EPISODE 5: STATUS CHECK

EPISODE 5: STATUS CHECK

Malam itu, Dusun Karang tidak tidur.

Di depan gubuk Mbah Ranga, obor-obor menyala terang, menerangi wajah-wajah yang campuran antara takut dan marah. Karta berdiri di paling depan, dadanya membusung, merasa menang. Raka dan Wulan berada di belakang massa, terhalang oleh puluhan tubuh yang tidak mau memberi jalan. Dan di ambang pintu, Mbah Ranga berdiri dengan tenang—seorang tua renta yang menjadi benteng terakhir antara Arka dan amuk massa.

Tapi Arka tidak melihat semua itu.

Matanya tertuju pada satu titik di kejauhan. Di bawah pohon besar, di luar lingkaran cahaya obor, Wira berdiri. Utusan Bajak itu tersenyum. Bukan senyum jahat—tapi senyum puas. Seperti seseorang yang menonton pertunjukan yang ia sendiri sutradarai.

“Arka,” bisik Mbah Ranga tanpa menoleh. “Jangan lihat dia. Lihat ke dalam.”

“Tapi Mbah... dia yang...”

“Aku tahu. Tapi sekarang, kau punya cara untuk melihat lebih dari yang orang lain lihat. Gunakan itu.”

Arka mengerjap. Ia ingat Jendela Status itu. Ingat bagaimana ia bisa melihat dirinya sendiri, melihat Mbah Ranga. Mungkin... mungkin ia juga bisa melihat yang lain?

Ia memejamkan mata. Mencoba mengingat sensasi hangat yang tadi merambat dari dada ke mata. Rasakan aliran itu, bisiknya dalam hati. Seperti waktu meditasi. Seperti saat daun-daun itu bergerak.

Sensasi hangat itu datang lagi. Perlahan, menjalar, sampai ke ujung mata.

Arka membuka mata.

Dan dunia berubah.

Di depan matanya, bukan lagi sekadar kerumunan manusia dengan obor. Ia melihat warna-warna. Samar-samar, seperti kabut tipis yang melayang di atas kepala setiap orang. Sebagian besar berwarna abu-abu—netral, tak pasti, takut. Beberapa berwarna biru pucat—baik, tapi lemah. Dan di paling depan, di atas kepala Karta...

MERAH.

Merah menyala, seperti api. Intens. Pekat.

Arka menarik napas. Jendela Status muncul otomatis di depan matanya:

------------------------------------
NAMA: KARTA
NIAT DOMINAN: JAHAT (INTENSITAS TINGGI)
CATATAN: Bekerja untuk Bajak. Ingin menyingkirkan keluarga Raka.
------------------------------------

Darah Arka berdesir. Bekerja untuk Bajak. Jadi tebakannya benar. Karta memang pengkhianat.

Ia mengalihkan pandangan ke orang di sebelah Karta. Sarmo. Petani yang pagi tadi melihat daun-daun berputar. Warnanya? Abu-abu pekat—takut, bingung, tapi bukan jahat. Sarmo hanya ikut-ikutan, terbawa arus.

Yang lain: abu-abu, abu-abu, abu-abu. Mayoritas takut. Mereka tidak benar-benar ingin menyakiti—mereka hanya ingin merasa aman. Dan Karta memanfaatkan ketakutan itu.

Lalu pandangan Arka beralih ke belakang kerumunan. Ke arah Raka dan Wulan.

Biru. Biru terang. Melindungi. Mencintai.

Arka ingin menangis. Ayah dan ibunya ada di sana, berusaha menerobos massa untuk menjangkaunya.

“Arka.” Suara Mbah Ranga memecah konsentrasinya. “Kau lihat sesuatu?”

Arka mengangguk pelan. “Karta... merah. Sangat merah. Dia bekerja untuk Bajak.”

Mbah Ranga menghela napas. Bukan kaget—lebih seperti pasrah. “Sudah kuduga. Sejak dulu matanya selalu liar saat melihat uang.”

“Mbah, aku harus bilang Ayah. Aku harus...”

“Nanti.” Tangan Mbah Ranga menekan bahunya. “Lihat dulu yang lain. Pastikan kau tahu siapa kawan dan siapa lawan.”

Arka menuruti. Ia memindai kerumunan satu per satu. Sebagian besar abu-abu—warga yang ketakutan, mudah diombang-ambingkan. Tapi di sela-sela mereka, ia menemukan dua titik biru.

Yang pertama: Ratmi. Janda tua yang tadi malam membawa pesan misterius. Birunya hangat, seperti cahaya lentera. Niat baik yang tulus.

Yang kedua: seorang anak laki-laki, bersembunyi di balik pohon di pinggir kerumunan. Usianya sebaya Arka. Rambut acak-acakan, pakaian tambal sulam. Ia menatap ke arah gubuk dengan mata cemas.

Jendela Status muncul:

------------------------------------
NAMA: RAGIL
NIAT DOMINAN: BAIK
CATATAN: Sahabat Arka. Tahu rahasia kekuatan Arka. Ingin melindungi.
------------------------------------

Biru. Biru hangat, seperti air yang dulu mereka temukan bersama di dasar lubang. Biru yang sama seperti saat Ragil bilang, "Gue yang jagain rahasia lo. Siapa pun yang coba ganggu lo, harus lawan gue dulu."

Sudah dua tahun sejak janji itu diucapkan. Dan Ragil tidak pernah ingkar."

Ragil. Biru. Baik.

Arka menyimpan senyum itu dalam hati, lalu melanjutkan pemindaiannya..

“Sudah, Mbah,” bisiknya. “Aku lihat... kebanyakan abu-abu. Tapi ada dua biru: Ratmi dan Ragil. Selebihnya merah hanya Karta.”

Mbah Ranga mengangguk. “Bagus. Sekarang kau tahu. Di dunia ini, tidak semua yang teriak kawan adalah kawan. Dan tidak semua yang diam adalah lawan.”

Di luar, suara Karta menggelegar. “Cukup omong kosong, Mbah Ranga! Kami sudah sabar. Sekarang serahkan anak itu!”

Massa bersorak. Obor-obor diangkat tinggi.

Tapi sebelum Mbah Ranga sempat menjawab, suara lain memotong. Bukan dari kerumunan—tapi dari kegelapan di pinggir.

“Karta.”

Semua menoleh.

Wira melangkah maju. Cahaya obor kini menerangi wajahnya—tajam, berbekas luka tua di pelipis, dan senyum yang tidak pernah lepas. Ia berjalan pelan, tanpa tergesa, seperti seseorang yang tahu dirinya paling berkuasa di tempat itu.

“Kau...” Karta setengah mundur, tidak siap. “Ini bukan urusanmu, Utusan.”

Wira tertawa kecil. “Bukan urusanku? Karta, Karta... kau pikir aku datang kemari hanya untuk menyampaikan pesan?” Ia menatap kerumunan satu per satu. “Aku di sini untuk melihat sendiri. Untuk memastikan.”

“Memastikan apa?” suara Raka keras dari belakang.

Wira menoleh. Matanya bertemu dengan Raka. Mantan prajurit dengan mantan prajurit. Ada semacam pengakuan diam-diam di antara mereka.

“Memastikan bahwa darah Karang masih hidup,” jawab Wira. “Dan ternyata... benar.”

Ia menunjuk ke arah gubuk. Ke arah Arka yang masih berdiri di ambang pintu.

“Anak itu. Ia bukan hanya anak kalian. Ia adalah kunci. Kunci untuk sesuatu yang lebih besar dari dusun kecil ini. Dan kalian... kalian mau menyerahkannya pada Karta?”

Karta membusungkan dada. “Diam! Jangan dengarkan dia! Dia musuh!”

“Musuh?” Wira tertawa lagi. “Aku tidak pernah berbohong padamu, Karta. Aku bayar kau, kau lakukan tugasmu. Tapi lihat dirimu sekarang. Jadi pemimpin massa? Kau pikir mereka akan berterima kasih setelah ini?”

Karta terdiam. Warga mulai saling berpandangan.

Di dalam gubuk, Arka menatap semua itu dengan matanya yang sekarang bisa melihat lebih. Ia arahkan fokusnya ke Wira.

Jendela Status muncul:

------------------------------------
NAMA: WIRA
NIAT DOMINAN: ??? (TERLINDUNGI)
CATATAN: Mantan prajurit Kerajaan Selatan. Memiliki ikatan darah dengan Klan Karang. Tujuan tersembunyi.
------------------------------------

Arka mengerjap. Terlindungi? Itu artinya ia tidak bisa membaca niat Wira seperti orang lain. Dan ikatan darah dengan Klan Karang? Apa maksudnya?

“Mbah,” bisiknya. “Wira... aku tidak bisa membaca niatnya. Dan dia... dia terhubung dengan darah Karang.”

Untuk pertama kalinya, Mbah Ranga terlihat terkejut. Matanya yang tua menyipit menatap Wira dari kejauhan.

“Jadi itu alasannya,” gumamnya. “Dia bukan sekadar utusan. Dia... mungkin salah satu dari mereka.”

“Dari siapa, Mbah?”

Tapi Mbah Ranga tidak sempat menjawab. Di luar, Wira tiba-tiba berbalik dan menatap lurus ke arah gubuk. Bukan ke arah Mbah Ranga—tapi ke arah Arka. Matanya tajam, tapi anehnya, tidak mengancam.

“Anak itu,” ujar Wira keras, “bukan musuh kalian. Bajak juga bukan musuh kalian—setidaknya tidak sekarang. Musuh kalian adalah ketakutan kalian sendiri. Dan lihat ke mana ketakutan itu membawa kalian.”

Ia menunjuk ke Karta.

“Kalian mengikuti dia. Padahal dia menerima uang dariku. Tanya saja, berapa yang ia terima untuk memecah belah desa ini.”

Karta membeku. Semua mata tertuju padanya.

“Ka... kau bohong!”

Wira mengangkat bahu. “Terserah kau percaya atau tidak. Aku sudah menyampaikan pesan. Dan satu lagi: jika kalian benar-benar ingin selamat, jangan usir anak itu. Karena saat musuh yang sebenarnya datang—dan mereka akan datang—hanya darah Karang yang bisa melindungi kalian.”

Ia berbalik, siap pergi. Tapi sebelum melangkah, ia menoleh sekali lagi. Ke arah gubuk. Ke arah Arka.

“Jaga dirimu, Nak. Kita akan bertemu lagi.”

Lalu ia lenyap dalam kegelapan, seperti hantu yang tidak pernah ada.

Massa terdiam. Karta terlihat pucat. Raka dan Wulan memanfaatkan momen itu untuk menerobos kerumunan, akhirnya mencapai pintu gubuk.

“Arka!” Wulan berlutut, memeluknya erat. “Nak... Nak... kau tidak apa-apa?”

Arka memeluk balik, tapi matanya masih tertuju pada titik di mana Wira menghilang. Pikirannya kacau. Ia baru tahu tentang Jendela Status, tentang warna-warna niat manusia, tentang Karta yang bekerja untuk Bajak, tentang Wira yang entah siapa, dan tentang kata-kata terakhirnya: darah Karang akan melindungi mereka.

“Ayah,” bisiknya di pelukan Wulan. “Karta... dia pengkhianat. Aku lihat... aku lihat dengan mataku.”

Raka mengernyit. “Apa maksudmu?”

Arka menarik diri dari pelukan. Ia menatap ayahnya, lalu ke kerumunan yang masih bingung. Karta mencoba bicara, tapi tak ada yang mendengarkan. Warga mulai berbisik-bisik, mulai meragukan pemimpin mereka.

“Aku... aku punya cara. Aku bisa melihat siapa yang jahat dan siapa yang baik,” ujar Arka pelan. “Aku tidak tahu caranya menjelaskan. Tapi Karta... dia merah. Sangat merah. Dan di statusnya tertulis: Bekerja untuk Bajak.”

Raka dan Wulan bertukar pandang. Ini terlalu banyak untuk dicerna dalam satu malam. Tapi sebelum mereka bisa bertanya lebih lanjut, Mbah Ranga angkat bicara.

“Percayalah padanya. Ia tidak berbohong. Dan sekarang, kita harus pergi dari sini. Malam ini juga.”

“Pergi?” Wulan terkejut. “Ke mana?”

Mbah Ranga menatap mereka dengan mata yang tiba-tiba terlihat sangat tua. Sangat lelah.

“Dusun ini tidak lagi aman untuk kalian. Bukan karena Karta—tapi karena apa yang akan datang setelahnya. Bajak tidak akan berhenti. Dan sekarang, orang-orang yang lebih berbahaya dari Bajak juga tahu tentang Arka.”

“Tapi... tapi kita bisa...”

“Tidak ada tapi, Raka.” Mbah Ranga menggenggam tongkatnya. “Aku sudah hidup delapan puluh tahun lebih. Aku tahu kapan harus bertahan dan kapan harus lari. Malam ini, kita lari.”

Di luar, kerumunan mulai bubar. Karta ditinggal sendirian, dikelilingi tatapan curiga. Sarmo dan beberapa pengikutnya menjauh. Kemenangan yang tadi terasa di genggaman, kini hancur berkeping-keping oleh kata-kata Wira.

Tapi Karta belum menyerah. Ia menatap ke arah gubuk dengan mata penuh kebencian.

“Ini belum selesai,” desisnya. “Belum selesai.”

Ia berbalik dan pergi, meninggalkan obornya menyala di tanah.

***

Di dalam gubuk, keluarga itu berkumpul. Raka, Wulan, Arka, dan Mbah Ranga. Hanya mereka berempat di tengah malam yang dingin.

“Mbah,” Arka memecah keheningan. “Aku... aku ingin coba lihat yang lain. Warga yang tadi. Untuk memastikan.”

Mbah Ranga mengangguk. “Tapi jangan terlalu lama. Mana-mu masih terbatas.”

Arka memejam. Sensasi hangat itu datang lagi, tapi kali sedikit lebih lambat. Seperti ada yang berkurang. Ia paksakan, membuka mata, dan memindai warga yang masih tersisa di luar.

Abu-abu. Abu-abu. Biru pucat. Abu-abu.

Tiba-tiba, kepalanya berdenyut. Pandangannya kabur. Jendela Status yang muncul mulai berkedip-kedip tidak stabil.

“Arka, cukup!” Mbah Ranga meraih bahunya. “Kau kehabisan mana.”

Arka terhuyung, hampir jatuh. Raka menangkapnya. “Ada apa? Nak, ada apa?”

“Kepalaku... pusing...”

Wulan segera meraba keningnya. “Dia demam. Panas sekali.”

Mbah Ranga menghela napas. “Itu efeknya. Menggunakan kekuatan tanpa latihan yang cukup. Ia butuh istirahat.”

Tapi Arka masih berusaha bicara. “Ayah... Ibu... dengar. Karta... dia pengkhianat. Tapi ada yang lebih penting. Wira... dia bilang musuh yang sebenarnya akan datang. Dan aku... aku bisa melihat. Aku bisa melihat siapa musuh kita.”

Raka memeluknya. “Kita bicara nanti, Nak. Sekarang kau istirahat.”

Arka ingin protes, tapi tubuhnya terlalu lelah. Kepalanya berat. Matanya terpejam sendiri.

Di ambang pintu, Mbah Ranga menatap langit malam. Bintang-bintang mulai tertutup awan hitam. Angin bertiup lebih kencang, membawa bau asing—bau yang tidak pernah ia cium selama puluhan tahun.

“Badai akan datang,” bisiknya. “Bukan badai hujan.”

***

Pagi harinya, Arka terbangun dengan kepala masih berdenyut. Ia duduk di atas tikar, menemukan gubuk itu kosong. Hanya ada Mbah Ranga yang duduk di sudut, membaca buku tuanya.

“Mbah... Ayah dan Ibu?”

“Ke rumah sebentar. Mengambil barang-barang penting. Kita akan pergi malam ini.”

Arka diam. Ia tahu ini berat, tapi juga tahu tidak ada pilihan.

“Mbah, soal Wira... aku tidak bisa membaca niatnya. Itu artinya?”

Mbah Ranga menutup bukunya. “Artinya dia punya perlindungan. Mungkin dari kekuatan yang lebih tinggi. Atau mungkin... dia juga punya darah Karang, seperti kau.”

Arka terkesiap. “Dia... dia juga?”

“Mungkin. Atau mungkin tidak. Yang jelas, dia bukan musuh—setidaknya sekarang. Tapi bukan berarti dia kawan.”

Arka menghela napas. Terlalu banyak misteri. Tapi satu hal yang ia tahu: ia punya kekuatan baru. Kekuatan untuk melihat kebenaran di balik wajah manusia.

Ia memejam, mencoba membuka Jendela Statusnya sendiri.

------------------------------------
NAMA: ARKA
USIA: 7 TAHUN
TIER MANA: F (PEMULA)
MANA POOL: 15/50
SKILL TREE:
- PRODUCTION MAGIC [TERKUNCI]
- MARIONETTE [TERKUNCI]
- STATUS CHECK [LEVEL 1 - 10% TERKUASAI]
------------------------------------

Mana pool-nya turun drastis. 15 tersisa dari 50. Jadi itu konsekuensinya—setiap kali menggunakan skill, mana berkurang. Dan kalau habis, ia bisa pingsan. Atau lebih buruk.

Tapi yang menarik, Status Check-nya sekarang terdaftar sebagai skill yang mulai dikuasai. 10 persen. Masih jauh dari sempurna.

“Mbah, aku bisa melihat progresku. Status Check-ku baru 10 persen.”

Mbah Ranga tersenyum. “Itu artinya kau harus terus berlatih. Tapi ingat, jangan memaksakan diri. Mana-mu terbatas.”

Arka mengangguk. Ia menatap ke luar jendela, melihat Dusun Karang yang mulai beraktivitas seperti biasa. Seolah malam sebelumnya tidak terjadi apa-apa.

Tapi ia tahu, sesuatu telah berubah. Dan tidak akan pernah kembali seperti dulu.

“Mbah,” katanya tiba-tiba. “Aku ingin coba lihat sesuatu. Dari sini saja.”

Mbah Ranga menghela napas. “Jangan terlalu lama. Dan jangan paksakan.”

Arka mengarahkan pandangannya ke pasar. Ke tempat di mana ia biasa melihat Karta. Ia fokus, sensasi hangat menjalar, tapi kali ini lebih lambat—seperti aliran air di musim kemarau.

Jendela Status muncul, tapi tidak stabil. Berkedip-kedip.

Tapi cukup untuk melihat satu baris:

“Bekerja untuk: Bajak. Menerima tugas: Memastikan Arka tidak bisa mempertahankan diri saat...”

Teksnya terputus. Jendela itu menghilang.

Arka terhuyung, tapi tidak jatuh. Mana-nya sekarang 10/50. Hampir habis.

Tapi yang ia lihat cukup untuk membuat jantungnya berdetak kencang.

Karta punya tugas. Bukan sekadar mengusir mereka, tapi memastikan Arka tidak bisa mempertahankan diri. Itu artinya... Bajak akan datang. Tidak lama lagi.

“Mbah,” ucapnya tergesa. “Kita harus cepat. Bajak... mereka akan datang. Dan Karta... tugasnya membuatku lemah.”

Mbah Ranga menatapnya serius. “Kau yakin?”

“Statusnya... aku lihat sekilas. Sebelum jendelanya hilang.”

Mbah Ranga berdiri. Untuk pertama kalinya, Arka melihat ketegasan di wajah tua itu. Bukan ketegasan seorang guru, tapi seorang prajurit yang siap bertempur.

“Kalau begitu, kita tidak punya waktu. Kita harus pergi sekarang. Sebelum Karta bergerak lagi.”

Tapi saat mereka bersiap, suara dari luar membuat mereka berhenti.

Suara banyak orang. Berteriak. Marah.

Dan di antara semua suara itu, yang paling keras adalah suara Karta.

“MEREKA MAU KABUR! HENTIKAN MEREKA!”

Arka menatap ke luar jendela. Di depan rumahnya—bukan rumahnya, rumah orangtuanya—massa sudah berkumpul lagi. Lebih banyak dari semalam. Dan kali ini, mereka membawa lebih dari sekadar obor.

Mereka membawa tombak. Golok. Pentungan.

Mereka siap untuk melukai.

Dan di tengah kerumunan itu, Karta berdiri dengan senyum puas. Pengkhianat itu kembali menang.

Tapi kali ini, Arka tidak takut.

Karena ia tahu. Ia tahu siapa kawan dan siapa lawan. Ia tahu warna merah itu. Dan ia tahu, suatu hari, kebenaran itu akan berguna.

Pertanyaannya: apakah hari ini sudah tiba?

Bersambung...

Karakter yang muncul: Arka, Mbah Ranggawarsita, Karta, Raka, Wulan, Wira (utusan Bajak), Ragil (penampilan perdana), Ratmi, Sarmo, massa warga.

EPISODE 5: STATUS CHECK

That night, Dusun Karang did not sleep.

In front of Mbah Ranga's hut, torches blazed brightly, illuminating faces that were mixtures of fear and anger. Karta stood at the forefront, chest puffed, feeling victorious. Raka and Wulan were behind the mob, blocked by dozens of bodies that refused to give way. And at the doorstep, Mbah Ranga stood calmly—a frail old man who had become the last barrier between Arka and the raging mob.

But Arka saw none of that.

His eyes were fixed on one point in the distance. Under a large tree, beyond the circle of torchlight, Wira stood. Bajak's envoy smiled. Not an evil smile—but a satisfied one. Like someone watching a performance that he himself had directed.

"Arka," Mbah Ranga whispered without turning. "Don't look at him. Look inside."

"But Grandfather... he's the one who..."

"I know. But now, you have a way to see more than others see. Use it."

Arka blinked. He remembered that Status Window. Remembered how he could see himself, see Mbah Ranga. Perhaps... perhaps he could see others too?

He closed his eyes. Tried to recall that warm sensation spreading from chest to eyes. *Feel that flow*, he whispered in his heart. *Like during meditation. Like when those leaves moved.*

That warm sensation came again. Slowly, spreading, reaching the edges of his eyes.

Arka opened his eyes.

And the world changed.

Before his eyes, it was no longer just a crowd of people with torches. He saw colors. Faintly, like thin mist floating above each person's head. Most were gray—neutral, uncertain, afraid. A few were pale blue—good, but weak. And at the very front, above Karta's head...

RED.

Blazing red, like fire. Intense. Thick.

Arka caught his breath. The Status Window automatically appeared before his eyes:

------------------------------------
NAME: KARTA
DOMINANT INTENT: EVIL (HIGH INTENSITY)
NOTES: Works for Bajak. Wants to eliminate Raka's family.
------------------------------------

Arka's blood ran cold. Works for Bajak. So his guess was right. Karta was indeed a traitor.

He shifted his gaze to the person beside Karta. Sarmo. The farmer who had seen the leaves spinning this morning. His color? Dark gray—afraid, confused, but not evil. Sarmo was just following the crowd, swept away by the current.

The others: gray, gray, gray. The majority were afraid. They didn't really want to hurt—they just wanted to feel safe. And Karta was exploiting that fear.

Then Arka's gaze moved to the back of the crowd. Toward Raka and Wulan.

Blue. Bright blue. Protecting. Loving.

Arka wanted to cry. His father and mother were there, trying to break through the mob to reach him.

"Arka." Mbah Ranga's voice broke his concentration. "Do you see something?"

Arka nodded slowly. "Karta... red. Very red. He works for Bajak."

Mbah Ranga sighed. Not surprised—more like resigned. "I suspected as much. His eyes have always been wild when he sees money."

"Grandfather, I have to tell Father. I have to..."

"Later." Mbah Ranga's hand pressed on his shoulder. "Look at the others first. Make sure you know who is friend and who is foe."

Arka obeyed. He scanned the crowd one by one. Most were gray—frightened villagers, easily swayed. But among them, he found two blue dots.

The first: Ratmi. The elderly widow who had brought the mysterious message last night. Her blue was warm, like lantern light. Genuine good intent.

The second: a boy, hiding behind a tree at the edge of the crowd. About Arka's age. Messy hair, patched clothes. He was staring at the hut with worried eyes.

The Status Window appeared:

------------------------------------
NAME: RAGIL
DOMINANT INTENT: GOOD
NOTES: Orphan. Secretly admires Arka. Wants to be friends.
------------------------------------

Arka was surprised. There was a child his age who secretly admired him? All this time he felt alone, except for Mbah Ranga. But Ragil... he remembered now. The boy who often sat alone at the edge of the market. Who never joined in the taunting or suspicious glances.

Ragil. Blue. Good.

Arka stored that name in his heart.

"I'm done, Grandfather," he whispered. "I see... mostly gray. But two blues: Ratmi and Ragil. And only Karta is red."

Mbah Ranga nodded. "Good. Now you know. In this world, not everyone who shouts 'friend' is a friend. And not everyone who is silent is an enemy."

Outside, Karta's voice boomed. "Enough nonsense, Mbah Ranga! We've been patient. Now surrender that child!"

The mob cheered. Torches were raised high.

But before Mbah Ranga could answer, another voice cut through. Not from the crowd—but from the darkness at the edge.

"Karta."

Everyone turned.

Wira stepped forward. Torchlight now illuminated his face—sharp, with an old scar on his temple, and a smile that never left. He walked slowly, unhurried, like someone who knew he was the most powerful person there.

"You..." Karta stepped back slightly, unprepared. "This isn't your business, Envoy."

Wira laughed softly. "Not my business? Karta, Karta... you think I came here just to deliver a message?" He looked at the crowd one by one. "I'm here to see for myself. To make sure."

"Make sure of what?" Raka's voice was firm from behind.

Wira turned. His eyes met Raka's. Former soldier with former soldier. There was silent recognition between them.

"To make sure that Karang blood still lives," Wira answered. "And it turns out... it does."

He pointed toward the hut. Toward Arka, who still stood at the doorstep.

"That child. He's not just your child. He's the key. The key to something bigger than this tiny village. And you... you want to surrender him to Karta?"

Karta puffed his chest. "Silence! Don't listen to him! He's the enemy!"

"Enemy?" Wira laughed again. "I never lied to you, Karta. I paid you, you did your job. But look at yourself now. Leading a mob? You think they'll thank you after this?"

Karta fell silent. The villagers began exchanging glances.

Inside the hut, Arka watched all this with eyes that could now see more. He focused on Wira.

The Status Window appeared:

------------------------------------
NAME: WIRA
DOMINANT INTENT: ??? (PROTECTED)
NOTES: Former soldier of the Southern Kingdom. Has blood ties to the Karang Clan. Hidden motives.
------------------------------------

Arka blinked. Protected? That meant he couldn't read Wira's intent like others. And blood ties to the Karang Clan? What did that mean?

"Grandfather," he whispered. "Wira... I can't read his intent. And he's... connected to the Karang blood."

For the first time, Mbah Ranga looked surprised. His old eyes narrowed, staring at Wira from a distance.

"So that's the reason," he murmured. "He's not just an envoy. He might be... one of them."

"One of who, Grandfather?"

But Mbah Ranga didn't have time to answer. Outside, Wira suddenly turned and stared directly at the hut. Not toward Mbah Ranga—but toward Arka. His eyes were sharp, but strangely, not threatening.

"That child," Wira said loudly, "is not your enemy. Bajak is also not your enemy—at least not now. Your enemy is your own fear. And look where that fear has brought you."

He pointed at Karta.

"You follow him. Yet he received money from me. Ask him, how much did he get to divide this village?"

Karta froze. All eyes turned to him.

"Yo... you're lying!"

Wira shrugged. "Believe it or not. I've delivered my message. And one more thing: if you truly want to survive, don't drive that child away. Because when the real enemy comes—and they will come—only the Karang blood can protect you."

He turned, ready to leave. But before stepping away, he glanced once more. Toward the hut. Toward Arka.

"Take care of yourself, child. We'll meet again."

Then he vanished into the darkness, like a ghost that never existed.

The crowd fell silent. Karta looked pale. Raka and Wulan seized the moment to push through the crowd, finally reaching the hut's door.

"Arka!" Wulan knelt, hugging him tightly. "Child... child... are you alright?"

Arka hugged back, but his eyes were still fixed on the spot where Wira had disappeared. His mind was chaotic. He had just learned about the Status Window, about the colors of human intent, about Karta working for Bajak, about Wira whoever he was, and about his last words: Karang blood would protect them.

"Father," he whispered in Wulan's embrace. "Karta... he's a traitor. I saw... I saw with my eyes."

Raka frowned. "What do you mean?"

Arka pulled back from the hug. He looked at his father, then at the crowd that was still confused. Karta was trying to speak, but no one was listening. Villagers began whispering, beginning to doubt their leader.

"I... I have a way. I can see who is evil and who is good," Arka said softly. "I don't know how to explain it. But Karta... he's red. Very red. And in his status, it said: Works for Bajak."

Raka and Wulan exchanged glances. This was too much to process in one night. But before they could ask further, Mbah Ranga spoke.

"Trust him. He's not lying. And now, we must leave here. Tonight."

"Leave?" Wulan was shocked. "Where to?"

Mbah Ranga looked at them with eyes that suddenly seemed very old. Very tired.

"This village is no longer safe for you. Not because of Karta—but because of what will come after. Bajak won't stop. And now, people more dangerous than Bajak also know about Arka."

"But... but we can..."

"No buts, Raka." Mbah Ranga gripped his staff. "I've lived over eighty years. I know when to stand and when to run. Tonight, we run."

Outside, the crowd began to disperse. Karta was left alone, surrounded by suspicious glances. Sarmo and some of his followers moved away. The victory that had seemed within grasp now crumbled to pieces by Wira's words.

But Karta hadn't given up. He stared at the hut with eyes full of hatred.

"This isn't over," he hissed. "Not over."

He turned and left, leaving his torch burning on the ground.

***

Inside the hut, the family gathered. Raka, Wulan, Arka, and Mbah Ranga. Just the four of them in the cold night.

"Grandfather," Arka broke the silence. "I... I want to try looking at others. The villagers from earlier. To be sure."

Mbah Ranga nodded. "But not too long. Your mana is still limited."

Arka closed his eyes. That warm sensation came again, but this time a little slower. As if something was depleted. He pushed through, opened his eyes, and scanned the villagers still lingering outside.

Gray. Gray. Pale blue. Gray.

Suddenly, his head throbbed. His vision blurred. The Status Window that appeared began flickering unstably.

"Arka, enough!" Mbah Ranga grabbed his shoulder. "You're running out of mana."

Arka staggered, almost falling. Raka caught him. "What's wrong? Son, what's wrong?"

"My head... dizzy..."

Wulan immediately felt his forehead. "He has a fever. Very hot."

Mbah Ranga sighed. "That's the effect. Using power without enough training. He needs rest."

But Arka was still trying to speak. "Father... Mother... listen. Karta... he's a traitor. But there's something more important. Wira... he said the real enemy will come. And I... I can see. I can see who our enemies are."

Raka hugged him. "We'll talk later, Son. Now you rest."

Arka wanted to protest, but his body was too tired. His head was heavy. His eyes closed on their own.

At the doorstep, Mbah Ranga stared at the night sky. Stars were beginning to be covered by black clouds. The wind blew harder, carrying a strange scent—a scent he hadn't smelled for decades.

"A storm is coming," he whispered. "Not a rain storm."

***

The next morning, Arka woke with his head still throbbing. He sat up on the mat, finding the hut empty. Only Mbah Ranga sat in the corner, reading his old book.

"Grandfather... Father and Mother?"

"Went home for a while. To get important things. We'll leave tonight."

Arka was silent. He knew this was hard, but also knew there was no choice.

"Grandfather, about Wira... I couldn't read his intent. What does that mean?"

Mbah Ranga closed his book. "It means he has protection. Perhaps from a higher power. Or perhaps... he also has Karang blood, like you."

Arka gasped. "He... he does too?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not. What's clear is, he's not an enemy—at least for now. But that doesn't make him a friend."

Arka sighed. Too many mysteries. But one thing he knew: he had a new power. The power to see the truth behind people's faces.

He closed his eyes, trying to open his own Status Window.

------------------------------------
NAME: ARKA
AGE: 7 YEARS
MANA TIER: F (BEGINNER)
MANA POOL: 15/50
SKILL TREE:
- PRODUCTION MAGIC [LOCKED]
- MARIONETTE [LOCKED]
- STATUS CHECK [LEVEL 1 - 10% MASTERED]
------------------------------------

His mana pool had dropped drastically. 15 left out of 50. So that was the consequence—every time he used a skill, mana decreased. And if it ran out, he could faint. Or worse.

But interestingly, his Status Check was now registered as a skill being mastered. 10 percent. Still far from perfect.

"Grandfather, I can see my progress. My Status Check is only 10 percent mastered."

Mbah Ranga smiled. "That means you have to keep practicing. But remember, don't push yourself too hard. Your mana is limited."

Arka nodded. He looked out the window, seeing Dusun Karang beginning its daily activities. As if nothing had happened the night before.

But he knew, something had changed. And would never be the same again.

"Grandfather," he said suddenly. "I want to try seeing something. From here."

Mbah Ranga sighed. "Not too long. And don't push yourself."

Arka directed his gaze toward the market. Toward where he usually saw Karta. He focused, the warm sensation spread, but this time slower—like a stream in the dry season.

The Status Window appeared, but unstable. Flickering.

But enough to see one line:

"Works for: Bajak. Received task: Ensure Arka cannot defend himself when..."

The text cut off. The window disappeared.

Arka staggered, but didn't fall. His mana was now 10/50. Almost empty.

But what he saw was enough to make his heart race.

Karta had a task. Not just to drive them away, but to ensure Arka couldn't defend himself. That meant... Bajak was coming. Soon.

"Grandfather," he said urgently. "We have to hurry. Bajak... they're coming. And Karta's task is to weaken me."

Mbah Ranga looked at him seriously. "Are you sure?"

"His status... I saw it briefly. Before the window disappeared."

Mbah Ranga stood. For the first time, Arka saw determination on that old face. Not the determination of a teacher, but of a soldier ready to fight.

"Then we have no time. We must leave now. Before Karta moves again."

But as they prepared, sounds from outside made them stop.

The sound of many people. Shouting. Angry.

And among all those voices, the loudest was Karta's.

"THEY'RE TRYING TO ESCAPE! STOP THEM!"

Arka looked out the window. In front of his house—not his house, his parents' house—the mob had gathered again. More than last night. And this time, they carried more than just torches.

They carried spears. Machetes. Clubs.

They were ready to hurt.

And in the middle of that crowd, Karta stood with a satisfied smile. The traitor had won again.

But this time, Arka wasn't afraid.

Because he knew. He knew who was friend and who was foe. He knew that red color. And he knew, someday, that truth would be useful.

The question was: had that day arrived?

To be continued...

Characters featured: Arka, Mbah Ranggawarsita, Karta, Raka, Wulan, Wira (Bajak's envoy), Ragil (first appearance), Ratmi, Sarmo, village mob.

Terima kasih sudah mampir! Jika kamu menikmati konten ini dan ingin menunjukkan dukunganmu, bagaimana kalau mentraktirku secangkir kopi? 😊 Ini adalah gestur kecil yang sangat membantu untuk menjaga semangatku agar terus membuat konten-konten keren. Tidak ada paksaan, tapi secangkir kopi darimu pasti akan membuat hariku jadi sedikit lebih cerah. ☕️

☕ Buy Me Coffee