The sky above them slowly changed its hue. The bright sun was now veiled by the thickening canopy of trees. What had seemed ordinary before now felt… different.
Nagantara stepped cautiously, sensing something he could not quite explain.
The wind still blew, yet it brought no comfort. The forest around them grew darker, quieter, more enclosed.
Padmasari gripped his hand tighter, saying nothing. But Nagantara knew—his mother felt it too.
This silence was not natural.
Before pressing onward, they decided to rest for a while in a small clearing, sheltered beneath towering trees.
They had gathered some provisions from the forest—wild fruits safe to eat, roots that could be roasted over embers, and small fish they had caught from a river they had crossed earlier. Wisangkara stacked a few dry twigs on the ground, then waved his hand lightly above them.
Fwoosh!
A small flame flickered to life, quickly consuming the twigs.
Nagantara was still not used to seeing such a thing. "How can you start a fire without flint or friction, Grandfather?" he asked, his voice brimming with curiosity.
Wisangkara offered a faint smile, adding larger pieces of wood to steady the flames. "There are many ways to light a fire, my boy. You will learn them in time."
Nagantara watched the fire intently. To him, this was no ordinary skill.
As the food cooked, the simple scent of roasted fish filled the air, bringing a hint of warmth to the otherwise silent forest.
Padmasari sat calmly, her hands busy with their meal, though her eyes remained sharp, ever watchful.
Nagantara bit into a fruit he had picked from the underbrush earlier. It was sweet, though a touch of tartness lingered at the tip of his tongue.
His gaze shifted between his mother—who seemed serious—and Wisangkara, who, as always, remained composed.
"Why can't we eat while walking?" he asked.
Padmasari turned to him, replying without lowering her guard, "Because we need more than just strength. We need time to read the situation."
Nagantara frowned. "Read the situation?"
Wisangkara took a sip from the waterskin he carried, speaking in a relaxed tone, "If you eat while walking, you won't notice what's happening around you. And in a place like this, losing awareness is dangerous."
Nagantara pondered this for a moment, then nodded. He had never thought of it that way before.
Once their meal was finished, Wisangkara smothered the fire with soil, ensuring not a trace remained.
No tracks could be left behind.
After making sure everything was secure, they stood once more, ready to move forward.
But as they ventured deeper into the forest…
Nagantara felt something strange in the air.
The silence, once subtle, now thickened.
Padmasari was the first to stop, her shoulders tense.
Wisangkara followed, pressing his staff firmly into the ground. "Something has changed," he murmured.
Nagantara sharpened his hearing. Usually, the forest was alive with the calls of birds and insects. But now, there was nothing.
No birds singing. No chirping crickets. Even the wind felt as if it was holding its breath.
Nagantara turned to Wisangkara. "What is this…?"
Wisangkara did not answer right away.
Instead, he lifted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as if listening.
Then, at last, he spoke in a low voice. "This forest… has changed."
Padmasari exhaled slowly. She had expected this.
Nagantara swallowed. "Changed how?"
Wisangkara lowered his staff slightly, scanning their surroundings. "Someone… or something… has been here before us."
A chill ran down Nagantara's spine.
Someone… or something?
He glanced left and right, yet all he saw were towering trees and still underbrush. And yet, somehow, he felt as if something was watching them from the shadows.
Padmasari remained still, though her gaze had sharpened. "Should we turn back?" she asked quietly.
Wisangkara shook his head. "No. We must go through."
He looked ahead, down the narrow path that was growing ever more engulfed by the forest's embrace. "And we must remain vigilant."
Without another word, they pressed forward.
But now, each step felt heavier. As if the forest held secrets it was not yet ready to reveal.
Their path led them deeper, the air growing more somber with each passing moment.
Nagantara felt something unusual on his back. It was not pain, nor fatigue—rather, a warmth. As if something inside him was slowly stirring awake.
He reached behind him, his fingers tracing the very spot where the dragon mark had once glowed. He had never felt this before.
But before he could ask, Wisangkara suddenly stopped.
Padmasari and Nagantara immediately halted their steps.
Wisangkara crouched down, his sharp gaze studying the ground.
Nagantara followed his line of sight.
At first, all he saw was a scatter of fallen leaves. But as he looked closer—there it was. A large footprint embedded in the earth. And it was not human.
Wisangkara touched the edge of the track with his fingertips, exhaling slowly. "This creature… is hunting."
Nagantara felt a tightness in his chest. "Hunting what?" he asked, swallowing involuntarily.
Wisangkara did not answer right away. His eyes swept their surroundings, searching for something unseen.
Padmasari stood tall, her gaze narrowing. "What kind of creature leaves a footprint this large?"
Wisangkara finally straightened, his eyes fixed on the ever-thickening forest ahead. "A jungle tiger."
Nagantara felt his body tense.
A tiger?
But before he could react, Wisangkara added something that made his heartbeat quicken.
"But not an ordinary one."
The silence that followed was even sharper.
Nagantara wanted to ask more, but something in Wisangkara's expression made him hold his tongue.
Padmasari said nothing either, but her stance grew more alert.
They continued their journey, but now, every small sound in the forest felt louder.
The rustling of leaves in the wind. The distant crack of a breaking twig. And… something else.
Something moving within the shadows.
Nagantara realized they were not alone.
And whatever was watching them—it had no intention of leaving.
Their steps slowed. Every whisper of the forest now felt deafening.
Nagantara dared not speak. He could feel something lurking in the gloom, tracking them.
Padmasari sensed it too. She had never feared danger, but this… this was different. As if this forest was no longer just a forest.
Wisangkara remained calm, but his gaze sharpened. His grip on his staff tightened as he took another careful step forward.
Nagantara was just about to glance at his mother when—
Something lunged from the underbrush with terrifying speed.
GRAARRR!
A massive figure erupted from the thick foliage, leaping straight at them.
Nagantara barely had time to react before the gleam of sharp fangs caught the dim light of the forest.
A jungle tiger. But this was no ordinary beast.
Its eyes glowed with an eerie red light, and its fur—normally a natural shade—now looked darker, as if tainted by something unnatural.
Nagantara stumbled backward, nearly falling if not for Padmasari's swift grip pulling him upright.
Wisangkara moved instantly. In a blink, he raised his staff, holding it firmly in front of the charging beast.
CRASH!
A loud impact echoed as the tiger collided with Wisangkara's staff, its massive body sent skidding backward.
But it did not stop.
The beast rose again, its glowing eyes locked onto them with an unnatural intensity.
Padmasari immediately positioned herself in front of Nagantara, her body poised for battle. "This creature is different."
Wisangkara said nothing, his eyes never leaving the tiger.
Nagantara clenched the fabric at his side, his heart pounding—not from fear, but from something else.
Something about this beast felt… wrong.
As if it was no longer just an animal. As if something else was controlling it.
And the creature was not done.
With a low, guttural growl, it crouched, readying itself to pounce once more.
The tiger moved more slowly now, but not out of exhaustion. Its eyes still gleamed red, its breath was heavy, and its body remained poised to strike again.
Nagantara held his breath.
Something was wrong. This tiger did not move like an ordinary beast. As if it was not entirely in control of its own body.
Padmasari stayed in front of Nagantara, unmoving.
Wisangkara did not take a step back.
Instead, he pressed his staff deeper into the ground and raised one hand toward the tiger. And without warning—he began to chant.
"Rahayu jagad, sira weruh,
Angin sepi, banyu tentrem,
Bebendu sirna, amerta sumebar."
Wisangkara's voice was not loud, yet it echoed with a depth beyond that of a mere human's speech.
The wind around them began to stir, carrying the resonance of the mantra.
The tiger growled but did not strike. Its eyes flickered, as if uncertain.
Nagantara saw something strange.
The tiger's red eyes began to dim, shifting back to their natural golden hue. But still, it resisted. Its body remained tensed in an attack stance, though its movements were slower, weaker. As if something inside it was struggling to break free.
Wisangkara did not falter. Slowly, he lifted his staff and traced a small circle in the earth with its tip.
The tiger trembled. As if something unseen was loosening its grip on the beast.
Nagantara stared directly into the tiger's eyes—and for the first time, he saw not savagery, but confusion.
Padmasari straightened, understanding at last.
This was not merely a wild beast attacking them. This was a creature ensnared in something far greater.
At last, Wisangkara ceased his chant and lowered his hand slowly.
The wind that had stirred now settled into silence.
And in an instant—the tiger stepped back, bowed its head slightly, then turned and slipped away into the shadows of the forest.
Nagantara stood frozen, his eyes wide.
Only moments ago, this beast had been ready to tear them apart. And now, it was gone—without a fight, without a roar, without resistance.
Padmasari approached Wisangkara, her gaze still fixed on the fading form of the tiger. "What did you just do?"
Wisangkara exhaled softly, staring at the earth before answering. "I did not fight it. I only freed it."
Nagantara still could not find his voice. But deep inside, he knew—this was no ordinary magic. This was something far beyond a mere act of combat.
And for the first time in his life, he realized…
Not all battles must be won with strength.
Sometimes, victory is allowing something to return to where it belongs.
The tiger's footsteps faded into the dense forest, its presence vanishing into the wild.
Nagantara kept his gaze fixed on the spot where it had disappeared, but his thoughts raced.
He had just witnessed something he had never imagined before.
A battle that did not end in bloodshed.
A danger confronted not with violence, but with understanding.
And the tiger… simply left.
Padmasari remained standing beside him, her expression unreadable. She cast a sidelong glance at Wisangkara, her eyes scrutinizing him.
"You knew from the beginning that tiger wasn't just a wild beast, didn't you?"
Wisangkara lowered his gaze briefly before giving a slow nod. "Its eyes did not hold the instincts of a hunter. Something bound it in a rage that was not its own."
Padmasari took a deep breath. She did not entirely agree with Wisangkara's methods, but she could not deny that they had worked.
Nagantara remained silent.
But his mind spun faster than ever.
After a moment, Nagantara finally lifted his gaze to Wisangkara. "Grandfather… why didn't you just kill it?"
Wisangkara did not answer right away. Instead, he looked at Nagantara intently, as if weighing something within him.
Then, in a calm voice, he replied, "We are not destroyers, my boy. We are part of the balance."
Nagantara frowned. "Balance?"
Wisangkara nodded. "Every creature in this world has its place. If we take a life without just cause, we do not only extinguish it—we disrupt what has been set by nature."
"But that tiger attacked us!" Nagantara argued, his voice rising slightly. "Isn't that reason enough to kill it?"
Wisangkara gave a small smile, but his gaze remained sharp. "Are you certain it attacked of its own will?"
Nagantara fell silent. Something in the way Wisangkara spoke made him think deeper.
If the tiger had indeed been controlled by something… did that mean it was merely a victim? Just an animal trapped in the grasp of a greater force?
Padmasari studied her son for a moment before shifting her gaze to Wisangkara. "This way… it is very different from what Banujati taught."
Wisangkara nodded. "Banujati sees the world differently. He teaches defense, strength, and the protection of the weak with an iron hand."
He looked at Padmasari more seriously. "But I believe that strength is not only about fighting. Sometimes, true strength is knowing how to control something—without destroying it."
Padmasari did not respond immediately. But deep inside, she knew there was truth in Wisangkara's words.
Nagantara turned his gaze back to the forest around them.
He had always believed the outside world was a place where survival meant strength. That to endure, one had to be prepared to fight. But Wisangkara had just shown him another way.
And for the first time, he realized…
The world was far more complex than he had ever imagined.
A new understanding began to take shape in his mind.
But before he could fully process it—
He felt something.
An unease. Not fear, not anger—but as if something was still unfinished.
He glanced to his right, then his left, searching for anything unusual. But the forest around them was calm again. Or perhaps… too calm.
Nagantara bit his lip.
Was it only his imagination… or was something still watching them?
They continued walking.
The forest, which had settled after the tiger's departure, now felt even quieter than before.
Nagantara's steps grew slower. Not from exhaustion. Not from fear. But because he was certain—something was still there.
Padmasari sensed it too. Though she saw nothing, there was something in the air that kept her body tense.
The wind blew gently, yet it carried no comfort.
No birdsong. No distant crack of breaking twigs.
As if the forest itself was waiting for something.
From the corner of her eye, Padmasari glanced at Wisangkara. The old man walked as he always did, but there was a slight change in the way he held his staff.
Tighter. More guarded.
Nagantara tried to convince himself it was just his imagination.
That they had already faced the danger.
That nothing else would strike them as before.
But he could not shake this feeling.
Like unseen eyes hiding among the trees.
Watching.
Waiting.
And not just one pair of eyes.
More than that.
Far more.
Suddenly, a sound echoed from the distance.
It was not the call of a bird.
Nor the rustle of ordinary creatures.
But a faint, resonating sound—whispering between the trees.
Nagantara stopped in his tracks at once.
He was not the only one who heard it.
Padmasari immediately straightened, her stance sharpening.
Wisangkara halted, his piercing eyes fixed upon the forest's depths.
"Grandfather… you hear it too, don't you?" Nagantara whispered.
Wisangkara did not answer immediately. Instead, he took a long, measured breath.
"Yes."
He planted his staff into the ground and turned to face Nagantara and Padmasari.
"Whatever was controlling that tiger… has not left."
A weight settled in Nagantara's chest.
So it was true… this was not over.
The sound continued, drifting through the trees.
Indistinct. Unnatural.
But growing closer.
As if something beyond the forest's edge… was now stirring.
Nagantara clenched the fabric at his side.
Meanwhile, Padmasari and Wisangkara exchanged a glance.
No words were needed.
They understood.
This was no mere coincidence.
They were not yet free of danger.
And whatever awaited them ahead…
Was far greater than they had imagined.