Whitehall stared at Sunda. His mind whirled with thoughts.

  "Hello, Sinar," Sunda greeted him.

  "How do you know that name?" he demanded, taken aback by the mention of his name from another life.

  Sunda chuckled. "That would be a long story. A story that I will not be able to tell. Neither do we have the time."

  "You're...," Whitehall pointed at her. "You're a garuda. You're a myth."

  "Not in this life," Sunda responded, smiling softly.

  "Are you?" Whitehall muttered, his jaw shaking. "From my world?"

  "Yes," she nodded. The feather across her chest parted, revealing scars.

  Whitehall's face paled, and his body shook at the shape of the scars. The scar was in the shape of a shield divided into five sections. A bull's head, a banyan tree, cotton and wheat, a chainring, and a star at the centre. His eyes grew moist as he shifted his gaze to below the shield, where the scars formed three words in a language he thought he would never see again.

  "Bhinneka Tunggal Ika," Whitehall read the words, his voice coming out in a disbelieving whisper.

  "Different but together," Sunda translated his words.

  "It can't be." His legs gave out, and he fell to a kneel. Whitehall crawled his way to Sunda with wide eyes. "You were meant to be a symbol. How? What are you?"

  "I cannot reveal that, Sinar. But in time, you will learn," the bird wistfully answered.

  "Can you take me home?" Whitehall begged.

  "I can't," Sunda replied. "But you can do it yourself should you ascend from here. Although I believe you would choose not to."

  "What do you mean?" Whitehall exasperated, clenching his hair with both fists.

  "In time, Sinar," the bird answered, gently removing Whitehall's hand from his hair with her talons. "Some things you can only know by finding out yourself."

  Whitehall screamed, letting out his frustration and desperation. He inhaled deeply and exhaled long. "My people, then," he began. "Did we win?"

  Sunda smiled, and her feathers brightened slightly. "You're people won, and the invaders have left. Your sacrifice was not in vain."

  He leaned against the root wall, sighing in relief. He did not know when it started, but a tear dripped down his cheek. "Why am I here?" he finally asked.

  "I'm sorry, Sinar, but you'll have to find out yourself," she answered.

  "Then why are you telling me all of this!" Whitehall snapped. "Why reveal yourself to me? Why not let me live my second life in ignorance if there is nothing I can do?!"

  Sunda stretched a wing towards him. "Come here, Sinar," she urged, her voice soothing.

  He came close, and she wrapped his head in her feathers. "You have been fighting for so long," she consoled him. "Your whole life had been a fight, and you continued even after it." She rubbed his head gently, her feathers removing his tears. "You are already doing something. You're fighting for a cause greater than you can imagine. And I want you to know that you're not alone."

  Whitehall nodded under her feathers. He stayed beneath her soft golden feathers, wiping away his grief for a long while. In the end, he felt relief after finally knowing what had happened to his nation.

  "Someone would like to see you," Sunda's voice broke the silence.

  He looked up at the bird and asked, "Who?"

  Sunda let out a soft screech, and Whitehall heard wings flapping towards the room. A small garuda entered, flying across the room and perching on his shoulder. Unlike the other garudas, this one was as black as a crow.

  "Introduce yourself, Meatball," Sunda told her daughter.

  "Hi," Meatball greeted Whitehall. She sounded disappointed by her tone. "My name is Meatball, but my mom just told you that, so I guess that was unnecessary."

  "Umm. Nice to meet you, Meatball. My name is Whitehall," Whitehall returned the greeting. Meatball was an interesting name; he'll ask the small garuda later.

  "I suppose it is also nice to finally meet my partner-to-be," Meatball replied.

  "Partner-to-be?" Whitehall turned to face Sunda, raising an eyebrow.

  Sunda sighed. "Can you be a little kinder to him, Meatball?"

  Meatball shrugged. "I'll try. But mind you, my first impression of him is that he is a child on his knees with puffy eyes."

  "Never mind," Sunda exhaled, turning her gaze to Whitehall. "She hatched differently than the others. Instead of light madra, she came out with poison. I think she'll make the perfect contracted partner for you."

  "That is," Whitehall paused as he searched for the right words. "eerily convenient."

  "Yes," Sunda nodded. "A viper bit my eggs when I was not at the nest."

  Whitehall felt Meatball stand straighter on his shoulder.

  "And I am the only survivor," the smaller bird chirped proudly.

  Whitehall's sceptic gaze did not leave Sunda. He felt as if there was something else that they were not telling him.

  "I know. But it is, as you said. Eerily convenient. But sometimes things happen by chance," Sunda assured him.

  Whitehall thought about it and nodded. He guessed he would receive another one of Sunda's offspring if he had stuck to a light path.

  "She'll join and grow with you if you wish to accept her as a contracted partner. Only if you wish so," Sunda stated.

  "He'll accept," Meatball chirped. "Stupid for him not to."

  Whitehall thought that he ought to feel annoyed by the bird's brazenness. But he found it cute, instead. And she was right. It would be stupid not to.

  "I accept," Whitehall said. "How do we do this?"

  "Not here," Sunda replied, looking up at the ceiling. "Your master will be able to help you. My time is short, and I must speak to Sadi before I go."

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  Whitehall stared at her. His one connection to his home was about to die.

  "Ahem," coughed Meatball. "That was our cue to leave."

  After a moment of hesitation, Whitehall nodded, stood up, and began leaving. He paused as he left the room. "Would you like some time with your mother?" he asked Meatball," to say goodbye."

  The bird on his shoulder looked at him incredulously. "What for? She can never die," she answered, flapping her wings, signalling Whitehall to continue leaving.

  Whitehall gulped and continued walking. He wondered if he should tell Meatball the truth. Ultimately, he felt that it was most likely Sunda's wish to part this way with her children.

  Sadi's footsteps were heavy as she walked through the narrow path inside the Menhua tree. She had held back her tears when she waited outside, not allowing anyone to see her in such a state. Alone, her tears flow down relentlessly.

  Why, she asked herself, why was she feeling such intense grief for Sunda? The others were preoccupied with Meatball when Whitehall exited. She was glad they did not notice her body shaking as she entered. Maybe they did, but if so, she was glad they did not say anything.

  "Sadi," Sunda's familiar voice called from inside the room as she entered. The bird smiled slightly when she saw Sadi's tears. "Come here, child," the bird extended her wing.

  Sadi knelt beside her, allowing Sunda to wrap her wing over her shoulder. "You're dying," she muttered.

  Sunda chuckled. "I can never die." Her laughter grew bigger. "You and Sinar are funny."

  "Who?" Sadi asked, unfamiliar with the name.

  "Whitehall, I mean," Sunda corrected. "He reminded me of someone I knew from long ago."

  Sadi smiled sadly. "Anything I can do for you?"

  Sunda's smile never wavered. "Yes. That is why I called for you." Sunda stood tall, and Sadi was reminded of the bird's majestic form when they first met on the tree top. "I will need you to absorb my remnant and advance."

  "What?" Sadi took a step back in surprise at the request. "I... I..." she could not piece together her words. "I can't," she finally said.

  "You can and you will," Sunda replied. "It will be gentle, I promise you."

  "Why me?" Sadi asked. "There are sacred artists and beasts out there that are more powerful than me."

  Sunda cackled. "Thank you for making me laugh in my final hours. It is a good way to go."

  "No!" Sadi protested. "You can't go. Not yet."

  Sunda gave her a small but genuine smile. "You and I are meant to be together. You know this deep inside you from the moment you saw me."

  Sadi opened her mouth but found herself unable to deny the bird's statement. "But not like this. Why can't we form a contract like Whitehall and Meatball will?" she cried.

  "Do not shed tears for me, dear child," Sunda comforted her. "I will always be with you until the end."

  Sadi opened her mouth. She needed to say something- suggest another way. Anything to stop this from happening. "No!" she yelled, rushing to the bird. She hugged Sunda tightly. "You can't. Not when we just met."

  Sadi felt soft feathers rubbing the back of her head.

  "Close your eyes, dear child," Sunda said gently. "And I shall be with you forever."

  Sadi closed her eyes, sobbing. She saw golden light illuminating brighter and brighter through her eyelids. Her hug tightened. The golden light was now blinding, but Sadi allowed it. She wanted to feel Sunda- feel her final moments.

  Like Sunda had said, it was gentle. Sadi remembered Whitehall's account of the sword sage's disciple taking in her master's remnant. Their fight had destroyed the indestructible wall of the ancestor's tomb. With Sunda, however, it was like a mother's gentle caress. Sunda's light dimmed as Sadi's core glowed brighter. Her core heated into a comfortable warmth.

  She cycled the excess madra using the cycling technique Sunda had taught her, pushing it into her skin but preventing it from exiting. Her core kept growing as more and more madra entered her. It came in slow and steady, never overwhelming.

  When the excess madra had stopped entering her, she felt Sunda's remaining remnant nestling in her core.

  " You will break me when you are ready to advance ," Sunda's voice, as gentle as she had always been, echoed in her mind. " Do not be afraid. I will still be here. Always ."

  Sadi opened her eyes and saw that she was still clinging to Sunda's lifeless form. Her arms held Sunda's body upright. With tears in her eyes, she gently laid the bird onto the bed. The bird's body still glowed a faint yellow. No. Sunda was not glowing.

  She stepped back and looked at her hands. It was her—her nails, more specifically. She cycled madra towards the nails, and they grew into sharp talons. When she willed them to return, the talons complied and transformed back to the original yellow glowing nails.

  This was her goldsign. She was lowgold. She had made it further than anyone in Heaven's glory. Yet she felt further away than she ever before. And the cost that came with it. The thought brought a bitter excitement. But she remembered Sunda's words and clamped down her grief.

  Iteration requested. Asylum

  Date? Request Rejected

  Report Complete

  Malin stood on the deck of his flagship, the Bhayangkara, its name chosen on a whim but feeling inexplicably right. The ship was anchored in the middle of the vast ocean, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the calm waters. His betrothed, Tseria, slept soundly in the cabin below, unaware of the storm brewing in Malin's mind. He leaned against the railing, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves, when suddenly, his instincts screamed.

  "Tora!" Malin barked, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.

  His first mate appeared moments later, his hair dishevelled and his eyes heavy with sleep. "Aye, Malin?" Tora asked, rubbing his face. But the moment he saw the tension in Malin's expression, he straightened, his drowsiness vanishing. "What is it?"

  "Change course thirty degrees west," Malin ordered, his voice sharp and urgent. When Tora hesitated, Malin's tone turned fierce. "Now! It could be a monster for all I know!"

  Tora saluted and sprang into action, rousing the crew with shouts and commands. The ship came alive with the sounds of hurried footsteps and the creaking of ropes as the sails were adjusted. The water remained eerily calm, giving no hint of danger, but Malin's instincts rarely led him astray.

  By mid-morning, the lookout's voice rang out from the crow's nest. "Captain!" he yelled, pointing toward the horizon. "Land ahead!"

  Malin squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun. In the distance, a small island came into view, its shoreline dotted with huts and a modest pier. A sense of unease settled in his chest, but he pushed it aside. "Ready a raft!" he commanded.

  As Malin and a handful of his crew rowed to the pier, they were met by a group of villagers, their arms laden with goods to sell.

  "They're used to visitors," Tora remarked, his tone cautious.

  Malin nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd. His heart pounded as he searched for something—or someone—he couldn't quite name. Ignoring the villagers' offers, he broke into a run, his feet carrying him through the narrow streets as if guided by an unseen force.

  He stopped abruptly in front of a small shop, its entrance adorned with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled of metal and smoke, and the faint clinking of tools echoed from within.

  "Hello?" a woman's voice called out, warm but tinged with curiosity.

  Malin turned to see an older woman behind the counter, her hands busy arranging a display of kitchen wares. She smiled at him, though her expression flickered with confusion for a brief moment before her smile returned.

  "Do you need any assistance?" she asked politely.

  Feeling awkward, Malin grabbed the nearest item—a firestarter—and handed it to her. "How much for this?" he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

  The woman examined the firestarter, her brow furrowing. "I might need to ask my husband for that," she said, her tone apologetic. "I don't think I've seen it before. Please give me a moment."

  Malin nodded, his throat tight as she disappeared through a door behind the counter. He heard her calling for her husband, the sound of footsteps growing louder with each passing second. His heart thundered in his chest, the anticipation almost unbearable.

  "Let me take a look," a man's voice said as he entered the shop.

  Malin's breath caught in his throat. The man who stepped into the room was older, his face lined with age, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. He was a mirror of what Malin might become in another twenty years. The man's eyes widened as they locked onto Malin's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

  "Fath—" Malin began, his voice trembling.

  "Don't!" the man snapped, his expression twisting with panic.

  But Malin couldn't stop himself. The word spilt out, heavy with years of longing and unanswered questions. "Father."

  The man's face crumpled, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just settled on them. His wife, standing behind him, paled, her hands clutching the edge of the counter for support.

  "What have you done?" the man muttered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, regret, and something else—something Malin couldn't quite place.

  "Why did you abandon us?" Malin asked, his voice low but laced with pain. He sat across from his father at a rickety wooden table, the air between them heavy with unspoken words and years of separation.

  His father grimaced, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. "I didn't know," he said, his voice trembling.

  "Know what?" Malin demanded, his tone rising. "Explain clearly! Mom deserves to know the truth."

  At the mention of Malin's mother, the man's face paled. "Mande," he whispered her name as if it were a prayer or a curse. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with shame. "I didn't know what I was getting into."

  "Why?" Malin pressed, his voice cracking. "Why did you never come back? I could accept it if you no longer loved her. But why did you never come to see me? Your own son?"

  The older man sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the wooden ceiling of the empty room. "You shouldn't have come here," he said, his voice heavy with regret.

  "Afraid for me to meet your new family?" Malin asked mockingly, his bitterness spilling over. "Afraid for me to meet my half-siblings and let them find out about the family you abandoned?"

  "No, damn it! No!" his father snapped, his voice rising for the first time. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with intensity. "I loved you and your mother. I still do." He held up a hand to stop Malin from interrupting. "But I was lied to. Misled." With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a silver necklace with a black, obsidian-like stone at its centre.

  Malin shivered as his eyes fell on the pendant. It seemed to pulse with a dark energy, sending a chill down his spine.

  "You can feel it too, can't you?" his father said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always knew you had that ability."

  "What is that?" Malin asked, his voice filled with disgust.

  His father smiled sadly, his fingers brushing against the black stone. "I made a deal with the devil."

  Malin's stomach churned, his mind racing to make sense of the words.

  "I asked for a better life for my family—for you and your mother and the generations after," his father explained, his gaze softening as he looked at Malin. His son was dressed in the finest clothing, a far cry from the boy he had left behind. And the ships bearing his banner were a testament to the life he had built. "I wanted to give you everything I never had."

  Malin stayed silent, his fists clenched on the table.

  The older man touched the black stone again, his expression pained. "You can feel it too, can't you? The pull. The darkness."

  "Yes," Malin admitted softly. "How?"

  His father looked at him with a mix of pride and sorrow. "Because you're my son. I knew you'd inherited some of my abilities the moment you were born."

  "That makes sense," Malin replied, his mind connecting the dots. His uncanny instincts, his ability to navigate the seas with almost supernatural precision—it all fell into place.

  But his father's smile faltered, replaced by a deep frown. "You shouldn't have come here, Malin. You should've never come searching for me."

  "I didn't have a choice," Malin said, his voice firm. "Something dragged me here. Something I couldn't ignore."

  "I see," his father sighed, his gaze dropping to the necklace. "What the devil didn't tell me was that I would have to leave you forever. If I didn't, I would kill you and your mother."

  Malin tensed, his heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

  His father opened his palms, showing them empty. "I can feel the urge every moment. The darkness whispers to me, demanding I hunt you down. But I've held it off—for now."

  Malin's eyes darted around the room. It was barren, save for the flimsy table and chairs. His father was unarmed, while Malin had a dagger strapped to his hip. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

  "You planned this?" Malin asked, his voice breaking. A tear slipped down his cheek.

  "I knew my time would come the moment you called me 'father,'" his father explained, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "You see, son," he said, addressing Malin as his child for the first time Malin could remember, "the devil only told me the full terms after the deal was made. It was generational."

  Malin's eyes widened in horror.

  "You must not marry or have children," his father continued, his voice grave. "For you will kill them."

  Tseria, Malin thought immediately, his heart clenching. "But your new wife?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

  "Never married officially," his father replied. "Nor do I have children with her."

  Malin swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "And mother?"

  His father looked away, his expression pained. "You must never see her as I have."

  "And if I don't kill you?" Malin asked, his voice trembling.

  His father's gaze hardened. "You'll have to. Because now that I know where you are, the whispers are growing louder. I can already feel the pull to hunt your mother down."

  Malin's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his dagger, his grip tightening.

  "But I can hold it off for a little longer," his father said, his voice softening. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "Until then, I would like to talk to my son. I would like to know everything I've missed."