EPISODE 7: MALAM PENGUSIRAN

EPISODE 7: MALAM PENGUSIRAN

Fajar belum tiba, tapi Dusun Karang sudah bangun. Bukan karena semangat—tapi karena malam itu, mereka mengusir keluarga sendiri.

Arka terbangun dengan kepala masih berdenyut. Tubuhnya demam, tapi ia paksakan duduk. Di sekelilingnya, 12 orang yang tersisa mulai berkemas. Mereka tidak punya banyak—hanya pakaian di badan, beberapa karung beras, dan alat-alat pertanian yang berhasil diselamatkan.

“Nak, kau belum boleh bangun.” Wulan berlutut di sampingnya, meletakkan telapak tangan di dahi Arka. Masih panas. “Istirahat dulu.”

“Tidak, Bu.” Arka menggeleng lemah. “Ada sesuatu yang harus aku lakukan.”

Ia memanggil Ragil dengan lambaian tangan. Sahabatnya itu segera mendekat, wajahnya tegang tapi matanya—matanya masih menyala seperti biasa.

“Lo yakin kuat?” tanya Ragil. “Muka lo pucet banget.”

“Gue harus.” Arka meraih lengan Ragil untuk menopang tubuhnya. “Bantu gue kumpulin mereka. Semua yang mau ikut. Gue harus... gue harus lihat.”

Ragil mengangguk paham. Ia tahu apa yang Arka maksud—Status Check. Kemampuan untuk melihat niat seseorang. Di saat seperti ini, itu bisa berarti hidup dan mati.

***

Satu per satu, mereka yang berniat ikut berkumpul di bawah pohon besar tempat mereka bermalam. Arka duduk bersandar di batang pohon, Ragil di sampingnya, sementara yang lain berdiri membentuk setengah lingkaran.

Ada Ratmi, janda tua dengan gendongan besar berisi peralatan dapur. Matanya sembab—menangis semalaman—tapi rahangnya mengeras. Ia sudah memutuskan.

Ada keluarga Mulya: petani berusia 40 tahun dengan istri dan dua anaknya yang masih kecil—laki-laki 5 tahun, perempuan 3 tahun. Mereka membawa karung beras dan bibit tanaman.

Ada Surti dan Jasio, pasangan muda tanpa anak. Jasio membawa linggis dan cangkul, Surti membawa peralatan tenun.

Ada Kang Bijak, pengembara tua yang kebetulan singgah. Ia hanya membawa tongkat dan bungkusan kecil di punggung. Wajahnya tenang, seperti orang yang sudah melihat segalanya.

Dan ada Mbah Ranga, yang berdiri dengan tongkat di samping Raka dan Wulan. Tua, rapuh, tapi matanya tajam menatap Arka.

“Ada lagi yang mau ikut?” tanya Raka. “Kita akan pergi saat matahari naik. Kalau ada yang berubah pikiran, sekarang waktunya.”

Tidak ada yang bergerak.

Arka menarik napas. Ini saatnya. Ia tahu konsekuensinya—mana-nya masih 8/50, tubuhnya demam, menggunakan Status Check bisa membuatnya pingsan. Tapi ia harus tahu. Ia harus memastikan bahwa orang-orang yang ikut ini benar-benar tulus.

Ia memejam. Sensasi hangat menjalar—lebih lambat, lebih berat, seperti aliran air di dasar sumur yang hampir kering. Kepalanya berdenyut lebih keras, tapi ia paksakan.

Buka.

Warna-warna muncul di atas kepala mereka satu per satu.

Ratmi: BIRU. Hangat, seperti cahaya lentera. Niat baik yang tulus.

Mulya: BIRU. Agak pudar di tepinya—mungkin masih ada keraguan—tapi dominan biru. Keluarganya juga biru, termasuk anak-anak.

Surti dan Jasio: BIRU. Surti biru hangat, Jasio biru sedikit lebih redup—mungkin ada ketakutan, tapi bukan niat jahat.

Kang Bijak: ??? TERTUTUP. Sama seperti Wira. Ada lapisan yang menghalangi pandangan Arka.

Arka terkesiap, tapi terlalu lelah untuk terkejut. Nanti. Urusan nanti.

Yang terakhir: Mbah Ranga. BIRU TUA, dalam seperti samudra. Tapi di pojok jendela, masih terlihat tulisan itu: SISA USIA: 3 TAHUN.

Jendela Status berkedip. Mana-nya 5/50. Arka memejam, menghentikan skill sebelum pingsan.

“Sudah,” bisiknya pada Ragil. “Mereka... aman. Kecuali Kang Bijak... tapi bukan jahat. Hanya... tertutup.”

Ragil mengangguk, meski tidak sepenuhnya paham. Ia menepuk pundak Arka. “Istirahat, kawan. Urusan Kang Bijak nanti.”

***

Matahari naik perlahan di ufuk timur, seolah enggan menyaksikan apa yang akan terjadi. Rombongan kecil itu berdiri di gerbang Dusun Karang, menghadap ke luar, membelakangi desa yang menolak mereka.

Di belakang mereka, di balik pagar bambu, Karta berdiri dengan senyum puas. Di sampingnya, Sarmo dan beberapa pengikut setianya. Wajah-wajah yang kemarin berteriak paling keras, kini diam membisu menyaksikan hasil jerih payah mereka.

Tapi di antara kerumunan itu, ada satu orang yang tidak ikut bersorak. Yang duduk di kursi roda di pojok, jauh dari yang lain.

Joko.

Kepala desa yang lumpuh itu menatap rombongan kecil dengan mata berkaca-kaca. Tangannya menggenggam erat selimut, buku jarinya putih. Ia ingin berteriak, ingin menghentikan, tapi suaranya sudah mati sejak kakinya lumpuh.

Atau mungkin, lebih tepatnya, suaranya mati sejak ia membiarkan ketakutan menguasai desanya.

Raka menoleh untuk terakhir kalinya. Matanya bertemu dengan Joko. Tidak ada kemarahan di sana—hanya kekecewaan yang dalam.

“Selamat tinggal, Joko,” bisiknya. “Semoga kau bisa tidur nyenyak.”

Joko menangis. Air mata mengalir di pipi keriputnya. Mulutnya bergerak-gerak, membentuk kata-kata yang tidak bisa keluar.

“Maaf... maafkan paman...”

Tapi tidak ada yang mendengar. Rombongan itu sudah berbalik, melangkah meninggalkan gerbang, memasuki hamparan rumput liar yang membentang luas di depan mereka.

Karta berteriak dari kejauhan, “PERGI! DAN JANGAN PERNAH KEMBALI!”

Tidak ada yang menoleh.

***

Perjalanan hari pertama adalah perjalanan sunyi.

Tidak ada yang bicara. Yang ada hanya suara langkah kaki di rumput kering, suara napas yang tertahan, dan sesekali isak tangis dari anak-anak Mulya yang mulai lelah.

Arka berjalan ditopang Ragil. Kepalanya masih pusing, demamnya belum turun, tapi ia paksakan. Tidak ada pilihan. Mereka harus terus bergerak—semakin jauh dari desa, semakin aman.

“Kita ke mana sebenarnya?” tanya Surti pelan, setelah berjam-jam berjalan.

Raka menoleh ke belakang, memastikan semua masih mengikuti. “Aku tidak tahu. Yang penting, jauh dari desa.”

“Tapi kita tidak bisa jalan terus tanpa tujuan.” Jasio menyela. “Persediaan terbatas. Anak-anak sudah lelah. Kita perlu tempat berlindung.”

Mulya mengangguk. “Dia benar, Raka. Kita harus punya rencana.”

Raka menghela napas. Ia tahu mereka benar. Tapi sebagai mantan prajurit, ia juga tahu bahwa di tanah tak bertuan, rencana bisa berubah dalam sekejap.

“Kita cari tempat berlindung dulu. Mungkin hutan di kejauhan itu.” Ia menunjuk ke garis hijau di ufuk timur. “Setelah itu, kita pikirkan langkah selanjutnya.”

Mereka berjalan lagi. Matahari bergerak perlahan di atas kepala, terik menyengat kulit. Anak-anak Mulya mulai rewel. Ratmi membagikan air minum dari kantong kulit yang ia bawa—sedikit, harus dihemat.

Sore hari, mereka sampai di tepi sebuah bukit kecil. Dari atas, mereka bisa melihat hamparan rumput yang baru saja mereka lewati, dan di kejauhan, titik-titik kecil yang merupakan Dusun Karang.

Rumah mereka. Kini hanya tinggal kenangan.

Ratmi duduk di tanah, meletakkan gendongannya. Ia menatap ke arah desa, lalu menunduk. Bahunya bergetar.

Wulan mendekat, duduk di sampingnya. “Ratmi...”

“Aku tinggalkan makam suamiku di sana,” bisik Ratmi. “Dua puluh tahun kita bersama. Dan sekarang... aku bahkan tidak bisa berziarah.”

Wulan memeluknya. Tidak ada kata-kata yang cukup untuk menghibur.

Di tempat lain, Mbah Ranga berdiri agak jauh, menatap ke arah hutan di timur. Matanya yang tua menyipit, seperti mencoba membaca sesuatu yang hanya ia bisa lihat.

“Kang Bijak,” panggilnya tiba-tiba.

Pengembara tua itu mendekat. “Iya, Mbah?”

“Kau sudah sering keliling, kan?” Mbah Ranga tidak menoleh. “Kau tahu tanah ini?”

Kang Bijak tersenyum tipis. “Sedikit.”

“Di balik hutan itu, apa?”

“Tanah tak bertuan. Bekas wilayah perang dulu. Katanya... angker. Tapi aku pernah ke sana. Tidak angker. Hanya... liar.”

“Liar bagaimana?”

Kang Bijak menatap Mbah Ranga. Matanya—untuk pertama kalinya—terlihat serius. “Hukum alam. Yang kuat bertahan, yang lemah mati. Tidak ada penguasa, tidak ada aturan. Hanya predator dan mangsa.”

Mbah Ranga mengangguk pelan. “Seperti dulu. Sebelum kerajaan berdiri.”

“Seperti dulu,” ulang Kang Bijak. “Tapi di sana juga ada... sesuatu. Sesuatu yang mungkin dicari anak itu.”

Ia menunjuk ke arah Arka yang sedang duduk lemas di bawah pohon.

Mbah Ranga menoleh. “Apa maksudmu?”

Tapi Kang Bijak hanya tersenyum, tidak menjawab. Ia berbalik dan berjalan kembali ke rombongan, meninggalkan Mbah Ranga dengan pertanyaan menggantung.

***

Malam turun cepat. Mereka memutuskan untuk berhenti di lembah kecil yang cukup terlindung dari angin. Raka menyalakan api unggun—bukan untuk menghangatkan, tapi untuk mengusir binatang buas.

Ratmi membagi-bagikan makanan: segenggam beras yang dimasak dengan air seadanya, menjadi bubur encer. Tidak banyak, tapi cukup untuk mengganjal perut.

Anak-anak Mulya makan lahap, tidak sadar bahwa ini mungkin makanan terakhir mereka dalam beberapa hari.

Arka tidak bisa makan. Demamnya naik turun. Wulan mengompres keningnya dengan kain basah, wajahnya cemas.

“Bu,” bisik Arka. “Aku mau lihat... mana-ku.”

Wulan menghela napas. “Jangan paksakan, Nak.”

“Sebentar saja.”

Arka memejam. Sensasi hangat itu datang, tapi sangat lemah—hanya setitik panas di dada. Ia paksakan membuka Jendela Status.

------------------------------------
NAMA: ARKA
USIA: 7 TAHUN
TIER MANA: F (PEMULA)
MANA POOL: 7/50 (REGENERASI 1 POINT PER 6 JAM)
SKILL TREE:
- PRODUCTION MAGIC [TERKUNCI]
- MARIONETTE [TERKUNCI]
- STATUS CHECK [LEVEL 1 - 15% TERKUASAI]
------------------------------------

Mana-nya naik sedikit—7 dari 50. Regenerasi 1 point per 6 jam. Artinya butuh hampir 11 hari untuk pulih total. Itu terlalu lama.

Tapi yang menarik, Status Check-nya naik 5 persen. Dari 10% jadi 15%. Jadi menggunakan skill di batas kemampuan justru mempercepat penguasaan.

“Masih 7,” bisiknya pada Wulan. “Tapi naik sedikit.”

Wulan mengelus rambutnya. “Istirahatlah, Nak. Biar cepat pulih.”

Arka mengangguk, memejam. Tapi sebelum tidur, ia sempatkan bertanya satu hal.

“Bu... Kang Bijak... aku tidak bisa membaca niatnya. Sama seperti Wira. Apa artinya?”

Wulan terdiam. Ia menatap ke arah Kang Bijak yang duduk agak jauh, bersandar di batu, memandangi api unggun dengan ekspresi tak terbaca.

“Aku tidak tahu, Nak. Tapi Mbah Ranga sepertinya percaya padanya. Mungkin... mungkin dia bukan musuh.”

“Atau mungkin musuh yang pintar bersembunyi,” bisik Arka sebelum tertidur.

Wulan tidak menjawab. Ia hanya memeluk anaknya erat-erat, melindunginya dari dinginnya malam dan dari segala hal buruk yang mungkin mengintai di luar sana.

***

Tengah malam. Api unggun mulai redup. Raka yang berjaga menambahkan kayu, membuat api kembali menyala. Matanya lelah, tapi ia tidak bisa tidur. Pikirannya terlalu penuh.

“Kau juga tidak bisa tidur?”

Raka menoleh. Kang Bijak duduk di sampingnya tanpa suara.

“Kau tidak pernah tidur?” tanya Raka.

Kang Bijak tersenyum. “Tidur? Oh, aku tidur. Tapi sedikit. Kebiasaan dari bertahun-tahun mengembara.”

Mereka diam sejenak. Angin malam bertiup dingin, membawa bau rumput kering dan sesuatu yang lain—bau asing, seperti binatang buas.

“Kau tahu sesuatu tentang anakku,” ujar Raka tiba-tiba. Bukan pertanyaan—pernyataan.

Kang Bijak tidak menjawab.

“Dia bilang, dia tidak bisa membaca niatmu. Sama seperti utusan Bajak itu. Kau... kau juga punya darah Karang?”

Kang Bijak tertawa kecil. “Darah Karang? Oh, tidak. Aku tidak punya darah istimewa. Aku hanya... tua. Dan orang tua punya cara sendiri untuk melindungi diri.”

“Maksudmu?”

“Anakmu punya kemampuan luar biasa. Tapi kemampuan itu juga punya kelemahan—ia tidak bisa membaca orang yang lebih kuat, atau yang punya perlindungan khusus. Aku? Aku hanya belajar dari hidup. Cara menutup pikiran, menyembunyikan niat. Tidak perlu sihir untuk itu.”

Raka menatapnya. “Kau orang aneh.”

Kang Bijak tersenyum lebar. “Terima kasih. Itu pujian terbaik yang pernah kudengar.”

Tiba-tiba, telinga Kang Bijak bergerak. Matanya menyipit ke arah kegelapan di luar lingkaran api.

“Diam,” bisiknya.

Raka langsung siaga. Tangannya meraih parang.

Dari kejauhan, terdengar suara. Bukan lolongan serigala seperti sebelumnya—tapi suara lain. Suara napas berat. Suara langkah kaki—besar, berat, tapi pelan. Sangat pelan.

Dan di balik semak-semak, di batas cahaya api, dua titik merah menyala.

Mata.

Besar. Lebih besar dari mata serigala biasa. Dan di belakangnya, bayangan raksasa bergerak diam-diam.

Kang Bijak berdiri perlahan. Tangannya meraih tongkat—bukan untuk memukul, tapi seperti... bersiap.

“Raja Hutan,” bisiknya. “Dia datang.”

Raka ingin bergerak, tapi Kang Bijak menahan.

“Jangan. Dia hanya mengamati. Untuk sekarang.”

Mata merah itu menatap mereka selama beberapa detik yang terasa seperti berjam-jam. Lalu perlahan, tanpa suara, ia mundur ke dalam kegelapan. Bayangan raksasa itu lenyap, menyatu dengan malam.

Kang Bijak menghela napas. “Dia tahu kita di sini. Dan dia tahu anak itu lemah.”

Raka mengepalkan parangnya. “Kita harus pergi. Sekarang.”

“Ke mana? Lari di malam hari di tanah tak bertuan?” Kang Bijak menggeleng. “Lebih baik bertahan di sini. Api masih menyala. Selama ada api, dia tidak akan menyerang. Belum.”

“Belum?”

Kang Bijak menatap Raka dengan serius. “Dia menunggu. Menunggu saat kita paling lemah. Menunggu saat anak itu tidak bisa mempertahankan diri.”

Raka tersentak. Kata-kata itu—sama seperti yang Arka lihat di Status Check Karta.

“Memastikan Arka tidak bisa mempertahankan diri saat...” bisiknya.

“Saat sekarang,” Kang Bijak menyelesaikan kalimatnya. “Atau saat yang akan datang. Tapi satu hal yang pasti: mereka—Bajak dan Raja Hutan—tahu sesuatu yang kita tidak tahu. Dan mereka menunggu momen yang sama.”

Di dalam tidurnya, Arka merintih. Demamnya naik. Wulan membasahi keningnya lagi, wajahnya pucat cemas.

Raka menatap anaknya. Lalu ke arah kegelapan tempat mata merah itu menghilang.

Untuk pertama kalinya dalam hidupnya—bahkan saat perang dulu—ia merasa benar-benar takut. Bukan takut mati. Tapi takut gagal melindungi.

Dan di kegelapan, di balik semak-semak, makhluk itu masih di sana. Mengamati. Menunggu.

Menunggu saat yang tepat.

Bersambung ke SUB-ARC 2: TANAH YANG DILUPAKAN...

Karakter yang muncul: Arka, Raka, Wulan, Mbah Ranggawarsita, Ragil, Ratmi, Mulya (dengan istri dan dua anak), Surti & Jasio, Kang Bijak, Joko, Karta (penampilan singkat), Sarmo, Raja Hutan (penampilan perdana).

EPISODE 7: THE NIGHT OF EXILE

Dawn hadn't arrived, but Dusun Karang was already awake. Not out of spirit—but because that night, they had exiled their own family.

Arka woke with his head still throbbing. His body was feverish, but he forced himself to sit up. Around him, the 12 people remaining began packing. They didn't have much—just the clothes on their backs, a few sacks of rice, and farming tools they managed to save.

"Child, you shouldn't be up yet." Wulan knelt beside him, placing her palm on Arka's forehead. Still hot. "Rest first."

"No, Mother." Arka shook his head weakly. "There's something I have to do."

He called Ragil with a wave. His friend approached immediately, his face tense but his eyes—his eyes still blazed as usual.

"You sure you're strong enough?" Ragil asked. "Your face is really pale."

"I have to." Arka grabbed Ragil's arm to support himself. "Help me gather them. Everyone who wants to come. I have to... I have to see."

Ragil nodded in understanding. He knew what Arka meant—Status Check. The ability to see someone's intent. At a time like this, it could mean life and death.

***

One by one, those who intended to come gathered under the large tree where they had spent the night. Arka sat leaning against the tree trunk, Ragil beside him, while the others formed a semicircle.

There was Ratmi, the elderly widow with a large bundle of kitchen equipment. Her eyes were swollen—she had cried all night—but her jaw was set firm. She had made her decision.

There was Mulya's family: a 40-year-old farmer with his wife and two small children—a boy of 5, a girl of 3. They carried sacks of rice and plant seeds.

There were Surti and Jasio, a young couple without children. Jasio carried a crowbar and hoe, Surti carried weaving tools.

There was Kang Bijak, the old wanderer who happened to be passing through. He carried only a staff and a small pack on his back. His face was calm, like someone who had seen it all.

And there was Mbah Ranga, standing with his staff beside Raka and Wulan. Old, frail, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on Arka.

"Anyone else who wants to come?" Raka asked. "We'll leave at sunrise. If anyone's changed their mind, now's the time."

No one moved.

Arka took a breath. This was it. He knew the consequences—his mana was still at 8/50, his body feverish, using Status Check could make him pass out. But he had to know. He had to ensure that these people who were coming were truly sincere.

He closed his eyes. That warm sensation spread—slower, heavier, like water flowing at the bottom of a nearly dry well. His head throbbed harder, but he pushed through.

Open.

Colors appeared above their heads one by one.

Ratmi: BLUE. Warm, like lantern light. Genuine good intent.

Mulya: BLUE. Slightly faded at the edges—perhaps still some doubt—but predominantly blue. His family was also blue, including the children.

Surti and Jasio: BLUE. Surti's blue was warm, Jasio's blue slightly dimmer—perhaps some fear, but no evil intent.

Kang Bijak: ??? BLOCKED. Just like Wira. There was a layer blocking Arka's view.

Arka gasped, but was too tired to be surprised. Later. That matter could wait.

Last: Mbah Ranga. DARK BLUE, deep like the ocean. But in the corner of the window, that text still appeared: REMAINING LIFESPAN: 3 YEARS.

The Status Window flickered. His mana was 5/50. Arka closed his eyes, stopping the skill before he passed out.

"It's done," he whispered to Ragil. "They're... safe. Except Kang Bijak... but not evil. Just... blocked."

Ragil nodded, though he didn't fully understand. He patted Arka's shoulder. "Rest, friend. We'll deal with Kang Bijak later."

***

The sun rose slowly in the eastern sky, as if reluctant to witness what was about to happen. The small group stood at the gates of Dusun Karang, facing outward, their backs to the village that had rejected them.

Behind them, beyond the bamboo fence, Karta stood with a satisfied smile. Beside him were Sarmo and several of his loyal followers. The faces that had shouted the loudest yesterday were now silently watching the results of their efforts.

But among the crowd, there was one person who wasn't cheering. One person sitting in a wheelchair in the corner, away from the others.

Joko.

The paralyzed village chief stared at the small group with tear-filled eyes. His hands gripped his blanket tightly, knuckles white. He wanted to shout, wanted to stop them, but his voice had died since his legs became paralyzed.

Or perhaps, more accurately, his voice had died since he let fear rule his village.

Raka turned one last time. His eyes met Joko's. There was no anger there—only deep disappointment.

"Goodbye, Joko," he whispered. "Hope you sleep well."

Joko cried. Tears flowed down his wrinkled cheeks. His lips moved, forming words that couldn't come out.

"Sorry... forgive me..."

But no one heard. The group had already turned, walking away from the gate, entering the vast grassland stretching before them.

Karta shouted from a distance, "GO! AND NEVER COME BACK!"

No one looked back.

***

The first day's journey was a silent one.

No one spoke. There was only the sound of footsteps on dry grass, the sound of held breaths, and occasional sobs from Mulya's children growing tired.

Arka walked supported by Ragil. His head still spun, his fever hadn't gone down, but he forced himself. There was no choice. They had to keep moving—the farther from the village, the safer.

"Where are we actually going?" Surti asked softly, after hours of walking.

Raka looked back, making sure everyone was following. "I don't know. The important thing is to get away from the village."

"But we can't just walk without purpose." Jasio interrupted. "Supplies are limited. The children are tired. We need shelter."

Mulya nodded. "He's right, Raka. We need a plan."

Raka sighed. He knew they were right. But as a former soldier, he also knew that in no man's land, plans could change in an instant.

"We'll find shelter first. Maybe that forest in the distance." He pointed to the green line on the eastern horizon. "After that, we'll figure out the next step."

They walked again. The sun moved slowly overhead, heat scorching their skin. Mulya's children started fussing. Ratmi distributed drinking water from the leather pouch she carried—a little, had to be conserved.

By afternoon, they reached the edge of a small hill. From above, they could see the expanse of grassland they had just crossed, and in the distance, tiny dots that were Dusun Karang.

Their home. Now just a memory.

Ratmi sat on the ground, setting down her bundle. She stared toward the village, then looked down. Her shoulders trembled.

Wulan approached, sitting beside her. "Ratmi..."

"I left my husband's grave there," Ratmi whispered. "Twenty years we were together. And now... I can't even visit."

Wulan hugged her. There were no words sufficient to comfort.

Elsewhere, Mbah Ranga stood slightly apart, staring toward the eastern forest. His old eyes narrowed, as if trying to read something only he could see.

"Kang Bijak," he called suddenly.

The old wanderer approached. "Yes, Mbah?"

"You've traveled a lot, haven't you?" Mbah Ranga didn't turn. "Do you know this land?"

Kang Bijak smiled faintly. "A little."

"Beyond that forest, what is there?"

"No man's land. Former war territory. They say... haunted. But I've been there. Not haunted. Just... wild."

"Wild how?"

Kang Bijak looked at Mbah Ranga. His eyes—for the first time—looked serious. "Law of nature. The strong survive, the weak die. No rulers, no rules. Only predators and prey."

Mbah Ranga nodded slowly. "Like before. Before the kingdom was established."

"Like before," Kang Bijak repeated. "But there's also... something there. Something that child might be looking for."

He pointed toward Arka, who was sitting weakly under a tree.

Mbah Ranga turned. "What do you mean?"

But Kang Bijak only smiled, not answering. He turned and walked back to the group, leaving Mbah Ranga with a lingering question.

***

Night fell quickly. They decided to stop in a small valley that was somewhat sheltered from the wind. Raka lit a bonfire—not for warmth, but to ward off wild animals.

Ratmi divided the food: a handful of rice cooked with whatever water they had, turning into thin porridge. Not much, but enough to stave off hunger.

Mulya's children ate heartily, unaware that this might be their last meal for days.

Arka couldn't eat. His fever fluctuated. Wulan put a wet cloth on his forehead, her face worried.

"Mother," Arka whispered. "I want to see... my mana."

Wulan sighed. "Don't push yourself, child."

"Just a moment."

Arka closed his eyes. That warm sensation came, but very weak—just a tiny spot of heat in his chest. He forced himself to open the Status Window.

------------------------------------
NAME: ARKA
AGE: 7 YEARS
MANA TIER: F (BEGINNER)
MANA POOL: 7/50 (REGENERATION 1 POINT PER 6 HOURS)
SKILL TREE:
- PRODUCTION MAGIC [LOCKED]
- MARIONETTE [LOCKED]
- STATUS CHECK [LEVEL 1 - 15% MASTERED]
------------------------------------

His mana had increased slightly—7 out of 50. Regeneration of 1 point every 6 hours. That meant it would take nearly 11 days to fully recover. Too long.

But interestingly, his Status Check had increased by 5 percent. From 10% to 15%. So using the skill at its limits actually accelerated mastery.

"Still 7," he whispered to Wulan. "But it went up a little."

Wulan stroked his hair. "Rest, child. So you can recover quickly."

Arka nodded, closing his eyes. But before sleeping, he managed to ask one thing.

"Mother... Kang Bijak... I couldn't read his intent. Just like Wira. What does that mean?"

Wulan was silent. She looked toward Kang Bijak, sitting a little distance away, leaning against a rock, staring at the bonfire with an unreadable expression.

"I don't know, child. But Mbah Ranga seems to trust him. Maybe... maybe he's not an enemy."

"Or maybe an enemy who's good at hiding," Arka whispered before falling asleep.

Wulan didn't answer. She just held her child close, protecting him from the cold night and from all the bad things that might be lurking out there.

***

Midnight. The bonfire had begun to dim. Raka, who was on guard duty, added wood, making the fire blaze again. His eyes were tired, but he couldn't sleep. His mind was too full.

"Can't sleep either?"

Raka turned. Kang Bijak sat beside him without a sound.

"You never sleep?" Raka asked.

Kang Bijak smiled. "Sleep? Oh, I sleep. Just a little. A habit from years of wandering."

They were silent for a moment. The night wind blew cold, carrying the smell of dry grass and something else—a strange scent, like wild animals.

"You know something about my son," Raka said suddenly. Not a question—a statement.

Kang Bijak didn't answer.

"He said he couldn't read your intent. Just like that Bajak envoy. Do you... do you also have Karang blood?"

Kang Bijak laughed softly. "Karang blood? Oh, no. I don't have special blood. I'm just... old. And old people have their own ways of protecting themselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Your son has an extraordinary ability. But that ability also has weaknesses—he can't read people who are stronger, or who have special protection. Me? I just learned from life. How to close off thoughts, hide intentions. Don't need magic for that."

Raka stared at him. "You're a strange man."

Kang Bijak grinned widely. "Thank you. That's the best compliment I've ever heard."

Suddenly, Kang Bijak's ear twitched. His eyes narrowed toward the darkness beyond the fire's circle.

"Quiet," he whispered.

Raka was instantly alert. His hand reached for his machete.

From a distance, a sound was heard. Not wolf howls like before—but another sound. The sound of heavy breathing. The sound of footsteps—large, heavy, but slow. Very slow.

And beyond the bushes, at the edge of the firelight, two red dots glowed.

Eyes.

Large. Larger than ordinary wolf eyes. And behind them, a giant shadow moved silently.

Kang Bijak stood slowly. His hand reached for his staff—not to strike, but as if... preparing.

"The Forest King," he whispered. "He's come."

Raka wanted to move, but Kang Bijak held him back.

"Don't. He's only observing. For now."

Those red eyes stared at them for what felt like hours. Then slowly, silently, it retreated into darkness. That giant shadow vanished, merging with the night.

Kang Bijak sighed. "He knows we're here. And he knows that child is weak."

Raka clenched his machete. "We have to leave. Now."

"Where to? Run at night in no man's land?" Kang Bijak shook his head. "Better to stay here. The fire's still burning. As long as there's fire, he won't attack. Not yet."

"Not yet?"

Kang Bijak looked at Raka seriously. "He's waiting. Waiting for when we're weakest. Waiting for when that child can't defend himself."

Raka gasped. Those words—the same ones Arka saw in Karta's Status Check.

"Ensure Arka cannot defend himself when..." he whispered.

"Now," Kang Bijak finished his sentence. "Or some time in the future. But one thing is certain: they—Bajak and the Forest King—know something we don't. And they're waiting for the same moment."

In his sleep, Arka stirred. His fever had risen. Wulan moistened his forehead again, her face pale with worry.

Raka stared at his son. Then toward the darkness where those red eyes had vanished.

For the first time in his life—even during the war—he felt truly afraid. Not afraid of dying. But afraid of failing to protect.

And in the darkness, beyond the bushes, that creature was still there. Watching. Waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

Continued in SUB-ARC 2: THE FORGOTTEN LAND...

Characters featured: Arka, Raka, Wulan, Mbah Ranggawarsita, Ragil, Ratmi, Mulya (with wife and two children), Surti & Jasio, Kang Bijak, Joko, Karta (brief appearance), Sarmo, Forest King (first appearance).

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