. Rin handed him a small pouch of protective herbs. "These will shield your heart," she said. "But remember, the true strength lies within you."
Azazel took the pouch, his expression serious. "Thank you, Rin. I won't let you down."
Shadow trotted beside him, looking more determined than ever. Together, they made their way to the edge of the village, where the path to Malik's resting place began. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
Azazel took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the journey ahead. But with Shadow by his side, he felt ready.
"Let's do this," he whispered.
Shadow barked in agreement, and they stepped into the shadows, ready to face whatever the past had in store for them.