The air in Waliala shifted that evening, bending time beneath its tangled canopy. Sawerigading pressed forward into the forest's depths, each twist and curve of the path folding twilight into something unreal, caught between dusk and the last memory of daylight. Shadows wrapped the trunks, lingering, and in the silence, a presence stalked him, eyes he could feel without seeing.
For days now he had sensed someone trailing after him. Sometimes far, sometimes just close enough for their breath to thread the nape of his neck. Sawerigading did not let it show, but the prince of Luwu was not naïve. A hunter knows when he is hunted.
Tonight, the gaze pressed harder, urgent and unmoving. He tightened his grip on the badik at his waist, the blade humming with ancestral memory, echoes of battles, of vows unkept.
"Who lingers behind me in silence?" Sawerigading called, voice clear and unyielding in the thick woods. "If you are man, speak. If you are spirit, reveal yourself. I do not cower before shadows."
Silence seemed to stretch until reality itself wavered. Then, in the space between two gnarled trees, a figure stepped out. It was not an entrance accompanied by thunder or smoke, just a quiet emergence, as though the figure had always belonged there. Cloaked in dusky cloth, his posture was composed, eyes keen and predatory. His features betrayed nothing, but his presence was heavy, apart from ordinary men.
Sawerigading regarded him closely. No local hunter, no lost wanderer, this stranger carried the bearing of one acquainted with danger and myth.
"You've followed me long enough," Sawerigading said, a firm but even tone. "State your reason. The paths of Waliala are not for idle feet or empty hearts."
The stranger allowed himself a faint, careful smile. It was a gesture more measured than warm. "You walk these woods as if you own them," he answered, voice deep and steady. "Few arrive in Waliala with such certainty, or such sorrow."
Sawerigading's jaw set. The stranger's words cut sharper than expected. "And you? You stalk the trees, speaking riddles. What claim do you have upon this forest?"
A tilt of the head, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. "A witness, perhaps a reminder," he replied. "You wander as if you flee something, or as if you search for what is lost."
The space between them grew heavy. Sawerigading's breath slowed. Thoughts of forbidden love, of his sister I We Cudai, and the relentless journey pulling him across land and sea flickered in his mind. He remembered the gods who manipulated fate, their whims casting men's lives as pieces on a distant board.
"You speak as though you know me," he answered, wary now.
"I know of you," said the stranger, his voice almost reverent with suspicion. "The seas tell stories of the one who defied his oaths, the man who sailed to Cina in pursuit of destiny. The prince marked by longing and loss."
Sawerigading hesitated. These were stories bound in the Sureq Galigo, the ancient verses of his people, tales no ordinary wanderer could gather.
The stranger stepped closer, intensity pulsing beneath his calm words. "But are you truly that man," he asked, "or are you only a shadow adrift in legends too heavy for flesh and bone?"
Sawerigading did not answer at once. Their gazes locked in test and recognition, neither revealing more than needed. "If you grasp the weight of my name," he said at last, "then you know the storms I have faced. Stand aside unless you wish to meet the edge of my blade."
A smile, faint but genuine, flickered on the stranger's lips, a trace of admiration, perhaps. "Bold, just as the stories say."
Before more could be said, the ground trembled. From Waliala's depths, savage cries erupted. Figures lunged forth, creatures twisted by curse and hunger, eyes aglow with unnatural fire.
Sawerigading drew his badik, steel gleaming as his pulse steadied. "Your friends, perhaps?" he challenged.
The stranger's face darkened. "Not mine. Maybe... your trial."
The creatures attacked. Sawerigading moved with the grace and precision of the warrior-prince his legend foretold, cutting through the first two as their bodies shredded into mist. But more and more surged out of the darkness. Beside him, the stranger shifted from watcher to fighter, fluid, devastating, moving as if the forest itself bent to his will.
They fought together, each movement, each glance, a mutual weighing, a shared trial within battle.
At last the last beast fell, dissolving into nothing, and silence blanketed the glade.
Sawerigading lowered his blade, lungs steady. He regarded this shadow of a man, who had not broken a sweat, whose eyes burned with recognition.
"You fight well," Sawerigading offered.
The reply came softer, more introspective. "And you fight as if you have nothing left to lose."
The words pierced like cold steel. Sawerigading half turned, ready to answer, but even as the thought formed, the stranger was gone, swallowed whole by deepening gloom.
The forest stilled. Sawerigading's heart thundered, the badik still ready at his side, his mind ablaze with questions.
It was plain, this was not chance encounter. The stranger carried knowledge woven through the Sureq Galigo, wisdom plucked from the realm of gods and ancestors.
Sawerigading stood alone, and knew with chilling certainty: their destinies were tangled yet incomplete.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, though the sky above remained clear.
The very trees seemed to murmur a name never uttered yet, a shadow's true name held close to Sawerigading's heart.
The night pressed in, holding answers just out of reach.