Night grew deeper. Those who wished to avoid any harm as darkness shrouded the wilderness of the Lumut Mountains were now preparing to settle for the night.
Solor covered the entrance of the root cave where he had stabled his horse with several branches and bushes. "Time to rest," he said, turning toward the three youths who were busy clearing and tidying up the remains of the fire near the campfire—a fire kept burning on purpose to provide light along Jalur Lumut.
Handoko looked up. The pale skin of his neck caught the faint glow of a torch tucked into the twisted vines of a giant tree. "This tree is massive..."
"Of course. I chose a spacious spot for us to spend the night," replied Solor, who was already standing beside Handoko.
"We're sleeping up in the tree?"
Without replying, Solor reached for a thick vine, then tapped his sandals to open the sickle valves on their soles. His feet quickly stepped up, hooking the sickles into the rough bark of the trunk. Before long, a few swift climbs carried Solor high above.
Agniran picked up his torch and extinguished it. "Joko, make us some footholds," he said as he moved closer to the base of the tree where Solor had just climbed.
Hearing this, Joko stepped forward. He climbed while prying notches into the bark of the tree trunk.
THUD!
Solor looked down. "What are you doing?!"
Joko looked up at Solor with a smile. Agniran, who also looked up, called back, "We aren't skilled at tree climbing yet, Master Solor..."
"Fine. Just keep it quiet..." Solor didn't pause his deft climbing.
Handoko followed suit. After leaning his spear against a root, he began to climb, reaching for the footholds Joko had carved into the trunk.
"Be careful," Agniran advised as he climbed after them.
They scaled the giant rain tree, which wound gracefully like a colossal bonsai. The faint glow of the campfire below cast dim light, illuminating branches that were nearly as wide as a room.
Upon reaching a branch that wasn't too high, Solor quickly picked a spot and settled into a position to sleep. The three youths arrived one after another, immediately searching for a comfortable spot to lay their backs down.
"The trees around here really are massive..." Handoko walked toward the flatter end of the branch. Reaching the end of a fork that bent upward, he promptly set down his shoulder bag and unfastened the jarik cloth covering his knee-length dark green pants.
"I'll just sleep right here." Solor lay down, leaning his back against the main trunk of the tree, remembering to close the sickle valves on the soles of his sandals.
Agniran relit his torch and looked for a place to set it down.
Joko walked over to Handoko, who was already lying flat on his back with folded arms, using his spread-out jarik cloth as a mat and his bag as a pillow, eyes closed. "Do you remember the crocodiles by the river earlier?" Joko asked as he sheathed his machete.
Handoko opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again. "I'm sleepy!"
Joko put down his weapon, wrapped his back in his jarik cloth, and slowly lay down beside Handoko. He stretched his body, and in doing so, his elbow bumped Handoko's resting arm.
Handoko's eyes snapped open again. He turned to his side, glaring at Joko, who was already sprawled out with both arms open wide—revealing his fairly thick, straight armpit hair as his palms cradled his head like a pillow—eyes firmly shut.
"Hey! Move over a bit!" Handoko shoved Joko's arm, but Joko ignored him and stayed put. "You've been hogging space this whole time!"
"Enough, I'll take this spot." Agniran approached, his body already wrapped in a jarik cloth, and squeezed himself right in between them.
Midnight crept quietly over the Lumut Mountains. Dense fog gathered, wrapping around ancient, barely visible paths like a mystical breath enveloping the world.
Beneath the canopy of the gloomily towering rain tree, a drop of dew hanging from a rain tree leaf fell slowly, striking the forehead of Solor, who was fast asleep from exhaustion. Yet it was not the cool moisture that awakened him, but something deeper... older than time itself. It was as if that drop of dew were a key, unlocking a door to a passage deep within his consciousness.
In his dream, Solor stood alone amidst an immensely vast expanse of green grass. Everything seemed peaceful. A gentle breeze blew, the sky turned a faint blue, and the grass swayed softly as if swaying memories.
Yet that peace did not last long.
The sky slowly darkened. Gray clouds rolled heavily across the horizon. The atmosphere shifted drastically; the air turned biting cold, followed by a rumble rolling through the heavens like a cry from another realm.
The wind raged, turning into a tempest that swept violently in a single direction. Solor shielded his forehead with his right hand as his topknot whipped wildly, his vest and trousers tearing backward. He tried to lift his feet to take a step, but he couldn't move.
The fierce gale slamming into his body brought ever-mounting pain. That pain turned into an agonizing sting, searing deeper with every blow of the wind. The howling gusts slowly slashed at Solor's body until he felt his skin peeling away piece by piece.
The shredding of his flesh and skin widened, not merely across his physical body, but piercing into the very depths of his soul. It felt excruciatingly real, painful, and unbearable.
His short, slender frame remained standing, enduring immense agony. He stared forward. Occasionally, blood trickling from the cuts on his forehead ran into the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks.
He saw, far in the distance beyond the contours of the Lumut Mountains, a giant black shadow rising—like an ancient spirit long buried and now reborn. Its silhouette slowly emerged from behind the mountain mist, towering far beyond a sky already burning with gloom.
The creature strided across the mountain peaks as though the earth were merely a small floor beneath its feet. The sky grew ever darker, and the ground rumbled each time the creature moved.
The black shadow stepped slowly toward Solor, who stood enduring the pain, frozen in the middle of the Lataran Ijo savanna, which had now turned into a stage of ruin.
The raging tempest continued to assault him, tearing through Solor's flesh without mercy. Portions of his body peeled away by the fury of the wind continued to flake off; the pain seeped deep into his marrow. Yet his eyes, though blurred with agony, could not avert their gaze from the giant figure drawing closer.
As it took closer steps, the figure shrank. Its shadow gradually condensed as it approached, until it finally stood in human form.
Someone Solor knew—or was only just beginning to know.
"Is that... Agniran?" he whispered, his voice nearly gone.
His body trembled, not only from pain, but also from a fear he could not comprehend.
The figure now stood right in front of him. His gaze was deep and silent, holding something unexplainable. And from behind the storm, his voice echoed, piercing into another realm.
"Master Solor..."
Solor's body staggered closer to him, dripping with blood. His hands cupped his shredded, tattered skin and flesh, trying to hold them close so they wouldn't fall away and be lost.
His eyes fixed upon the legs of the young man, wrapped in a single sheet of jarik cloth from his waist to his calves. His chest was bare, displaying tan skin, his short, middle-parted hair slightly swept to the side. Both of his hands were stretched forward with open palms.
"What happened to your legs?!"
Solor's eyes drooped—torn between enduring agony and exhaustion—as he stared at Agniran's legs, which looked horrific, charred and severely burnt, with glowing embers flickering along the protruding joints of his leg bones.
A voice echoed once more, now sounding like a groan from deep within his soul, "Please, help me..."
He slowly extended both hands, like hope creeping amidst ruin.
Solor tried to lift his feet again to move closer, but still he couldn't. Solor stared into the eyes, swollen with bloodshot veins and streaming with tears. "I myself cannot bear my own condition like this. How can I possibly help you?"
Solor stood motionless. His body was pinned down by the sting and fear gnawing at him from within.
"I can't take it anymore, Master..."
Those fingers, faint and glowing softly, touched Solor's tattered shoulder, which was covered in wounds and blood.
In an instant, the world collapsed into silence.
The storm ceased. The wind dissipated. The black sky peeled away, revealing an unfamiliar yet warm shade of blue. The wounds on Solor's body crumbled away one by one, like dust blown by light.
Then, without a word, the figure collapsed against Solor in an embrace.
An embrace that did not merely heal the flesh, but also soothed the soul. There was an unexplainable warmth, like reuniting with something long lost in the distant past—a warmth like that of a father who has finally found the child he had been searching for all this time.
In that embrace, Solor felt fragile, yet whole all at once. He sank into a beautiful silence, a stillness that erased the boundary between pain and hope.
Behind his closed eyes, light expanded slowly. Gentle. Warm. Erasing everything.
When Solor opened his eyes, he was awake.
His breath was heavy. His chest heaved up and down. Cold sweat dripped down his temple. He looked around, trying to convince himself that it had all passed.
"Just a dream..." he murmured softly.
Yet the dream felt far too real... far too close. And for some reason, his heart trembled with a premonition... that the dream was a warning.