Cemara Nunggal was not the kind of place anyone would choose to camp. The eastern slope of Mount Rinjani was splitting open with hairline fractures, the ground warmer than it should be, and the mist... far too thick. It felt alive, like it had a will of its own, hiding something that didn't want to be seen.
But for Diah Saraswati, it was perfect.
This was the one place where everything aligned. Strange seismic pulses. Underground heat surges. And, most disturbing of all, the faint mumbling sounds caught on her geophone recordings—only audible past midnight, like whispers from deep below.
But Diah wasn't here just for the science.
She had come for Hulio. Or more precisely, for the truth behind what happened to him.
Her involvement with Antonio Moreira had started as a strange stroke of fortune. She hadn't expected to meet the father of the young man lost in the belly of Rinjani—a Brazilian billionaire shunned by his own family, labeled as the "failed branch." But to Diah, Antonio wasn't a failure. He was an answer.
For Antonio, the search was personal. But to Diah, it had become something greater. She believed the legends. That Mount Rinjani was more than a volcano—it was a place where ancient energies pooled, guarded by something unseen. Antonio's funding had allowed her research to continue, but the deeper they went, the more she realized this wasn't a myth.
This was a threat.
And danger came not only from the mountain. It came from above. From people. From the Moreira family itself.
"We will find him," Diah said quietly, her eyes scanning the morning mist.
She glanced at Antonio, then added, "Especially now that Rendra has joined us."
The name made her chest tighten—relief mixed with unease. It had been two days since Rendra promised to follow her up. No word had come.
What she didn't know was that Rendra had spent hours navigating the Torean trail—one of the steepest, most remote routes to Cemara Nunggal. Not because of the terrain, but because he couldn't move openly. Mateo's men were everywhere, scattered like predators, dressed as hikers, rangers, even SAR volunteers.
But Rendra knew who they were.
Killers.
He moved like a ghost. Only walking when the fog dropped thick as incense smoke. Sleeping without fire. Eating dried scraps. Dreaming of things he didn't want to remember.
But he kept going.
Because if he was caught, it wouldn't just be his life lost—but the truth buried forever.
When he finally reached Cemara Nunggal, the forest was drowned in mist. He crouched behind the underbrush, watching Diah's tent from afar. His heart was pounding—not from fear, but from a single knowing:
There was no turning back.
He stepped forward.
And when Diah's eyes caught his silhouette emerging from the fog, she smiled faintly. Not just from relief—but because deep down, she knew:
The real battle had just begun.
—
That night, the air grew heavy.
Diah stared at the silent graphs dancing across her monitor. Rendra sat outside, unmoving. The mist swallowed everything beyond a few feet. The world felt like it had folded in on itself.
Then—thud.
A low, deep sound like a massive boulder dropping inside the earth.
Rendra stood, alert. No wind. No broken branches. But beneath his feet, the ground vibrated—subtle but rhythmic, like something beneath the mountain was waking up.
Diah burst out of the tent, holding a handheld scanner. The screen jumped. Frequencies surged—sharp and patterned. Too ordered to be a tectonic shift.
"This isn't a fault line," she whispered. "This is... a language."
Rendra pointed toward the western ridge.
Faint green light seeped through tree roots like glowing veins.
"Do you see that?" he asked.
Diah nodded slowly, eyes fixed. "That's what I've been looking for. But this—this feels aware."
They stepped toward it. A narrow dip in the land led to a shallow hollow.
At its center stood a stone—carved, ancient, breathing.
Its surface was covered in spirals, cross-lines, symbols they couldn't name—but felt familiar, as if buried in the human subconscious. The marks glowed faintly, pulsing in sync with the tremors in the soil.
"This isn't natural," Rendra muttered.
"No," Diah agreed. "It could be a marker. Or a gate."
He looked around, uneasy. "We're alone here, Diah. So why does it feel like... we're being watched?"
She closed her eyes. Then said quietly, "Because maybe we're not alone."
And in the silence that followed, the tremors deepened.
This time they came like breath—in, out, slow and steady.
Pebbles around them began to twitch, dragging themselves across the ground like something waking after a thousand-year sleep.
Then came the whisper.
No direction. No origin. A tone—ancient and cold. It didn't form words, yet touched something buried inside them:
Curiosity.
And fear.
—
Morning came without birdsong. Without insects. The mist hadn't lifted. It clung to the trees like a veil that refused to rise.
Rendra woke after barely two hours of sleep. Something in the air wouldn't let him rest. He stepped outside and saw them—
Footprints.
Fresh. Deliberate. Circling the camp, then vanishing toward the stone they had found the night before.
"Diah," he called.
She emerged, still clutching her notebook and temperature log. One glance at Rendra's expression was enough.
They followed the trail.
The steps were too clean. Too calm. As if whoever—or whatever—left them didn't care to hide.
When they arrived, the glowing green light was gone. But now, a fresh scar had been etched into the center of the spiral—a long, violent gash, like something had clawed straight through the ancient pattern.
"This is a warning," Rendra said.
"Or a sign," Diah replied. "That we've gone too far."
They turned back toward camp.
And that's when they heard it.
A distant thrum, deep and mechanical.
Helicopter.
Rendra dropped instantly, eyes scanning the skies. A shadow passed overhead. Then another.
Diah hissed, "Mateo's men?"
Rendra didn't answer. But he reached into his bag and pulled out a compact pistol.
That was enough.
"This is too fast," Diah muttered. "They weren't supposed to find us yet."
"Unless someone told them where we were."
Diah's heart dropped.
The mountain's pulses hadn't only called them in.
They had alerted the ones who wanted it silenced.
And now, the hunters were coming.
—
The helicopter didn't land, but five armed men emerged from the eastern tree line moments later. Dark tactical uniforms. No insignia. No words. Just rifles and cold stares.
"Don't move!" one of them shouted.
Then his eyes locked onto Rendra—and something in his expression shifted.
"That's him! Kill him! That's Rendra!"
Gunfire erupted.
Diah screamed, dragging Rendra behind the tent. Bullets tore through soil and rock. Dust exploded around them. There was no escape—the slope behind too steep, the forest ahead too thin.
"They know I'm alive," Rendra growled.
"We can't fight them!" Diah shouted back. "It's suicide!"
Then—
CRACK!
A stray bullet shattered a tree nearby.
And from behind it... something stepped out.
A figure.
Towering. Cloaked in mist. Over two meters tall. No face. Just eyes—glowing blue.
Rendra froze.
That's a man... No. That's—
The being moved, swift and soundless. Like an illusion.
Bullets flew—but stopped mid-air. Hung there.
As if the air itself rejected them.
"What the hell is that?!" one of Mateo's men screamed.
Another tried to throw a grenade—but the blast reversed direction, throwing two of them into the trees. They didn't get back up.
Panic. Retreat.
In seconds, the team scattered. Carrying their wounded. Leaving chaos behind.
The fog swallowed their exit.
And in its stillness, the faceless figure turned to Diah and Rendra.
It didn't speak.
But they felt it.
In their bones. In their hearts.
"Go deeper.
Time is running out."
—
And somewhere deep within the mountain...
Something opened its eyes.
---