Bandung felt as though he were still anchored to the arena.
The sweltering heat clung to his skin like a wound that refused to close.
In the distance of his mind, he heard the roar of thousands, a cacophony of cheers, layered and relentless, vibrating through his very marrow.
But when he tried to step forward, he felt the earth give way.
The sands of the arena were no longer solid.
They turned into a hungry mire, a silken sludge that pulled at his feet, dragging him deeper with every frantic heartbeat.
Each attempt to reach the Rangda only sank him further, as if the soil of Mataram itself sought to swallow him alive.
Bandung looked up at the grandstands.
Thousands stood there, towering over him.
They cheered, they clapped, they hoisted their weapons in a feverish frenzy.
Yet, not a single one of them possessed a face.
Their skin was smooth, a featureless void of pale flesh, hollow vessels for a deafening wall of sound.
There were no eyes to witness him, no mouths to truly rejoice.
Only noise.
Only a faceless demand for him to stand and bleed once more.
In the center of the pit, the Rangda stood.
The beast did not strike.
It did not roar.
It simply gazed at Bandung with a gaze that was hauntingly calm.
There was no hatred in those eyes, no malice, only a profound, aching pity that made Bandung's chest tighten.
Amidst the thunderous noise of the faceless crowd, that silent look hurt more than any claw that had ever rent his flesh.
Then, the light descended.
A shaft of blinding radiance pierced the heavens, striking Bandung squarely.
In his waking memory, this light was his savior, a miracle that had plucked his life from the jaws of death.
But here, in the limbo of his subconscious, the rays were agonizing.
They seared.
They scorched.
His skin began to blister, not from fire, but as if something were tearing him open from the inside out.
The light was flaying his soul, measuring the weight of something hidden deep within his core.
Bandung screamed in a paroxysm of pain.
But no sound escaped his throat.
There was only the cycle of agony and terror, spinning endlessly in the dark.
Gasp!
He jolted awake, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum.
Cold sweat slicked his brow.
His eyes locked onto the far wall of the chamber, fixed on a jagged shadow that resembled the matted, unruly mane of the Rangda.
His pulse thundered in his ears until the fog of sleep cleared, and he realized it was merely a shadow.
A cloak hanging from a rack.
The uniform of an officer.
Bandung blinked, his breath hitching as he took in his surroundings.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
After the chaos of the arena and the roar of his nightmares, the stillness felt heavy, almost suffocating.
He drew a long breath, trying to negotiate with his battle-ready instincts, but the peace he sought remained out of reach.
Something was wrong.
He sat up slowly, pressing his palms into the mattress.
With every breath, the sensation of being watched intensified.
It felt as though invisible eyes were peering from every corner, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to stumble, as if his failure was the very thing they were hoping for.
Bandung rose and crossed the room toward the window.
Outside, a vast courtyard stretched beneath the waning sun.
Guards were stationed at every interval.
There were far too many of them to be protecting a simple youth recovering from a faint.
They stood like statues, devoid of chatter, their gazes systematically sweeping the perimeter without exception.
This was not a guard detail.
This was a containment.
The chamber door behind him was sealed perfectly, without a single gap.
Bandung stood for a moment, weighing his options.
Was he a guest allowed to roam, or a prisoner permitted only a certain length of chain?
Curiosity won.
He reached for the handle and stepped out.
Beyond the door, a long corridor stretched into the distance.
The stone floors gleamed with a polished brilliance, reflecting the light like dark glass.
The walls were adorned with intricate bas-reliefs, carved with a precision that told the tale of Mataram's centuries of conquest and glory.
He walked, mesmerized by the structured grandeur of the history etched into the stone.
At the end of the hall stood two colossal statues of warriors, guarding a massive set of doors.
Their spears were held high, their eyes fixed forward.
Their armor was so massive it made Bandung, a man of no small stature, feel insignificant.
As he drew closer, he noticed the detail: the statues were carved in a position of "Salute of Arms," spears pulled tight to their chests.
It was a gesture of absolute fealty, frozen in stone for the master of this house.
The doors led to a central hall even more magnificent than his chamber.
The ceiling soared high above, supported by ancient timber beams polished to a mirror shine and carved into the likeness of the Great Serpent, Sang Hyang Anantaboga.
The final rays of the sun spilled through the grand windows, casting a warmth across the stone floor that felt deceptively cold.
There was no smell of cooking.
No clatter of pottery.
No soft murmur of servants.
The house was a palace of silence.
A woman emerged from the shadows of the hall, her movements so fluid and practiced they were nearly silent.
She carried a tray with warm porridge and a cup of jasmine tea.
Her head was bowed, her hair pinned in a flawless bun.
Every gesture was careful, the movements of someone who had long ago learned exactly what was permitted and what was forbidden.
"Please, Master," she said softly, placing the tray on a low table.
Bandung stared at her.
"Who are you? And who ordered all these guards?"
The woman paused.
A brief hesitation, but long enough to be felt.
She did not raise her gaze.
"I am Mbok Rikha, a servant of this house, Master. All of this is by His command," she answered calmly.
"So that Master remains undisturbed before the great day tomorrow."
"His command?" Bandung repeated. "Whom do you mean? The King?"
The woman bowed even deeper.
"Forgive me. I do not know. I only follow the orders to serve you once you awakened."
She took two steps back, turned, and vanished into the shadows.
The teak doors closed with a sound so faint it was unsettling for a door of such size.
Bandung stood frozen, staring at the spot where she had disappeared.
A name unspoken.
A face unlifted.
It seemed that invoking the word "His command" was enough to silence all questions in this kingdom.
Bandung continued his exploration of the mansion.
The further he wandered, the more certain he became: this house was a gilded cage, meticulously prepared for someone whose safety, and silence, was of the utmost importance.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor, followed by hushed, frantic whispers.
It wasn't just one person; several were approaching at once.
Bandung turned just as the heavy teak doors swung open. Three familiar figures burst through the threshold.
"BANDUNG!..."
The cry nearly broke before it fully formed.
Anin reached him first, her hands trembling as she threw her arms around him, confirming that the body before her was truly flesh and blood.
Danu followed, breathless and pale, while Jaka stopped a half-step behind them.
He stared at Bandung with a complex expression, a mixture of agonizing relief and lingering trauma, before his face finally softened into a weary smile as he joined the embrace.
Bandung stood stiff for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden warmth.
Then, he pulled them close, his grip fierce as if fearing they might dissolve into mist if he let go too soon.
"You're really... you're still alive," Anin whispered, a fragile laugh escaping through the tears pooling in her eyes.
"Three days," Danu added quickly, his voice rushing to fill the silence. "You were out for three days! We thought..." He trailed off, unable to voice the grim alternative.
Jaka exhaled a long, shaky breath. "I told you from the start, you're trying to kill us with stress. Next time you want to cause a drama, don't make it a national crisis."
Bandung managed a thin smile.
His voice was hoarse as he spoke.
"I know. I'm sorry."
They sat together on the large amben.
The silk cushions rustled beneath them, a texture far too fine for their village roots.
They watched as the last of the sunlight bled out of the sky, leaving the room to be reclaimed by the creeping shadows of the night.
"After you collapsed," Jaka began, his voice dropping to a low, somber register, "the arena was locked down immediately."
Anin nodded.
"Not just closed. Sealed. Everyone was forced out at spearpoint. People were rioting in the streets."
"Soldiers flooded the pit," Danu continued. "But not the usual keraton guards. These were... different. They were dressed in total black. Their movements were cold, mechanical. And they all wore those masks, like birds, with sharp beaks."
Bandung interlaced his fingers, his knuckles turn white.
"And then?"
"They said you had to be..." Danu hesitated, searching for the right word.
"...secured."
Jaka finished the sentence, his tone flat. "Monitored. And sterilized."
The word hung heavy in the silent room, clinical and cold.
Bandung lifted his head, looking at each of them.
"Sterilized?" he repeated softly.
"They called it 'standard procedure for an extraordinary event,'" Anin answered. "An order from the top."
No names were mentioned.
No one dared to guess.
The sentence stood alone, a wall of authority that blocked any further inquiry.
"They didn't let us see you at first," Danu said, shifting uncomfortably.
"We waited forever. They only let us in today, and even then, we were escorted like prisoners."
Bandung nodded slowly.
He looked around the room, the magnificent architecture, the warmth of the hearth that felt strangely icy, and finally, the faces of the only people he trusted.
"Whose house is this?" he asked.
"We thought you knew. It's an official residence," Jaka replied.
"The servants call it the home of the Deputy Patih."
Anin added softly, "It was prepared for you, Bandung."
Danu, Anin, and Jaka shared a proud, fleeting smile.
"For the new hero born from the arena."
Bandung's heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, the weight of the title paralyzed him.
"What? So... I?..."
His friends nodded.
They knew the question he couldn't finish.
"The ceremony is tomorrow... My lord."
Bandung's joy was a flicker that died almost instantly.
He looked away, the faceless cheers of his dream echoing in his mind.
The demand to stand.
The light that flayed his skin.
He drew a long, ragged breath.
"Tomorrow?"
Jaka nodded.
"The Great Day. They said the investiture would be announced the moment you woke."
"We only knew because Mbok Rikha told the guards you were conscious," Danu and Anin said in unison.
A sudden draft snaked through their conversation.
A biting chill seeped through the cracks of the windows, causing the silk curtains to ripple like ghosts.
The oil lamp in the corner flickered violently; the flame shrank, then died, leaving nothing but a glowing ember.
The silence between them deepened, absolute and suffocating.
Outside, the world had gone mute.
No wind, no crickets. Just the void.
Then, the wind returned, louder, sharper.
Without warning, every oil lamp in the room died at once.
Darkness swallowed the chamber whole, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the curtains being slammed shut against the windows by an unseen force.
The world was extinguished in a single breath.
"Band..." Anin's voice was cut short.
Bandung moved to stand, but a hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind, pinning him down with a strength that brooked no resistance.
"Sshhh... sssshshsh..."
A woman's whisper grazed his ear, chillingly close.
"Do not move... just... yet."
Bandung froze, his blood turning to silt in his veins.
Suddenly, in the center of the pitch-black room, a spark ignited.
A small, blue flame bloomed in the palm of a figure who now stood in the middle of the hall, as if they had always been there, woven into the shadows.
The light was just enough to reveal a silhouette.
A face of pure, stark white stared back at them, a mask without expression, without a mouth, featuring only hollowed eye sockets and the faint shadow of a nose.
A batik shawl was wrapped tightly around the figure's neck and jaw, muffling their presence, making their voice sound unnaturally heavy.
"Good evening," the figure spoke softly.
The flame in their hand trembled, casting long, distorted shadows against the walls.
"Bandung... Bondowoso..."
"The conqueror of the Rangda from the South."