The Gathering at Sungai Lintang
The village of Sungai Lintang teemed with life as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, golden shadows over the dense jungle. Smoke from the cooking fires curled into the air, carrying the scents of roasted boar, jungle herbs, and freshly harvested rice. The hum of cicadas mixed with the chatter of villagers as they bustled about, their faces alight with anticipation. Tonight was no ordinary night—it was the eve of the Ritual of Fifteen, a rite of passage that marked the threshold between childhood and adulthood.
Underneath the towering canopy of the Borneo jungle, families gathered in the village square, an open space surrounded by longhouses adorned with carvings of mythical beasts. Warriors sharpened their spears and parangs, the gleaming blades reflecting the flickering firelight. Women worked swiftly to weave intricate bead patterns into ceremonial sashes, their nimble fingers moving with practiced ease. Children, too young to participate in the ritual, played nearby, their laughter cutting through the tension in the air.
Dahen stood at the edge of the gathering, his feet rooted to the earth as though the weight of the moment had grown physical. He wore a barkcloth vest that clung uncomfortably to his skin, its colorful beads jingling softly with every nervous shift of his body. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on the confident faces of the other fifteen-year-olds who stood nearby. They whispered among themselves, their excitement barely concealed.
Dahen felt out of place. His hands were clammy, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He tried to adjust the ceremonial beads around his neck, but they felt too tight, like they might choke him. As he fidgeted, his gaze drifted toward his family, who stood across the square.
His father, a man of unyielding strength, leaned against a wooden post, his arms crossed. Beside him stood Dahen's elder brother, who had bonded with a bay cat during his own Ritual of Fifteen. The creature—its sleek, dusky fur gleaming in the firelight—sat coiled at his feet, watching the proceedings with sharp, unblinking eyes. Dahen's father caught his gaze and gave him a small nod, a gesture that should have been reassuring but instead felt like a mountain pressing on his chest.
Dahen turned away, the question gnawing at his thoughts: What will my beast be?
As the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, a hush fell over the square. The flames in the ceremonial fire leaped higher, casting an ethereal glow over the gathering. Elder Tunang, his presence commanding despite his stooped frame, stepped forward into the circle of firelight. His long hair, streaked with gray, was tied back with a leather thong, and his face bore the weathered lines of countless seasons spent in communion with the jungle.
Tunang raised his hands, and the crowd stilled. His voice, deep and resonant, carried easily over the clearing. "Tonight, we honor tradition," he began, his words deliberate and measured. "For generations, our people have lived in harmony with the jungle. The beasts are not merely animals; they are our protectors, our allies, and our family. Tomorrow, you will seek your bondmate, the one who will walk beside you in this life and beyond."
The young ones stood straighter, their faces a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Dahen swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
Tunang's gaze swept over them, his eyes sharp and penetrating. "This is not a game," he warned. "The jungle is a place of beauty, but it is also unforgiving. It will test your spirit, your patience, and your courage. To bond with a beast is not to command it but to earn its trust. You will find your beast not through strength or cunning, but through understanding. The connection must be mutual—an unspoken truth shared between two souls."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd. Dahen's chest tightened as he glanced at the towering jungle beyond the square. The trees stood like sentinels, their dark forms blending into the night, their secrets hidden beneath the canopy.
Elder Tunang continued, his tone softening. "You are not alone in this journey. The spirits of our ancestors walk with you, and the jungle itself will guide you. Listen carefully, for the jungle speaks to those who are willing to hear."
As Tunang spoke, the villagers around the square began to chant softly, their voices rising and falling in a haunting melody that seemed to echo through the jungle. The ceremonial fire flared brighter, its flames dancing as though in response to the song. Dahen felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a shiver running down his spine.
His thoughts swirled with uncertainty. Unlike the others, who seemed to hold clear visions of their destined beasts, Dahen felt… nothing. No pull toward the wild boars that roamed the jungle floor or the anacondas that slithered through the rivers. Even the shadowy bay cats, so revered by his people, stirred no connection within him.
For the briefest moment, he wondered if the jungle would reject him entirely.
As the chanting subsided, Elder Tunang raised his arms once more. "Rest well tonight, young ones. At dawn, you will enter the jungle. Remember—this journey is not just for you. It is for your people, your family, and the jungle itself. Go with courage."
The crowd erupted into cheers and blessings as the youths were led away to prepare for the night. Dahen lingered for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the flames, as though searching for answers within their flickering depths.
What if the jungle has no beast for me? he thought, the question tightening the knot of doubt in his chest.
---
Stories of the Beasts
The night air carried a cool breeze as villagers gathered closer to the fire, their faces illuminated by its flickering glow. The anticipation was palpable, a shared energy that bound everyone in attendance. Elder Tunang sat cross-legged at the center, his presence commanding yet approachable. The firelight danced across the intricate tattoos that adorned his arms and chest, each symbol a marker of battles fought, spirits honored, and lessons learned.
He began speaking in a low, rhythmic voice, weaving words like threads into a tapestry of memory. "Long before any of us walked this earth, the jungle was wild and untamed. The beasts ruled, their spirits vast and untouchable. It was only through courage and humility that our ancestors learned to walk alongside them. Each bond was a sacred pact, a promise to protect one another."
The elder's voice deepened as he leaned forward, his hands gesturing to emphasize the weight of his words. "The wild boar," he said, pointing to a young warrior's bonded beast sitting proudly by its side. "The boar is more than a symbol of strength—it is a creature of resilience and loyalty. Do you know the tale of Kayan, the Boar Guardian of the Punan tribe?"
The children's eyes widened as they leaned in, eager for the story. Tunang smiled, his face softening. "Kayan was a warrior whose village was struck by unrelenting floods. The waters swallowed their crops, their homes, their hopes. As the tribe prepared to abandon their land, Kayan stood firm. With his wild boar, Tenanggai, he cleared paths through the floodwaters, found higher ground for the villagers, and even fought off crocodiles that lurked in the rising rivers. Together, they turned despair into survival, proving that the bond between man and beast can overcome even nature's wrath."
Applause rippled through the crowd, and Dahen noticed the young warrior with the wild boar puffing out his chest, clearly inspired by the tale.
"But not all bonds are forged through struggle," Tunang continued, his voice softening. "Some are born from trust and healing. The anaconda is a beast of patience, of silent power. Many fear its coils, but few understand its wisdom. The healer Ibanah, a woman of the Ot Danum tribe, tamed an anaconda that became her partner in life. Together, they ventured into the deepest rivers and darkest swamps, retrieving herbs no one else dared to seek. It was said that when Ibanah laid her hand on a wounded villager, her anaconda would coil around the patient, its presence soothing and protective, as though nature itself conspired to heal."
The villagers murmured in awe, their respect for the beasts and their stories growing with each word. Dahen found himself captivated despite the knot of uncertainty in his chest. These were not mere animals—they were partners, guardians, even heroes.
Elder Tunang paused, letting the stories sink in before continuing, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And then," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, "there is the Neofelis."
The crowd fell utterly silent. Even the crackling fire seemed to quiet. Dahen felt the tension rise as every eye turned toward the carved totem at the heart of the square. At its apex loomed the Neofelis, a creature shrouded in both reverence and fear.
"The Neofelis," Tunang intoned, "is unlike any other beast. It is said to be the guardian of the jungle's balance, a creature of unmatched cunning and strength. Its fur shimmers like shadows under the moonlight, and its claws are sharp enough to cut through stone. But it is not its might that sets it apart—it is its spirit."
Tunang rose slowly, his figure backlit by the fire as his voice grew more intense. "The Neofelis chooses only the rarest of souls. Not the strongest. Not the bravest. But those who truly belong to the jungle—those who hear its heartbeat, feel its breath, and understand its wisdom. For this reason, the Neofelis is rarely seen, and even more rarely tamed. Many believe it is merely a legend, a ghost that watches over the jungle but never reveals itself."
A hush fell over the gathering as Tunang's words settled over them like a mist. Dahen's heart raced. The elder's description of the Neofelis felt oddly personal, as though the story wasn't just for the villagers but for him specifically.
"Yet," Tunang continued, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the young ones, "there are whispers in the wind, signs in the leaves, that the Neofelis may soon return. And if it does, it will seek not a rider, but a partner—a spirit that matches its own. One who can truly honor the balance it protects."
Dahen shifted uncomfortably, a shiver running down his spine. He didn't understand why, but the weight of the elder's words seemed to press directly on him. His eyes darted to the totem again, where the Neofelis loomed above the other beasts, its carved eyes piercing.
As the villagers began murmuring once more, sharing their own thoughts and stories, Dahen caught his father's gaze. The man's expression was unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes. Dahen tore his eyes away, trying to focus on the fire instead.
What if the jungle did not choose him? What if he failed tomorrow and returned to the village empty-handed, a disappointment to his family and tribe? Worse still, what if the jungle had chosen him—but its choice was the impossible Neofelis?
Dahen clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. No. He had to succeed. For his family. For his tribe. For himself.
Elder Tunang's voice rose again, pulling Dahen from his spiraling thoughts. "Tomorrow, you will enter the jungle. Trust in its wisdom, for it will guide you. And remember: the bond you seek is not something to be taken, but something to be earned."
As the villagers began to disperse, the firelight dimming, Dahen remained seated. He stared into the embers, as though seeking answers in their dying glow. Somewhere out there, the jungle waited for him. And somewhere within it, his destiny lay hidden.
Would it be a bay cat, an anaconda, or something far more elusive?
Or would the jungle leave him with nothing at all?
---
A Friend's Encouragement
As the ceremony drew to a close, the warm energy of the gathering began to dissipate into the cool night. Villagers exchanged quiet farewells, the younger ones chattering nervously about the trials awaiting them. The fire burned low, casting long shadows that danced across the jungle clearing. Dahen lingered by the dying embers, his mind swirling with thoughts he couldn't quite untangle.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dahen saw Langi weaving through the dispersing crowd. His closest friend's broad grin and carefree stride stood in sharp contrast to Dahen's own tense demeanor. With an easy familiarity, Langi clapped Dahen on the back, nearly making him stumble forward.
"There you go again with that serious face," Langi said, shaking his head. "You're going to scare off every beast in the jungle before you even step into it!"
Dahen sighed, trying to mask his unease with a weak smile. "I'm just... thinking. That's all."
Langi raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Thinking? That's your first mistake. No one tames a beast by overthinking, Dahen. Trust me, when we're out there, the jungle will guide us. The right beast will know when it meets you." He tapped his temple with mock wisdom. "Nature doesn't need plans. It just happens."
"Easy for you to say," Dahen muttered, kicking a stray rock near his foot. "You're the one who always seems to have everything figured out."
"Figured out?" Langi laughed, the sound loud and infectious in the quiet night. "Dahen, you're talking to the same guy who got chased up a tree by a boar last week. Does that sound like someone who has anything figured out?"
Despite himself, Dahen couldn't help but chuckle. "I thought we agreed never to talk about that again."
"And miss a chance to lighten the mood? Not a chance." Langi leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think the jungle's already picked out my beast. It's probably something grand—like a clouded leopard or a massive anaconda. Imagine that!"
Dahen rolled his eyes but felt the faintest tug of a smile at his lips. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Langi. The jungle might decide to humble you with a squirrel."
"A squirrel?" Langi feigned a wounded expression, clutching his chest as though struck by an arrow. "Dahen, you wound me. But if the jungle does give me a squirrel, I'll tame the fiercest one anyone's ever seen. It'll make the others jealous."
Their laughter echoed softly in the clearing, cutting through the weight that hung over Dahen's thoughts. For a moment, he felt lighter, less burdened by the doubts gnawing at him.
But the moment passed quickly, and Dahen found himself staring into the dying fire once again. "What if I fail, Langi?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Langi's grin faded, replaced by a look of genuine concern. He crouched down beside Dahen, his tone softer but firm. "You won't fail. You're one of the strongest people I know. You've spent your whole life learning from the jungle—more than any of us."
"But what if the jungle doesn't choose me?" Dahen's hands clenched into fists, his voice trembling with frustration. "What if... I don't belong out there?"
Langi was silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. Then he nudged Dahen with his shoulder, his voice playful but laced with sincerity. "If the jungle doesn't choose you, we'll make it choose you. I'll march up to every beast myself and tell them they're missing out on the best partner they could ever have."
Dahen snorted, shaking his head. "That's not how it works, Langi."
"Maybe not," Langi admitted with a shrug. "But you're my brother, Dahen. If you stumble, I'll be there to help you up. That's what we do for each other, right?"
Dahen looked at his friend, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. "Right," he said, his voice steadying.
"Good." Langi stood, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Now, enough with the brooding. We've got a big day tomorrow. Let's get some rest, or you'll be too tired to bond with even a squirrel."
As Langi walked away, whistling a cheerful tune, Dahen remained seated by the fire. The weight of his doubts still lingered, but Langi's words echoed in his mind, a small but comforting reminder that he wasn't alone.
He looked toward the jungle, the dark silhouettes of the trees standing tall and unyielding. Somewhere in that vast, untamed world, his fate waited for him. Whether it was a wild boar, a bay cat, or something far more elusive, Dahen knew he had to face it.
And no matter what, he wouldn't give up. Not on himself. Not on the jungle.
Not on his destiny.
---
Whispers of the Jungle
Later that night, the village lay wrapped in a blanket of silence, the soft chirping of insects and occasional hoot of an owl the only sounds breaking the stillness. The ceremonial fire had long died down, leaving behind the faint, smoky scent of burnt wood lingering in the air. The sky was awash with stars, their brilliance accentuated by the absence of any artificial light. The moon hung low, casting its silvery glow across the jungle and painting the landscape in a palette of shadows and soft light.
Unable to sleep, Dahen found himself wandering to the riverbank, where the water sparkled like liquid silver under the moonlight. He crouched by the edge, running his fingers over the cool surface, his reflection distorted by the ripples. His thoughts weighed heavy, like an anchor pulling him into the depths of his own mind.
He stared at his reflection, his brow furrowed. "What if I can't do it?" he murmured, his voice barely louder than the rustle of the leaves. "What if the jungle... doesn't want me?"
The jungle around him seemed alive, its sounds shifting as though in response to his doubts. A low breeze stirred the trees, making their leaves whisper secrets he couldn't understand. Dahen leaned back, staring up at the towering silhouettes of the ancient trees. They felt like silent sentinels, watching him, judging him.
Just as he was about to look away, a faint rustling sound came from the underbrush. He froze, his hand instinctively moving to the small knife strapped to his waist. His ears strained, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The rustling grew louder, then stopped abruptly.
Dahen's eyes darted to the treeline. For a moment, all was still. Then, just beyond the line of trees, he caught a glimpse of something—a pair of amber eyes, glowing faintly in the dark. They were unblinking, fixed on him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Who's there?" Dahen called out, his voice trembling despite his effort to sound brave. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife.
The eyes didn't move. They watched him in silence, their glow almost hypnotic. He felt his breath quicken, the air around him growing heavier with an unspoken tension. The jungle seemed to hold its breath, the usual symphony of sounds falling eerily silent.
"Is it you?" Dahen whispered, his voice barely audible. He didn't know why he said it or who he thought he was addressing, but something deep within him stirred—a feeling he couldn't name, like the faint echo of a memory he didn't know he had.
The eyes blinked, once, slowly. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they vanished, swallowed by the darkness of the jungle. The rustling returned, retreating deeper into the forest until it was gone entirely.
Dahen exhaled sharply, realizing he had been holding his breath. His grip on the knife relaxed, though his heart still pounded in his chest. He sat back on his heels, staring into the darkness where the eyes had been.
"What was that?" he muttered to himself. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had been seen—not just looked at, but truly seen, as though whoever—or whatever—those eyes belonged to had peered into the depths of his soul.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts. He turned quickly, his hand moving back to his knife, only to see Langi emerging from the shadows. His friend's face was lit with a mischievous grin.
"Jumping at shadows now, are we?" Langi teased, crouching beside Dahen. "Did the jungle finally start talking to you?"
Dahen scowled, though his relief was evident. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
"Didn't mean to," Langi said with a shrug. "I couldn't sleep and figured I'd find you here. You always come to the river when you're overthinking things." He tilted his head, studying Dahen's face. "What's got you so spooked?"
Dahen hesitated, glancing back toward the trees. "I thought I saw... something. Eyes, watching me."
Langi's grin faltered slightly, his tone turning more serious. "Eyes? What kind of eyes?"
"Amber, glowing," Dahen said quietly. "They were just there, in the trees. But then they disappeared."
For a moment, Langi was silent, his gaze following Dahen's toward the dark jungle. Then he chuckled, though it sounded forced. "Maybe it was your beast, finally showing itself. You're always going on about how connected you are to the jungle. Maybe it decided to check you out."
Dahen shook his head. "It didn't feel like that. It felt... different. Like it was testing me, or waiting for something."
Langi clapped him on the shoulder. "Whatever it was, it's gone now. You'll have plenty of time to figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, you should get some rest. You're no good to the jungle—or yourself—if you're half-asleep out there."
Dahen nodded reluctantly, though his mind was still racing. As they walked back to the village, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. The jungle was silent once more, the trees standing tall and unyielding. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that the eyes would return—and that when they did, his life would never be the same.
---
The First Light of Dawn
As the first rays of sunlight began to break through the thick canopy of trees, the air was filled with the scent of fresh earth and dew. The villagers gathered around the edge of the settlement, their faces a mixture of pride and quiet sorrow, knowing this would be the last time they would see their children for some time. The morning was still, the usual sounds of the jungle faint in the distance as if it too was waiting for the moment to come.
Dahen stood near the edge of the gathering, his heart heavy in his chest. The soft hum of the morning, the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind, contrasted with the nervous energy that buzzed around him. His hands were still shaking from the night before, though he kept them hidden behind his back. He had not spoken to anyone after his encounter with the mysterious eyes in the jungle, his mind still haunted by the vision.
Around him, the other youths were already adorned in ceremonial beads and charms, given to them by their families—tokens meant to protect them on their journey. The thick strands of braided grass and colorful feathers were meant to ward off bad spirits, each bead carrying the blessing of the ancestors. His peers were filled with excitement, some with wide grins plastered on their faces, others standing nervously, but none seemed to carry the weight that Dahen felt.
His mother, Kalis, approached him quietly, her footsteps soft on the dirt path. She was wearing the traditional dress of the Iban tribe, a deep red and gold shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her expression was calm but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes that made Dahen's stomach twist.
"You're ready," she said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. The touch was gentle, yet there was an unspoken strength in it. "The jungle knows what is meant for you, Dahen. Do not doubt yourself."
Dahen glanced down, avoiding her gaze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. "I don't know if I'm ready, Mother," he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. "What if I don't find what I'm meant to tame? What if the jungle refuses me?"
Kalis sighed, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. She cupped his face gently, lifting his chin so that their eyes met. "The jungle is vast, my son. It will test you. It will not give you what you want easily. But you carry the blood of your ancestors in you. Their spirit lives within you, guiding you. Remember that."
Dahen nodded slowly, trying to steady his breathing. His mother's words always seemed to have a way of soothing his doubts, but the weight of this trial—the journey ahead, the uncertainty of what awaited him—was almost suffocating. Still, he couldn't bring himself to voice his true fear: that he would never form the bond he needed with any beast of the jungle, that he would return to the village without success, without the honor that his people expected of him.
Langi, his childhood friend, came over, breaking the moment between mother and son. He wore a grin as wide as the sky, his beaded necklace gleaming in the early light. "Are you going to stand there looking lost all day, or are we going to begin this journey?" Langi's voice was filled with the same excitement that Dahen longed to feel but couldn't quite summon.
Dahen chuckled weakly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not lost, just... thinking." He gestured to the path ahead. "There's still time. The jungle's not going anywhere."
Langi raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. "You worry too much, Dahen. The jungle is waiting for you to prove yourself, just like all the rest of us. But you have an advantage." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "You're the one who can tame the Neofelis, remember?"
Dahen's chest tightened at the mention of the rare beast. It was the beast that only the most connected and worthy riders could tame, a creature so elusive and powerful that even the elders spoke of it only in hushed tones. It was said that no one had successfully tamed a Neofelis in generations, and some even whispered that the creature was nothing more than a myth. The pressure to tame it, to prove himself worthy of such a beast, was overwhelming.
"You're not helping," Dahen muttered under his breath, forcing a smile for Langi's benefit.
Langi patted his friend on the back, the gesture both supportive and playful. "I'm just saying. Don't overthink it. If the jungle is as alive as they say, it will guide you. You just need to listen."
"Listen," Dahen repeated, his voice distant. He nodded slowly, though the fear still churned inside him. He could hear the whisper of the wind through the trees, the soft rustling of leaves, the subtle shifting of creatures in the underbrush, but it felt like the jungle was a thousand miles away. How could he listen when his own doubts were so loud?
The village elder, Ukat, stepped forward, his stoic presence commanding immediate attention. The elderly man's long, white beard swayed in the breeze, and his weathered face was set in a serious expression. The other youths gathered around, awaiting his blessing.
"Dahen," Ukat called out, his voice raspy yet firm. "Come forth."
Dahen took a deep breath and walked toward the elder. The villagers parted to let him through, their eyes following him with both curiosity and expectation. As he stood before Ukat, the elder placed a hand on his head, murmuring a blessing in the old tongue, the words flowing like a river from his lips. Dahen could feel the weight of the blessing settle over him, heavy and warm, though it did little to ease the tension in his chest.
Ukat's eyes locked with Dahen's, his gaze piercing. "Remember, young one," he said, his voice softer now, almost like a whisper. "The bond you seek is not a gift, but a challenge. The jungle does not give without testing the heart. Keep your heart true and your mind clear. Only then will the Neofelis—if it is your destiny—accept you."
The last part of his words echoed in Dahen's mind as he turned away. "If it is your destiny." Dahen's heart beat in his ears, the uncertainty still hanging over him like a dark cloud. He could only hope that what the elder said was true—that the jungle would reveal its secrets when the time was right. But deep down, a part of him feared that the time would never come.
With a final nod to his mother and Langi, Dahen took his first step into the jungle, the towering trees engulfing him in their shadow. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the jungle would not be kind, and only through perseverance and faith in the bond he sought would Dahen have a chance to prove himself worthy of the Neofelis.
The village faded into the distance as the jungle swallowed him whole.