The morning still felt peaceful in the village. Yet Banujati knew this tranquility would not last. Time was slipping away. He had to act.
Gripping his wooden staff more tightly, he donned his old cloak. He was leaving—heading for the hidden hill, where he would summon someone who once walked the same path as he did. Someone who had long chosen a different fate—Wisangkara.
Before departing, Banujati stood at the threshold of his home. Padmasari gazed at him with questioning eyes. "Banujati, where are you going?"
He did not answer right away. His eyes merely held Padmasari's gaze, as if weighing something within.
"I must see someone."
Padmasari fell silent for a moment, then finally nodded. "Is this about Nagantara?"
Banujati exhaled a slow breath. "Yes."
He did not need to explain further. Padmasari already understood—something far greater was about to unfold.
"Watch over him until I return."
And with that, Banujati stepped away.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of his wooden staff echoed with each step as he made his way to the hidden hill.
Banujati passed through fields and small groves that surrounded the village.
The hill was not far, yet neither was it easy to reach. Only those who knew the way could find it, and only those with clear purpose dared to ascend.
Before long, he arrived.
The hill lay silent. Only the whispering wind and the rustling leaves filled the air.
Here, he would call for Wisangkara—the one who was once his brother-in-learning but had since walked his own path.
Banujati took a deep breath, then began tracing a sigil into the earth with the tip of his staff.
The Earth Sigil.
An ancient symbol that connected man to distant spirits.
Next, he lit incense crafted from the roots of an old tree he had brought from home. A distinct fragrance drifted through the air, merging with the energies around him.
Then, in a voice both soft and powerful, he began to chant an ancient incantation:
"Spirits and Realm, Hearken to me…
From the earth beneath my feet, to the wind that carries whispers…
I call upon thee, I summon thee…
O distant brother in soul and time, heed my call!"
The wind suddenly swirled with greater force.
Banujati closed his eyes. And in that moment, he felt it.
"Banujati…"
The voice did not come from the world around him—it echoed within his mind.
He had succeeded. Their souls were now connected.
"It has been long since we last spoke like this."
Banujati's lips curled into a faint smile. "Indeed, it has. But this time, I did not call you to reminisce about the past. I need your help."
The voice in his mind paused, as though weighing his words.
"Tell me, Banujati. What compels you to summon me in this manner?"
Banujati did not answer at once. He drew in a deep breath, arranging his thoughts.
Then, with measured calm, he spoke.
"Wisangkara, I know you left the path we once walked together long ago."
"But this time, I cannot face it alone."
"There is a child."
"He is no ordinary child."
The voice of Wisangkara fell silent in his mind for a moment.
Then, when he spoke again, his tone was deeper.
"Who is this child?"
Banujati closed his eyes, as if seeing Nagantara within his mind.
"His name is Nagantara. And he bears a mark that should not exist in this world."
"A mark that comes from the sky."
The wind howled stronger atop the hill.
Banujati could sense the silence on Wisangkara's end—as if the mere mention of the name was enough for him to understand.
"…You are not jesting, are you?"
Banujati shook his head, though Wisangkara could not see him.
"I would not call upon you in this way for something trivial."
Wisangkara's voice was heavier than before.
"If what you say is true, Banujati, then this is not merely your burden."
"Nor is it just the child's burden."
"This is a matter for the world."
Banujati frowned.
"I know."
"That is why I called for you."
"I need your help."
Wisangkara fell into deep silence.
Banujati could feel his thoughts turning, measuring the possibilities. He knew Wisangkara would not answer without careful deliberation.
At last, after a long pause, Wisangkara spoke again.
"I will come."
Banujati let out a breath of relief.
"When?"
"Soon."
"But before that, I must first settle something on my end."
Banujati nodded.
"I will wait."
"Do not take too long, Wisangkara. Our time is short."
Wisangkara chuckled faintly, though his voice remained cautious.
"You have not changed, Banujati."
"Very well. I will move as swiftly as I can."
And with that, their connection was severed.
The wind blew softer now, as if the energy that had just surged through the air had faded away. Banujati opened his eyes once more. He had done it. Wisangkara would come.
With firmer steps, Banujati grasped his staff again. He lifted his gaze to the sky, watching as the clouds began to move faster. Change had begun. And this was only the beginning.
Banujati made his way back to the village.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of his wooden staff merged with the shifting world around him. He had to be ready for what was to come.
Dusk was falling by the time Banujati returned.
The air felt heavier, as though the wind carried something unseen.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
His staff struck against the cooling earth as night approached.
As he passed several village homes, he noticed that people were watching him longer than usual.
Something had changed. And he was not the only one who felt it.
Normally, as evening crept in, the village would still be alive with sound—children running about, women chatting on their porches, and the rhythmic clatter of looms at work.
But tonight… it was different.
Too quiet.
Banujati paused in the middle of the path, gazing up at the sky as it turned deep purple.
The heavens looked darker than they should. The wind blew from the north, carrying an unfamiliar chill.
He continued walking, heading home.
When he stepped inside, he found Padmasari sitting by the window, cradling Nagantara, who was fast asleep.
She did not move, nor did she speak. She only stared outside with an expression that was difficult to read.
Banujati closed the door softly and stepped forward. "Has something happened?"
Padmasari did not answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed outside, as if trying to catch sight of something unseen.
"I don't know," she whispered at last. "But I feel… that we are being watched."
Banujati turned to the yard, his sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings.
No one was there. No sound out of place. Only the trees swaying gently, stirred by the deepening cold.
And yet…
He felt it too.
Something was watching. But not with eyes—no, this presence was something else entirely.
Suddenly, Nagantara's breath changed. What had been calm now grew rapid, heavy. His small body stirred, trembling slightly.
Padmasari immediately glanced down, her hand brushing over his hair. "Nagantara?"
The boy did not open his eyes. But his lips… they moved.
As if trying to speak.
Banujati stepped closer, watching intently.
And then—
A whisper.
Not from Padmasari.
Not from Banujati.
Not from outside.
But from within Nagantara himself.
Banujati stood by the hearth, eyes locked on the child still nestled in Padmasari's arms.
But Nagantara no longer appeared to be merely asleep.
Something stirred within him.
His lips moved, forming words in a murmur.
Padmasari clutched him tighter, her heartbeat quickening.
"Nagantara?"
The voice was faint at first. But then it grew clearer.
Yet…
It was not the voice of a child. Not Nagantara's voice at all.
It was deeper, older… stranger. A voice that came from within him.
"The call has been made…"
"And they have heard."
Padmasari froze, her skin prickling. Her hands trembled as she touched the boy's face.
"Banujati… what is happening to him?"
Banujati did not answer at once. He simply watched Nagantara with keen, discerning eyes, trying to grasp the meaning of this event.
The call…? Who had heard? Nagantara did not respond. His eyes remained shut, but his body grew increasingly restless. As if caught between two worlds.
And then—something happened.
From the boy's back, a faint glow began to emerge.
Not the blinding radiance from the night of his birth… but something softer, deeper.
Banujati studied it closely.
The mark… it was reacting once more. But not out of danger. No, this was different.
Something greater was drawing near.
Banujati raised his wooden staff and struck it lightly against the earthen floor.
Thud.
The air within the house trembled.
Nagantara was not in danger. But he was… hearing something.
Padmasari still held the boy tightly, yet now she sensed that he was not trapped in a nightmare.
He was receiving something. Perhaps a warning. Or perhaps… a summons.
Silence blanketed the house.
The glow on Nagantara's back slowly faded, as though it had never been there.
The eerie voice had vanished too.
But Padmasari remained tense, gazing at her child with a fear that had not yet left her.
"Banujati… what just happened?"
Banujati did not reply. He only watched Nagantara, waiting.
And then, the boy's eyelids fluttered.
And opened.
Nagantara awoke.
His gaze drifted upward, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes, as though his mind had not yet returned from wherever it had been.
Padmasari immediately touched his shoulder. "Nagantara…?"
The boy blinked a few times, then slowly turned to his mother. He did not speak.
He only looked.
As if trying to grasp something even he did not understand.
Banujati knelt beside him, studying his expression closely.
"Nagantara, do you feel different?"
The child furrowed his brows, closing his eyes briefly. As if trying to recall something.
Then, he opened them once more.
"I… I feel like I've just been somewhere very far away. But I don't know where it was."
Padmasari gripped his hand tightly. "What did you see?"
Nagantara hesitated. Then, in a hushed voice, he said:
"Light…"
"And… I heard a voice. But it wasn't mine. It was as if something was speaking through me."
Banujati exchanged a glance with Padmasari before looking back at the child.
"This voice… what did it say?"
Nagantara shook his head faintly. "I don't remember. Just a strange feeling… as if I should know what it was, but I can't recall."
Banujati's brow furrowed. "Then the voice did not merely speak—it tried to reach you."
Padmasari turned to Banujati, her worry deepening. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps this was not merely a dream. Perhaps Nagantara did not only see something… but something saw him."
A heavy silence followed those words.
Outside, the wind blew colder.
Nagantara turned his gaze toward the window, his expression vacant.
As if his heart could sense something unseen.
And for the first time—
He felt unsafe.