Under the creeping light of the morning sun, the village remained as peaceful as ever.
Children ran along the dirt paths, women pounded rice in the front yards, and the men prepared themselves to leave for the fields.
Yet, inside the small house of Banujati, where they had taken refuge all this time, Padmasari could not find peace.
Since the night she had found Nagantara standing in his sleep beneath the starry sky, a lingering unease had settled within her. Outwardly, her son seemed fine, but Padmasari knew—something had changed.
Nagantara's eyes now glowed blue more frequently in certain light. The dragon mark on his back grew warm whenever he touched it, and in the darkness, faint flickers of light shimmered, as though something inside him was stirring awake—or responding to something drawing near.
He often fell into deep thought, as if listening to something beyond the reach of others.
One morning, as she prepared breakfast, Nagantara sat by the window, gazing at the sky without blinking.
"Nagantara, are you daydreaming?" Padmasari asked, placing a wooden plate on the table.
Nagantara did not answer right away. He kept his gaze on the sky before speaking softly,
"Mother, I feel as if someone is calling me."
Padmasari's heart pounded faster. "Calling you? Who?"
Nagantara shook his head. "I don't know. But every night… the voice grows clearer."
From the corner of the room, Banujati sat in silence, observing the exchange without a word. He did not seem surprised, but there was something in his eyes—a look that suggested he already knew something more.
Padmasari noticed this. She had long wanted to press him for answers. Yet, each time she tried, Banujati only gave her vague responses, as if waiting for the right moment to speak.
But now, that time was running out. Nagantara was beginning to realize the truth about himself, and danger was drawing ever closer.
~~~
In the days before, the sky above the village had always been clear. But that afternoon was different.
A flock of crows soared across the heavens—an unusual sight. The clouds drifted slowly, forming patterns that did not belong. The air grew heavier, as though something unseen loomed above.
In the distance, the village dogs barked without reason, while the chickens in their coops flapped their wings in restless agitation.
At last, Banujati spoke, his deep voice breaking the silence. "Someone… or something is approaching."
Padmasari turned to him swiftly. "What do you mean?"
Banujati did not answer at once. His aged eyes pierced the horizon, as though he could see beyond what ordinary eyes could perceive.
Nagantara, who had remained silent all this time, suddenly clenched his hands. "Mother… I can feel it too."
And at that very moment—the wind stopped.
Silence.
For an instant, every sound vanished, as if the world itself had held its breath.
~~~
Beneath the darkening midday sky, Nagantara sat on the house's front porch, holding a small stone in his hand. He turned it slowly between his fingers, as though something about it had caught his attention.
From inside the house, Padmasari watched him, her hands pausing mid-wash over the remnants of their meal. Since morning, an unshakable unease had lingered in her heart. And for reasons she could not explain, she felt that something within Nagantara was changing.
Nagantara furrowed his brow. His fingers curled into a fist unconsciously, and at that moment, the small stone in his hand began to grow warm.
He slowly opened his palm—and under the dim light, the stone quivered slightly, as though absorbing an unseen energy.
"Mother…" His voice wavered with uncertainty.
Padmasari turned to him swiftly. "What is it?"
Nagantara met her gaze, his eyes filled with confusion. "I don't know… but it feels strange."
He lifted his hand slightly—and at that very moment, the dragon mark on his back began to glow faintly.
It was not as bright as it had been at his birth, but it was enough to make Padmasari catch her breath.
No. This must not happen now.
She quickly knelt before him, gripping his shoulders. "Let go of the stone, my son," she urged, her voice laced with more worry than she intended.
Nagantara blinked a few times before slowly releasing the stone.
The moment it touched the ground, the glow on his back faded.
Padmasari felt her knees weaken.
It was too late. Something had already changed.
From the doorway, Banujati stood, his fingers wrapped around the old wooden staff he always carried—not as a crutch, but as an extension of himself, a mark of a man who had seen too much of the world. His gaze was calm yet deep, observing everything with an unreadable wisdom.
He did not seem surprised, nor did he offer any words to soothe Padmasari's growing fear. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and heavy. "The time is drawing near."
Padmasari snapped her head toward him. "What do you mean?"
Banujati stepped forward slowly, his eyes settling on Nagantara in a way that was different—almost knowing. "How much longer do you think you can keep it hidden?"
"What are you saying, Banujati?" Padmasari's voice rose. "You've known something from the very beginning, yet you never told me!"
Nagantara looked between them in confusion, but inside his chest, something unfamiliar stirred—as though his very body was trying to recall something long forgotten.
Banujati held Padmasari's gaze, his expression calm yet filled with something deeper.
"I said nothing because I was waiting for the right moment."
He turned back to Nagantara. "And now, that moment has arrived."
Inside the dimly lit house, the scent of incense still lingered in the air, merging with the weight of silence that grew heavier by the second.
Padmasari remained kneeling beside Nagantara, her eyes filled with worry.
Banujati rested lightly against his staff, his gaze unwavering. But this time, there was something different about him—a decision he had made long ago.
He exhaled slowly, as though weighing each word before speaking. "I knew this question would come," he finally said, his voice deep yet unhurried. "And I knew… I could not keep this from you forever."
Padmasari tensed. "What do you mean?"
Banujati gazed at Nagantara for a long moment, as if seeing something no other eyes could perceive.
"This child is no ordinary child," he continued. "And you have known that from the very beginning, Padmasari."
Padmasari tightened her grip on Nagantara's shoulders, as if shielding him from those very words.
"What do you mean?" Her voice was weaker than she had hoped. "What have you been keeping from me?"
Banujati did not answer at once. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the dragon mark on Nagantara's back, which had now dimmed once more.
"I do not know much," he admitted at last. "But I know this—his birth has long been awaited by the world."
A tension gripped Padmasari's chest.
"Awaited?" she echoed in disbelief.
Banujati nodded slowly, then walked toward a wooden shelf in the corner of the room.
With deliberate movements, he pulled out an ancient scroll—the very same one he had shown Padmasari when she had first come to this house.
"I have read this many times, Padmasari," his voice carried a weight heavier than usual. "There is a prophecy that has existed in this world since ages past."
He unrolled the fragile parchment carefully, his eyes tracing the faded lines of script.
"This prophecy speaks of the birth of one who will bring great change. One whose existence cannot be ignored—by gods, by men, or by anything that lingers between them."
Padmasari stared at the scroll, recalling the night she had first seen it. Back then, she had not fully understood its meaning, but now… now, everything was beginning to feel real.
"You have known this all along…" she whispered.
Banujati's fingers curled tighter around his staff as he met her gaze. "I was merely waiting for the right time to speak."
A heavy silence filled the air.
Nagantara, who had remained quiet all this time, finally spoke, his voice small and uncertain.
"What does it mean, Grandfather?"
Banujati gave a faint smile—not one of joy, but the kind that belonged to a man who knew the world was far more complicated than one could ever hope for.
"It means, my boy, that you are part of something far greater than you can imagine."
Padmasari gripped Nagantara's arm even tighter.
"No," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "I do not care for prophecies or fate. I only wish to protect this child."
Banujati held her gaze for a long time, as if trying to remind her that fate was not something one could escape simply by looking away.
"You have protected him, Padmasari," his voice remained gentle. "But how much longer can you keep doing so?"
Padmasari did not answer. Her heart pounded too loudly in her chest.
She wanted to scream that Nagantara was just a child. That he was no one special. That all she ever wanted was to give him a peaceful life.
But deep in her heart, she knew it was a lie.
Since the night the world had trembled at Nagantara's cry, she had known—this child would never live like other children.
Outside, the night deepened.
The sky, once merely shrouded in dark clouds, now seemed blacker than ever. No stars, no moon.
And the wind that had once whispered through the trees had stilled into silence.
Padmasari still held Nagantara close to her side, her mind swirling with Banujati's words about the long-hidden prophecy.
But then—something made her skin prickle.
Silence.
No chirping crickets. No rustling breeze.
Even in the distance, the roosters that usually crowed at night had fallen eerily quiet, as if gripped by an unseen force.
Padmasari turned toward Banujati.
The old man said nothing, but the way his fingers tightened around his staff told her one thing—
Something had arrived.
Nagantara, who had been silent all this time, suddenly shuddered.
"Mother…" His voice was barely more than a whisper.
Padmasari turned to him swiftly. "What is it, my son?"
Nagantara did not respond right away. His vacant eyes were fixed beyond the window, staring at something unseen.
Then, slowly, the dragon mark on his back began to glow once more.
Faint. Gentle.
But this time… something was different.
Nagantara parted his lips as if to speak, yet the sound that escaped was not his own.
It was a whisper—one that did not belong to him.
Padmasari felt every muscle in her body tense.
Banujati struck his staff against the ground, the sharp sound breaking the unnatural trance.
Nagantara jolted, blinking rapidly as awareness returned to his eyes. "I… I don't know…"
But before he could say more, a new sound drifted in from beyond the house.
A sound that did not belong to man.
From the shadows of the village trees, a black mist crept forward, twisting and curling like a living thing. It slithered between the wooden houses, spreading over the dirt paths, making the air grow colder with each passing moment.
And then—
From within the fog, two burning red eyes flickered open.
It had arrived.
The figure had no constant form. At times, it appeared as a tall, gaunt silhouette, resembling a man. But in the next breath, its shape wavered, shifting like a shadow unbound by flesh—as if it did not belong to this world at all.
Long, clawed fingers raked across the earth, leaving blackened scars upon the soil wherever they touched.
It lifted its head, and then—it spoke.
Not with lips, nor with a voice, but with a sound that bypassed air and instead struck directly into the minds of those who heard it.
"At last… I have found you."
Padmasari sprang to her feet, her entire body trembling.
"Banujati… what is that?" Her voice was barely audible.
Banujati did not answer right away. He merely closed his eyes for a brief moment, then tightened his grip on his staff.
"Something that has been waiting for this moment for a long time."
Nagantara continued staring at the creature, but this time, his expression had changed.
He was not afraid.
He was curious.