Nagantara could not shake the strange feeling gnawing at his mind. Ever since they arrived in this city, something had felt... off. It was not just because the city lay hidden behind a veil of mist. Nor was it simply because its inhabitants were calm, as though they had foreseen their arrival. No—something else was amiss.
Someone had vanished without a trace.
Nagantara could not ignore the unease creeping into his thoughts, though he knew he had to press on. The journey demanded it.
He turned his gaze to the sky, hoping to scatter his tangled thoughts. Yet in his heart, he knew—this city held more mysteries than they had yet uncovered.
As they passed through the great stone gates, Nagantara found himself at a loss for words.
The sight before him was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Towering structures of solid stone stood proudly, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings. Here and there, tall pillars supported tiered roofs, reminiscent of the grand halls he had glimpsed in ancient villages.
In the distance, a much larger edifice loomed, its roof rising like the pavilion of a forgotten king.
Along the pathway of black stone, the townsfolk moved unhurriedly. They wore garments of woven cloth and batik in earthy tones, accompanied by simple ornaments of metal.
Though their manner was calm, there was a wisdom in their eyes—an understanding that went beyond the concerns of daily life.
And yet, none of them seemed surprised by the presence of outsiders like Nagantara and his companions.
As if their arrival had been foretold.
"This city..." Nagantara whispered in awe, his eyes drinking in the surroundings. Never had he imagined that such a place still existed.
Wisangkara offered him a knowing smile. "This is one of the last cities to preserve what should have long been lost."
Nagantara swallowed, struggling to grasp the meaning of those words.
In some corners of the city, men and women were weaving fabric or carving wood and stone, their hands crafting pieces rich with meaning.
Elsewhere, people sat on the porches of their homes, speaking softly, unbothered by the world beyond their walls.
It was as if this city held more than just history—it guarded something far greater, something fiercely protected.
At the front of the group, Empu Wredanata led them along the main thoroughfare, the path lined with geometric carvings whose meanings lay hidden beneath their patterns.
"You shall rest first," the elder said. "There is much to discuss, but not when you are weary."
Nagantara cast a glance at his mother.
Padmasari surveyed the surroundings with cautious eyes. She had never trusted anything that seemed too perfect, and this city was no exception.
Wisangkara, ever composed, walked with measured steps, his gaze sweeping across the streets with silent calculation.
At last, Empu Wredanata stopped before a building with neatly tiered roofs. "Here, you may rest."
Nagantara turned his eyes to the sky once more, willing his thoughts to settle. But deep inside, he knew—the journey had only just begun.
The sun climbed higher, its rays seeping through the gaps in the roof of their resting place.
Seated by the window, Nagantara gazed out at the city.
It was quiet.
But not a lifeless quiet—rather, a silence that concealed something within.
In the distance, the townsfolk continued their work.
Beneath the shade of a great tree, a woman wove fabric with slow, deliberate hands. In front of a house, a man chiseled stone, shaping it into something only he could see.
Everything moved at a steady, unhurried pace. Each action felt deliberate, mindful.
There were no children running about. No laughter echoing through the streets.
This city was... different.
"What do you think, my son?"
Nagantara turned.
His mother stood near a wooden table, her fingers tracing the carved patterns on its surface.
"This place..." Nagantara struggled to find the words. "It is nothing like our village."
Padmasari nodded slowly. "I feel the same."
She lifted her gaze to the sky, her expression contemplative. "They live in an unusual silence. No bustling markets, no children's voices. It is as if they are merely enduring."
Nagantara paused for a moment before speaking in a hushed tone. "Mother... do you think this place is safe?"
Padmasari met her son's gaze. For the first time since the beginning of their journey, she did not answer right away.
But before their conversation could continue, the door creaked open.
Empu Wredanata stepped inside with measured grace, his face as serene as ever.
"There is something you must see," the old man's voice was calm, yet laden with meaning.
Wisangkara, who had been seated cross-legged in the corner of the room with his eyes closed, slowly opened them. Without a word, he rose to his feet.
Padmasari shifted her gaze from the window and gave a small nod.
Nagantara, still lost in his thoughts, took a moment longer before standing.
They followed Empu Wredanata as he led them away from their resting place.
The air outside felt cooler than before, yet the city remained cloaked in the same eerie silence.
Nagantara occasionally glanced around, observing how the townsfolk continued their routines with a steady, unbroken rhythm, as if untouched by the arrival of outsiders.
A few villagers sat on the porches of their homes, watching from afar—not with suspicion, but with a quiet knowingness, as though this moment had long been expected.
Their path grew narrower, the stone-paved road leading them deeper into the city.
The walls flanking them became more intricately carved, depicting winged creatures, trees with glowing branches, and symbols unfamiliar to them.
Nagantara could not help but steal a glance at Wisangkara, yet the old warrior strode forward without betraying a single emotion.
Padmasari remained vigilant, though thus far, nothing had hinted at danger.
At last, they reached a building unlike the others.
The wooden door bore deep carvings—faces etched into the surface, their watchful eyes seeming to follow those who approached.
Empu Wredanata pressed his palm against the door and pushed it open.
As they stepped inside, the air felt heavier—not stifling, but thick with something long concealed.
Without a word, Empu Wredanata moved toward a stone table at the heart of the chamber. Upon it lay several ancient manuscripts, unfurled as though awaiting discovery.
With gentle fingers, the elder traced the surface of one of the palm-leaf manuscripts, his touch lingering as if retracing the echoes of time itself.
"You bring something... interesting," he finally said, his gaze still fixed on the texts before him.
Wisangkara stood motionless for a moment before reaching into his garments.
From within his belt, he retrieved a small bundle wrapped in cloth.
With great care, he unfolded the fabric upon the table.
Under the dim glow of an oil lantern, a small stone tablet was revealed.
Its surface bore elaborate engravings—geometric patterns interwoven with cryptic symbols they had yet to decipher.
Empu Wredanata regarded the artifact with profound scrutiny.
Behind him, the keepers of the library cast brief glances but remained silent.
Nagantara did not blink, studying the subtle shift in the elder's expression.
Padmasari noticed it as well.
There was something in the way Empu Wredanata gazed at the artifact—not mere curiosity, but something deeper.
"You recognize this, don't you?" Wisangkara's voice was level, yet sharp.
Empu Wredanata did not answer immediately.
His fingers traced the edge of the stone tablet, following the contours of its engravings.
At last, he exhaled a slow breath.
"Not recognition..." he murmured. "But remembrance."
Nagantara frowned. "What do you mean?"
Empu Wredanata turned to him and offered a faint smile. "This is no mere relic. It is but a fragment of something far greater."
Padmasari crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it dangerous?"
The question lingered in the air.
Empu Wredanata did not answer right away, as if carefully weighing his words.
Then, in a low voice, he said, "That depends on who possesses it."
Nagantara felt the weight in the room grow heavier.
Wisangkara remained silent, but the glint in his eyes revealed that he, too, was deep in thought.
Empu Wredanata regarded each of them in turn before finally speaking. "There is something I must show you."
He stepped to the side of the chamber, his hand gliding over one of the stone shelves lined with ancient manuscripts.
Then, with a subtle press upon a particular section of the shelf, a faint sound of shifting mechanisms echoed through the chamber.
The stone shelf slowly slid aside, revealing a hidden passage behind it.
Nagantara swallowed hard. He did not know what lay beyond.
But one thing was certain—the answers they sought might lead them farther than they had ever imagined.
The passage, now revealed, was a narrow corridor concealed behind the moving stone.
The air within was damp, thick with the scent of aged wood and earth.
Empu Wredanata stepped forward without hesitation, as though he had walked this path a hundred times before.
Wisangkara followed closely behind, his stride steady and measured, while Padmasari and Nagantara trailed behind, still trying to grasp the gravity of the moment.
Oil lamps lined the corridor walls, casting flickering light upon the path ahead.
Nagantara glanced around, his gaze drawn to the carvings that adorned the stone along the corridor.
Unlike the geometric patterns outside, these engravings depicted something far more distinct.
They continued forward, their footsteps echoing softly, until at last, the passage opened into a vast chamber.
A circular hall with a towering ceiling, its center marked by an ancient stone altar. Around it, sturdy pillars upheld walls adorned with faded murals.
Nagantara furrowed his brow as he studied the images.
The figures depicted upon the walls were no ordinary men.
Some bore halos of light behind their heads, while others held radiant objects in their hands.
At the heart of the largest engraving, a figure stood raising a sigil-shaped symbol.
And beneath it—
A city, broken and divided.
Empu Wredanata halted before the altar and turned to face them, his gaze solemn.
"Long ago, this place was more than just a city," he said.
His fingers brushed over one of the ancient reliefs. "It was a center of knowledge, a place for those who sought to understand the world of men and the divine."
Nagantara's gaze shifted to the altar in the center of the chamber.
Now, he could see more clearly—the altar bore a recess in the shape of a sigil, resembling the symbol he had glimpsed in the manuscripts earlier.
"But something happened, didn't it?" Wisangkara's voice was calm, yet edged with certainty.
Empu Wredanata exhaled deeply. "Yes."
His eyes lingered upon the engravings, allowing silence to settle before he spoke again.
"Something happened in the past. Something that caused all the knowledge within this place to be sealed away from the world."
Nagantara stepped closer to the wall, tracing his fingers over the carving of the shattered city.
"Why?" he asked.
Empu Wredanata met his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Because this power must never fall into the wrong hands."
~~~
Padmasari stood with her arms crossed. "So, you believe the artifact we brought is connected to all of this?"
Empu Wredanata gave a slow nod. "I cannot say for certain whether it is the missing piece... but I am sure that this artifact is no ordinary object."
His hand gestured toward the altar at the center of the chamber. "Once, the symbol upon this altar had its counterpart. But now, only the hollow remains."
Wisangkara studied the altar for a long moment before turning to Empu Wredanata. "So, if we find the missing sigil… we will find the answer?"
Empu Wredanata did not respond right away. His eyes remained fixed on the artifact in Wisangkara's hand.
And then, in a quieter voice, he said, "Or we may find something far greater than we expected."
Nagantara's mind swarmed with questions, but before he could voice them—
Footsteps echoed from the corridor outside. Steady, deliberate, carrying a presence that filled the narrow passage.
Empu Wredanata turned toward the entrance.
Wisangkara already knew—someone had arrived.
Padmasari's fingers brushed the fabric at her waist, ready for whatever might come.
Then, an elder figure emerged from the doorway, clad in a long, flowing robe. His eyes were keen, filled with wisdom—yet there was something else within them, something unreadable.
Empu Wredanata greeted him with a slight bow. "Kakang…" he murmured.
Nagantara studied the elder with curiosity. There was something different about him compared to the other townsfolk. His robe was heavier, longer, embroidered with distinct patterns.
And the strangest thing—before the man even spoke, Nagantara could already feel his presence.
As though he was no ordinary citizen of this city.
The elder's gaze swept over Wisangkara, then Padmasari, before finally settling on Nagantara.
For a moment, he did not speak, allowing the silence to stretch.
Then, at last, in a deep and measured voice, he said, "You have brought something that was never meant to be here."
Padmasari tightened her grip on the fabric at her waist. "What do you mean?"
The old man did not answer immediately.
He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the artifact upon the altar with an expression difficult to decipher.
"There are things that should never be awakened from the past," he said.
His hand hovered slightly, though he did not touch the artifact.
"And there are those who will do anything to find it."
A chill ran down Nagantara's spine.
Wisangkara narrowed his eyes. "You are saying someone is searching for this?"
The elder turned to him. "More than you can imagine."
The room fell into silence once more.
Padmasari observed the old man carefully. "Then this city is not safe for us?"
The elder did not reply at once.
But finally, in a quiet voice, he said, "This city will not remain a safe haven forever. And when they find their way here… you must be gone."
A cold weight settled in Nagantara's chest.
They had only just arrived in this city. They had only begun to unravel its secrets.
And yet, something far greater was already looming over them.
And perhaps… their time here was shorter than they had thought.
Night descended slowly upon the hidden city.
Above them, the sky was dark and empty, as though the mist that veiled this city also swallowed the stars.
Oil torches flickered at the corners of the streets, their flames dancing in the wind, casting long, wavering shadows upon the stone walls.
Within their resting quarters, Padmasari and Wisangkara had already retired for the night, preparing to rest after a long day.
But Nagantara could not sleep.
He stood on the veranda, gazing down the city's narrow passageways, which now seemed even quieter than before.
Only the occasional sound of footsteps echoed in the distance—perhaps the city's sentinels patrolling the streets.
Yet there was something else.
Something he could not explain.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to feel the air around him.
And when he opened them again—
A shadow moved at the far end of the street.
Nagantara frowned, sharpening his gaze, but in the blink of an eye, the shadow had vanished between the buildings.
He let out a slow breath.
Perhaps it was merely a villager walking through the night. Yet something about it unsettled him.
Nagantara gripped the wooden railing of the veranda, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the shadow had appeared.
The cold night wind whispered through the air, but what chilled him more was the sudden, creeping sensation that settled over him.
As if… he was being watched.
Moments passed, and at last, Nagantara decided to return inside.
But just as he turned—
He heard it again.
Footsteps…
But not from the street below.
These footsteps came from above.
Nagantara straightened, his pulse quickening. His eyes darted upward—yet all he saw was a dark blur flitting across the rooftops.
His heart pounded harder.
He bit his lip, weighing whether he should wake the others. But he had no proof.
He had seen only a shadow.
Just… something fleeting.
And yet, deep within, a whisper of instinct warned him—
That shadow did not belong to this city.
And perhaps, they were not as safe as they had thought.