The wind howled fiercely at the hilltop.
Banujati stood there, at the border between the village and the forest, in a place where ordinary folk rarely set foot.
This was no ordinary place. Once, long ago, this land was reserved only for those who understood the language of nature—for those who could speak with beings beyond mere mortals.
That night, the moon hung high in the sky.
In his hand, Banujati gripped his wooden staff tightly. He had made the call. Now, he only needed to wait for an answer.
He had been here before. Just a few nights ago, in this very spot, he had sent out the first call.
Back then, the wind had only whispered, hesitant, as if unsure whether to carry his message forward. But now, as he returned, the air felt heavier.
As if the world had listened, and now, it awaited a reply. As if something had already begun to stir. And he knew—Wisangkara would come.
~~~
Far away, at the foot of Mount Merapi, someone opened his eyes. He had been waiting for this call for a long time.
"So, you have finally sought me out, Banujati."
Inside his wooden hut, Wisangkara sat cross-legged, his gaze piercing into the darkness.
Before him, embers smoldered faintly, flickering as if in response to something unseen.
There was no hesitation. He knew—the time had come.
With a single movement, he rose, seized his wooden staff, and stepped out into the night.
The journey had begun.
~~~
In the village, Padmasari sat near the hearth. Her hands held a piece of cloth she had woven herself, yet her mind was far from it.
It had been days since Banujati left for the hill. And still, he had not returned.
Nagantara sat nearby, silent, yet his eyes were filled with unspoken questions. He, too, could sense that something was shifting—like the world itself had begun to move toward an inevitable course.
Far beyond the village, the wind stirred, moving faster.
Birds that usually perched on branches took flight, restless, as if disturbed by something unseen.
In the forest, the trees whispered louder, though no storm had come. As if nature itself knew that something great was about to unfold.
And somewhere, deep within the darkness of the woods, something began to stir.
At the hilltop, Banujati still waited. His eyes remained open, though he was not seeing in the way others did.
He was feeling—sensing the vibrations in the air, waiting for the answer to come.
And then—
A footstep rustled through the dry leaves. Someone was approaching.
Banujati did not need to turn. He already knew who had come.
"You have come at last, Wisangkara."
At the mist-covered peak of the hill, two figures stood facing each other.
Banujati remained still, gripping his wooden staff, his gaze fixed on the man who had just arrived. Before him stood a figure with steady steps.
Wisangkara.
A man who once walked the same path as he did. And now, after so long, they stood before each other once more.
Under the moonlight, Wisangkara's figure became clearer.
He was taller, his frame more solid than Banujati remembered. A thin beard lined his chin, a mark of the long journey he had endured. His body was draped in a simple, dark-colored robe, yet the fabric was sturdy—not the kind worn by ordinary villagers. At his waist, a kris was tucked, its hilt adorned with intricate carvings.
But the most striking of all were his eyes. A gaze sharp and calculating. No longer the eyes of a student who once learned beside him, but those of a man who had seen much—too much.
In his hand, he held a wooden staff, one that looked eerily similar to Banujati's.
The carvings were the same, the wood was from the same source—yet there was something different about it. Though both had been crafted from the same root, they did not carry the same power.
Banujati glanced at the staff in Wisangkara's grip and let out a faint smile. "You still keep it."
Wisangkara lifted his staff slightly, tracing the carvings with his fingers. "Of course. This is no mere staff, is it?"
For a brief moment, the two wooden staffs seemed to resonate with one another, as if recognizing the presence of their twin. Two relics from the past. Given to them as the last disciples of a master long gone. Yet, despite their shared origin, the power within them was different.
Banujati's grip on his staff tightened as he felt the steady flow of its energy—gentle, controlled. His staff was a relic of protection, granting balance and clarity, allowing him to read the forces of nature with deeper understanding.
Wisangkara's staff, however, held something else. Something wilder. Fiercer. It was not merely a tool for guidance—it was a weapon.
Wisangkara studied Banujati's expression and gave a slow nod. "We received them from the same place… But the paths we took changed the way we wield them."
Banujati let out a thin smile. "That is true, Wisangkara. I chose to guard, while you chose to endure. But in the end, we still hold pieces of the same legacy."
He could no longer hold back his smile. Without another word, he stepped forward and embraced Wisangkara.
It was not the embrace of strangers who had just met. It was the embrace of old friends—of two who once walked the same road, shared the same teachings, and held the same trust.
For a moment, the wind at the hilltop felt warmer.
They had changed in many ways. But some things would always remain—bonds that even time could not erase.
Wisangkara pulled away from the embrace, giving Banujati a firm pat on the shoulder.
"It has been a long time, my friend. I never thought you would seek me out after all these years."
His voice no longer carried the warmth it once did. There was something else in his tone.
Not anger. Not suspicion. But something deeper—the understanding that no meeting ever happened without reason.
Banujati gave a slow nod. "I did not seek you out without cause."
Wisangkara planted his staff into the ground, his gaze piercing through Banujati. "I know. If you have summoned me, then something has happened."
Banujati met his eyes, his expression unreadable. "Not something, Wisangkara. Someone."
Wisangkara narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
"A child who was never meant to exist in this world."
For a moment, silence settled between them.
At the hilltop, the moon still hung high, while the wind blew stronger, carrying with it an omen from a world much greater than their own.
Banujati and Wisangkara stood amidst the whispering trees, their leaves rustling in the night breeze.
Between them, two sacred staffs were planted into the earth. Two friends, two paths, two relics. And one fate they could not escape.
Wisangkara regarded Banujati with a measured look. "Tell me, my friend. What kind of child do you speak of?"
Banujati did not answer immediately. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if searching for the right words.
Then, with a calm voice, he spoke. "The child… is Nagantara."
Wisangkara did not flinch, but his gaze sharpened. "A weighty name. Who are his parents?"
Banujati looked directly into his eyes. "Ratnadewi and Indra Sagara."
For a moment, the wind at the hilltop seemed to still.
A name that should have long been buried in history.
Wisangkara inhaled deeply, his eyes lifting to the dark sky. "The blood of the heavens and the blood of men… They have brought forth something that was never meant to be."
He turned back to Banujati, his voice now heavier. "You understand what this means, don't you?"
Banujati nodded. "I do. And I also know that he cannot remain in the village much longer."
Wisangkara exhaled, stepping away from Banujati, his gaze sweeping over the vast darkness of the forest below.
"It is not only the gods who will seek him out. There will be others—those who would use his existence for their own gain."
Banujati did not deny it. "That is why I called for you."
Wisangkara glanced at his staff once more. "Long ago, we swore never to interfere with the affairs of the gods again, Banujati. You remember what happened the last time we involved ourselves in matters like this."
Banujati nodded, his eyes unwavering. "I remember. But this is not about them. This is about a child who never asked to be born into this war."
Wisangkara fell silent. Then, he stepped closer to his staff, lifted it, and traced the carvings along its surface.
"Then, what do you want from me?"
Banujati met his gaze, unwavering. "Help me take him away from the village."
Wisangkara let out a long breath. "And take him where?"
"To a place where he can grow, beyond the watchful eyes of the gods."
"You know that is impossible."
Banujati gave a faint smile. "We have done things far more impossible than this, Wisangkara."
Wisangkara did not answer right away. Deep in his heart, he knew that Banujati would not ask for this unless it was truly urgent.
But he also knew that taking the child away meant inviting a greater threat into their lives. A fate that might change everything.
Wisangkara looked at his friend once more. "Give me time to think, Banujati. I won't give you an answer now."
Banujati nodded slowly. "I will wait for you in the village. But not for long. Because we both know—we are running out of time."
At the hilltop, the moon still hung high, while the wind howled even stronger, as if carrying omens from a world beyond their reach.
Wisangkara remained standing, his expression heavy with contemplation.
Banujati had said all that needed to be said.
Now, the decision lay in his hands. But this was no simple choice. To help Banujati meant stepping back into the currents he had long tried to avoid.
But to refuse… meant leaving an innocent child to face his fate alone.
Wisangkara gazed at his staff, running his fingers over the carvings that had accompanied him through a long journey.
It did not take him long to realize what his answer would be. But before he could speak—
The ground trembled.
Banujati immediately planted his staff into the earth, feeling the subtle vibrations coursing through it.
This was no ordinary quake. This was something else.
Wisangkara clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
The wind, which had merely howled before, now carried strange, whispering voices.
Deep within the forest, the sound of snapping branches echoed. Birds scattered from the treetops, fleeing in all directions—as if running from something unseen.
Something was approaching.
Banujati spoke without turning. "You feel it, don't you?"
Wisangkara gave a slight nod, his gaze sharpening. "I don't know what our conversation has summoned, but we are not alone."
Banujati tapped his staff against the ground once more.
"They have found him at last."
From beyond the trees, shadows began to stir. Not one. Many.
Wisangkara tightened his grip around his staff, his eyes gleaming with sharp focus. "Are you certain this is about the child?"
Banujati narrowed his gaze, studying the figures more clearly. "I have seen them before. They came to my home a few days ago."
Wisangkara turned sharply. "So this isn't the first time they've appeared?"
Banujati nodded. "They are shadow creatures. Not entirely real, yet real enough to kill. They are neither human nor beast, neither mere spirits nor wandering souls. They are something far older."
One of the shadows stepped forward. Its eyes did not glow, yet its presence was so dark that it seemed to devour the moonlight itself.
Not human. Not animal. Something else. Something that did not belong in this world.
Wisangkara studied the creature with a grave expression. "How many did you face last time?"
"Fewer than now."
"And you survived?"
Banujati met his gaze for a moment before answering truthfully. "We endured. I held them off as long as I could. But I was not the one who drove them away."
Wisangkara frowned. "Then who?"
Banujati's eyes darkened. "Nagantara."
For a moment, the wind on the hill seemed to still.
Wisangkara did not blink. "How?"
"I do not know if he did it consciously or not. But suddenly, his body emitted a blue light. It burned these creatures. They howled, screamed, and fled."
Wisangkara inhaled deeply. "A power he has yet to understand."
"And that is why they have returned," Banujati said, his voice low.
"They know the power exists within him. And now, they have come to ensure he never uses it again."
Wisangkara said nothing. Instead, he raised his staff slightly, preparing for whatever was to come.
"Give me a reason to stay, Banujati."
"They will give you more than enough reason," Banujati replied, his eyes locked forward.
And that was when the first shadow leaped toward them.
Banujati moved first. His wooden staff swung forward, sending a gust of force rippling through the ground.
Thud!
The creature was thrown backward but did not fall.
Wisangkara did not wait. In one swift motion, he pressed off the earth and dashed forward like a shadow himself. His staff spun through the air before striking another creature that lunged from the side.
Crack!
A sharp sound echoed in the night.
Bones? No. These creatures had no bones. They were shadows, condensed by something older than time itself. They could not be slain by ordinary means.
Amidst the battle, Wisangkara cast a quick glance at Banujati. He had not changed. His movements were still precise, still calculated. But there was something different in the way he fought.
Banujati was not trying to destroy them. He was stalling. Enduring.
Wisangkara, however, fought more directly. His staff carved through the air, striking down anything that came too close. He did not care whether they could be killed—he only ensured they never reached him.
Banujati raised his hand, drawing energy from the earth, and struck it into the air.
"Rawa Dipa!"
At once, the air around them trembled, a surge of wind blasting several creatures backward.
Wisangkara frowned. "So, you still use that technique?"
Banujati gave a faint smile. "I only use what is necessary."
One by one, the creatures stepped back. But they did not leave. They watched. Studied. Waiting for an opening.
Banujati exhaled slowly. "These are no ordinary beings, Wisangkara. Strike them with the wrong force, and they will return—stronger than before."
Wisangkara tightened his grip on his staff. "Then how do we stop them?"
Banujati gazed at the sky. "They came because they sensed Nagantara's power. If they are drawn to the light… then we must defeat them with darkness."
Wisangkara held his gaze. "You want to use that?"
Banujati nodded. "I have no other choice."
"Then I will stand with you."
"We do this together."
"Like old times?"
Banujati smiled. "Like old times."
And atop the shadow-covered hill, two old friends raised their relics once more.
For the first time in years…
They would wield a power that even the world had long forgotten.
The wind howled wildly around them.
The sky, once merely dark, began to tremble. The moon above was veiled by shifting mist, moving like a curtain being drawn from another realm.
Banujati and Wisangkara stood side by side. Two old comrades. Two keepers of knowledge lost to time. The last disciples of a teaching even the gods dared not speak of anymore. And tonight, they would invoke it once more.
The creatures remained. They did not retreat. They did not attack.
They watched. They waited. They knew.
They understood that this battle was different.
Wisangkara clenched his staff, his gaze cold. "If we do not destroy the root of this power, they will return again and again."
Banujati nodded. "They came because they sensed Nagantara's energy. But we can change that scent. If they are drawn to the light… then we must shroud them in darkness."
Wisangkara furrowed his brow. "You truly mean to use that?"
Banujati did not answer. Instead, he raised his staff and drove it into the ground.
"Sagara Wisesa."
The earth beneath them quivered.
Wisangkara inhaled deeply, then did the same.
"Ranu Pralaya."
At once, light flared from the tips of their staffs.
But not a golden radiance like that of the gods.
Not the crimson flames of the world's wrath.
It was a deep, bluish-black glow—like moonlight sinking into the abyss of an unreachable ocean.
A surge of energy not of this world. A power that should have faded with those who once wielded it.
Banujati closed his eyes.
"Sagara Wisesa. I am the keeper of the unseen currents."
Wisangkara lifted his staff.
"Ranu Pralaya. I am the master of the silent dark."
"We are not your enemy."
"We are not your ally."
"We are the balance that will restore the world to its course."
And the moment the final words were spoken—
The world around them shifted.
The shadows that had stood still now stirred uneasily. They could feel this force.
Something that was neither of the heavens nor the earth.
Something that existed in between.
Like them.
The first creature leaped forward again.
But this time, Banujati did not merely defend.
With a single motion, he swung his staff through the air.
And at once, the shadow halted—trapped in a void, swallowed by something unseen.
Wisangkara spun, striking his staff against the ground.
From beneath him, a silver-black circle rippled outward like waves upon water, engulfing the creatures in a darkness deeper than their own.
They howled. Struggled. Tried to escape. But there was no way out.
Because tonight, they were no longer the hunters.
Tonight, they were the prey.
One by one, the shadows dissolved.
They were not destroyed. They were merely returned to where they had come from.
Banujati remained standing, though his breaths had grown heavy.
Wisangkara exhaled deeply, then turned to his friend. "I had forgotten how exhausting this was."
Banujati gave a faint smile. "So had I. But we won."
Wisangkara surveyed their surroundings. "No. We only bought ourselves time."
Banujati frowned. "What do you mean?"
"They are not the end of this threat, Banujati. They were merely a message."
Banujati looked up at the sky, now clearing from the dark mist that had once shrouded it.
And in that moment, he understood.
They had won this battle.
But the true war… was only beginning.