The palace felt quieter than usual. Too quiet. Even the wind seemed to tread softly, as if mourning alongside the grieving hearts within the walls of Majapahit. The room where Bara's body had lain was now empty—but the weight of his absence lingered, clinging to the air like incense smoke refusing to dissipate.
I sat still, unmoving, on the floor of my chamber. The Keris Galaksi rested before me, its blue light pulsing faintly as though breathing. I had not touched it since the moment Bara fell. My heart wasn't ready. My soul wasn't ready. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his last look—calm, resolute, and full of something I now carried: responsibility.
"Protect," he had whispered.
But protect whom? What? This kingdom? Myself? The keris?
My fingers trembled as they brushed against the edge of the cloth-covered map—an ancient scroll that had emerged with a radiant glow from the keris just last night. Inked symbols, unfamiliar to my modern eyes, spread across the parchment like spiderwebs. One red mark blinked steadily, its glow unwavering. It called to me.
A knock. Soft. Respectful.
"Lady Kirana," a voice spoke from beyond the door, "Her Highness, Princess Dyah Tunjung Biru, wishes an audience."
I rose slowly. "Let her in."
The princess entered with regal grace, her presence warm yet quietly powerful. She glanced at the map and approached with curiosity, her fingers barely touching the edge.
"So it has revealed itself," she said. "The Map of Binding."
"Binding?" I echoed.
She nodded, sitting beside me. "There's a legend. Of a place where the sky and the earth were once tethered—a convergence of time and fate. If that bond is disturbed, the flow of time itself could collapse."
"And you think… this spot?" I pointed to the glowing red symbol.
"Perhaps," she replied. "Or perhaps it is not a place, but a person. Perhaps the bond is… you."
I said nothing. My throat tightened. For the first time, I was afraid not of being in the wrong time—but of being at the very center of it.
King Hayam Wuruk summoned me to the throne chamber as noon bells rang. He stood tall beneath the ancestral banners, surrounded by his advisors.
"The council has decided," he began, "a small envoy shall be dispatched to the location revealed by the map. You, Lady Kirana, will lead it."
"Me?" I stepped back. "I'm not a warrior. I've never led anyone."
"You are the only one who can interpret the map," the king said gently. "And the only one the keris recognizes."
I looked down at my hands, then at the weapon still glowing softly nearby. My voice came out steadier than expected.
"Then I accept."
Two companions would join me: young Jiteng, still grieving but determined, and a warrior named Arya Wardana—tall, composed, with the sharp eyes of a hawk.
"I will guard you with my life," Arya said, bowing low.
I nodded, unsure if I was worthy of such protection. But there was no more time for hesitation. Bara had given everything. I had to find the strength to give something in return.
That night, I stood again in the room where Bara once sat sharpening his blade. The room was silent, but I could almost hear his voice. Not in words—just in presence. In spirit.
Jiteng sat nearby, clutching a folded piece of cloth. "It's Bara's scarf," he said quietly. "I'm bringing it with us."
I managed a smile. "Thank you."
A long silence followed. Then I asked the question I hadn't dared voice before.
"Jiteng… do you think I can do this?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then, without looking up, he said, "If you couldn't, Bara wouldn't have trusted you with the keris."
For the first time in days, I believed that maybe… just maybe… I wasn't lost anymore.
The journey ahead was uncertain.
But I was ready to begin.