Light rain fell on the palace roofs that afternoon, like refreshing ablution water. Ardhan was in a small archive room, a room that only a handful of people trusted by Panembahan were allowed to enter. There, on an old wooden table, he found something that made his heart beat faster: a piece of palm leaf with letters similar to those that had once captivated him in the Yogyakarta Palace Library. The letters emitted a faint light, comparable to the passage of time that now lay before him.
Raden Bagus Wiratmaja stood beside him, his face looking dim like a neglected candle. "This... is part of Sastra Jendra," he whispered softly. "But not all of it. There is a missing segment, the piece you were holding when you arrived here. It is said that that part has been lost for a long time."
Ardhan reached out his hand, almost in disbelief. As his fingertips touched the edge of the palm leaf, memories of the modern library came flooding back: the glare, the movement of time, the prayers flowing from his heart. He held his breath. "How can the same manuscript exist in two different eras?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Raden Bagus Wiratmaja gazed into the distance. "Some ancient manuscripts have indeed changed hands. But Sastra Jendra is not just a historical document; it is full of deep meaning. It contains teachings—about the soul, behavior, and the passage of time, that can tempt people to seek power. That is why many pieces are missing, separated so that they cannot be easily understood by those with evil intentions."
In the corner of the room, a small window opened onto the wet palace garden. Ki Ageng Pemanahan entered slowly, his wooden cane tapping on the stone floor like a timekeeper. His eyes were gentle, yet full of determination. "I know where this manuscript is," he said, his voice trembling like old rattan. "But there is something else that is more pressing on my mind: who shared the manuscript? And for what purpose? Sastra Jendra, if misunderstood, can lead a person to fatal arrogance."
Ardhan bowed his head, feeling the deep weight of responsibility. The book in his hands was more than just a historical record; it was a path or even a trap. "We will find them," Ardhan said firmly, his heart filled with hope. "If anyone intends to misuse it, we must prevent them."
Ki Ageng nodded, then patted Ardhan on the shoulder. "Don't rush. Remember the teachings of your ancestors: knowledge without faith is merely fire. Hold your Qur'an as a guide when temptation tries to seduce you with its charming face." Ardhan nodded, then looked at Raden Bagus Wiratmaja. "How is the Trail, Bagus?"
Wiratmaja opened a small scroll, a list compiled by the palace librarian several decades ago. The lines of ink showed the journey of several fragments of ancient manuscripts: far to the east, transferred to a merchant; far to the south, in the collection of a duke; then disappearing in Mentaok forest, a name that made the entire room feel cold. "There are records of rituals in Mentaok forest that were once connected to the words of Sastra Jendra," he explained. "And from the people's conversations, there are rumors of a large snake that often appears there, the same symbol as some of the illustrations on the palm leaf manuscript." His eyes sparkled with anxiety. "This is not a coincidence."
The name "Mentaok forest" reminded Ardhan of Ki Sabda's stories about the forest's supernatural guardians. He bit his lip. "If the piece is there, we can't just take it. The forest is guarded. Besides that" Ardhan closed his eyes, remembering the dark whispers he had once felt on the edge of the village"there are people who are ambitious to control that power."
Outside of plans and theories, there was a figure with an always calm gaze: Raden Singajaya. Rumors circulating in the palace stated that he often pored over notes about ancient manuscripts. Ardhan understood that the leader of Pajang was not only a strategist, but also skilled at exploiting uncertainty for personal gain. Raden Bagus Wiratmaja added, "Raden Singajaya has asked several questions about the foreign youth. He is unhappy if there are elements that could interfere with his political plans."
That night, Ardhan spent his time in a small, comfortable room. He opened the small book he always carried with him, tracing the soft letters, verses that always brought him peace. Prayers flowed like purifying water. Outside, the palace sky seemed to be waiting, dark clouds rolled in, as if closing one chapter and preparing for a new one.
The next day, a secret meeting took place. Ki Ageng, Raden Bagus Wiratmaja, Tumenggung Wirasaba, and several selected advisors gathered in a room filled with the scent of oil and incense. They discussed practical steps: who would infiltrate Mentaok forest, how to coordinate with the soldiers, and how to keep this secret from Raden Singajaya or other untrustworthy parties.
"It is impossible for us to send a large group," said Ki Ageng. "The forest is very sensitive. Supernatural forces react to numbers and intentions. It is better with a small team that has sincere intentions." Raden Bagus Wiratmaja suggested that Ardhan need to join, not only because of his abilities, but also because of the sudden connection that had emerged between him and the lontar. Tumenggung seemed hesitant; however, when Ardhan asserted that he was ready to take full responsibility for his actions, there was a flash of recognition in Wirasaba's eyes, an appreciation for the courage he had witnessed before.
Nyi Ratna Sari also appeared, coming through the door like an uninvited but expected guest. Her face looked sad, her eyes holding something deep. She looked at Ardhan for a moment and then said, "If you are going into the forest, remember: the darkness there is not only about creatures. There is an old grudge that still lives on in the name of man. And I have seen the signs, those who seek lontar wear symbols like a circle of snakes wrapped around. They are not just seekers of knowledge, but fortune tellers of bad luck."
This statement was followed by a long silence. Ardhan felt a tremor of fear that was not due to a lack of physical strength, but rather caused by the realization that this problem was related to a deep spiritual realm. "Nyi Ratna," said Wiratmaja softly, "why do you want to help us? What makes you care?"
Ratna looked toward the window, her eyes soft but wounded. "Because I have lost so much. My family fell victim to conflict, only shadows remain. If the lontar is used to cause more pain, I cannot stand idly by." She took a breath, then looked at Ardhan seriously. "And I know that the heart that is suited to true knowledge is not one that seeks power, but one that is ready to protect that knowledge."
The plan was devised: a small team consisting of Ardhan, Wiratmaja, and Nyi Ratna Sari would infiltrate Alas Mentaok with minimal escort from soldiers loyal to Tumenggung Wirasaba. They had to move quickly, look for the snake circle symbol, help those in need, and secure any lontar pieces they found. However, Ki Ageng added one condition: before departing, all team members must fast for a while and increase their prayers. "Not only to ward off black magic," he said, "but also to strengthen our intentions. Supernatural knowledge can often lead the heart astray. Let us not become instruments of evil."
Ardhan accepted the condition with an open heart. During the nights of preparation, he spent more time reading the Qur'an, reciting prayers, and practicing the movements he would use. The lessons he received from Wiratmaja were now not only technical, but also how to combine movements with recitations. When movements and prayers were united, the resulting techniques were not only physical strength, but also a soothing, guiding flow, not a destructive one.
One night, when almost all the preparations were complete, Ardhan sat on the porch with Ki Ageng. The wooden stick stared at the sky. "Ardhan," Ki Ageng said suddenly, "remember: your journey is not only about finding ink traces. It is also about understanding the traces of human feelings. If there is something you fear on this journey, do not seek answers through violence. Open your heart to prayer. If necessary, ask Allah for permission before taking a step."
Ardhan nodded slowly, then closed his eyes for a moment. He felt prayer as an anchor that kept him from being swept away. In his heart, two words kept repeating: trust and sincerity. These words would be a light in the darkness of the forest floor.
The next morning, the small group began their journey. They passed through the palace gate while saying a quiet prayer—not as a show, but as a plea for protection. From a distance, Raden Singajaya could be seen watching, but he did not stop them. Ardhan felt that the political spies were like a net that could trap anyone who was careless.
The traces of Sastra Jendra had begun to appear. They followed faint signs: fragments of letters on a stone, a picture of a snake on an old tree, and the whispers of residents pointing to a small cave on the edge of Alas Mentaok. However, Ardhan realized that the most dangerous thing was not the creature inside the cave, but the human heart that was tempted to use knowledge to justify its actions.
As the forest slowly began to swallow them, the sound of the royal gamelan became a distant memory. All that remained were their breaths, whispered prayers, and determination to protect what must be protected. Sastra Jendra—previously just letters on paper—now became real footprints on the ground, guiding their small steps toward deeper secrets.
To be continued...