The morning air was still laced with the remnants of night's dew, yet the breeze carried a different kind of coolness.
Nagantara stepped cautiously along the narrow path that had begun to slope upward. For the first time in his life, he was leaving the village that had always been his world. He lifted his gaze, staring at the vast sky, now unobstructed by familiar rooftops or towering trees.
The outside world felt immense. Too immense.
The hills and forests stretching before him seemed grander than anything he had ever known. Dew-laden leaves shimmered under the steadily rising sun, painting a breathtaking—yet unfamiliar—scene.
Yet, beneath all that beauty, something felt different.
There was no warmth of the village. No crowing of roosters, no morning chatter of the villagers. Only the hush of the forest remained, heavier than it ought to be.
Ahead, Wisangkara strode forward with steady steps. He did not waver in the slightest, as if every path they tread upon was one he already knew by heart. His wooden staff occasionally pressed into the earth, an unspoken guide for those following behind. At his waist, a kris lay tucked neatly within his sash, hidden from sight yet ever present.
Behind him, Padmasari walked with caution. Her sharp eyes never rested. She watched every shifting shadow between the trees, every rustling leaf that sounded just a bit too different from the wind's natural whisper. She knew well that the world beyond their village was not a safe place. And she would not let her guard down.
Nagantara walked between them, his eyes still filled with awe. Each glance to his left or right revealed something new.
The trees here were taller, their branches weaving together in a thick canopy unlike anything in the village. The ground beneath his feet felt wilder, unpredictable, nothing like the well-worn paths of home. It was as if he had stepped into a different world—one that, until now, had only existed in the tales of the elders.
"So this is the outer world…" he murmured softly.
Wisangkara heard him, yet did not answer at once.
Only after a few more steps did he speak, his voice as calm as ever.
"And this is only the beginning."
Nagantara frowned, but before he could ask anything further, Padmasari abruptly halted.
Wisangkara stopped as well—not out of surprise, but as if he had expected it.
Nagantara lifted his head, glancing at his mother in confusion. "What is it, Mother?"
Padmasari did not reply immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the trees beyond the path.
Nagantara followed her stare, but all he saw were dense undergrowth and towering trunks. And yet, he could feel something. Not a sound. Not a shadow. But… a presence. Something indescribable. As if they were being watched.
Wisangkara did not move, but his grip on his staff tightened slightly.
"Do not worry," he said at last. "We are not alone. But for now… they will not interfere."
Nagantara swallowed hard, suddenly realizing that the outside world was far more than just beauty and freedom.
Something was here. Something was watching them. But what?
Without another word, Wisangkara resumed walking, as if the eerie presence meant nothing to him.
Padmasari remained silent as well, though she lingered for a moment before stepping forward once more. Her watchful gaze, however, did not waver.
Nagantara cast one last glance at the shadowed woods around them before hurrying after them.
The outer world was not only far vaster than he had imagined. It was also far more dangerous. And this journey had only just begun.
By the time they finally halted, the sky had turned crimson in the west.
They had reached a small clearing within the heart of the forest.
Wisangkara set down his bundle and surveyed their surroundings before nodding slightly.
"We shall camp here for the night."
Nagantara lifted his head, taking in the site Wisangkara had chosen. The ground was dry, shielded by thick branches overhead, yet open enough to grant them a clear view of the sky.
Padmasari said nothing, but her keen gaze swept the area, silently judging whether this place was safe enough.
The air grew colder. The rustling of leaves, once a gentle whisper, now mingled with the distant calls of nocturnal creatures.
Nagantara wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, shivering as the chill seeped deeper than he had expected.
Wisangkara wasted no time. With practiced ease, he gathered dry twigs and arranged them into a neat pile at the heart of their camp.
Then, with the smallest flick of his fingers, a spark flickered to life at his fingertips. The wood caught fire at once, crackling as flames danced to life—without flint, without torch.
Nagantara's eyes widened, wonder lighting up his face.
"How did you do that, Grandfather?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
Wisangkara merely offered a faint smile, allowing the fire to grow, spreading its warmth around them.
"There is much you will learn in time," he replied calmly.
Nagantara watched the fire for a long while, feeling, at last, that his journey had truly begun.
Night deepened.
The glow of the campfire flickered warmly between them, yet the forest beyond remained dark and vast.
Padmasari sat with her back straight, never truly at ease. Her sharp eyes continued scanning their surroundings, ever watchful, though nothing stirred within the shadows.
Nagantara, on the other hand, felt the first waves of drowsiness tugging at him. Yet something—some unseen presence—made it difficult for him to close his eyes.
A feeling. The same feeling he had sensed earlier. As though something was watching them.
He could not tell where it came from, but the hairs on his neck stood on end. He turned to his mother, then to Wisangkara.
The old man still sat across the fire, as composed as ever, as if entirely unbothered.
Yet when their eyes met, Wisangkara spoke without being asked.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Nagantara swallowed. "Is… there something out there?"
Wisangkara did not answer immediately.
Instead, he raised his staff, tapping the earth lightly with its tip.
A faint tremor pulsed beneath the ground, so subtle it was almost imperceptible—yet Nagantara felt it.
Then, Wisangkara nodded.
"We are not alone," he said at last. "But they will not interfere… for now."
Nagantara turned toward the surrounding woods. The wind stirred the trees, their shadows swaying softly against the firelight.
But somewhere within that darkness… something lurked. Something unseen.
Padmasari shifted slightly, adjusting her posture as though preparing for whatever might come.
Yet Wisangkara merely gave a small, knowing smile, as if their unseen watchers were of little concern.
"Rest now," he told Nagantara. "You will need your strength for tomorrow."
Nagantara hesitated, but eventually, he lay down near the fire.
He did not close his eyes immediately.
His ears still strained to catch the sounds of the forest—the wind, the rustling leaves, the faintest of footsteps that might or might not be there.
But slowly, exhaustion won over unease.
His eyes fluttered shut, and sleep took him, pulling him into the depths of the night.
And somewhere, beyond the fire's reach, the shadows that had been watching them all along remained unmoving.
They were still waiting.
~~~
The first light of dawn crept through the trees, brushing away the lingering mist that clung to the leaves.
The morning air still carried the chill of the night before, though the dying embers of the campfire left behind a trace of warmth.
Nagantara stretched lazily, his eyes half-open as the sun's first rays touched his face.
He glanced around.
Padmasari sat with her back against a tree trunk, her eyes closed, though she was not truly asleep.
Wisangkara stood a little way off, gazing into the forest, his wooden staff resting in one hand while the other hovered near his waist—close to the kris tucked beneath his sash.
Nagantara studied the old man for a moment before finally rising to his feet. He was still not accustomed to sleeping on open ground.
Just as he was about to approach his mother, a voice from the woods halted his steps.
"You left the village so quickly."
Nagantara spun around at once, his eyes locking onto the figure now standing at the edge of their camp.
An old man. His robe was simple, his hair and beard white with age, yet his gaze was sharp—piercing, full of scrutiny.
Padmasari's eyes snapped open.
In an instant, she was at Nagantara's side, her shoulders stiff, though she did not show any visible surprise.
Wisangkara remained in place, his expression calm but subtly altered. He had expected this.
The old man stepped closer, saying nothing at first. His eyes flickered over Nagantara, then to Padmasari, before finally resting on Wisangkara.
"You left the village without much of a word," he said at last, his voice deep and commanding. "It has made a few people wonder."
Padmasari did not answer immediately, but the sharp glint in her eyes made it clear she did not like where this conversation was heading.
Nagantara stared at the man in confusion. He had never seen him before.
And yet, the way he spoke—it was as if he knew them.
At last, Wisangkara stepped forward.
Calmly, he pressed his staff into the ground, his gaze steady upon the old man.
"I expected to meet someone this morning," he said evenly.
The old man narrowed his eyes slightly. "You speak as if you know too much, Wisangkara."
Nagantara's breath caught.
This man knew his grandfather's name?
Padmasari shifted again, her posture making it clear that she did not welcome this encounter.
But Wisangkara merely gave a faint smile.
"A man like you would not stay silent upon seeing something that seemed… suspicious," he said softly. "But we did not leave to run away."
The old man inclined his head slightly, but there was still doubt in his gaze.
"Perhaps," he said. "But you still left without much explanation."
His gaze flicked back to Nagantara.
Nagantara felt a twinge of unease. That stare—it felt as if the man was searching for something within him, weighing and measuring him with nothing but his eyes.
At last, Padmasari spoke, her voice colder than before.
"What is your purpose here?"
The old man sighed, as if disappointed by their response.
"I only wished to see if you had truly left… or if you had merely vanished for a time."
"Well," Wisangkara replied evenly, "now you have seen."
Silence settled between them for a brief moment.
Then, the old man finally gave a slow nod.
"Very well."
"I only hope that your journey does not bring misfortune to those you left behind."
Without another word, he turned and began to walk away.
Nagantara let out a quiet sigh, not expecting that the outside world would so quickly bring them face-to-face with those who doubted them.
Meanwhile, Wisangkara remained standing tall, his eyes fixed on the retreating figure of the old man until he finally disappeared into the trees.
Padmasari exhaled. "I do not like this."
Wisangkara did not answer at once.
But at last, he spoke, his voice low. "Neither do I."
Yet there was nothing they could do. The only choice left was to continue their journey.
By now, the morning sky had brightened, and the lingering dew on the leaves had begun to fade. But the chill of dawn still clung to the depths of the forest's shade.
Nagantara followed Wisangkara's unwavering steps. Padmasari walked slightly behind, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, ensuring they were not being followed.
But the further they traveled, the more something felt… off.
Nagantara frowned. "Grandfather… are we on the right path?"
Wisangkara did not reply at once. He took a few more steps forward—then halted.
His sharp gaze swept across their surroundings.
The leaves looked the same. The tangled roots crossing their path remained unchanged. The large rock to their left still rested where it had been.
Nagantara narrowed his eyes.
That rock… wasn't it supposed to be behind them?
A sudden chill crawled over his skin. He recognized this place.
They had been walking for hours since dawn, and yet… why did this place look exactly as it had before?
Padmasari stopped as well, her expression darkening.
"We're walking in circles," she murmured.
Nagantara turned to Wisangkara, waiting for an explanation.
The old man did not seem surprised.
Instead, he exhaled slowly before speaking.
"This is no ordinary path."
Nagantara glanced around, trying to grasp what he meant.
"What do you mean?"
Wisangkara planted his staff firmly into the ground, gripping it more tightly.
"This is no mere trick of the land," he said. "This… is an ancient illusion. A lingering power that still holds sway over this place."
He fell silent, letting the stillness settle deep into the earth beneath their feet.
The air around them felt… different.
There was no wind. No birdsong. Even the trees seemed frozen in time.
Nagantara clenched the fabric at his side. He did not like this feeling.
"So how do we get out?" he asked.
Wisangkara did not answer immediately.
Instead, he crouched, tracing something upon the earth with the tip of his staff.
A circle.
Padmasari watched closely, her eyes narrowing as she realized that this was no simple drawing. There was a pattern. A meaning.
"Illusions like this," Wisangkara finally spoke, "are not meant to keep people from entering."
"They are meant to keep people from leaving."
Nagantara swallowed hard.
He did not like the meaning behind those words.
Padmasari shifted her stance, scanning the surroundings.
"Then we must break the illusion," she declared.
Wisangkara gave a small nod.
He tapped his staff once against the ground.
Boom!
The sound that followed was not merely that of wood striking earth.
The air around them trembled. As if something unseen had just been disturbed.
Nagantara felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.
This forest… it was alive.
Not merely a gathering of trees and undergrowth—but something aware.
"You are right," Wisangkara said to Padmasari, "but we cannot break it with ordinary strength."
He stood tall, turning his staff slowly, letting its tip hover just above the ground without actually touching it.
Then, in a steady voice, he began to chant—a mantra in a language long forgotten, words so ancient that the very air around them seemed to tremble beneath their weight.
"Rahayu murba, jagad narima.
Lara sepi, karsa kawelasan.
Sing singid, sing susut, sing sumingkir!"
Wisangkara's voice was deep, though not loud.
Yet every word echoed through the air, seeping into the earth and the trees that surrounded them.
The wind, which had been still, now stirred ever so slightly, as if answering his call.
Padmasari watched intently, recognizing that these words were no ordinary incantation.
Nagantara could do nothing but stare, unblinking.
The air thickened around them, as though the entire forest was listening.
And then—
Crack…!
Something shifted within the illusion. But it came from deep within the woods.
The ground beneath them gave a faint tremor, as if unseen roots were shifting—though they did not move.
Nagantara darted his gaze around, panic creeping in. He did not know what was happening, but he could feel it.
Something had changed.
And then, everything moved.
Nagantara blinked—
And the forest around them shifted.
The bushes that had once been on their left were now on their right. The towering trees they had passed earlier now stood ahead of them. Even the great stone they had been using as a landmark had vanished entirely.
The illusion had just shifted.
But more than that—it had just opened.
Padmasari turned to Wisangkara. "What did you do?"
Wisangkara took a slow breath before answering.
"I did not destroy it."
He lifted his staff and pointed ahead.
"I merely forced the forest to show us the true path."
Nagantara followed his gaze toward the path now revealed before them. He could not be certain if it was truly safe.
But he knew one thing.
They could not stay here any longer.
Without another word, Wisangkara stepped forward.
Padmasari sighed but followed.
Nagantara cast one last glance over his shoulder, back at the forest that seemed still… yet somehow, it felt as though it was watching him in return.
Then, without looking back again, he stepped forward to follow the others.
They left the illusion behind.
Their steps were steadier now that they had escaped the enchanted path. Yet, though the forest ahead looked real, the air remained strange.
The wind blew gently, yet it no longer carried the same coolness as before.
Nagantara pulled his cloak closer, though the chill he felt was not the kind that came from cold air.
Something was here.
Not just an illusion.
Not just an eerie presence.
Something unseen followed their steps.
Wisangkara slowed his pace, then came to a stop.
He did not turn around. But his head tilted slightly, as though sensing something beyond what the eyes could see.
"I know you are there," he said softly.
Nagantara stiffened at once.
He spun around immediately, his eyes scanning the towering trees behind them.
Nothing. No movement. No sound.
Yet, he knew—Wisangkara never spoke without reason.
Padmasari tensed, her gaze narrowing.
"Since when?" she asked quietly.
Wisangkara exhaled lightly.
"Since we entered this path."
A cold shiver crawled down Nagantara's spine.
So… they had been watched all this time?
A thick silence followed.
No one moved. No one spoke. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then, from between the trees, something stirred.
Not a clear figure. Not the sound of distinct footsteps.
But a shadow—shifting, flickering—moving only at the edges of their sight.
Nagantara blinked.
There had been something there.
But the moment he focused, it was gone.
Another shadow flickered at the corner of his vision.
Again—nothing.
They moved at the threshold of sight. Between light and darkness.
Not human. Not beast. But something else.
Nagantara clenched his cloak tighter.
He had never felt fear like this before.
"They will not attack… not yet," Wisangkara finally spoke again. His voice remained calm, yet there was a faint strain beneath it. "They are only watching."
Padmasari remained silent, but her expression hardened. She did not move, yet her entire posture grew taut.
"Who are they?" she asked without shifting her gaze.
Wisangkara did not answer immediately.
Instead, he lifted his staff slightly, tilting its tip toward the ground, and tapped it once.
Thud.
The sound of wood against earth echoed farther than it should have. As if the noise had rippled through something unseen.
For a moment, the forest grew even quieter.
Even the distant chirping of birds vanished completely.
Then, Wisangkara spoke softly.
"They dwell between the world that is seen and the one that is hidden."
"They are not our friends… but neither are they enemies eager to strike."
Nagantara could scarcely breathe.
So these beings… they were not human?
And yet, they were no mere spirits either?
Padmasari remained silent, her expression darkening.
"What do they want?" she finally asked.
Wisangkara took a deep breath before answering.
"They wish to see if we are strong enough to pass through their domain."
Nagantara did not fully understand.
But he knew one thing—
They were not yet free from danger.
This journey had barely begun, and already, something was watching them from within the shadows.
Something inhuman.
Something perhaps older than the forest itself.
And all they could do was hope—
That these creatures would not decide to attack.
Not yet.