The smell of stale arak and teak sawdust hung heavy in the air of Angkringan Ndalem. Bayu Dirgantara kicked a heavy mahogany table aside, the wood splintering against the weathered limestone wall. Across the room, Galang Wicaksono stood perched on a woven teak stool, his signature smirk dancing on his lips even as he wiped a smear of blood from his lip.“You’re really going to ruin this nice batik jacket over a bounty, Bayu? It’s imported silk, man,” Galang said, nonchalantly flicking a speck of dust off his shoulder.Bayu didn’t blink. He drew his keris, the ancient steel hissing in the dim oil-lamp light. “Enough, Galang. You’ve got nowhere left to run. My blade is quicker than your tongue today.”Galang sighed, stepping down from the stool with practiced grace. “Is that what they told you? That I’m the villain? You really are a puppet with no strings attached.”“I don’t care about your stories. I care about the gold. Drop the rencong.”“What if I don’t?”“Then I’ll cut it from your

 The ruins hummed, a vibration that rattled Bayu’s teeth. He pulled his hand back as if burned. “That’s not just stone, is it?” Bayu asked, his gaze locked on the pulsating runes. Galang traced the edge of a carving, his fingers hovering inches from the surface. “Nope. It’s a calling card. Whoever did this to us, they didn't just dump us in the woods. They left a breadcrumb trail.” “To where? A dead end?” “To Seraphina Vale. She’s the only oracle left who deals in forbidden ley-line magic,” Galang said, turning his head. His smirk was thin, devoid of its usual playfulness. “You want to get this leash off your neck, or do you want to keep playing ‘tag’ with death?” Bayu stepped toward the forest edge, his hand instinctively going to his sword. “You’re sure she c

 The swarm of violet butterflies flickered and dissolved into nothingness as they crossed the village threshold, leaving the road behind them as solid, mundane dirt once more. Bayu wiped the sweat from his brow, his hand lingering near his hilt. "That was... a warning." Galang didn't look back. He adjusted his tunic, adopting a jaunty, unbothered swagger that felt entirely alien to the situation. "Or an invitation. Either way, keep your hand off the steel, darling. We’re supposed to be travelers, not soldiers on patrol." "I hate this," Bayu grumbled, his voice dropping as a local woman passed them with a suspicious squint. "How do you do that? You’re acting like we’re on a holiday." "It’s called 'acting,' Bay. Try it. Smile more. Maybe look at me like you actually enjoy my company?" "I’d rather jump off a cliff." "Ca

 The silence was the worst part. Bayu woke to the taste of copper and wet ash. His skin felt like it had been flayed and stitched back together with wire. He pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest, the violet mark on his forearm pulsing with a rhythmic, dying stutter. “Galang?” His voice was a gravelly rasp that died in the oppressive, grey fog of the wasteland. “Galang, answer me!” Nothing but the wind, whistling through jagged obsidian shards that looked like teeth emerging from the dead earth. He touched his forearm. The tether was silent. No heartbeat. No warmth. Just a cold, heavy void where the connection used to be. He stood, his knees buckling before he found his balance. His sword was still at his hip, though the leather grip was slick with mud. “Still alive, then,” he

 The sound of hooves thundered against the dry earth, a rhythmic, bone-chilling beat that signaled the end of their brief respite. Alaric gripped his hilt, his knuckles white. "You hear that?" Draven wheezed, his eyes tracking the dust clouds rising in the distance. "Sounds like the Sri Sultan’s fan club is arriving early for the performance." "We aren't staying for the opening act," Alaric muttered, his gaze fixed on the fortress-like silhouette of the capital looming on the horizon. "We’re going in through the shadow-drain." "The sewer route? Really? And here I thought we were aiming for a dignified escape." "I’m aiming for survival. If you want to die with dignity, feel free to walk up the front steps." "You know, for a guy who claims to be a hero, you’ve got a real knack for being a garbage-rat." "Shut up and move. My