The forest of Waliala stretched wide and wild, brimming with whispers from spirits beyond sight. The scent of moss and damp earth hung heavy in the air, so dense that each footstep seemed to disturb memories interred beneath ancient roots. Sawerigading's hand rested unconsciously on his badik, the blade cool at his palm, a silent promise of vigilance as he moved deeper beneath the canopy.
He paused beside a fallen tree, its trunk marked by old carvings. He bent to inspect them, fingertips tracing patterns in the bark. These were no random scratches. They mimicked motifs once woven with ritual in We Tenriabéng's court, markings woven by fate.
A gentle rustle broke his attention.
He straightened, eyes searching. Somewhere behind, leaves shifted as if someone moved through the shadows, close enough for their presence to be felt, but distant enough to remain a mystery. It was not the threat of a predator, more a playful following.
"Why do you shadow me?" he murmured, voice low. No reply met him.
As he pressed deeper into Waliala, distant footsteps began to echo, sometimes somewhere near, sometimes vanishing into the undergrowth. Occasionally, he glimpsed eyes in the gloom, silent and patient, studying. It felt clear his unseen companion harbored no malice. Not yet.
At a shallow stream, he knelt to drink. The water mirrored his reflection, then, for a heartbeat, another figure shimmered beside him, silver and ghost-like, dissolving as quickly as it appeared. He nearly laughed, startled by the trick.
"You are persistent," he said softly, letting his voice drift over the water. "If you mean to walk my path, then show yourself openly."
For the first time, a faint, amused chuckle answered him, brief and gone before he could place it.
Night lowered over Waliala, the forest pressing close under velvet darkness. Fireflies flashed between trunks, lanterns for wandering spirits. Sawerigading settled beside a small fire, sharpening his badik with slow, careful strokes.
Across the glow, a figure appeared at the shadows' edge, a tall, calm silhouette, watching in silence. Sawerigading looked up, just in time to see the form dissolve into smoke.
"Still hiding," he mused, lips curving in a half-smile. "You're a trickster, aren't you?"
Then, the peace shattered.
Deeper in Waliala, a savage cry ripped through the trees, human, yet warped by fury. Sawerigading rose, blade gleaming in the firelight. From the darkness strode a man encased in bark armor, his face streaked by white clay, eyes ablaze with the madness of oath and curse.
"You smell of Bone!" the man snarled, spear thrust high. "No descendant of that blood leaves this forest alive!"
Sawerigading's grip tightened, his mind racing with memories of old tales: warriors of Waliala forever divided from the house of Luwu, grudges kept long after king's tombs had grown moss.
The man lunged.
Steel rang against wood, spear scraping flashes from the badik. Sawerigading moved with precision, striking first with the flat of his blade. Blood would not be shed unless forced.
But the warrior pressed his attack, reckless and fierce. The fight twisted among tree roots, feet pounding the living earth. Shadows danced with them, at times it seemed as if more than two shapes clashed in the gloom. Sawerigading felt something else darting behind him, silent and intent. The watcher was close, witnessing every twist of battle.
The Waliala fighter thrust again, a desperate arc. Sawerigading trapped the shaft beneath his arm, twisted, and drove the pommel into the man's jaw. The warrior crumpled at his feet, breath rattling but alive.
He stood over his opponent. Before he could speak, a wild gust scattered the fire's embers across the clearing.
When the smoke cleared, the fallen warrior was gone, vanished into Waliala's shadows, claimed by the land itself.
Silence fell.
Sawerigading surveyed the clearing, every nerve alert. The watcher's presence lingered, no longer hidden, closer now. He spoke aloud to the dark.
"You fight like wind and shadow," he challenged. "Are you foe, or will you stand as friend?"
From the trees came laughter, soft, deliberate, tinged with approval.
The firelight flickered, and for a moment, the hidden figure stepped from darkness. The outline of a warrior's form emerged, familiar, yet uncanny, eyes gleaming with unspoken promise.
And in a breath, disappeared yet again.
Sawerigading gripped his badik, instinct sharpening. Something inside him had shifted; a premonition hung in the air like a question unresolved. He remembered the songs of his ancestors, the Sureq Galigo verses telling of unseen guides and rivals who shape the course of fate from the shadows. No mere trick, this, something deeper moved.
He stood tallest beneath ancient trees, whispering to himself as the wind stirred overhead.
"Whoever you are, I will find you. Or perhaps, in the end, you will find me."
Behind him, the echo of footsteps lingered, never far, never truly gone.