Inside the arched shadows of a Gadang house, a lean man stood with light blue hair—cropped short and sharp—framing a face that was the very picture of tranquility. He adjusted a sheathed kris beneath his simple white cloth belt; its heavy bronze buckle gleamed, a singular, metallic contrast against the soft flow of his white linen pants.
We must succeed, Purnama silently vowed, his thoughts fixed on the mission.
Suria, his twin sister, was equally striking. Her light orange eyes gleamed with intensity as she prepared her gear, her short orange hair brushing her chin as she moved. She wore a gold satin waistcloth over her long-sleeved white shirt and carefully wrapped her axe-shaped kris in yellow fabric, a personal tradition.
"You think this is the one?" Suria asked, breaking the silence as she fastened her cloth bag. "The mission that finally ends the Puaka?"
Purnama glanced at her, his expression composed but serious. His sapphire eyes held a warrior's resolve.
"We'll find out soon enough. Until then, we do what we've always done: fight, survive, and protect."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Suria's mind: How many more battles will we face?
Once their belongings were packed, the twins descended the wooden stairs of their home. As they stepped onto the path, Suria glanced back at the multi-tiered roof that resembled buffalo horns, a sight she had known her entire life.
"Purnama, this mission will take a while. I'm going to miss this view," she said, a hint of sadness.
"Don't worry, Suria. We'll return home safely," Purnama replied, gently patting her shoulder.
They followed the spiral pathway, passing other Gadang houses built along the base of the giant, ancient tree whose canopy was so vast the top was obscured.
As they walked, a tantalizing aroma drifted from the food stalls, mixing with the cheerful chatter of trainees cooling down after their workout.
"Hey, Purnama, do you want some of this—" Suria began, holding out a square of deep blue fruit she had just grabbed.
But Purnama's eyes were locked on a different stall. He reached for a shimmering cake, its surface etched with tight, golden swirls.
"Suria, look!"
Purnama pressed the pastry against the vertical seam of his dark blue jacket, rotating it in a goofy, rhythmic circle. The golden spirals of the crust seemed to thread perfectly into the embroidery of his gear, as if the cake were dancing right along the stitch-line.
Suria stopped, her gaze darting from the blue fruit in her hand to her brother's ridiculous performance. A burst of genuine, warm laughter erupted from her, shattering the afternoon's tension.
"Haha! You're so silly, Purnama!"
"Silly is just another word for funny, right?" Purnama chuckled, finally taking a bite. "Now, we shouldn't keep Honter waiting. Let's move!"
They reached the great marble bridge, a brilliant white span over the abyss. Beneath them, the water didn't just flow; it thundered, a massive, rushing weight that seemed to anchor the very foundations of their world.
Nearby, they spotted a hut whose roof, like a giant, smoking pipe, funneled gray curls of smoke into the air. The hut was a remarkable structure of weathered timber, with vines crawling up its walls. Lanterns hung from the eaves, casting a warm, flickering glow that beckoned them inside.
As they approached, they were greeted by Honter, the old dwarf caretaker.
His thick white beard, woven with tiny beads that told tales of his many adventures, framed a face etched with wisdom and mischief. Bright green eyes sparkled beneath bushy eyebrows, and deep laugh lines crinkled around his mouth. Strands of unruly hair peeked beneath a battered leather cap, framing his rugged face. Clad in half-iron armor adorned with intricate engravings, he exuded a sense of strength and wisdom.
"Well, well, well, now! Look what th' cat dragged in! The famous Celestial Twins, Purnama an' Suria!" Honter greeted them, his voice carrying a playful tone. "Yer the last ones to arrive! Ye should've been here an hour ago. Now, hurry up; ye don't want to make Purba wait an' feel th' wrath of a Kshatriya!" He adjusted his battered leather cap.
"Come on, Honter. We wanted to take our time and enjoy the fresh air." Suria said, handing her kris to Honter.
The leather belt on Honter's waist, heavy with pouches of tools and trinkets, jingled softly as he moved to his anvil.
"GARGARGARGAR! Aye, lass! Don't be pullin' me leg!" Honter boomed. "I know ye both too well. Deep down, ye don't want to go, do ye? Ye've seen th' dark side of humans—their knack for turning on each other. It's no wonder most Aurenian folks have distanced themselves from Earth."
CLANG! CLANG!
The hammer struck, lighting up the twins' Kshatriya genealogy chart on the wall—a solemn, ritualistic signal that they were leaving Aurea.
"But one particular Aurenian chose to abandon their family to help humans instead," Suria replied, her expression growing solemn. She carefully re-wrapped her kris in the yellow fabric and placed it aside.
Purnama let out a weary sigh, knowing exactly who Suria was referring to as he tucked his own sheathed kris onto his waist.
"Best not dwell on th' past, eh? Focus on yer mission now!" Honter interjected, eager to lighten the mood. "...Anyway, yer Tycart arrived a couple o' hours ago at th' station up front. Don't be keepin' him waitin' any longer. Th' handler an' Ty are wearin' blue scarves 'round their necks," Honter said, quickly shifting the topic and pointing toward the front of the bridge.
Honter retrieved their supplies from the anvil.
"Here ye go, then! Each o' ye gets a small sack o' Dykin seeds, a map fer yer mission, an' a fine small pouch filled with human currency, $CES. Use 'em wisely, an' mind yerselves out there!"
"Thank you for everything, Honter," Purnama said, giving the map a quick look before tucking it into his shirt. "We'd best be on our way."
"Yea, we wouldn't want to keep Tycart waiting any longer than we already have." Suria nodded.
"Safe travels, ye two," Honter replied, his bright green eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, sparkling as his gaze followed them, a thoughtful expression on his wrinkled face. "Purnama an' Suria, th' last Kshatriyas ye chose, eh, Purba? A wise choice indeed," he mused, as a slow puff of smoke escaped his pipe, drifting languidly up and dissolving into the serene, sun-warmed sky.