Morning arrived, but it did not bring peace.
Nagantara sat at the threshold of his home, gazing upon the fields and the distant forest. Something within him had shifted. He could feel it. But he did not know what it was.
Padmasari watched him from inside the house. Since early morning, Nagantara had spoken little. He only stared into the distance, as if searching for something.
"Nagantara, what are you looking at?"
The boy did not answer immediately. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "I don't know, Mother. But I feel… as if we are being watched."
Padmasari bit her lip. She felt it too.
Banujati sat cross-legged inside the house, observing them in silence. He knew that ever since that night, everything had changed.
Nagantara had begun to sense something far greater than himself. And that could only mean one thing—
The world beyond had begun to sense him as well.
A breeze whispered from the direction of the forest. No one came today.
But Banujati knew…
It was only a matter of time.
Far beyond the village, in the forest that bordered the realm of men and the wilds…
A figure stood among the trees.
He did not move. He merely watched the village from afar.
His eyes were sharp. His breathing steady. His frame was tall and lean, yet there was no weakness in his stance.
He wore a long, dark cloth, the garb of a wanderer or a hermit who had long roamed the lands.
His skin was bronzed, marked by a life spent under the open sky, facing the untamed wilderness.
A broad sash or headscarf concealed much of his face, leaving only his keen, calculating eyes visible.
A long kris was sheathed upon his back, yet he bore no semblance of a warrior.
In his hand, he held a small wooden staff, carved with intricate patterns, as if carrying a meaning known only to him.
His gaze was not merely watchful—it was searching, not with ordinary sight, but with a deeper understanding.
The wind around him grew strangely hushed, as though even nature itself held its breath in his presence.
He had found something. But it was not yet time to act.
After a moment, the figure turned. Then, he vanished back into the forest.
~~~
Days passed, but the feeling of unease did not fade.
The villagers carried on with their daily tasks—drying rice, weaving lurik cloth, tending to their livestock.
Yet something felt different, as though even nature itself knew that something had changed.
At the village hall, several men sat cross-legged upon a bamboo platform, conversing while chewing betel and areca nut.
"This morning, I saw the birds flying south earlier than usual," said one of them.
"And I found deer tracks much closer to the village than they should be," another added.
An old man with a white beard narrowed his eyes.
"That is a sign."
The others turned to him, waiting for further explanation.
"Animals sense what we cannot see. And if they are moving away… perhaps we should be more cautious."
A hush fell over them. They did not know what was happening… but they could feel it.
In Banujati's house, Padmasari gazed at the sky from the window, her hands busy weaving a piece of cloth. Yet her mind was elsewhere.
Something troubled her—the feeling that someone had seen them. Or worse… that someone knew of their existence.
Nagantara sat on the floor, idly drawing in the dirt with a small twig. His lines were unclear—just random strokes.
And yet… there was a pattern.
From the corner of the room, Banujati watched in silence, carefully studying the shapes the boy had drawn. These were not mere scribbles.
They were symbols… ones that reminded him of something.
Banujati crouched beside the boy, observing closely. "What are you drawing?"
Nagantara lifted his head, eyes filled with confusion. "I… don't know. But I feel like I have to draw it."
Banujati examined the marks in the dirt—
A circle. A crossing line. Curved strokes surrounding it, resembling the ripples of water.
His breath caught. He knew this pattern. But how could a child like Nagantara possibly know it?
The air in the room grew colder.
Banujati let out a slow breath, still crouched beside the boy. These were not random lines, not meaningless shapes.
There was something ancient in them. Something forgotten.
He ran his fingers lightly over the markings, tracing the symbols Nagantara had unknowingly drawn.
This pattern…
It was something only those versed in the old knowledge would recognize. A sigil once used to open the path to a higher consciousness.
Banujati had seen this before—long ago, carved into the stone walls of an ancient cave, far from this village.
And now… this child had drawn it, without even knowing what it meant.
Padmasari, who had been watching closely, finally spoke. "Banujati, this isn't something ordinary, is it?"
Banujati met her gaze, then turned back to the markings. "No. This is something no child should know. And yet… somehow, he does."
Padmasari clasped her hands together, trying to quell the unease growing inside her. "What does it mean?"
Banujati shook his head slowly. "I do not know yet. But one thing is certain… this is no coincidence."
Outside the house, the wind picked up, rustling the trees and sending leaves tumbling to the earth.
The sky had turned amber as the sun descended toward the western horizon.
Yet the air in the village no longer carried its usual warmth.
There was something in the wind. A presence unseen, yet undeniably felt.
Banujati remained seated on the ground, his gaze fixed upon the pattern Nagantara had drawn. He dared not erase it.
There was something about this symbol that felt… right, yet dangerous at the same time.
Padmasari stood beside him, fingers clutching the shawl draped over her shoulders. "Banujati… if this is not mere coincidence, then what does it mean?"
Banujati stroked his chin, releasing a long sigh. "I do not know for certain… But I am sure this is not something we can ignore."
His eyes shifted to Nagantara, who now sat in silence, staring at the earth with a vacant expression.
"This boy is beginning to open something far greater than himself."
"And the question is… is it something that will protect him?"
"Or something that will come looking for him?"
Nagantara reached out, tracing the lines he had drawn with his fingertip.
The moment he did, a sensation crept into his mind—an image, or something akin to a memory.
He saw a vast sky. He heard waves crashing against jagged rocks. And amidst it all… a figure, distant and unclear.
Nagantara blinked rapidly, pulling his hand away from the ground.
His breath came quicker, his chest rising and falling. "I… I saw something."
Padmasari immediately knelt beside him, grasping his shoulders. "What did you see, my child?"
Nagantara shook his head, confusion clouding his features. "I don't know. It was just a glimpse… but it felt like I've been there before."
Banujati narrowed his eyes. "Or perhaps… that place has known you."
Suddenly, the air around them shifted.
The wind stopped.
The air grew heavier, as though something unseen loomed above them.
Padmasari glanced around uneasily. "Banujati… what is happening?"
Banujati tightened his grip on his wooden staff. "I do not know. But we are not alone."
Deep in the forest, far beyond the village, birds burst from the treetops, scattering into the twilight sky.
Something had stirred.
Or worse… something had taken notice of them.
As the sun dipped lower, the village fell into silence.
But it was not the silence of peace. It was the hush that comes before something happens.
Banujati stood beside the pattern in the dirt, his senses sharp.
The air was denser now, thick with something unseen. He had felt this before—long ago.
A faint vibration, distant… yet drawing closer.
His gaze lifted to the darkening sky.
Something was out there.
And it was coming.
Padmasari took a deep breath, then forced a reassuring smile as she turned to Nagantara. "Come, my child. Let's go inside."
She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.
But even she could not shake the feeling that they were not safe.
Every time she looked into Nagantara's eyes…
She saw something different.
Something that had never been there before.
Deep within the forest, a sound cracked through the silence.
Leaves rustled—without a breeze.
The birds had fled, leaving the trees in an eerie stillness.
And in the darkness, something moved.
Inside the house, Banujati settled near the fire.
He gripped his staff and tapped its end once against the earth.
Thud.
Padmasari sat across from him while Nagantara lay upon a woven mat, eyes still open.
None of them would truly sleep tonight.
Banujati exhaled slowly. "We must be ready."
Padmasari turned to him, uncertainty in her eyes. "Ready… for what?"
Banujati stared into the fire, its flickering glow casting restless shadows upon the walls.
"For whatever is coming."
Elsewhere, beyond the village, at the edge of the darkened forest…
The figure from before still lingered. He stood motionless, his form wrapped in dark cloth, his face nearly hidden from view.
His eyes remained fixed upon the village.
He did not speak. He did not move. But he knew.
He had followed this trail for a long time—far longer than any ordinary man could fathom.
This was not the first time he had seen this sign. Not the first time he had sensed something stirring in this world.
But he had not come to destroy. Nor had he come to save.
He had come only to witness.
What had remained hidden within that village… would soon be revealed.
And when that time came…
There would be no turning back.
Slowly, he turned away. His steps were unhurried, yet deliberate.
The time was not yet upon them.
But when it arrived—
He would be there.