As dawn stretches across the sky, the surviving demons slink back into the shadows, melting into the forest's depths. Adanu wraps his sword and exhales, letting the morning chill crawl over him.
His eyes drift to the village tucked into the hillside. Returning home will be a hassle, so he might as well grab some food before the long walk back.
At the village edge, a stone marker stands, etched with ancient Sanskrit carvings. Adanu squints, muttering the words under his breath.
"Ku… lon… se… wu?"
Then a voice calls from behind. "May I help you, stranger?"
Adnu turns, finding three young villagers watch him with curiosity.
"It was a long journey," Adanu says. "Is there a food stall nearby?"
"One over there, Ki Darto's tavern," one of the boys points. "Best coffee in the entire Marajaya Kingdom."
"Perfect," Adanu sighs. "A hot cup of coffee is just what I need."
He nods to the boys and steps onto the main dirt road, boots crunching softly against the damp earth. The morning mist curls around him, cool and light, drifting over the wide road as he walks.
He takes in the village slowly. Thatched huts cling to the hillside, their roofs darkened by dew. A rooster crows somewhere in the distance, its call echoing over the quiet slope.
Adanu keeps his gaze forward, following the boy's gesture. The tavern emerges ahead, a small wooden pavilion standing against the mist like a promise of warmth and a hot cup of coffee.
Inside the humble tavern, Ki Darto nods as Adanu steps through the doorway.
"It's quite early, sir. I'm afraid I don't have food ready yet."
"A cup of coffee will do," Adanu says, rubbing his shoulders against the chill.
The tavern is more pavilion than building, open to the air. Adanu's gaze stretches across the village and out to the valley, where paddy fields shimmer under the morning sun.
Then a movement steals his attention. A young woman steps from a nearby house. For a moment, everything else fades.
Her simple garments mark her as a villager, yet simplicity does nothing to diminish her presence. Her face is delicate, her skin still glistening from the morning bath. There's a quiet radiance to her, subtle and unassuming, yet utterly captivating.
"Man… I didn't know a village like this could have a flower like that."
To his surprise, she steps into the tavern and stops. Their eyes meet, suspended in a moment neither can break.
"Dyah!" Ki Darto calls. "Come quick. I need help here."
The girl blinks and then nods.
"Yes, Grandpa!"
Adanu watches her cross the room. Her movements flow with an unseen rhythm, effortless and measured. When she glances at him again, he quickly averts his gaze, feigning indifference.
Moments later, she returns, placing the coffee on the table. Their eyes meet once more, and silence hangs. But it's shorter this time, broken by someone slamming a wooden pillar at the doorway.
Brak!
Three men enter, thick-bearded and rough, machetes strapped to their waists. Their eyes lock on Adanu, sharp with suspicion.
"What brings you to this village, stranger?!" one demands.
"Daka! He's my customer," Dyah scolds. "Don't bother him unless you want me to burn that ugly beard off your face."
Daka's expression softens instantly, hostility melting into a foolish grin. "No, Dyah! I just want to protect you."
"Protect me? From who? From this man?" She gestures at Adanu. "I'd sooner seek his protection from you."
Daka clutches his chest in mock offense. "Harsh! Don't you understand? You're the only flower left here. Remember what happened to the young shaman, to Sundari and the others?"
Silence falls over the tavern. Dyah's sharp tongue falters, the fire in her eyes dimming as if a shadow has passed over her thoughts.
Daka glares back at Adanu, putting his machete on the table. "Finish it quick, and leave."
Ki Darto comes over, exhaling sharply. "Daka… I run a business here, not a graveyard."
Daka shrugs. "Come on, old man. What do you expect from a tramp like him? I bet he can't even pay for a coffee."
Unwilling to cause trouble, Adanu lifts the cup and downs it in one smooth motion. He then shifts his cloak, reaching to his waist.
The three thugs tense, hands inching toward their weapons, looking alert. But Adanu simply reveals a single gleaming gold coin and flicks it toward the tavern owner.
Ki Darto catches it, breath hitching. "This is… the Kingdom's official gold coin?"
Without thinking, Dyah snatches the coin from her grandfather's hands, turning it between her fingers. There is no mistaking it, the official currency of the Marajaya Kingdom. Even the smallest denomination could sustain her family for an entire month.
"Young man," Ki Darto hesitates. "This is too much for a cup of coffee. Don't you have anything smaller?"
Adanu pats his pouch, mock regret in his movement. "Sadly, this is the smallest one I have."
"But…"
"Keep it," Adanu says, patting the man's shoulder. "Good coffee deserves the price."
Without waiting for another objection, he turns and walks toward the exit.
For Dyah, everything shifts. Her fingers tighten around the coin.
"A noble?"
The thought sends her rushing outside.
"Um… Sir! Wait!"
Adanu turns back slightly. "Yes?"
Dyah swallows. "Will you… come back?"
Adanu gives a small shrug. "Who knows? I'm just a vagabond, remember?"
A faint smile plays on his lips, but sorrow lingers in his eyes like the last light before dusk.
He clearly has interest in the girl. But as a man marked by the devil, he carries a curse no heart can shelter. To live in comfort is to invite peril; every moment of peace becomes a danger to others.
So, he walks away, not out of choice, but mercy. For the price of his rest is always someone else's ruin.
***
The sun creeps higher over Kulonsewu, casting angular shadows between the huts as Adanu wanders the village's main road.
It's no longer silent, but something still feels absent. As he reaches the far edge of the village, there's still no signboards of inns, nothing meant for travelers.
"So be it…" Adanu whines, yawning. "Back to the woods, then."
His cloak shifts with each step, catching glints of light as he moves toward the forest. Mist curls around the hill as he climbs, each step muffled by damp earth and fallen leaves.
After wandering long enough, he finally finds a perfect tree for a nap. Its branches stretch like open arms, sturdy and wide, dappled with filtered sunlight.
"It's been years," he exhales.
He hasn't rested in the trees since back then, since the time when branches felt safer than the ground. The time when sleep came in stolen moments, among men too tired to dream, too young to die.
"I almost forgot what this felt like."
With practiced ease, he vaults into the branches, settling like a shadow among the leaves. And just like that, Adanu sleeps soundly, cradled in the high branches like a ghost of the forest.
For a few moments, the woods around him remain unnervingly still. There's only the faint sigh of leaves brushing against one another in the mist.
And then…
Srrsh.
A whisper of movement stirs the underbrush.
Daka emerges, twenty men behind him, blades glinting. At their rear, a grizzled man observes, arms folded, presence heavy as stone.
"Is that him?" the grizzled man asks, eyes narrowing.
"Yeah," Daka replies, voice low and eager. "See that pouch? It's stuffed with Marajaya Special Edition gold coins."
The grizzled man nods. "Cut down the tree. When he falls… take his head."
No hesitation follows. Soon, the tree groans, and then topples with a thunderous crash. Leaves explode into the air as if the forest itself gasps.
Adanu hits the ground, sprawling in dust, one arm across his chest, his black blade an inch from his fingers.
Thinking he is badly injured, the thugs erupt in cheers.
"He's done!"
"Kill him now!"
"Yaaargh!!!"
They rush forward, blades raised, ready to tear him apart. But in disturbing Adanu's sleep, they have made the gravest mistake.
He hasn't slept in days. And sleep, to him, is a fragile ritual, one of the few things that keep the darkness inside him at bay.
When awake, he can restrain himself. But now, there is no restraint, only the echo of old blood.
Once the first thug crosses into his range, the air thickens, like the forest itself is holding its breath.
And then…
Swssh!
A head lifts clean from its shoulders. Blood arcs silently, the crimson tracing a sharp curve through the morning air.
It lands squarely in the hands of one of the thugs, who freezes, eyes wide.
"Wha…" he stammers, staring at the severed head, his fingers trembling. "Karto…? Your head?"
The thug's hands shake violently. He gags, and with a frantic heave, hurls the head to the side. It bounces once, spinning across the dirt, before coming to a rest in a dark puddle of blood.
The man stumbles back, knees buckling, muttering curses under his breath as his body trembles in sheer terror.
"Demon…"
"By gods above… he's no man."