The sky was still faintly gray when Kola zipped up his worn-out hoodie and slung the canvas bag over his shoulder. The zipper had been stuck for weeks, forcing him to wrestle with it each morning like an old rival. His face was blank as he moved through the motions of getting ready — eyes half-lidded, hair uncombed, expression unreadable.
He wasn't tired. Just... full.
The type of full that sleep couldn't fix.
As he tightened the strap of the bag — the same bag that now carried a stack of gorengan from Ms. Lasti, wrapped in paper and layered neatly inside a plastic tupperware — his gaze drifted toward the corner of the room.
The sword sat quietly there, leaning against the wall in its makeshift wrapping of cloth and duct tape.
And beside it, the map — not a paper map, but the small digital overlay within his phone, created by Omegamon's network integration. It was a strange thing, this new map. When he tapped open the app and pulled up the visual, it unfolded like a holographic web of the world around him. Blue dots had once danced across its surface, each representing a Guardian or someone connected to the otherworld — guardians of Palabuhan Ratu, spread out like scattered stars.
Now?
Nothing.
No blue dots. No red enemy signatures. No movement.
He stared at the screen for a long time.
Silent.
"Gone," he whispered.
Omegamon floated behind him, still in his smaller form — watching quietly, not interrupting.
Dian had left an hour earlier.
She didn't say much, just that she needed to go home before her parents started asking questions. Her plan was simple — she'd tell them she'd stayed overnight at a friend's house for a group assignment.
"They won't care much anyway," she had said, brushing crumbs off her jacket. "They're busy."
Kola hadn't said anything back. Just nodded.
Jalu and Lila were still asleep, curled up on the carpet that Omegamon had generated the night before — its fabric still gleaming faintly in the early light like it remembered being part of a cape. Lila had been coughing softly in her sleep, her forehead a little too warm. Probably stress. Or grief. Or both.
Kola had told them to stay in the kost for now. It was safer. Omegamon had reinforced the area again — layers upon layers of shielding spells, woven with digital and spiritual threads alike.
It felt like an invisible fortress.
Still, it didn't make the silence feel any less hollow.
Kola opened the front door and stepped into the humid Kendari morning. The streets outside were already awake — students on scooters zipping by, a street vendor calling out for customers, the scent of fried banana and black coffee rolling through the air like invisible hands tugging him back into the world.
He took a deep breath.
Then he started walking.
___
The university felt familiar, but foreign. Like someone had taken the campus he knew and copied it in a dream — the trees were in the right place, the benches unchanged, but something in the air buzzed wrong.
Still, the classes were the same.
He entered his morning lecture for Electromagnetism right on time. The room buzzed with the soft sound of laptops and whispered jokes between seatmates. No one looked twice at Kola. He sat in his usual spot — third row from the back, near the wall-mounted fan that only worked when it felt like it.
He listened. He took notes. He answered one question — quietly — when the lecturer called on him by accident.
And in between equations, he opened the tupperware.
"Gorengan, bro?" he whispered to the guy next to him — a blurry acquaintance named Miko who always wore sandals and smelled faintly of oil paint.
Miko glanced down at the snacks.
"Oof. stuffed tofu and bakwan?" he asked, grinning. "Lemme get two. Got change?"
Kola nodded, handing over a folded paper napkin as Miko passed him a crumpled ten-thousand.
And just like that, he was selling again.
By the end of the class, he'd sold almost half the stash. One lumpia here. Two risoles there. Quiet, patient, efficient.
Same routine.
Different heart.
—
By noon, Kola was weaving through the side streets that led toward Kendari's Pasar Baru — the city's traditional market, where old buildings huddled together like tired elders beneath tangled canopies of cables and fading signs.
It was noisy.
A good noisy.
Vendors shouted out discounts. People argued about prices in fast Makassar-accented Indonesian. The scent of spices mixed with engine smoke and the unmistakable sharpness of raw seafood somewhere nearby.
Kola kept his head low, one hand on the strap of his bag.
The gold coin was inside.
Just one.
He wasn't stupid enough to try and sell all of it. Just one — small, heavy, pristine, with markings that didn't match any known mint. No text. Just swirling patterns and a faint symbol in the center that resembled a blooming flower surrounded by orbiting lines.
He found the store by memory — a tiny jewelry repair kiosk tucked between a photo-print shop and a stall selling counterfeit phone cases. The front glass was smudged. The display was dusty.
But inside sat a man in his 50s with sharp eyes and fingers that looked like they'd held diamonds and stolen time.
Kola entered.
The man barely glanced up.
"Trade or pawn?"
"Trade."
Kola unzipped the side of his bag and placed the coin on the counter.
The man's eyes narrowed instantly. He reached forward — slowly — picked up the coin, and turned it under the desk light.
"Where'd you get this?"
Kola shrugged. "Family keepsake. Great-grandfather or something."
A lie, but one delivered with the kind of practiced indifference that made it sound real.
The man turned the coin again, then ran a device over it — a jeweler's scanner — and frowned at the results.
"This isn't from any known region."
"It's gold though, right?"
The man didn't answer. Just stared at the coin a little longer, then finally nodded.
"I'll give you two million for it."
Kola blinked.
That was… more than he expected. Almost three months' worth of rent and groceries.
He hesitated. His fingers lingered on the coin. A thought flickered in his chest — irrational, almost superstitious.
But then he slowly pushed it forward again. "Deal."
The man placed the bills in an envelope. Kola took them. Pocketed the money. The space in his bag felt heavier, not lighter.
Still, he didn't look back.
—
The moment he stepped back outside, the wind hit him.
Not strong. Not cold.
Just... strange.
It rolled down the street like a whisper, brushing against his skin in a way that felt almost too intentional. The market noise faded slightly — like the world exhaled through a dream.
Kola stopped walking.
He looked up.
The sky was blue.
Birds passed overhead.
But still… something was wrong.
The midday sun sat high over Kendari, warm and steady, as if unaware of the storm that had passed just the day before. The market's rhythm beat as usual — vendors calling out over rows of ripened bananas and dried fish, motorcycles weaving past sidewalk stalls, the thick scent of spices and engine smoke hanging in the air.
Kola stepped out of Pasar Baru, one hand gripping the strap of his old backpack. Inside: a paper envelope now containing two million rupiah — the full amount from the gold coin he'd finally sold that afternoon.
He'd hesitated in front of the gold buyer's booth longer than he cared to admit. Something about it felt… wrong. Or maybe not wrong — just heavy. The coin had come from a place no one believed existed. Selling it like this, exchanging it for paper bills and quiet nods, felt like trading away a piece of something sacred.
But he did it anyway.
Now, with the transaction behind him, the envelope sat heavy in his bag, pressed beside a bundle of fried snacks he'd picked up earlier — Ms. Lasti's orders, neatly packed for resale at campus.
His sandals scraped lightly against the pavement as he walked, blending into the afternoon pulse of the city.
Behind his shoulder, a faint yawn.
"Kola…"
Omegamon peeked out from the half-zipped front pocket of Kola's backpack, blinking groggily as if pulled from a long dream. He hovered lazily upward, then floated to perch gently atop Kola's head, cape fluttering like a loose ribbon.
"Did you sell it?" he asked, his voice muffled by the drone of passing scooters.
"Yeah," Kola said with a sigh. "Two million. All in cash."
"Nice," Omegamon said, rubbing his eye with the back of his armored hand. "Now you can buy a new laptop, real food, and maybe even a second pair of socks."
"I already have a second pair."
"You do?" Omegamon blinked. "Wait, when did that happen?"
Kola grinned. "Stole it from the clothesline behind the kost. Pretty sure the universe owes me at least that much."
Omegamon chuckled softly and crossed his arms. "The universe has a strange way of settling debts."
They continued down the sidewalk, passing a line of warung stalls and schoolkids slurping down syrupy red drinks. Somewhere in the distance, a flute played from a speaker — an old Minangkabau song, distorted by cheap plastic.
Suddenly something tugged at the edge of Kola memory.
"Hey… actually," he said, slowing his steps a little. "About something I asked you before."
Omegamon floated upright, blinking. "Hm?"
"Remember that night I first found you? When I lost my bag — the one those two guys stole?"
Omegamon tilted his head. "Ah, yes. Near the side gate of your campus, correct?"
"Yeah," Kola said. "I asked if you could check the CCTV around there. You said you could access it. Did you ever… y'know. Look?"
There was a brief pause.
Then Omegamon froze midair, his glowing eyes blinking rapidly. "I… did not."
Kola stopped walking. "What do you mean you didn't?"
"I forgot," Omegamon said bluntly.
"You—? Are you serious!?"
Omegamon held up both hands, defensive. "There were dragons. And then a child emperor with flying warships. My processing queue was understandably overwhelmed."
Kola rubbed his face with both hands. "Great. Priorities."
"But," Omegamon added quickly, "I can do it now. I'm already linked to the surveillance nodes across Kendari. Give me five seconds."
He floated upward slightly, eyes glowing brighter. A soft pulse of digital light shimmered across his visor.
After a moment:
"I found something."
Kola blinked. "That fast?"
"I located footage from your campus entrance on the night of January 5th," Omegamon said. "Two individuals with motorcycle, hooded, approached from the east perimeter around 19:43. One of them took your bag while you were distracted."
"Can you recognize them?"
"Not completely. Faces partially obscured," Omegamon replied. "But their path is traceable. They exited toward the east gate — then turned down a side alley near the economics building."
Kola narrowed his eyes. "That alley leads to the old laundry service."
Omegamon nodded. "One of them returned to that location again the next night. Alone."
"You mean they might still be nearby?" Kola asked, eyes sharp now.
"It's possible."
Kola exhaled slowly.
"Then maybe I can finally get my laptop back."
Then Kola stopped.
"Hey," he said. "By the way, yu want something? I mean… I've got money now. Might as well use it for more than rice and trauma."
Omegamon tilted his head. "Food doesn't work for me. But… if you really want to give something, I do have a request."
He pointed down the street.
Kola followed the gesture.
Near the edge of the bridge — just beyond the fruit vendors and the men selling phone cases — two figures sat on the edge of the walkway.
A man and a woman, both young. Maybe mid-twenties. A cloth laid before them displayed their wares: woven bamboo crafts — baskets, trays, coasters, fans — all delicate, geometric, and tightly patterned. Beside them, a small plastic container held their change.
But what struck Kola hardest wasn't the art.
It was them.
Their bodies ended abruptly at the waist.
From where they sat, neither had any legs.
They used their arms to move — palms pressed against worn rubber slippers strapped to their hands, elbows strong from necessity. The man had lean, sun-darkened arms. The woman wore a soft grey hijab, her face open and smiling at passersby, as if daring the world to look away.
Kola hesitated.
Just one step.
Then another.
He wasn't sure what the feeling was. Pity? No. Something messier. Something heavier. A pang in his chest, like guilt… but shaped more like shame.
He had no right to feel sorry for them. He didn't know their story. He didn't know what it was like to wake up like that — to move through a world built for taller, fuller frames.
But he knew what it felt like to be seen as broken.
And still, they smiled.
They endured.
He stepped forward.
"Hi," he said, his voice a little stiff.
The man looked up. "Interested in one?" His tone was light. Warm. Practiced.
"How much?" Kola asked, crouching slightly.
"Ten thousand each. Any piece."
Kola picked up a circular tray. The weaving was tight, the patterns precise. There was real craft in every line, every bend of bamboo. Omegamon hovered behind him, silent now.
"These are beautiful," the Digimon said gently.
"They work with care," he added. "Despite their limits. They make something out of almost nothing."
Kola opened his bag.
He didn't think.
He just moved.
From the envelope, he pulled one crisp bill — a single million rupiah note — and handed it over.
The man blinked. "Sir—uh, I think you gave—"
"I'll take them all," Kola said, gesturing to the entire display. "Everything here."
The woman looked stunned. Her lips parted slightly, unsure whether to protest or smile.
"You don't have to," she started.
"I want to," Kola replied.
They nodded in silence, and quickly began wrapping the bamboo pieces in layers of newspaper and plastic, packing them gently into a carry bag. When they handed it to Kola, their eyes still shimmered with disbelief.
The man tried to give some of the money back. "It's too much—really—"
Kola stepped back, shaking his head.
"It's not."
He turned, gripping the plastic bag in one hand, and began walking.
His heart beat faster than before — not from nerves, but something else. Something warmer.
A tightness behind his eyes that didn't sting like sadness, but didn't quite feel like peace either.
"You okay?" Omegamon asked softly.
"Yeah," Kola said, barely above a whisper. "I think so."
"You said something once," the Digimon continued, "back when we first met. That even if this world was broken, you didn't want to add to that. You didn't want to make it worse."
Kola nodded slowly.
"Well," Omegamon said, floating up to meet his eyes, "this time, you healed something. Even if just a little. And for them… it might mean everything."
Kola smiled.
A real one.
Not wide. Not forced.
Just… honest.
"Thank you," he said.
"No," Omegamon replied. "Thank you. I told you, didn't I? I'll stay with you — until the end."
The two of them continued across the bridge — a boy with a bag of woven hope, and a knight no taller than his shoulder.
They didn't speak much after that.
But the silence felt full.
And above them, the sky remained bright.