"Let's move on to our next destination—the Memorial Hall," Radji suggested, carefully tucking his leather-bound journal into his satchel. His methodical movements betrayed nothing of the unease that lingered after their strange encounter with Professor Nyala. He adjusted his spectacles and consulted the campus map once more, tracing the path with his finger as if physically connecting the dots might somehow make sense of the day's inexplicable events.
As they made their way across the academy grounds, Saguna retreated into silence, the weight of his vision beneath the banyan tree pressing heavily upon him. I am going crazy, he thought, the familiar refrain echoing in his mind. No one had believed him about the whispers back in his village—not the elders, not his friends, not even his own father. His mother had tried at first, consulting healers and village elders, searching for someone who might understand what was happening to her son. But when no answers came, her concern had gradually transformed into something worse: pity. Now she could only offer that sympathetic gaze whenever Saguna mentioned the voices, as if he were a puzzle she had given up trying to solve.
The three marks on the back of his neck throbbed dully, a constant reminder that something had changed—something that would not simply disappear by ignoring it. Saguna glanced at his new companions, wondering if they too bore their own invisible burdens.
Along the way, Osa smiled casually to anyone he passed by, his natural charm evident even in this unfamiliar setting. "So, do you guys live in the city all your life?" he asked, breaking the contemplative silence.
"Yeah, I have lived my whole life in Meridian City, never traveling outside of it," Radji answered with a hint of wistfulness. "I would love to see other domains in Zendirah one day."
"I came from Verdant Coil," Osa replied, his eyes briefly taking on a faraway look. "I moved to the city before I got accepted to the Academy. I moved here months ago because I thought... I had someone in the city."
The subtle shift in his tone suggested a story there—perhaps a relationship that hadn't worked out—but before Radji could inquire further, they arrived at their destination.
The Memorial Hall loomed before them, a solemn structure of polished stone and stained glass that seemed to absorb the afternoon sunlight rather than reflect it. Unlike the other buildings they had visited, this one carried an air of reverence, almost like a temple. Carved above its massive wooden doors was a single phrase in ancient script: "Remember Those Who Walked Between."
"According to our assignment," Radji replied, consulting his notes, "the Memorial Hall honors 'those who sacrificed to maintain balance.' Rather vague, I admit, but apparently there are historical records documenting significant events in Zendirah's history, particularly regarding relations between the elemental domains." "Well," he said, "there's only one way to find out what's inside."
Inside the Memorial Hall stood statues of Zendirah's former heroes, each adorned in royal or battle attire from their respective eras. More than ten statues filled the space, each with a plaque detailing their historical significance. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting patterns across the marble floor and illuminating the statues in ethereal light. Several other student groups wandered through the hall, examining different statues.
As they entered, their attention was drawn to a gathering of students near one of the more ornate statues. A young man stood at the center of the group, gesturing expressively as he spoke.
"...Is this really your great-grandfather?" one of the students asked the central figure, his voice carrying across the hall.
"Of course," the young man replied with practiced confidence. "You can see we have the same family name. Our family is high-born from the Ember Isles, and my great-grandfather was one of the Keepers of the Sacred Flame." There was something in his bearing that suggested he considered himself above those around him—a certain tilt of his chin, a dismissive flick of his wrist as he spoke.
He was handsome in a conventional way, with high cheekbones and immaculate dark hair, but his eyes held a coldness that diminished his appeal. "My grandfather once told me that my great-grandfather could control fire," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that nonetheless carried. "I don't know if that's true, but it makes for a cool story."
Osa, ever sociable, casually drifted toward the group. "Hey," he said, inserting himself into their circle with natural ease. Several of the girls immediately took notice, stealing glances in his direction. "Have you visited the Veil Archives yet?"
The high-born student's expression soured momentarily at having his spotlight stolen. "Not yet, but I bet it's just an old room with old documents," he replied dismissively. His eyes narrowed as he evaluated Osa. "Who are you? Which group are you with?"
"Osara Hann," Osa replied with an easy smile. "I'm with those two guys." He gestured toward Radji and Saguna, who had begun examining a different statue.
The student's eyes widened slightly in recognition. "I see, you're with Mr. Clean over there," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. He strode over to Radji, who looked up in surprise. "Hey, Radji, fancy meeting you here."
Before Radji could respond, the young man reached out and adjusted Radji's already perfectly straight collar, deliberately rumpling it in the process. "Still as pristine as ever, I see. Do you iron your undergarments too?"
Radji's face flushed, his hands instinctively moving to fix his collar. "Hello, Kiran," he said stiffly. "I wasn't aware you'd been accepted to the Academy as well."
Kiran laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "My family has attended the Imperial Academy for generations. The real question is how someone like you managed to secure a place." His gaze flicked dismissively over Radji's meticulously maintained uniform before settling on Saguna. "And who's your silent friend? Another scholarship case?"
Something in Saguna bristled at the implied insult, but before he could respond, his attention was captured by the statue behind Kiran. Unlike the others in the hall, this one depicted not a single individual but three figures standing in a triangular formation. Each figure wore robes representative of different domains—one in billowing fabrics suggesting air; another in textured garments evoking earth and plant life; the third in flowing, wave-like vestments. At the center where their hands met was a familiar symbol: an inverted triangle with a single point in its middle.
The whispers surged suddenly, no longer faint but insistent, a chorus of voices speaking in unison directly into his mind: The Triumvirate awakens. The cycle begins anew.
Saguna swayed slightly, steadying himself against a nearby column. "What did you say this place memorializes?" he asked Radji, his voice distant even to his own ears.
Radji, clearly grateful for the interruption, turned away from Kiran. "According to the assignment, it honors 'those who sacrificed to maintain balance.'" He glanced at the plaque beside the three-figured statue. "This one commemorates what they call 'The Last Triumvirate'—apparently a trio of individuals who prevented some kind of catastrophe three centuries ago."
Osa, who had rejoined them, leaned in to examine the inscription. "'In the time of great upheaval, when the veil between worlds grew thin, three were called to restore harmony,'" he read aloud. "'One to walk between, one to bind the spirits, one to speak their tongue. Though they saved the realm, they paid with their mortal existence, passing beyond the veil they sought to repair.'"
Kiran scoffed. "Ancient superstitious nonsense. Everyone knows those old stories about 'spirit magic' are just primitive explanations for natural phenomena. My father says these old traditions just waste resources that could be put toward proper scientific advancement." He adjusted the immaculate collar of his uniform, which despite being identical to what other students wore, somehow looked more expensive on him.
But Saguna wasn't listening anymore. As Osa had read the inscription, each word seemed to resonate with the three marks on his neck, sending waves of heat down his spine. Without thinking, he reached out to touch the statue's base.
The moment his fingers made contact with the cool stone, the world fell away.
Saguna found himself standing on a shoreline where the jungle met the sea—a place that looked eerily similar to the village of Teluk Jati where he'd grown up, yet subtly different. The colors were more vivid, the sounds sharper, as if everything had been intensified. The sky above was divided into four distinct quarters: one filled with roiling storm clouds, another with the fiery glow of sunset, a third with lush green canopies, and the last with the deep blue of ocean depths.
Three figures stood before him, their features blurred as if seen through rippling water, but their postures unmistakably matched those of the statues. They spoke in unison, their voices neither male nor female, young nor old, but somehow all these things at once.
"The balance falters. The elements stir restlessly. The mandala system weakens."
"You three have been marked, as we once were. The Triumvirate awakens when need is greatest."
"Beware the Breathless One who seeks to tear down the veil completely."
Saguna tried to speak, to ask who they were, what they wanted from him, but no sound emerged from his lips. One of the figures—the one in flowing, wave-like robes—stepped forward and touched his forehead. Images flooded Saguna's mind: a mountain peak where winds swirled unnaturally; a figure with hollow eyes drawing breath from struggling victims; spirit beings seeping through cracks in reality into the physical world.
"He believes himself righteous, but his path leads to destruction. Find us. Learn. Prepare."
The figure stepped back, rejoining the others as they spoke in unison once more.
"Wednesday is when the veil is thinnest. What you have feared is your greatest strength. The Triumvirate must—"
Their message was cut short as reality shuddered. The vision began to fracture, the colors bleeding together, the figures dissolving like smoke in a strong wind. Saguna felt himself being pulled backward, away from the shore, away from the answers he desperately needed.
"—are you listening? I said, are you alright?"
Saguna blinked rapidly, the Memorial Hall coming back into focus around him. Osa was gripping his shoulder, looking concerned. "You totally zoned out there for a minute."
"You went pale as a ghost," Radji added, his analytical gaze scanning Saguna's face with evident worry.
Kiran Emberil had stopped mid-sentence, staring at Saguna with a mixture of annoyance and reluctant curiosity. His academy uniform, with its amber trim designating him as a descendant of the Ember Isles, seemed to catch the light from the stained glass windows, giving him an almost glowing aura.
"I'm fine," Saguna managed, though his voice sounded distant to his own ears. "Just... a headache." He glanced back at the statue, half-expecting it to have changed somehow, but it remained as it had been—stone figures frozen in their eternal pose.
"Well, try not to faint on academy property," Kiran said with a smirk. "My father says there's already too much paperwork involved when scholarship students have... episodes." He emphasized the last word, making it clear he thought Saguna was merely seeking attention.
Osa stepped forward, his usual easy-going demeanor hardening slightly. "You know, Emberil, for someone so proud of their family history, you don't seem to have inherited much of their dignity."
Several students in Kiran's group exchanged glances, clearly impressed by Osa's boldness. Kiran's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"And what would a Verdant Coil commoner know about dignity?" he retorted. "I've heard about your type—provincial charm that wears thin once you're out of your depth." His gaze swept over Osa dismissively. "Those leather wristbands with your uniform? Quite the fashion statement. Did they not teach proper dress code in your jungle schools?"
The insult struck home—Osa had indeed personalized his standard academy uniform with several handcrafted leather bands around his wrists, a common practice in the Verdant Coils but technically against the academy's strict dress regulations.
Before Osa could respond, Radji unexpectedly stepped between them. "Emberil, don't you have someone else to impress with stories about your illustrious ancestry? Preferably someone who hasn't already heard them all through primary school?"
The calm precision of Radji's words seemed to cut deeper than any heated retort could have. A flush crept up Kiran's neck.
"Watch yourself, Loma," he said quietly. "Your scholarship only protects you so far." With a final disdainful glance at the three of them, Kiran turned to his admirers. "Let's move on to something more interesting than old rocks and weird scholarship students."
As Kiran and his group moved away, Osa turned to Radji with newfound respect. "Didn't expect that from you. You two have history?"
Radji absently adjusted his perfectly aligned cuffs. "We attended the same preparatory academy. His family donated the science building. He never let anyone forget it." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable discussing the matter further. "Saguna, what really happened just now? You looked like you were somewhere else entirely."
Saguna hesitated. Could he trust these two with what he'd just experienced? They were still strangers, yet something about the vision—the mention of "you three" and the Triumvirate—suggested their fates might be intertwined. But how could he explain something he barely understood himself?
"It's... complicated," he began cautiously. "I've been experiencing strange... episodes since I was a child. More frequently on Wednesdays."
He expected skepticism, perhaps even mockery, but instead, Radji nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. Did touching the statue trigger something specific?"
"You could say that." Saguna found himself wanting to confide in them but stopped short of revealing everything. "I saw... people. Like the ones in the statue. They were trying to warn me about something."
Osa whistled low. "That's intense. And here I thought my day was weird when my chest started burning in the archives."
Radji turned to Osa with sudden interest. "Speaking of which, my arm has been feeling strange since we met. Almost like—" He broke off, discreetly pulling back his sleeve just enough to examine his inner forearm. His expression changed subtly, but he quickly covered it again before either of his companions could see.
Across the hall, partially hidden behind a pillar, a slender figure in purple academic robes observed their interaction with unnerving focus. Professor Nyala's silver hair caught the colored light from the stained glass windows as she watched the three young men. Her gaze was calculating, assessing. She made a small notation in a leather-bound journal before slipping away, unnoticed by the students.
"We should probably continue with our assignment," Radji suggested, his voice slightly strained. "We still have two more locations to visit before reporting back to Master Damian."
As they moved toward the exit, Saguna felt Osa's hand on his shoulder. "Hey," Osa said quietly, "if you ever want to talk about those... episodes, I'm a pretty good listener. Sometimes it helps to say weird stuff out loud, you know?"
The simple gesture of companionship caught Saguna off guard. For years, he'd carried his burden alone, convinced that sharing it would only lead to more isolation. Yet here was someone offering to listen without judgment. And Radji, despite his analytical demeanor, had responded to Saguna's admission with curiosity rather than disbelief.
"Maybe I will," Saguna replied, surprised by how much he meant it.
As they stepped into the sunlight outside the Memorial Hall, Radji discretely scratched at his forearm again, a rare break in his methodical composure. When his companions weren't looking, he pushed his sleeve back further, revealing three small marks forming a triangle—identical to those on Saguna's neck—that had begun to appear on his skin.