The wind shrieked around them. Their descent veered dangerously, but at the final moment, she angled them toward the outstretched branch of the colossal tree.
BRUKK!
They landed, more like crashed, onto the wide surface of a massive branch jutting out from the cliff wall. It wasn't a gentle descent. The impact rattled Andini's body, forcing another mouthful of blood from her lips. Agony surged through her limbs like a wave of fire, but... they had made it. They were halfway between the cliff's peak and the canyon's floor, hidden from sight above. No shadows or footprints remained on the ledge to betray their escape.
Clinging to the last remnants of her strength, with Gugum's help. He now fully understanding her intent, Andini began to crawl toward a narrow crevice in the cliff wall. She remembered it clearly, a place etched into her memory from years past. They edged forward slowly, scraping their bodies across the branch and into the damp, narrow slit in the rock.
With great difficulty, Gugum helped his mother in first, guiding her into the pitch-black opening. Only after ensuring she had made it through did he pull himself inside, collapsing in exhaustion. His breath trembled, heart hammering wildly in his chest, not only from the effort, but from the fear gnawing at him.
Inside the dim cavern, lit faintly by glowing moss along the stone walls, Andini's strength finally gave out. She slumped to the cold floor with a muffled thud.
"Mother!" Gugum dropped beside her, eyes wide with panic.
Andini's face was deathly pale, her lips tinged blue. Her breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. Gugum's mind spun in dread as his gaze fell to the wound on her side—black lines like spiderwebs creeping beneath her skin, pulsing with a sickly, corrosive light. Dark energy. The same cursed aura from the attackers. It had already begun to infect her from within.
"No, no... Please, no..." Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Don't leave me, Mother..."
He tried to remember the basic healing techniques she had taught him, channeling elemental Earth and Wind energy to restore vitality, but when he placed his trembling hands over her wound, it felt futile. The darkness resisted him, mocking his feeble efforts.
She had always been the one to protect him. The one who shielded him from monsters, both real and imagined. And now... she was dying. Because of him. Because she tried to keep him safe.
"I'm so sorry..." His sobs echoed faintly in the quiet cave. "I should've been stronger... I should've protected you..."
Andini stirred, just barely. Her trembling hand reached up and brushed his hair weakly, a faint, loving smile touching her cracked lips.
"Don't cry... my child..." she whispered, voice thin as air. "You're safe... that's all that matters..."
She coughed, pain flickering across her face, but she pushed through it. She needed to say this. There might not be another chance.
Gathering what little awareness remained, she looked around the cave. It was as she remembered it. Damp, quiet, hidden from the world. A perfect place to rest. To survive... if they could.
"Gugum..." she whispered again. "You need to conserve your energy. This place... we must remain here for a while. Rest. Recover..."
He nodded through his tears, still holding her hand. He tried to pour his healing energy into her again, but her other hand reached up, stopping him gently.
"That's enough... my child..." she murmured. "This wound... it's different. It won't heal the same way."
Gugum looked at her, confused, heart still pounding in dread. Her eyes, clouded with pain, but unwavering, met his.
"There's something... I must tell you," Andini said, forcing strength into her voice. "Something I've kept hidden from you for too long."
He froze.
She took another breath, every word costing her dearly. "You're not... my biological child..."
Her words struck like lightning.
He stared at her, stunned. "What... do you mean?"
Andini's eyes filled with sadness, remorse... and love.
"I found you," she said softly. "So many years ago... in the arms of a dying woman."
Gugum blinked. Her words struck like lightning on a clear day. The world seemed to freeze around him. Even the wind held its breath.
"Your mother was gravely wounded," Andini continued, her voice heavy with memory. "I found her after a terrible battle, she was barely alive. But she held on long enough to bring you into this world... and to ask me to keep you safe."
Gugum stood in stunned silence. He had never once questioned his origins. He never needed to. Andini was the only mother he had ever known, and in his heart, she was his by blood.
But now... the world he knew was slowly shifting.
"She gave you to me," Andini said, her gentle eyes reflecting the sorrow she'd carried alone for so long. "With tears in her eyes and the last of her strength, she placed you in my arms and made me promise to protect you. And I did. From that moment, you became my son."
Gugum felt weightless, as if the earth beneath him no longer held him up. He wasn't Andini's biological son... but he wasn't abandoned either. He was a legacy. A final wish from a woman he never had the chance to meet.
So... all this time... my real mother lived—if only briefly.And Master... she didn't just save me. She chose me. She kept her promise, with everything she had, never once asking for anything in return.
He looked at Andini, his heart swirling with emotions. Not anger. Not betrayal. Just... a deep, aching gratitude he didn't yet know how to name.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked quietly, almost like a prayer drifting in the wind. "Why hide it?"
Andini held his gaze for a long moment before answering. "Because to me, you were never 'someone else's child'. You were always mine. But I also knew... one day, when your heart was strong enough, the truth would find you. And I would trust you to carry it."
"I'm sorry..." she said at last. "I wanted to tell you before. But... I was afraid. You are my son, Gugum. In every way that matters."
Gugum lowered his head, eyes brimming. Her hand trembled in his.
"I... I don't care," he whispered. "You are my mother. You raised me. You protected me. That's all that matters to me."
A tear slipped from Andini's eye. A soft, bittersweet smile formed on her lips.
"You've always been my child... in heart and soul," she whispered, her voice growing weaker.
They remained like that for a while, hands clasped, the truth heavy but no longer painful between them.
Then, Andini broke the silence again.
"Perhaps you're wondering... how I knew about this cave," she said.
Gugum didn't speak, only nodded faintly.
"There's more... I must share with you."
Andini's eyes drifted toward the cavern ceiling, as if peering into memories etched in stone.
She began to speak again, recounting the story from long ago—how she had been hunted by three cloaked figures, how she had fought desperately near a cliff's edge, and how, at the brink of death, a strange gust of wind had saved her, carrying her to safety. It had guided her to this very cave, where she discovered two ancient scrolls glowing faintly in the shadows. Mysterious. Powerful. Forbidden.
Her voice faded in and out as she spoke, (the tale woven from fragments of Chapters 2 to 4, her awakening to elemental energy, the start of her journey, the fear and awe she had felt upon touching that knowledge for the first time).
"You mean... all the things you taught me," Gugum said slowly, voice trembling. "All of it came... from those scrolls?"
Andini nodded weakly. "Everything."
With trembling hands, she reached into the folds of her tattered robe. From within, she drew out two faded sheets made of a strange, ancient material, and held them out toward Gugum in the dim glow of the cave.
For the first time, Gugum laid eyes upon the very source of the power he had only ever studied in theory. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the intricate carvings on the surface, foreign letters from a lost age, mysterious movement diagrams, and symbols that pulsed with dormant energy.
Andini inhaled again, the act clearly taking effort. Her eyes locked onto Gugum's, now more intense, as though this next part of her story carried the greatest weight of all.
"But... there's something else," she continued, her voice fainter. "Before I found you... I once tried to raise another child. My first disciple. His name was Mahesa."