The wind had died. The mist that had cloaked the village began to thin.
The creatures, once thrown back, now crept forward again. Their steps were slower than before, yet their eyes gleamed with hatred—and a patience most dreadful.
They were in no hurry. They knew their prey had nowhere left to run.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy footsteps drew closer.
"They shouldn't be able to pass through this protection," muttered Banujati, his voice deeper than usual.
He raised his staff slightly, feeling for the shifting energies around them. And that was when he realized it—his protection had weakened.
Padmasari's embrace loosened. She lowered her arms, now clutching Nagantara's shoulders tightly. She had to keep the boy conscious, to keep him with her amidst the growing terror.
She could feel his body growing hotter. "Banujati…" she whispered, her breath shaky. "What should we do?"
Banujati did not answer right away. He knew one thing: they could not hold out forever.
But before he could decide, the creatures moved—faster.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Their steps turned aggressive.
And then—
Scrraaatch!
One of them lunged forward, clawing at the air before slamming into the ground just before the house.
The earth cracked. Dust flew into the air. The creature let out a shrill, piercing screech.
And in that moment… something shifted.
Nagantara suddenly lifted his head. His eyes widened, his body tensed.
He did not move… yet something within him did.
Banujati turned to him. And he saw it.
The Blue Light.
The mark on Nagantara's back… it glowed.
Fwooooshhh!
In an instant, the blue radiance burst forth from his back, spreading like ripples across water, crashing outward in every direction.
Banujati stood firm, bracing himself against the force of the energy, while Padmasari held her breath.
And the creatures…
They froze.
"Aaaaarghhh!"
A piercing wail echoed through the air. The creature nearest to them convulsed violently. Its dark, ink-black skin seared from within, as though consumed by unseen flames.
"Th-this cannot be!" one of them shrieked. "This—!"
But before it could finish—
Bwooooshhh!
The creature disintegrated into ash.
The others recoiled in terror, some collapsing to the ground, their bodies writhing in agony.
Banujati only stared. He was not surprised. And yet… he knew this was not something that should be happening—not yet.
As the light began to fade, Nagantara's body went limp.
"Nagantara!" Padmasari caught him just before he collapsed.
He had lost consciousness. His chest rose and fell slowly, his breath weak but steady.
Banujati stepped closer, gazing at the boy with a deep, thoughtful stare. "He isn't even aware of what just happened. And that… is what worries me the most."
The air felt colder. A gentle breeze swept through, carrying the last remnants of dust as they settled upon the earth.
Slowly, the village grew silent once more.
The creatures were gone—some burned to ash, others retreating into the shadows.
Yet Banujati did not move. He knew this was not over.
Padmasari lowered her gaze, looking at Nagantara's pale face resting in her arms.
"My child… wake up." She gently brushed his forehead, feeling the lingering heat upon his skin.
And then, slowly…
His eyelids twitched. And at last, they fluttered open.
"Mother…?"
Padmasari smiled in relief, yet her face remained clouded with worry. "You are awake, my dear?"
Nagantara blinked, still dazed. "What… happened?" He looked around.
The mist had vanished. No ghastly figures stood before their home any longer. But something felt strange. A weariness weighed upon him, one he could not explain.
"I feel… sleepy," he murmured. He truly remembered nothing.
Banujati took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the boy with an unreadable expression.
He was not surprised. He had expected this—Nagantara would recall nothing. And that was what unsettled him the most.
"Padmasari."
She turned to him swiftly.
"Take him to bed. Let him rest."
"But—"
"It is not yet time for him to know." Banujati's voice was firm, though not unkind.
Padmasari bit her lip. But at last, she nodded. "Very well…"
Carefully, she pulled the blanket over Nagantara, ensuring he lay comfortably.
Banujati remained silent, watching as the first light of dawn crept through the window's edge. He knew that after this night, there would be no such thing as true peace.
As Padmasari laid her son to rest, Banujati stood near the doorway. But his eyes were no longer fixed upon the house. Instead, they gazed outward—toward the brightening sky.
He raised his staff slightly and pressed it against the ground.
Thud.
The air around him trembled ever so slightly.
He reached out with his senses, seeking to confirm whether the creatures had truly gone…
And that was when he realized something.
Banujati narrowed his eyes.
He was not alone.
In the distance, hidden among the trees, something remained.
It did not move. It did not strike. It simply… watched.
And Banujati knew—
That creature was not one of those that had attacked before.
This was something else. Someone… or something… far more dangerous.
The first rays of sunlight at last touched the village. The mist that had veiled the land through the night slowly faded, leaving behind glistening dewdrops upon the tips of leaves.
Yet, though morning had come, the tension of the night still lingered.
At the village hall, a group of elder men sat upon woven mats.
They murmured amongst themselves, casting occasional glances toward Banujati's home.
"I heard strange noises last night."
"Some say the ground trembled for a moment, and then—just like that—the sounds vanished."
"And I swear I saw a flash of blue light in the distance!"
Banujati arrived later than usual.
Each of his steps rang clear, accompanied by the soft yet steady thud of his wooden staff meeting the earth.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He knew the villagers had been expecting him.
When he reached the gathering, he halted, tapping his staff once against the ground before lowering himself onto the woven mat.
The moment he sat, all eyes turned toward him.
"Ki Banujati," one of the elders finally spoke. "What truly happened last night?"
Banujati drew a slow breath. "I, too, heard strange noises. But I saw nothing that posed a threat."
A man with a worn turban upon his head—Ki Wira, another respected elder of the village—furrowed his brows.
"But some villagers claim to have seen a bright light in the sky. That is not something ordinary, Ki Banujati."
Banujati gave a slow nod. "Perhaps something merely passed through the heavens. At times, natural occurrences take place beyond our understanding."
Some of the villagers murmured in agreement, accepting his words. Yet others remained uncertain.
A young man seated toward the back whispered under his breath,
"I still feel that there is… something greater at play here…"
But no one dared to question Banujati outright.
Meanwhile, at home, Padmasari remained by Nagantara's side. She had no desire to face the villagers—not yet. Not until all had settled.
Nagantara still slept soundly, though every so often, his body shifted, as if something unseen stirred within his dreams.
Padmasari could do nothing but wait. She knew this was not the end of it.
This was merely the beginning.
By now, the sun had climbed higher into the sky.
Life in the village resumed as usual.
Women busied themselves weaving on their porches, while the men prepared for the fields, their woven baskets and hoes slung over their shoulders.
Yet, beneath this veil of daily routine… an unease still hung in the air.
Banujati knew. The events of the night would not be so easily forgotten.
Once the gathering at the village hall concluded, Banujati did not return home at once. He walked slowly, his wooden staff tapping against the earth with every few steps.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
His stride felt heavier. Not from age, but from the weight of his thoughts.
Something troubled him—something he had sensed since the first light of dawn.
The village… felt different.
On his way, Banujati paused beneath the ancient banyan tree at the village's edge.
The birds that usually perched there… were gone. The leaves that had glistened with dew the night before… now seemed to have dried far too quickly. The morning air, which was usually cool… felt strangely warm.
Banujati furrowed his brows. "Nature is speaking…" he murmured.
But what was it trying to say?
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his body to sense the energy around him.
Thud.
He struck his staff against the earth. "I know you're here…" he whispered.
The wind picked up, swirling dry leaves into the air.
And then—
A voice. One that spoke not aloud, but within his mind.
"Your time is running out, Banujati."
He did not flinch. Banujati opened his eyes once more, gazing into the distance. "I knew this day would come."
The voice faded, offering no further answer.
But he did not need one. He already understood.
When he returned home, he was met with the steady rhythm of breath from within.
Padmasari still sat beside Nagantara, who remained fast asleep.
"He hasn't woken?" Banujati asked softly.
Padmasari shook her head. "No… but his fever has gone down."
Banujati gave a slow nod. He knew that after last night's events, Nagantara would need more time to recover.
But was that a good thing? Or was it a sign… that his body was beginning to change?
He did not yet have the answer.
Yet he knew one thing for certain:
This would not simply end.
The events of the night before…
Nagantara's unconscious outburst of light…
The creatures that had been burned away…
The village that felt different this morning…
Everything was connected. And he had to be ready for whatever was coming next.
After ensuring Nagantara was still resting peacefully, Banujati did not retire. Instead, he stepped outside, standing in the open yard, gazing over the village.
A breeze passed through, yet it carried a heat that was unusual.
He tapped his staff against the ground once.
Thud.
What had happened last night was no ordinary thing. This was no time to merely wait. He needed answers.
But the question was… where should he begin?
Should he seek out the place of the ancestors?
Or venture into the forest that had long concealed its secrets?
He considered his choices carefully. And then, a thought struck him.
Not all in the village had witnessed what transpired last night.
But there was someone… who might have seen something different.
Banujati made his way toward the farthest part of the village.
There, beneath an ancient teak tree, an old man sat cross-legged upon a bamboo cot.
His name was Ki Jayengpati. He was the oldest in the village—older than any living soul.
His eyes were closed, his lips moving slowly as though murmuring prayers or ancient incantations, while his fingers gently rolled a single rudraksha bead, darkened by the passage of time.
The air around him felt still, as if even nature itself was listening to his every breath.
He spoke little. He took no part in village affairs. Yet he was always there. And more than that—he was always watching.
Banujati halted a few steps away and tapped his staff lightly against the earth.
Thud.
Ki Jayengpati's eyes opened slowly. "Ki Banujati…" His voice was low and hoarse. "You seek me?"
Banujati gave a slight nod. "I wish to ask about something that happened last night."
The old man did not answer right away. He took a deep breath, then met Banujati's gaze.
"I saw it."
Banujati's stare sharpened. "What did you see?"
Ki Jayengpati's lips curled into a faint smile. "The light. And I know… that light does not belong to this world."
Banujati exhaled slowly. "What do you know about it?"
The elder did not reply at once. He glanced toward the sky, as though searching his mind for something long buried.
"I have lived a long time, Ki Banujati… and I have seen things that cannot be explained by human words."
"But that light… the last time I saw something like it… was many, many years ago."
"And when it appeared…"
"The world was never the same again."
Banujati frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ki Jayengpati shook his head slowly. "I do not know if this is a sign of fortune… or of doom."
"But I do know one thing… If you wish to understand more… you must seek your answers beyond this village."
Banujati fell silent. He knew the elder spoke the truth.
But was he truly prepared to leave? Even for a short time?
He had much to consider.
Ki Jayengpati remained seated, his lips moving in hushed prayers as the rudraksha bead rolled between his bony fingers.
Banujati stood still a few steps away, waiting, unwilling to interrupt the ritual.
The air around them felt even quieter than before.
Then…
Ki Jayengpati's eyes opened once more.
"Ki Banujati…" His voice was faint, yet firm. "What is it that you seek from me?"
Banujati did not answer at once. He met the old man's gaze, searching for something hidden behind those deep, knowing eyes.
"I want to know about the light—the light that appeared last night."
Ki Jayengpati sighed. "That light does not belong to this world. But you already know that, do you not?"
Banujati remained silent for a moment. "I want to hear your thoughts."
The elder inhaled slowly, staring at the sky before returning his gaze to Banujati.
"Long ago, before you and I were born, there was one who possessed such a light."
"He was called the 'Messenger of the Heavens' by some… but by others, he was called a Threat."
"And his fate… was not a kind one."
Banujati's brow furrowed. "What happened to him?"
Ki Jayengpati shook his head. "No one knows. But after that light appeared… the skies were never the same. And the gods began to take notice."
Banujati understood.
He could not ignore the eerie resemblance between this old tale… and what had happened to Nagantara last night.
"Do you believe that this light… is the same as what Nagantara possesses?"
The old man was silent for a moment before giving a slow nod.
"I do not believe in coincidence, Ki Banujati. If that light has returned to this world… then history shall repeat itself."
Banujati took a deep breath. "Then… what must I do?"
Ki Jayengpati smiled faintly, as if he had been expecting that very question.
"If you wish to know more… you must go to the place where it all began."
Banujati's frown deepened. "That place…?"
The elder's gaze hardened.
"Mount Merapi."