A. Erased from History.
A green dragonfly perched silently on the edge of the classroom window. Its wings—fragile and translucent—caught the pale light from the snow-laden sky. Ikrar glanced at it briefly—not long, just a moment—before lowering his gaze again, mind tangled in thoughts still lingering from that morning.
The dragonfly twitched. Then it lifted off, slipping through an open vent and diving freely into the cold air, cutting through a thin layer of low-hanging mist.
It soared across the school courtyard, past the flagpole frozen stiff by the weather, gliding over winding paths, until it finally came to rest—
—on the side mirror of a white car bearing the Guild Semesta Bureau's insignia, neatly parked beneath a bare flamboyant tree.
Inside, Nita sat behind the wheel, reviewing her presentation pointer one last time. The orientation on the Nusantarana was about to begin. She needed to look confident in front of hundreds of students—many of whom still thought "ranah" was a new item on the cafeteria menu.
Yet in the corner of the mirror, Yuda's form was faintly visible, lying on his side in the back seat. A thin blanket covered him up to his chin, bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder.
His face was still pale. But his brow furrowed ever so slightly.
Nita sighed. "I thought the Nirmala technique would help you sleep better."
Yuda murmured softly, "…why am I in… a car?"
"You passed out halfway through our duel. Your house was too far. And I was in a rush."
Yuda shot up, immediately protesting. "Hey! I'm a patient, and this car is not an ambulance, you know‽"
Nita sighed again, this time with a faint smile. "If you have the energy to complain, you're already halfway recovered."
Yuda winced. "You should've taken me to a hospital or something. Instead, you brought me back to school."
Nita chuckled. No matter how serious the situation, Yuda always had a reserve of grievances. And oddly, that made everything feel a little more… human.
"Oh, Yuda," she said, her tone shifting slightly—calmer, more deliberate. "Do you hate this school? The same way you hate us… the remaining Celestial Guardians?"
Yuda fell silent, taking a moment to absorb her words. He glanced at the school briefly before responding.
"This school has nothing to do with my hatred. And more importantly, why are you even bringing this up?"
"I'm just curious about your life at school, Yuda. Like… how's your friendship with Ikrar, Guruh, and Riana?"
Yuda frowned. But before he could understand where the conversation was heading, Nita's voice returned—clear and cutting, removing any ambiguity.
"Let's set Ikrar aside for now. You do realize Guruh is Windah's little brother… and Riana is Alex's younger sister. So tell me—do you hate them too?"
Yuda stared out the window. A thin layer of snow had begun to settle on the glass, fogging up the edges. "I... don't know the answer yet."
"That's not an answer."
The dragonfly flew again, darting from the side mirror toward the roof of the assembly hall.
"It's better than lying," Yuda replied, now meeting Nita's reflection in the windshield.
"Then tell me—why did you bring up Ikrar? He's just a Nusalain. A regular person. But yes—he's my friend."
Nita scratched her head, clearly conflicted.
"It's... complicated. I just wonder—why would you want to be friends with someone like him?"
"Why me?" Yuda echoed, raising an eyebrow with a faint smirk.
"You're being annoyingly cryptic, Miss Failure. Better focus on your little presentation now."
Nita let out a soft huff but said nothing in return. She simply watched as Yuda pushed open the car door.
He lowered his legs to the ground, adjusted his uniform, and brushed off his sleeves. The cold air hit him instantly, making his breath curl like mist. But before stepping away, Yuda turned slightly. His voice was low, yet firm.
"One more thing. Don't ever try to understand my feelings.
You wouldn't even know what it felt like—the last time my heart screamed his name."
Without waiting for a reply, Yuda stepped away and shut the door—slow but deliberate. Then he walked toward the school gates, leaving faint footprints on the snow-dusted path.
Nita remained behind the wheel, her hand raised briefly as if to fix a fringe that wasn't out of place. The small gesture masked something else entirely—a soft wipe at the corner of her eye, swift as a feeling unspoken.
Even someone as strong as her needed a moment of silence to break... quietly.
She knew the presentation would begin soon. But more than that, tiny seeds of truth were starting to take root—between the playful jabs, the unhealed wounds, and the names still too taboo to speak aloud.
In a voice barely audible, Nita whispered,
"You're too young to understand it all, Yuda.
You don't even realize this school is just one of many dogmas set by the Nusantarana system.
Isn't that right... Sylvia?"
Then she inhaled slowly, pushed open the door, and stepped out—lightly, but with purpose.
Elsewhere, Yuda walked down the quiet school corridor—empty, as lessons were still underway. His uniform was crumpled, his hair unkempt since rising from the backseat. But more than anything, his gaze… was no longer the same as that morning. There was a new weight in his eyes—not just fatigue after a duel, but the kind of questions that gnaw at the mind like roots searching for soil beneath an old building.
Though fully aware that he was already two hours late, he neither rushed nor dragged his feet. His pace was calm and deliberate, as if each step had already been decided for him.
Moments before crossing the threshold of Class X-3, he glanced at the dull sky above—almost as if searching for answers he knew wouldn't be found behind a blackboard or from a teacher's voice. Still, he walked on. There was something he had to witness… and perhaps, be judged for.
Class X-3 was steeped in a kind of artificial calm. The ticking of the wall clock merged with the faint scrape of chalk as Riana wrote on the board, momentarily filling in for the absent teacher. Some students took notes; others simply stared ahead, letting their minds drift.
Near the windows, Guruh slouched in his seat, chin resting atop his folded arms on the desk. He looked uneasy—rare for someone who usually couldn't sit still for more than five minutes.
"It's been two hours," he muttered under his breath.
Ikrar, seated just in front of him, kept his eyes forward, though his pen had stopped moving. "He'll be fine."
"You sure? He looked half-dead—like a fish flopping out of water. I'm serious, Krar. He couldn't even open his eyes."
Ikrar finally shifted his gaze, staring at the empty desk just behind Guruh—Yuda's desk, lined up in the same row.
"There's something I don't know. But I believe he's strong."
"Strong? Come on. That guy's just stubborn, not strong," Guruh replied, though his tone was soft. "And we don't even know where he is now. I—"
The classroom door creaked open slowly, interrupting him mid-sentence with the strained groan of old hinges.
Heads turned. The room fell silent. Even Riana instinctively paused her writing.
Yuda entered Class X-3, his steps steady—like a shadow that had wandered out from last night's dream. He moved toward his locker without a word, face expressionless, hair still tousled as though swept by a storm.
"Holy crap! A corpse just walked in!"
Guruh's voice exploded from his desk, making several students jump in their seats.
Yuda didn't flinch. He opened his locker, pulled out a fresh uniform, and began changing without so much as glancing around.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Guruh announced, now standing on his chair, "we are witnessing the miraculous resurrection of Yuda! He has survived! He lives! He even… wait, no hairbrush?"
Ikrar sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "Guruh, sit down. You're embarrassing."
"I'm lifting the mood of this gloomy classroom!" Guruh retorted, leaning toward Yuda. "Seriously, Yud, just now you looked like a walking corpse. And now you're unbuttoning things on your own? That's serious progress!"
Yuda kept changing, his expression barely shifting. Only when he side-eyed Guruh did he speak, voice flat:
"One more word and I'll throw this sock at your face."
"Oh no. I can only imagine the smell. I know you never wash your socks because—uhh—because the odor could—"
Smack!
A sock flew through the air with deadly precision, slapping Guruh square in the face. He froze for a second, then collapsed dramatically into his seat like he'd just been dealt the final blow.
"I've been… defeated," he whispered, eyes closed and tongue out like a dying hero. "Tell my mother… I liked cilok."
A ripple of laughter passed through the classroom, breaking the fragile tension that had clung to the air. Even Ikrar, usually unreadable, raised an eyebrow with the hint of a smile.
Then, calm footsteps echoed through the room.
Riana stepped down from the front of the class, a deep blue-covered book in her hand. Without saying much, she walked over to Yuda, who had just finished changing and was now seated. His hair was still a mess, and fatigue lingered on his face.
"This is your book," Riana said softly, placing it on his desk.
Yuda glanced at it briefly. "You've read it?"
"I have. Twice," she replied, her voice light but sincere. "Sorry for returning it only now."
Yuda looked at her longer than he usually would, then gave a small nod. "It's fine."
For a moment, neither spoke again. But in the silence, there was a pause—not awkward, but mutual. An unspoken understanding.
"Thanks." Riana turned and walked back to the board, continuing her writing as if nothing had happened.
Guruh, still sprawled in his dramatic "death," muttered while fanning his face with a notebook, "Rich people's socks are terrifying…"
Ikrar stifled a laugh. "You totally deserved that."
Yuda stared at the deep-blue-covered book for a while before opening its first page. One corner was neatly folded at the top right.
"You like history?" he asked without turning, his voice low—just enough for Ikrar, one seat away, to hear.
Ikrar glanced sideways. "Depends. If it's told from the right perspective."
Yuda raised a brow—barely. "The problem is... who gets to decide which perspective is right?"
Ikrar leaned back in his chair. "Only the winners do."
Yuda didn't close the book again. His eyes remained on the opening page, distant. "This chapter talks about the First Generation of the Seven Celestial Guardians."
Ikrar responded with little expression, "Yeah. The ones who conquered the Twelve Towers in under ten years."
"Less than that," Yuda replied, glancing at him, "if the records are accurate. But... something doesn't add up."
"What doesn't?"
"Twelve towers. Seven people. And not a single tower could've been taken down with bare hands alone. Every official record just says 'power'—but not what kind. No mention of weapons, tools, or artifacts."
Ikrar paused in thought. "Like something was intentionally left out."
"Not left out," came a sudden voice from their side.
It was Guruh, still slouched dramatically in his chair—but his voice had shifted. Lower. Measured.
"More like… hidden."
Yuda and Ikrar turned toward him, caught off guard. The boy they knew for his noise was speaking in a tone so unlike him.
"The second generation of the Celestial Guardians," Guruh continued, eyes half-lidded but sharp, "they inherited twelve relics from the originals. They didn't keep them out of pride… but out of fear. Fear that the wrong hands might one day reach them."
Yuda narrowed his eyes. "And who gets to decide what's right or wrong?"
"Seriously? You're asking me a philosophical question? I'm barely in the second semester of tenth grade, not some philosophy major."
Ikrar observed their exchange silently, as if piecing together fragments from a story older than anyone in the room.
"Then where did you get this kind of information?"
Guruh raised his fingers toward the classroom light, as though trying to touch it. "You really shouldn't be asking me that, Yuda. Isn't it obvious? My brother, Windah."
"Windah told you all this?"
Guruh waved a hand nonchalantly. "More like overheard. And… I may have borrowed some of his notes. Never gave them back, but hey—it's still borrowing."
"Oh, come on. That's literally stealing."
"Incorrect. If it's for the sake of knowledge, it's called field research."
"Whatever you say, Guruh…"
The ticking of the wall clock blended with the faint scratching of chalk from Riana's hand moving across the board. In the background, a chair creaked, paper rustled, a pen scratched aimlessly—routine noises in a classroom trying too hard to look normal.
But among all that, three students weren't entirely present in that room.
Yuda was still holding the blue-covered book, his eyes tracing the opening lines of the first page, though his mind lingered on Guruh's words. Next to him, Ikrar stared down at the unmoving tip of his pen, brows slightly furrowed.
Meanwhile, Guruh, who had been lounging casually, now sat more upright, his eyes no longer wandering to the ceiling but fixed ahead—blank, as if searching for a crack behind all the dull sounds around them.
"If those items were really hidden by the second generation…," Yuda murmured under his breath, "…why hasn't a single elder of the Nusantarana ever spoken about it? Even now."
Ikrar replied softly, almost instantly, "Maybe because some of them… are still alive."
The sound of a chair scraping broke the silence. Guruh twisted his body slightly, half-turning toward the two of them, and muttered just loud enough to be heard, "Or maybe… one of those items is among us right now."
Silence followed. Even the chalk at the front of the class stopped moving.
Yuda and Ikrar exchanged a look—not because they believed him, but because of how seriously Guruh had said it.
Yuda narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Guruh leaned back again, his tone light, almost careless. "Just a theory. But hey, you never know, right? The world's strange. Sometimes, the ones who seem to know the least… are the ones hiding the biggest things."
The chalk resumed its scratching—drag, snap, then drag again—signaling that the lesson had continued. But not for the three of them. The world inside the classroom now felt distant, like an echo, drowned beneath the noise inside their heads.
Yuda slowly closed the blue-covered book, his hand lingering on the surface, pressing it slightly as if the book was something more than just a library loan. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it go.
Guruh swung his legs lightly, lips curled into a faint grin. But his eyes were still locked on one of the empty blackboards, as if something was hidden behind that dull haze of chalk.
Meanwhile, Ikrar stared at a single point on his desk. The clarity in his gaze was fading—logic slowly giving way to something else. Doubt. Or maybe… a premonition.
"It's just a hunch," he said quietly, his voice low but clear enough for the other two. "Like the old saying goes, 'Where there's smoke, there's fire.' So if those twelve towers really exist, then something must've triggered them, right?"
Yuda turned slightly toward the bespectacled boy. "Yeah. That's what I've been thinking too. Though in the end… we still don't know what the trigger is."
Ikrar didn't respond right away. He only spun his pen slowly across the desk—around and around—like his mind circling the thought he couldn't yet name.
"If something really did wake the towers," Ikrar continued, "then someone must've done it. On purpose. Not by chance."
Yuda replied quickly, as if a thought had just struck him. "Or maybe… a decision."
Guruh finally spoke, voice quiet but firm. "Not a decision. Someone's decision."
Yuda looked at him sharply. "Who are you talking about?"
Guruh gave a faint smile, choosing silence. But the way he stared out the window told them both—he either knew something they didn't, or he just enjoyed keeping them in suspense.
"You're hiding something from us, huh?" Yuda asked softly, his voice almost flat. His gaze wasn't angry—just sharp, like a cold knife left on the table, waiting to be picked up.
Ikrar turned slightly, observing Guruh's face, which had grown unusually quiet. "You wouldn't want us both to die of curiosity, would you?" His tone was dry, not threatening, but enough to let Guruh know: they were serious.
Guruh paused. Then a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Curiosity's good. It means you're still alive."
Yuda didn't blink. Ikrar crossed his arms and sighed. "You really enjoy being the center of attention, don't you."
Instead of answering, Guruh raised both hands as if in surrender. "I only know a little. A tiny bit. Seriously."
Yuda still stared at him. "And somehow, that tiny bit feels like the last piece of cake on a plate—left there on purpose."
Guruh grinned. "Maybe I'm on a truth diet."
Ikrar rolled his eyes. "Damn. The way this guy talks should be illegal."
Guruh leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"But... fine. Because you're friends, and because we've already talked about the Seven Celestial Guardians, I'll give you a single breadcrumb."
Yuda raised an eyebrow. Ikrar tilted his head slightly, intrigued.
Guruh turned slowly. This time, there was no smile—only a whisper.
"Out of the twelve items used by the first generation, two of them were simply... relocated."
Silence.
The soft swing of the classroom fan filled the air, and outside the window, a sparrow let out a sharp chirp before flying off again.
Ikrar narrowed his eyes slightly. "Relocated where?"
"I'd bet you don't have the guts to find that part out," Yuda added, nodding slightly.
"Ah, you're wrong, Yud." Guruh replied casually.
"My brother's notes ended at a final conclusion. About the real mastermind behind the release of the twelve towers, the two weapons now relocated, and that one of those weapons… is here—at this school."
Ikrar and Yuda exchanged a glance—a brief flicker, quick, but in that glance, something unspoken passed between them: a shared urge to know more.
Ikrar's chest rose slowly, as if holding back a question he wanted to throw. Yuda slid his book aside in a single calm motion, but his eyes sharpened—like a hawk locking onto its prey.
"This school," Ikrar nearly whispered, "are you sure?"
Guruh gave a thin smile, spinning his pencil between his fingers like he was enjoying the spotlight of two searchlights pointed his way.
"Sure? No. But curious? Absolutely."
Yuda rested his chin on his folded arms atop the desk, voice still cold.
"You're playing with us."
"Not playing, Yud," Guruh said, folding his arms behind his head and reclining back.
"I'm just presenting a puzzle. Isn't that what you two love—solving mysteries?"
Ikrar leaned back, running his fingers along the surface of the desk.
"I don't mind a mystery. As long as it's not one that's complicated just for the sake of being complicated."
"Oh, this isn't about complicated," Guruh said, pointing slowly at the floor with his index finger, then tracing a half-circle in the air.
"This is about... how deep you're willing to dig into something even the Celestial Guardians themselves kept under tight wraps."
"And you'd rather throw bait than dig with us?"
"Who said I'm not digging, Yud?" Guruh raised an eyebrow, his smile slicker than usual.
"I just prefer letting others dig the hole first. If they fall in, I know what to avoid. But if they strike gold... well, I can always borrow their shovel."
Yuda let out a long sigh, eyes drifting toward the classroom ceiling like he was questioning every life decision.
"God. Out of everyone in this school, I had to end up sitting behind this kid."
Ikrar massaged his temple, the other hand tapping lightly on the desk.
"And I had to sit in front of him. A fatal mistake. I should've switched seats back during orientation."
Guruh chuckled softly, then added,
"Well, that's life. Regret always comes last. If it showed up first, it'd be called registration."
He leaned back against his chair, then said,
"But don't worry. You've only been slightly duped. I haven't even told you the craziest part yet."
Yuda and Ikrar slowly turned their eyes toward him—though neither was sure anymore whether to be intrigued... or just surrender to fate.
"Where should I start…?" Guruh frowned slightly, eyes fixed on the classroom ceiling while his right fingers stroked his chin like a weathered sage—though no thick beard adorned it.
"… ah, yes. About your unease. Whether the emergence of the Twelve Towers had a trigger. The point is—it wasn't a coincidence. It was a decision. A decision made by someone named Alina Jatna."
Ikrar swallowed, awe-struck.
Yuda scratched the back of his head slowly, unable to comprehend the bizarre storytelling style of his friend.
"Alina didn't come unprepared," Guruh went on, his tone deepening into a theatrical voice.
"She brought something with her, this Dutch-Indonesian woman. One of the two weapons that were relocated. Namely... the Blade of Ranah, now hidden in the sacred land of Bali."
He paused, leaning into the moment.
"The Blade of Ranah is classified as a greatsword: overall length around a hundred and fifty centimeters, blade width roughly thirty. But what's truly staggering is… this sword can alter its size at the will of its wielder."
"Wait," Ikrar interrupted, puzzled.
"So what does that sword have to do with the twelve items used during the tower conquest?"
"Excellent question." Guruh nodded solemnly, eyes closed as if savoring the wisdom.
"For reasons unknown, Alina plunged the Blade of Ranah into a stone at the base of the Twelfth Tower, and left behind a single note: 'This sword is the key. Both to open and to seal the tower.' That's all it said."
"Oi! The Twelfth Tower is located in Kalimantan. Don't start spouting nonsense," Yuda cut in, tone sharp with skepticism.
"Calm down, young one. I haven't even explained everything yet." Guruh replied, a sage-like smile curling up at the corners of his lips.
"I already told you, didn't I, that this sword was moved? And the fact is, the Blade of Ranah and the other weapon changed hands four times for different purposes."
Ikrar and Yuda leaned in slowly, both gesturing for Guruh to continue.
"First, Alina Jatna used the sword to break twelve powerful seals scattered across the islands of Nusantara. This, in turn, triggered the appearance of the twelve towers we know today. Second, Yudhistira. He pulled the Blade of Ranah from a stone, near the Twelfth Tower on the island of Kalimantan. Long story short, he became part of the first generation of the Seven Heavenly Guardians, using the sword as one of twelve items in the ten-year war against the towers, a war we now call 'The War of the Twelve Towers.'"
Guruh took a breath, clearly overwhelmed by the enormity of the tale he was about to unfold, though this was only half of it.
"Hey, you still haven't told us who the third and fourth people are," Yuda pressed, his curiosity growing.
Panting slightly, Guruh shot back,
"You think it's easy to tell this story in one breath? I'll end up gasping for air or getting asthma from it."
"Asthma happens from allergies."
"And I'm allergic to finishing this story."
Hearing that, Ikrar quickly turned and grabbed something from his bag. He had an idea that might just make Guruh continue the tale that had never been recorded in history books, hidden away by each generation of the Heavenly Guardians.
"Ta-da! Do you know what this is?"
In an instant, Guruh's eyes widened in delight. His previously neutral expression slowly turned into an unmistakable smile, his nose twitching as it caught the scent of the warm, inviting peanut sauce—like a childhood memory suddenly resurfacing.
"Hey, that's... that's... cilok!" he exclaimed, as if unsure what he was seeing was real and not some illusion.
Ikrar nodded proudly, opening his lunchbox with a dramatic flourish like a magician about to unveil his signature trick. Warm steam curled into the air, revealing the neatly arranged chewy balls, glistening under the light with a thick coat of peanut sauce.
But just as Guruh reached out—
Ikrar swiftly pulled the box away.
"Oh, not so fast, my friend. I believe there's a price for such a fine delicacy. You know what I mean, don't you?"
Guruh didn't answer right away. He simply sat back in his seat, eyes locked on the food like a weary soldier staring at an oasis after days in battle. His hand hovered, hesitated, hovered again… then dropped to the table in defeat.
"Fine, fine! I'll tell the next part of the story!" he snapped, voice caught between frustration and reluctant surrender.
Ikrar smiled victoriously, as if he'd always known that even the world's deepest secrets could be pried open with the right bribe—especially when it was cilok. Yuda, meanwhile, merely shook his head, unsure whether to call his friend's scheme brilliant or just plain absurd.
After a few coughs to clear his throat, Guruh's tone shifted—steadier now, deeper. "You two surely know about the clash between Abu and Tegar, don't you? I won't go into detail about how those two, now revered as The Founding Fathers of Nusantarana, ended up in conflict. The story's too long, too tangled. But the core is this: before they were flung into the past and set foot on ancient Sundaland, both of them had already armed themselves with—"
"Don't tell me…" Ikrar cut in, but his words trailed off.
"Yes. Those two weapons. The Blade of Ranah was wielded by Tegar. And the sword Abu used at the time… it now lies dormant in this very school."
"Its name?" Yuda asked, his voice dropping low.
Guruh stared at him for a long moment before replying, "Blade and Souls. A longsword. The same weapon once wielded by Karya during the Bandung Lautan Api Jilid Dua, before… his death."
Yuda's eyes widened. His breath caught, as if the words were too heavy to swallow. His brows furrowed, and slowly, with a hoarse voice and pauses filled with disbelief, he asked,
"What… do you mean, Guruh?"
Even though he didn't fully understand what was going on, Ikrar could sense the shift in Yuda's expression. Especially when Guruh, just before speaking, paused to glance at Yuda—as if even he wasn't sure whether to say what came next.
"Why did Yuda's face change when Karya was mentioned? Was Karya his mentor? Or… was there something more personal?" Ikrar wondered, confused.
Guruh exhaled slowly. His eyes sharpened as his words began to flow.
"When the coup broke out, the fifth generation of the Celestial Guardians stepped in directly—not like how the history books tell it. What's never written down… is that Windah wielded the Blade of Ranah, and Karya wielded Blade and Souls."
He lowered his gaze for a moment, as if reliving a memory he never fully grasped.
"After the battle ended, for reasons I still don't understand, Windah drove the Blade of Ranah into a massive stone in the land of Dewata—Bali. As if to bury something… that was never meant to be touched again."
Then Guruh looked at Yuda intently, his voice falling to a near whisper.
"And Blade and Souls… no one really knows who carried it away. But now, that sword is here—in this school. Hidden. Stored away as if it never existed."
Around them, the school bell rang—its chime followed by laughter and chatter from the classrooms. It was the usual noise of students moving between classes. The everyday sounds of life.
But for Ikrar, Guruh, and Yuda, it all felt distant—like echoes from a world they no longer belonged to.
Their minds were stuck on a single truth: two of the twelve relics from the Tower Conquest—long buried beneath the silence of forgotten history—were slowly beginning to reveal themselves.
B. Those Who Became History.
On a high plain veiled in gentle mist, two figures stood silently before a towering stone. Wild grass swayed at their feet, and the first light of morning glinted off the blade lodged deep into the ancient rock. The sword shimmered with a quiet dignity, as though holding the last breath of an age long past.
Windah stood motionless, his gaze fixed upon the veined steel. His expression betrayed no fear—only a silence too heavy to speak.
Beside him, Alina stepped forward, her boots brushing against the dew-soaked grass. She halted just a few feet from the blade, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
She bowed her head slightly, a faint smile playing at her lips—not of joy, but reverence. A reunion, not of people, but of purpose.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it… Blade of Ranah," she whispered.
And then, as if answering her voice, the wind turned colder. It passed through the trees and across the stone, carrying with it something older than memory—older than names. A breath exhaled by the earth itself, stirring what had long been buried.
Something… was awakening.
The Blade of Ranah.
The sword stood proud—broad-bladed, long, and gleaming. From its core radiated an otherworldly aura: a flickering blue light, alive, dancing like fireflies weaving their quiet hymns along the blade's edge. Its hilt bore intricate batik carvings, aglow in soft relief beneath the shy sunlight filtered through a gauze of clouds.
Long ago—during the age of colonization—this blade was wielded by Alina to break the twelve seals that bound ranah energy across the archipelago. With every seal shattered, a surge of freedom was returned to the people; the locked gates of their inner force were opened once more.
Yet in doing so, she also unlatched a danger vast and unspeakable.
A choice that shifted the story of Nusantara forever—
And its echo lingers still, even now, in the bones of the land.
On the other side, Windah stood frozen, his hand beginning to tremble.
How could he not?
This was the very blade he once used to end Sylvia's life.
"Is this a dream? Must I wield this sword again?" he wondered, doubt crawling steadily into his heart. His gaze lingered on the blade, which to him now shimmered dimly—its glow muted by the shadow of memory.
He fell silent, letting his thoughts be carried back—to that day.
The day everything changed.
The day Bandung bore witness to one of the greatest battles in Nusantarana's history:
"Bandung Lautan Api Jilid Dua."
It was there that Windah, alongside four of the Seven Celestial Guardians, faced off against two of their own—comrades once trusted, now fallen to betrayal.
Among them stood Sylvia.
A woman who had once been his closest companion—perhaps more. Sylvia, whose power once rivaled a storm, had surrendered herself to the entity Azal, losing all control. Her force, once a shield, became a scythe. The city of Bandung, once thriving, was reduced to flame and ruin—a battlefield echoing with cries and collapse.
Windah could still hear the explosions, see the sky scorched by clashing ranah energy.
He stood with Alex, Cinta, Nita, and Karya—swords drawn, hearts torn—against the woman they once called their own.
In the end, he knew what had to be done.
And so, with aching resolve, he raised the blade and brought it down.
Not upon Sylvia as he remembered her,
but upon the shadow she had become.
Windah returned to the present, his gaze still locked onto the Blade of Ranah before him.
"Am I truly meant to wield it once more?" he thought, his inner voice filled with conflict. The memories were still vivid—like wounds that had never fully healed. But if the world called upon him again, could he turn away from the path he once walked? Or would he, this time, carry an even greater burden upon his shoulders?
"This sword carries stories of ancient battles," Alina murmured, her eyes fixed on the blade. "Its very presence feels like a reminder that anyone daring to grasp it must become one with the raw forces of nature."
Windah glanced sideways, listening closely for what she would say next.
"This is the only weapon I know of that can wound Azal. It is one of the three primordial mystic weapons capable of harming such a manifested entity of evil."
"Then, what are the other two, Ma'am—Miss Alina?" Windah asked hesitantly, unsure whether to call her 'grandmother' or 'miss' given her timeless presence.
Alina paused, lowered her head slightly, and threw him a sharp side glance. "Please don't make me angry. Just call me Alina."
Windah swallowed hard, then awkwardly gave a thumbs-up. "O-okay, Alina. Hehe."
His expression stiff, his smile awkward—a mix of trying to be calm and terrified of messing up again.
"Good," Alina replied curtly, though Windah could sense a subtle warning laced beneath her voice.
In his mind, Windah groaned, "Miss? Granny? Lady? Argh, everything just got complicated!"
Both of them turned their eyes back to the sword, as if sharing an unspoken understanding of the depth of power it held—each had once wielded it for their own cause. The Blade of Ranah stood tall, as though awaiting the moment when it would once again be summoned by its former master. Its blue aura shimmered without pause, charging the air with a quiet reverence.
"I don't know," Alina finally said. "But I'm certain those two weapons aren't among the twelve items used during the conquest of the tower."
"And even if they exist," she added, "I doubt either of us could lay a hand on them."
Windah nodded slowly, agreeing with the girl's words.
"You're right. Even the Blade of Ranah can only be wielded by a chosen few."
"Count them on one hand: me, you, Sylvia, Yudistira, Tegar, and… Ikrar's father," Alina continued, her eyes softening as she pictured a man from long ago.
Silence settled between them, heavy with meaning, as the sword pulsed quietly before them like a breathing relic of time. The wind stirred gently, carrying a reverent stillness. In Windah's mind, the name Alina had just mentioned—Ikrar's father—sent his thoughts spiraling. But before he could dwell on it—
"Well, well… you two look cozy."
—came a voice, sharp and familiar, tinged with a playful sarcasm. It cut through the silence like a pebble tossed into a tranquil lake.
Windah glanced toward the source of the voice and saw Siska standing there, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised with suspicion.
"What are you doing here, Windah? And with a girl, no less?"
"Aaa! Siska! I can explain—"
"Oh, Siska, you've come at the perfect time," Alina interrupted smoothly, turning around with a graceful smile.
Siska gave her a quick once-over before turning back to Windah with a deepening frown. "And who exactly is this girl?"
"Uh, well—that is—I mean—uh…" Windah stammered, scrambling for something reasonable to say. "She's… my sister! Hehe."
Though she clearly knew Windah was lying, Siska decided to let it go for now. There were more pressing matters—something that could affect the fate of the world: the strange snowfall had returned.
Letting out a deep sigh, she walked closer, narrowing her eyes as she spotted the sword. "Oh great, that sword again. Don't you have anything better to do than babysit an ancient relic?"
Windah answered hesitantly, "Well, technically I'm a teacher now, right? I've taught a few classes."
Siska clicked her tongue in annoyance. "You should try sitting through it yourself, Windah. Class X-3 is a disaster. It's like a night market! Kids yelling, laughing, and worst of all—your brother Guruh—he's louder than everyone combined! It's like he's trying to sell something, for crying out loud!" she exclaimed, rubbing her temples in frustration.
Embarrassment crept over Windah. He couldn't deny it—he knew better than anyone what his brother was like. "Yeah, that's my brother—hehe."
Alina, who had been quietly smiling this whole time, finally chimed in, "Maybe you should bring this sword to class. Who knows, it might work as a visual aid to scare them a little."
Siska shot her a sharp look at that suggestion. "Hey, don't joke around, Miss Half-Blood!" she said in a serious tone. "Even if I brought that sword, those kids would probably fight over it just to take selfies! Kids these days aren't scared—they'd only get more excited!"
"I see…" Alina, the so-called half-blood girl, could only scratch her head awkwardly.
Windah struggled to hold back his laughter, while Siska rubbed her temples again, her expression saying it all—being a teacher was no easy job.
The warmth slowly spread between the three of them, like the morning gently creeping over the horizon—calm, bright, yet holding the faint shadows of noon soon to come. In their casual conversation, a small world seemed to be born between pauses, free from the weight of names, fate, and scars that lingered in their hearts. For a moment, they were like leaves dancing above a stream, drifting in rare peace.
Yet, that togetherness was like a lantern's flame flickering in the rising wind. Like the rhythm of the breeze carrying the scent of distant rain, a storm that would not ask for permission to arrive. And when the sky cracked in silence, what remained was only stillness... and the shudder they held deep within.
"Windah? Half-Blood girl, what's going on?"
Windah and Alina exchanged a look, their faces paling as they sensed the same thing: a tremendous aura, unexpected and heavy, emerging from behind Siska.
Suddenly, a masked figure emerged—tall, broad-shouldered, his steps silent like a shadow slipping in from the darkness. His face was hidden behind a Wayang-style mask of Yudhishthira, the noble and wise warrior prince—an irony, now worn by an attacker. The finely carved wooden mask bore a calm yet cold expression, with golden eyes that seemed hollow—not the serenity of a hero, but the emptiness of an executioner. At the center of the forehead, a small star-shaped insignia was etched, as if mocking the virtue once tied to the name.
His body radiated a dense, deadly aura, and his right arm was already raised—ready to unleash destruction.
Windah immediately threw himself to the ground, dragging Siska with him. "Watch out—danger!"
Tongues of pitch-black flame shot out from the attacker, writhing like hungry beasts, devouring the air with a heat so intense it warped the very shadows. The surrounding temperature spiked, and a sharp hissing filled the air as the ground began to crack and split beneath the pressure.
But before the blaze could reach them, Alina was already in motion. With a swift gesture and her hands forming a circle, a burst of realm energy erupted from her palms—spreading outward to form a translucent dome shimmering with violet-blue ripples.
The fire struck the barrier at once, exploding in a roar like molten metal plunged into ice. The realm shield trembled violently, repelling dark flickers as it held back the scorching wave. Alina stood at its center, her body tense with focus, eyes alight with determination, beads of sweat forming on her brow—but the protection held firm.
"Alina Jatna," said the masked man, his voice deep and heavy with threat. "Just like the rumors say—you're impressive."
Alina clenched her fists, her eyes narrowing at the masked figure. "Who are you? And how do you know my name‽"
The masked man replied casually, "Like a good novel, it wouldn't be fun if I spoiled the ending right away. You get what I mean, don't you?"
Alina clicked her tongue, a thin smirk tugging at her lips. She muttered toward Windah, "How long do you plan on flirting? The enemy's right in front of us!"
"What do you mean flirting! I just saved Siska's life!"
"Then get up already! Let's take this guy down!" Alina snapped, her eyes still locked on the masked man, who looked completely unfazed by their exchange.
Windah scrambled to his feet, but not before turning to Siska, his gaze filled with concern. "Are you alright, Siska?"
Siska nodded slightly, her face still frozen in shock from what had just happened. She said nothing, but the nod was enough to ease Windah's worry.
"Alright then..." Windah stood tall, taking his stance, ready to strike. "Let's take this guy down!"
The masked man simply laughed. "I do enjoy watching you two work together. But... do you really have the time?"
"What do you mean?" Alina frowned, not understanding his implication.
"I heard your precious great-grandson, Ikrar, is currently in danger."
"That's... a lie..." Hearing Ikrar's name shook Alina to her core. Her emotions swirled—worry, anxiety, fear. Her gaze shifted sharply to Windah, who returned the look with the same troubled concern.
"Oh yes, I've already sent one of my men after him. Don't worry, it will all be over swiftly—your beloved Ikrar won't feel a thing." A sinister laugh echoed from behind the mask, thickening the air with dread.
"You bastard!" Windah clenched his fist, ready to charge,
but Alina's voice rang out sharply.
"Stop, Windah!"
"Alina... why?"
"Go. Save Ikrar," Alina continued, her voice lower now, but edged with lethal intent. Her eyes sharpened, aura brimming with killing intent. She knew—there was no time left. One of them had to go.
Hearing something so absurd made the masked man laugh again. "Are you so panicked that you've lost all reason, Alina?"
"Open your eyes! We're on the island of Bali!"
The masked man suddenly spread his arms, and in an instant—
—black fire erupted, soaring like a torch from hell, slicing the air with a monstrous roar. The sky split without warning—and the world around them began to fracture, shifting slowly, like reality itself was being rewritten.
"N-no way..." Alina stepped back, disbelief etched on her face, as the masked figure calmly walked toward the ancient sword.
His footsteps echoed. The air seemed to hold its breath as his gloved hand reached for the hilt of the Blade of Ranah. The dimming light above caught on the blade's surface, making the ancient carvings shimmer—as if they were drawing breath once more.
"Legend? Myth? You dress power in stories and call it glory. If this blade was truly meant only for the worthy…"
And without hesitation, he drew the sword with a single, fluid motion—like its weight and history meant nothing in the wrong hands. A violent gust followed as the blade lifted from its resting place.
Then—zlinggg!
He hurled the sword, and it struck the ground before Alina like a spear. Dust exploded outward. Pebbles flew from the force of the impact.
"… then prove it to me." He finished the sentence that had hung in the air—short, flat, and more cutting than the blade itself.
Before she could react, he pulled another sword from beneath his cloak—a long, obsidian blade shrouded in black flame. The fire didn't blaze wildly, but slithered across the surface like a living thing, groaning as if it had been caged for far too long.
From behind the mask, his voice came again, low and cold, almost a whisper—but carrying a fatal decree.
"I'm not here to test you."
He raised the sword to eye level.
"I'm here... to end you."
The sky crumbled into searing red. Dust and shadow spiraled in a circle. And in the center of that battlefield, between awe and terror, time seemed to freeze.
Then—darkness.