Novels by Abu Ulfah

WUUUSSHHH!The rich aroma of Mandailing coffee mingled with the savory scent of rendang spices, filling every corner of Kopi Medan Jaya: The Sanctuary Series. The golden rays of the setting sun bathed the city of Medan, wrapping the café in a warm embrace. It had become more than just a place to enjoy coffee—it was now a living monument to struggle, friendship, and an invaluable legacy.After defeating The Original Darkness in the highlands of Ethiopia and receiving recognition from the now-reformed Nightshade, Rizal, Ucok, and Nova had finally found true peace. Their lives had gone beyond the confines of secret agents—they had become architects of a thriving community and guardians of the very soul of coffee.Rizal’s hair was now completely gray, yet his eyes remained sharp, filled with wisdom forged through thousands of cups of coffee and storms of life. He no longer wore his leather apron every day; more often, he was seen around the roasting area, overseeing the beans dancing insi

WUUUSSHHH! Time flowed like water, bringing true serenity within the walls of Kopi Medan Jaya: The Sanctuary Series.After defeating the threat of The Original Darkness on the ancestral land of coffee, Rizal, Ucok, and Nova finally found the peace they had long yearned for. Nightshade, now completely restructured with a renewed focus on preservation, had given them its full blessing to live their lives as true guardians of coffee heritage.They were no longer secret agents, no longer hidden heroes, but inspiring figures—roots of a resilient community.“Crazy, bro. I never thought we’d retire as baristas, not international fugitives,” Ucok muttered, his voice tinged with emotion. He now wore a t-shirt that read "Kopi Ucok: Honest Taste, Peaceful Heart", the best-selling merchandise in the café. “Back then it was all about dodging explosions—now it's all about making the best cup of coffee for our grandkids.”Rizal smiled warmly, gazing at Ucok and Nova. His hair now streaked with gray,

WUUUSSHHH! The chill of dawn at Kopi Medan Jaya: The Sanctuary Series pierced deeper than any cold weather—it was the tremor pulsing from Nova’s aging monitor. An encrypted message from Nightshade—thought to be long inactive—flickered in eerie pale-blue light across the tense faces of Rizal, Ucok, and Nova.Foreign coordinates and a code name echoed in their minds: “Project Eclipse.” Along with it, a chilling warning:"The Original Darkness Rises. We need the Barista, the Chef, and the Network. Return to the source."“Damn, bro. ‘Original Darkness’? Sounds like a horror movie,” Ucok whispered, eyes darting nervously toward the espresso machine, which seemed to freeze in time. He had already taken off his apron and thrown on a thick jacket, ready to bolt if needed.“We used to worry about brewing the best cup of coffee. Now we’re out here saving the world from ancient darkness?”Rizal stared at the coordinates on the screen, his expression grim.“Nightshade would never use the term ‘Or

WUUUSSHHH! Years had passed since the "Coffee with Soul" campaign became a resounding success. Kopi Medan Jaya: The Sanctuary Series had grown beyond just a café—it had become a community hub and a beacon of authentic coffee culture in Medan.Rizal, Ucok, and Nova had come a long way—from covert Nightshade agents to guardians of cultural heritage. They thought the era of great conflict was behind them. But Medan always had its own way of pulling them back in.A new threat emerged from the shadows of nightlife: an online gambling mafia rising fast, targeting crowded cafés as covert bases—including The Sanctuary.This was a battle against addiction, manipulation, and the lure of dirty money threatening to tear the social fabric apart.“Crazy, bro. We used to fight physical mafias, cyber mobs, even coffee ideologies—now the enemy is… virtual poker chips!” Ucok muttered to Rizal, while wiping a table where a few customers seemed engrossed with their phones—playing games… or gambling. His

WUUUSSHHH! Time marched on, bringing with it an unexpected calm for Kopi Medan Jaya: The Sanctuary Series. After quelling the threat from within Nightshade, Rizal, Ucok, and Nova were no longer just café owners—they had become irreplaceable pillars of the community. They had weathered the greatest storm, and from the ashes of betrayal, clarity emerged: their role was no longer bound to secret missions, but to the legacy they were building.Nightshade, having undergone internal restructuring after the Agent X incident, granted them full autonomy. Their mission now was to ensure the next generation understood and appreciated the true power behind a cup of coffee: unity, authenticity, and hope.But amidst this calm, a new threat emerged—more subtle, more pervasive, and perhaps, more fundamental: the rise of global coffee trends threatening to erode the identity of Medan's local coffee."Crazy, bro. We used to fight hackers, mafia, even rogue agents—and now our enemy is... coffee influenc

WUUUSSHHH! Months after the Ancestor's Recipe Book was secured, Kopi Medan Jaya: The Sanctuary Series had become a beacon of calm and justice in Medan. Rizal, Ucok, and Nova embraced a new, relatively peaceful routine—serving customers and watching over their community. The scent of freshly brewed coffee now blended with a rare sense of safety.But in a city that never sleeps, peace is always temporary.Nightshade sent a final warning—this time with a different tone. The threat wasn’t from mafia or corporations but from within the intelligence network itself. A mole had infiltrated Nightshade, attempting to leak the locations and identities of all the agents they've ever protected, including Rizal, Ucok, and Nova.This was their greatest test yet: Could they still trust their closest allies?“Damn, bro. We used to just fight thugs and corporate sharks, now our enemy’s from our own house!” Ucok whispered to Rizal as he wiped the bar. His grip on the rag tightened, nerves clearly visibl

No sound.No time.No page.That was the state of being when they hid in the Margin—a blank space born from unsanctioned knots. In this place, stories had no narrator. No dialogue. No descriptive prose. Only pure existence suspended—like a breath caught between an unfinished sentence.Yet even in this void, they knew something was hunting. Not from within the story.But from outside.“Silence,” Maeve raised her finger to her lips. “They can hear intent.”Seraphina nodded. “They don’t hear words. They sense patterns.”Lyra stared at the margin wall, thin as mist. Faint scratches appeared on its surface—signs that the Coverless Editor had found a trail.Nadir sat cross-legged, the zero-knot on his small chest glowing faintly, like a heart refusing to go out. He clutched the unwritten white book, his fingers trembling. The threads that wove the Margin were no longer neutral. They were beginning to be contaminated by foreign ink—ink not written by any known Weaver.“We can’t last here,” R

The crack did not come from Kael’s world, nor from the Zero Knot created by Nadir. It rang out like a shriek woven into the threads of time—a sound not just heard, but felt deep in the spine.Darren immediately drew his sword, his eyes scanning the gray sky that had just crumbled. Lyra clutched her left chest, not from pain, but from a warning pulsing from the knot within her. Her own knot—the Fifth Star Knot—was reacting violently to something they had never encountered before.“What is that?” Maeve asked, her sharp voice now laced with tension. “Our time-threads aren't enough to explain this…”Seraphina closed her eyes, lifting both hands to the air as if sensing ripples on an invisible surface. But what she felt wasn’t ripples—it was eyes. Millions of eyes, watching them from beyond the story’s veil, piercing through the knot, through the narrative.“Someone’s reading us,” she whispered. “But… not like an ordinary reader.”Nadir stared at the book in his hands. The final, unwritten

The world they knew began to fracture from within. Not because of war. Not because of the dark creatures that invaded from the outside. But because of something far more subtle—more lethal. A narrative that had never been born, yet crept silently into every living story. In the world of the Weavers, this was the most feared nightmare: a story that began to write itself, beyond anyone’s control.Lyra stood staring at the book on the lap of the nameless boy. Its pages trembled, not from wind, but from something trying to emerge from within. The book was no longer just an artifact, but a battlefield. Inside it, Kael was rewriting himself as the main character of a story that was never permitted to exist.The boy gazed into the dying fire. The light from the zeroeth knot still flickered faintly at the end of his wooden staff, like a final candle before extinguishing. Though he had no name, he could feel the weight of responsibility beginning to shape him. He had sewn the knot no one recog

The world felt silent.But not the kind of silence that soothes—it was the kind that feels like a final breath before everything collapses.The nameless child stood before the gray woman, whose body had now been overtaken by something faceless, formless, and most terrifying of all—without a single knot.Kael.Or more precisely, what remained of Kael’s will—rejected by time and the laws of reality.Now he had a vessel.And that vessel was a creation that should never have been alive."Stop…" the child tried to approach. His voice cracked, his lips trembled. He could feel every thread he had once woven growing brittle, like fibers of cloth burning at the edges."This thread isn’t yours, Kael…”The woman’s body—once frail and uncertain—transformed. She now stood tall. Her white eyes spun rapidly. From her palms emerged thick gray threads—heavier, more alive, and full of will.Kael stared at the child through eyes that weren’t his.“I didn’t take it,” he said, voice echoing from countless

The sky hung heavy with clouds over a world slowly fracturing—not from war, not from ruin, but from something far older: a truth long hidden from destiny itself.A gray thread, stitched by the nameless child, now traced the boundary between what once was and what was never meant to be. It moved along the cracks in reality, slipping into the seams of a world rewoven by Lyra. The thread did not challenge, did not demand—but asked gently:"Will you give me space…?"Meanwhile, atop the hill where Lyra and Darren stood, the clouds began to shift. Unfamiliar symbols appeared in the sky, spinning like a vortex of time, slowly drawing the attention of all beings ever touched by the magic of thread.Seraphina looked up, eyes wide. “That... isn’t a knot from any record. It’s not even part of the Weavers’ language.”Maeve, freshly returned from Gatekeeper training, gritted her teeth. “I feel like something is watching us... something even this world doesn’t know.”Back in the ruins of the librar

The footsteps were faint, like dust whispering over stone floors.But the boy heard them. He knew—they were coming.The fragments of shadow he had summoned began to tremble, some fading, others writhing in panic.They recognized the presence of a force even time could not touch.The Old Guardians had arrived.Among the ruins, the first figure emerged.Tall, draped in a black cloak that seemed woven from shards of the night.His face was hidden behind a mask layered with translucent threads that were always in motion—as if his face was being re-stitched every second.The second figure appeared beside him.Smaller, thin like bone and steel, but his shadow stretched longer than his body.The third… never appeared physically.Only as a voice that slipped directly into the boy’s mind:“Threadbearer… you were never meant to exist.”The boy did not flinch.He stood, touching the thread still trailing from his staff into the blank book before him.The thread pulsed, as if it knew—its time had