EPISODE 10: PANGGILAN DARAH

EPISODE 10: PANGGILAN DARAH

Matahari naik perlahan di atas padang rumput, seolah enggan menyaksikan penderitaan rombongan kecil di bawahnya.

Mereka berjalan tertatih. Raka di depan, bahu berbalut kain kotor, wajah pucat kehilangan darah. Mulya di sampingnya, lengan terbungkus perban darurat, keringat dingin membasahi dahi. Jasio membantu mereka bergantian, sementara Surti menggendong anak bungsu Mulya yang terus merengek lapar. Ratmi berjalan di belakang, sesekali menyodorkan air minum pada siapa pun yang terlihat paling lelah.

Arka berjalan dengan bantuan Ragil. Mana-nya masih 12/50—naik dua poin semalaman. Masih jauh dari cukup untuk menggunakan kekuatan apa pun. Tapi ada yang berbeda hari ini. Di dadanya, sesuatu berdenyut. Bukan sakit. Tapi seperti... detak jantung kedua. Irama yang tidak sinkron dengan jantung aslinya.

“Lo kenapa, Ra?” Ragil bertanya, merasakan temannya bergerak gelisah. “Mana lo drop lagi?”

“Enggak. Mana naik dikit. Tapi...” Arka meletakkan tangan di dada. “Ada sesuatu. Kayak ditarik. Ke arah sana.” Ia menunjuk ke timur laut.

Ragil mengerutkan dahi. “Ditarik? Sama apa?”

“Enggak tahu. Tapi... kayak benang. Benang merah yang narik dadaku.”

Dari belakang, Mbah Ranga yang berjalan pelan dengan tongkatnya mendengar percakapan itu. Matanya yang tua menyipit.

“Benang merah, katamu?”

Arka menoleh. “Iya, Mbah. Kayak ada yang narik. Kenceng banget.”

Mbah Ranga berhenti. Ia menatap ke arah timur laut—arah yang sama yang ditunjuk Arka. Untuk beberapa saat, ia diam, matanya menerawang seperti melihat sesuatu yang hanya ia bisa lihat.

“Mbah Ranga?” Raka berhenti, memutar badan meski bahunya sakit. “Ada apa?”

Mbah Ranga menghela napas panjang. Napas seorang tua yang ingatannya membentang puluhan tahun ke belakang.

“Dalam naskah kuno yang pernah kubaca,” katanya pelan, “ada yang disebut 'Pusat Segala'. Tempat di mana semua bermula. Di mana darah Karang pertama kali muncul. Konon, tempat itu memanggil keturunannya saat waktunya tiba. Memberi tanda berupa... benang merah yang hanya bisa dirasakan oleh mereka yang berdarah Karang.”

Semua terdiam.

Mulya, yang sejak tadi berjalan dengan susah payah, angkat bicara. Suaranya serak, tapi ada nada skeptis di dalamnya. “Maksud Mbah, kita harus ikut... perasaan anak kecil? Ke arah yang tidak tahu ada apa?”

Raka menatapnya. “Kau punya usul lain, Mulya?”

Mulya membuka mulut, ingin membantah. Tapi kemudian ia melihat lengannya yang terluka. Melihat anak-anaknya yang kelaparan. Melihat padang rumput yang tak berujung di depan mereka. Ia tidak punya arah. Tidak punya tujuan. Tidak punya apa-apa selain rasa takut.

Ia menunduk. “Tidak. Aku... aku tidak punya usul.”

“Kalau begitu,” Raka menatap Arka. “Nak, kau yakin dengan arah ini?”

Arka mengangguk, meski hatinya berdebar. “Aku yakin, Ayah. Rasanya... kuat. Kayak ini memang yang harus kita tuju.”

Raka mengangguk. “Kita ikuti arah Arka.”

***

Mereka berbelok ke timur laut.

Awalnya, tidak ada yang berubah. Masih padang rumput yang sama. Masih langit yang sama. Masih rasa haus dan lapar yang sama. Tapi Arka merasakannya—setiap langkah ke arah itu, tarikan di dadanya semakin kuat. Seperti ada yang menyambutnya dari kejauhan.

Setelah berjalan beberapa jam, Ratmi yang paling dahulu melihatnya. “Itu... apa itu?”

Di kejauhan, di balik bukit rendah, terlihat sesuatu yang hijau. Bukan rumput kering—tapi semak belukar. Lebat. Segar.

Mereka mempercepat langkah, melupakan rasa lelah. Dan ketika mencapai puncak bukit, mereka melihatnya.

Sebuah oasis kecil di tengah padang rumput. Bukan danau—tapi genangan air cukup besar, dikelilingi semak-semak hijau dan beberapa pohon kerdil. Airnya jernih, memantulkan langit biru di atasnya.

Anak-anak Mulya berlari, menceburkan kaki, tertawa untuk pertama kalinya dalam berhari-hari. Ratmi berlutut, menciduk air, meminumnya, lalu menangis. Mulya menatap Arka dengan mata yang berubah—bukan skeptis lagi, tapi takjub.

“Kau... kau tahu ini ada di sini?” bisiknya.

Arka menggeleng. “Aku hanya... mengikuti tarikan.”

Mulya menatapnya lama. Lalu, untuk pertama kalinya, ia berlutut di depan Arka—bukan menyembah, tapi menyetarakan diri. Matanya berkaca-kaca.

“Maafkan aku, Nak. Kemarin pagi aku marah. Aku salahkan kamu. Tapi sekarang... aku lihat sendiri. Mungkin... mungkin memang kamu yang dipilih.”

Arka tidak tahu harus menjawab apa. Ia hanya memegang tangan Mulya. “Bangun, Pak. Kita sama-sama berjuang.”

***

Sore harinya, mereka mendirikan perkemahan di dekat oasis. Air melimpah—mereka bisa minum sepuasnya, mengisi botol, bahkan mencuci luka. Ratmi memasak bubur dari sisa beras, kali ini lebih banyak karena tidak perlu hemat air.

Untuk pertama kalinya dalam perjalanan, mereka makan dengan kenyang. Tidak mewah, tapi cukup.

Setelah makan, Arka duduk agak jauh dari yang lain, memandangi arah timur laut. Tarikan itu masih ada—bahkan setelah menemukan air, ia masih merasakannya. Seperti ada yang berkata, "Bukan ini. Masih jauh."

“Masih terasa?”

Arka menoleh. Kang Bijak duduk di sampingnya, tanpa suara seperti biasa.

“Iya, Kang. Masih. Malah... makin kuat.”

Kang Bijak mengangguk. Ia menatap ke arah yang sama, matanya menyipit.

“Kang Bijak tahu sesuatu?” tanya Arka, mengingat tatapan aneh Kang Bijak tadi siang.

Kang Bijak tersenyum—senyum yang sama seperti biasa. Senyum yang tidak pernah memberi jawaban, hanya pertanyaan baru.

“Nanti kau tahu sendiri, Nak.”

“Tapi Kang...”

“Panggilan itu,” Kang Bijak memotong, “tidak akan pernah salah. Ia menarikmu ke tempat yang harus kau tuju. Tapi ingat: sampai di sana bukan berarti selesai. Justru di sanalah semuanya dimulai.”

Arka diam, merenungkan kata-kata itu.

“Kang Bijak pernah ke sana?”

Kang Bijak tidak menjawab. Ia hanya tersenyum lagi, lalu berdiri dan berjalan kembali ke perkemahan, meninggalkan Arka dengan pertanyaan yang mengambang di udara.

***

Menjelang senja, langit di timur laut berubah warna. Bukan merah biasa—tapi jingga keemasan yang membelah awan. Dan di ufuk, di batas pandangan, sesuatu mulai terlihat.

Garis hijau gelap. Tebal. Membentang dari utara ke selatan sejauh mata memandang.

Hutan.

Bukan hutan biasa. Bahkan dari kejauhan, pepohonannya terlihat lebih besar, lebih gelap, lebih... tua. Seperti mereka sudah ada di sana sejak dunia ini diciptakan.

Mbah Ranga berdiri, tongkatnya terhenti. Wajahnya yang keriput berubah—bukan takut, tapi kagum bercampur khawatir.

“Hutan Terlarang,” bisiknya.

Raka mendekat. “Mbah tahu hutan itu?”

Mbah Ranga mengangguk pelan. “Dari legenda. Konon, di dalam hutan itu ada... sesuatu. Sesuatu yang menjadi sumber dari semua cerita tentang darah Karang. Tempat di mana yang pertama kali memanggil.”

Ia menoleh ke arah Arka.

“Panggilan yang kau rasakan, Nak... mungkin dari sana.”

Arka menatap hutan itu. Jauh. Gelap. Misterius. Tapi di dadanya, tarikan itu semakin kuat—bukan menyakitkan, tapi seperti panggilan pulang.

“Kita harus ke sana,” bisiknya.

Raka menghela napas. Ia menatap rombongannya—orang-orang yang terluka, lelah, tapi masih bertahan. Ia menatap anaknya yang matanya berbinar aneh. Lalu ia menatap hutan di kejauhan, yang entah mengapa terasa seperti... takdir.

“Besok kita lanjut,” katanya akhirnya. “Sekarang istirahat. Kita butuh tenaga.”

***

Malam turun. Api unggun menyala lebih terang dari semalam—mereka punya banyak kayu dari semak-semak di sekitar oasis. Raka, meski bahunya sakit, memastikan semua aman sebelum akhirnya duduk di dekat Arka.

“Nak,” bisiknya. “Kau yakin dengan semua ini?”

Arka menatap ayahnya. Di wajah Raka, ia melihat kelelahan, rasa sakit, dan... ketakutan. Bukan takut mati, tapi takut gagal melindungi.

“Aku tidak tahu, Ayah. Tapi setiap kali aku ragu, panggilan itu datang. Dan aku merasa... ini benar.”

Raka mengangguk. Ia tidak bertanya lagi. Ia hanya memeluk anaknya erat-erat.

Di kejauhan, Kang Bijak duduk sendiri, memandangi hutan di ufuk. Matanya—untuk pertama kalinya—terlihat serius. Bahkan sedih.

“Kau sudah menemukan jalannya, Nak,” bisiknya pelan. “Tapi apakah kau siap dengan apa yang menanti di sana?”

Ia menghela napas, lalu menunduk. Di tangannya, tanpa disadari siapa pun, sebuah simbol samar bercahaya—simbol pohon dan akar, sama seperti di jimat Wira.

Cahaya itu hanya muncul sesaat, lalu padam.

Tapi cukup untuk melihat bahwa Kang Bijak bukan sekadar pengembara tua.

Dan di balik bukit, di kejauhan, dua titik merah masih mengawasi. Alpha itu belum pergi. Ia hanya menunggu. Menunggu mereka masuk ke hutan. Di mana ia tidak bisa mengikuti—tapi di mana sekutunya, Bajak, mungkin sudah menunggu.

Serigala kecil yang dikirimnya kemarin sudah sampai di markas. Dan jawabannya sudah datang: "Tunggu. Biarkan mereka masuk. Kita akan sambut."

Alpha itu tersenyum—senyum binatang buas yang tahu mangsanya masuk perangkap.

Lalu ia berbalik, menghilang dalam kegelapan, meninggalkan rombongan kecil itu dengan ilusi bahwa mereka selamat.

***

Di dalam tidurnya, Arka merasakan sesuatu. Panggilan itu—kali ini berbeda. Bukan hanya tarikan, tapi juga bisikan. Suara samar, seperti angin yang berbicara.

"Datanglah... ke sini... sudah waktunya..."

Ia terbangun dengan jantung berdebar. Di sampingnya, Ragil tidur pulas. Api unggun masih menyala. Semua tampak tenang.

Tapi Arka tahu, ketenangan ini palsu.

Sesuatu akan segera terjadi. Dan satu-satunya cara adalah terus maju. Ke hutan itu. Ke sumber panggilan. Ke tempat di mana semua jawaban—dan mungkin bahaya terbesar—menanti.

Ia memejam lagi, berusaha tidur. Tapi di ujung matanya, sebelum gelap menyelimuti, ia melihat sekilas—cahaya samar di tangan Kang Bijak.

Cahaya dengan bentuk pohon dan akar.

Sama seperti di mimpinya. Sama seperti jimat Wira.

Bersambung...

Karakter yang muncul: Arka, Raka (terluka), Wulan, Mbah Ranga, Ragil, Ratmi, Mulya (terluka), istri Mulya, anak-anak Mulya, Surti, Jasio, Kang Bijak (semakin misterius), Alpha Serigala Raksasa (di kejauhan).

EPISODE 10: BLOOD CALL

The sun rose slowly over the grassland, as if reluctant to witness the suffering of the small group below.

They walked haltingly. Raka in front, his shoulder wrapped in dirty cloth, his face pale from blood loss. Mulya beside him, his arm in a makeshift bandage, cold sweat on his forehead. Jasio helped them alternately, while Surti carried Mulya's youngest who kept whimpering with hunger. Ratmi walked behind, occasionally offering water to whoever looked most exhausted.

Arka walked with Ragil's help. His mana was still 12/50—up two points overnight. Still far from enough to use any power. But something was different today. In his chest, something pulsed. Not pain. But like... a second heartbeat. A rhythm out of sync with his real heart.

"You okay, Ra?" Ragil asked, feeling his friend move restlessly. "Your mana drop again?"

"No. Mana went up a bit. But..." Arka placed his hand on his chest. "There's something. Like being pulled. That way." He pointed northeast.

Ragil frowned. "Pulled? By what?"

"Don't know. But... like a thread. A red thread pulling my chest."

From behind, Mbah Ranga, walking slowly with his staff, heard the conversation. His old eyes narrowed.

"A red thread, you say?"

Arka turned. "Yes, Grandfather. Like something's pulling. Really strong."

Mbah Ranga stopped. He stared toward the northeast—the same direction Arka pointed. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes wandering as if seeing something only he could see.

"Grandfather Ranga?" Raka stopped, turning despite his shoulder pain. "What is it?"

Mbah Ranga sighed deeply. The sigh of an old man whose memories stretched decades back.

"In an ancient manuscript I once read," he said slowly, "there was something called the 'Center of All Things.' The place where everything began. Where the Karang blood first appeared. Legend says that place calls its descendants when the time comes. Giving a sign... a red thread that only those with Karang blood can feel."

Everyone fell silent.

Mulya, who had been walking with difficulty, spoke. His voice was hoarse, but there was skepticism in it. "You mean we should follow... a child's feeling? To somewhere we don't know?"

Raka looked at him. "You have another suggestion, Mulya?"

Mulya opened his mouth, wanting to argue. But then he looked at his wounded arm. At his hungry children. At the endless grassland before them. He had no direction. No destination. Nothing but fear.

He looked down. "No. I... I have no suggestion."

"Then," Raka looked at Arka. "Son, are you sure about this direction?"

Arka nodded, though his heart pounded. "I'm sure, Father. It feels... strong. Like this is where we're supposed to go."

Raka nodded. "We follow Arka's direction."

***

They turned northeast.

At first, nothing changed. Still the same grassland. Still the same sky. Still the same thirst and hunger. But Arka felt it—with every step in that direction, the pull in his chest grew stronger. Like something was welcoming him from afar.

After walking for several hours, Ratmi was the first to see it. "That... what's that?"

In the distance, beyond a low hill, something green appeared. Not dry grass—but bushes. Thick. Fresh.

They quickened their pace, forgetting their fatigue. And when they reached the hilltop, they saw it.

A small oasis in the middle of the grassland. Not a lake—but a large enough pool, surrounded by green bushes and a few dwarf trees. The water was clear, reflecting the blue sky above.

Mulya's children ran, splashing their feet, laughing for the first time in days. Ratmi knelt, cupping water, drinking, then crying. Mulya stared at Arka with changed eyes—not skeptical anymore, but amazed.

"You... you knew this was here?" he whispered.

Arka shook his head. "I just... followed the pull."

Mulya looked at him for a long time. Then, for the first time, he knelt before Arka—not worshipping, but leveling himself. His eyes glistened.

"Forgive me, child. Yesterday morning I was angry. I blamed you. But now... I've seen it myself. Maybe... maybe you really are the chosen one."

Arka didn't know what to answer. He just took Mulya's hand. "Get up, sir. We're all struggling together."

***

That afternoon, they set up camp near the oasis. Plenty of water—they could drink freely, fill their bottles, even wash their wounds. Ratmi cooked porridge from the remaining rice, this time more generous since they didn't need to conserve water.

For the first time on their journey, they ate until full. Not luxurious, but enough.

After eating, Arka sat a little apart from the others, staring northeast. The pull was still there—even after finding water, he still felt it. Like something saying, "Not this. Still far."

"Still feel it?"

Arka turned. Kang Bijak sat beside him, silently as usual.

"Yes, Kang. Still. Even... stronger."

Kang Bijak nodded. He stared in the same direction, his eyes narrowing.

"Kang Bijak knows something?" Arka asked, remembering Kang Bijak's strange look earlier.

Kang Bijak smiled—that same smile as always. A smile that never gave answers, only more questions.

"You'll know yourself, child. Later."

"But Kang..."

"That call," Kang Bijak interrupted, "is never wrong. It pulls you to where you need to go. But remember: getting there doesn't mean it's over. That's where everything begins."

Arka was silent, pondering those words.

"Has Kang Bijak ever been there?"

Kang Bijak didn't answer. He just smiled again, then stood and walked back to camp, leaving Arka with questions floating in the air.

***

Towards dusk, the sky in the northeast changed color. Not ordinary red—but golden orange that split the clouds. And on the horizon, at the edge of sight, something began to appear.

A dark green line. Thick. Stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see.

A forest.

Not an ordinary forest. Even from a distance, the trees looked larger, darker, older. As if they'd been there since the world was created.

Mbah Ranga stood, his staff halting. His wrinkled face changed—not fear, but wonder mixed with worry.

"The Forbidden Forest," he whispered.

Raka approached. "You know that forest, Grandfather?"

Mbah Ranga nodded slowly. "From legend. They say, inside that forest there's... something. Something that's the source of all stories about Karang blood. The place where the first called."

He turned to Arka.

"That call you feel, child... maybe it's from there."

Arka stared at the forest. Far. Dark. Mysterious. But in his chest, the pull grew stronger—not painful, but like a call home.

"We have to go there," he whispered.

Raka sighed. He looked at his group—people who were wounded, tired, but still surviving. He looked at his son, whose eyes gleamed strangely. Then he looked at the forest in the distance, which somehow felt like... destiny.

"Tomorrow we continue," he finally said. "Now rest. We need strength."

***

Night fell. The campfire burned brighter than last night—they had plenty of wood from the bushes around the oasis. Raka, despite his shoulder pain, made sure everything was safe before finally sitting near Arka.

"Son," he whispered. "Are you sure about all this?"

Arka looked at his father. In Raka's face, he saw exhaustion, pain, and... fear. Not fear of death, but fear of failing to protect.

"I don't know, Father. But every time I doubt, that call comes. And I feel... this is right."

Raka nodded. He didn't ask further. He just hugged his child tightly.

In the distance, Kang Bijak sat alone, staring at the forest on the horizon. His eyes—for the first time—looked serious. Even sad.

"You've found your path, child," he whispered softly. "But are you ready for what awaits there?"

He sighed, then looked down. In his hand, unnoticed by anyone, a faint symbol glowed—a tree and root symbol, the same as Wira's amulet.

The light appeared only for a moment, then faded.

But enough to see that Kang Bijak was no ordinary wanderer.

And beyond the hill, in the distance, two red dots still watched. The Alpha hadn't left. It was just waiting. Waiting for them to enter the forest. Where it couldn't follow—but where its allies, Bajak, might already be waiting.

The small wolf it had sent yesterday had already reached the stronghold. And the answer had come: "Wait. Let them enter. We'll greet them."

The Alpha smiled—the smile of a predator knowing its prey was walking into a trap.

Then it turned, disappearing into darkness, leaving the small group with the illusion that they were safe.

***

In his sleep, Arka felt something. That call—this time different. Not just a pull, but also a whisper. A faint voice, like wind speaking.

"Come... here... it's time..."

He woke with his heart pounding. Beside him, Ragil slept soundly. The campfire still burned. Everything seemed calm.

But Arka knew, this calm was false.

Something would happen soon. And the only way was to keep moving forward. To that forest. To the source of the call. To where all answers—and perhaps the greatest danger—awaited.

He closed his eyes again, trying to sleep. But at the edge of his vision, before darkness enveloped him, he glimpsed—a faint light in Kang Bijak's hand.

A light in the shape of a tree and roots.

The same as in his dreams. The same as Wira's amulet.

To be continued...

Characters featured: Arka, Raka (wounded), Wulan, Mbah Ranga, Ragil, Ratmi, Mulya (wounded), Mulya's wife, Mulya's children, Surti, Jasio, Kang Bijak (increasingly mysterious), Giant Alpha Wolf (in the distance).

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