That night, the sky was draped in thin clouds that drifted lazily like a mystical curtain between worlds. The wind whispered softly, as if afraid to disturb the secrets unfolding on the earth below. At the edge of the village, Arya stopped in an abandoned garden belonging to villagers long gone. The lot was more like a tangle of wild growth than anyone's property. Grass reached up to his thighs, tickling like delicate hands from another realm. Vines coiled possessively around ancient trunks, as if trying to erase every trace of human presence.
A few old rain trees stood silently, their thick foliage swaying gently in the night breeze. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting moving shadows that looked like invisible creatures. Bamboo grew densely along one side of the garden, pressed together to form a dark corridor that seemed to invite anyone to enter… and never return.
Arya stopped beneath the bamboo's shade, pressing a hand to his chest to steady the breath that still came in gasps after running—chasing Rika. She had suddenly dashed forward, or rather, seemed pulled by something unseen. It wasn't her legs moving so much as her body gliding, guided by a force older, greater… and cruel.
His eyes swept the scene, cutting through the grass and darkness with anxious focus. And then… his heart seemed to stop.
Beneath the largest rain tree, shadows thick on the ground, Arya saw a figure both familiar and horrifying.
Rika.
But not the Rika he knew.
The girl stood motionless, her body limp like a cloth doll emptied of its soul. Her copper-red hair hung partially loose, but not freely as usual; now it was braided and pinned, some strands left to fall in a deliberate arrangement—just like…
A woman standing behind her. Arms wrapped around Rika like protection—but felt more like chains. She wore a deep purple kebaya, its embroidery catching the moonlight like serpent scales. Her batik skirt was patterned in an old design, faded but radiating an eerie power. Her copper-red hair was curly, longer and wilder than Rika's.
Her face…
Arya knew that face. Vaguely. From where? When? He squinted, trying to recall. And then his heart clenched with a terrifying realization.
It was the tree spirit.
The entity that had once mimicked Rika's mother. A form gentle at first glance but harboring darkness, slippery and dense as the bottom of a well.
The woman smiled—a smile comforting if you only saw the surface. But Arya knew there was something behind it. Something hungry. Waiting. Scheming for a long time.
"Rika…" Arya hissed, stepping forward, though his legs felt like chains holding him in place.
Rika did not move. Her gaze was empty, fixed on the ground. Her golden eyes—normally alive with curiosity and spark—were dull, faded. Even… lifeless.
Arya felt a weight pressing on his chest, invisible yet undeniable. The girl who used to laugh, even in awkward, bizarre moments, now stood with no smile. Only sorrow. Regret. Desperation.
Rika's usually bright face now seemed hollow.
"What have you done to her?" Arya murmured, voice trembling among the night wind. He stepped carefully, grass brushing against his legs. "Let her go…"
The spirit only watched him, still smiling gently, still holding Rika from behind. Yet in her eyes, a cold glint flickered. Like someone who delights in another's suffering, but hides it behind a tender embrace.
Then, without warning, she lifted one hand slowly. Her motion was graceful, deliberate… but when her hand was fully raised—
Blaargh!
Arya was yanked backward by an invisible force, flung into a bamboo trunk behind him.
"Brakkk!" His body struck the muddy ground mixed with roots. Air was forcibly sucked from his lungs, and his vision swam.
He sank to his knees, hands clutching the earth, trembling.
"W… what… was that?" he whispered, breathing in broken gasps. His shoulders shook—not just from pain, but from terror frozen deep in his bones.
When he looked up again, the woman still held Rika. But now… her eyes… the tree spirit's eyes met Arya's directly. And there… there was nothing. No iris, no light. Only pitch-black, like a bottomless void.
And she… smiled wider.
"Never interfere with us… without a definite exchange."
The voice was calm but terrifying, flowing with a soft Indonesian accent tinged by colonial echoes—heavy, lingering, sharp. It didn't scream, didn't hiss—but that was what made it more horrifying. Like a noble matron giving a warning… or uttering a curse.
Arya froze. His body shook, not just from cold or pain, but from terror slithering like a serpent through his bones.
"What… does she mean?" he whispered inwardly, cold sweat soaking his temples even though the night air bit at his skin. Still reeling from the previous strike, anger and fear pushed him to stand again. His breaths were heavy, eyes locked on Rika, still trapped in the spirit's embrace.
"Give her back… Rika, wake up! Your bond is false!" Arya shouted, voice hoarse, trembling, yet firm. He clenched his fists, gripping the night air as if to tear the ethereal chains trapping her.
But the spirit laughed. Deeply. From the depths of the earth. Her laugh trembled through the air, echoing among the trees, rustling leaves like whispers.
"Hahaha… This child is the one… I have been waiting for…" the spirit murmured, bowing, pressing her lips to the top of Rika's head. "And you… have brought her to me… willingly."
Her long, delicate fingers stroked Rika's hair with revolting gentleness. Rika didn't react, standing with her head bowed, eyes empty. As if the body were hollow, and her soul swallowed in the embrace.
"Damn it…" Arya hissed.
Without thinking, he ran—trying to reach Rika, to pull her back from this black void. But before he could close the distance, roots writhed from the ground like hungry hands.
"WHUUUSH—KRAKK!!"
A thick root lashed from the left—Arya dodged. Two more shot from the front—he leapt back. But the night's darkness, sudden mist, and uneven ground made him slip. WHACK! His shoulder slammed into a bamboo trunk. He tumbled on the wet, hard soil, burning wounds biting into him.
Before he could rise, another root whipped his back. Arya screamed, dragged along the ground, shirt torn, blood seeping from his arm.
But he kept going.
Tripping. Stumbling. Running again. Blocking roots, striking at the air, withstanding attacks, falling again. Breath ragged, the world spinning.
"Why… why am I so weak…?" he gasped, knees hitting the ground. Dirt- and blood-stained hands pounded the hard earth repeatedly, frustrated.
"Damn it… damn it…"
Fists clenched, teeth chattering in anger and despair. But when he looked up and saw Rika, his eyes widened.
Rika… had turned slightly. Just slightly. But enough for Arya to see that her eyes… still held life. A tiny spark amid the emptiness.
"Rika…" Arya whispered. Heavy breaths, chest heaving. Tears fell unnoticed.
"I know you're still there…" he shouted across the distance, his voice nearly drowned by writhing roots and the wind through the leaves.
The spirit began to shift. Her calm smile tightened, no longer serene. Her eyes narrowed.
Arya stood slowly, though trembling and bleeding from his temple. His gaze fixed on Rika.
In a hoarse, nearly inaudible voice, he said:
"Rika… let's go home…"
Silence. The wind paused. Time seemed to hold its breath.
The spirit narrowed her eyes, realizing that Arya—the weak human she had underestimated—might actually be a threat.
When Arya called her softly yet with pain, "Rika… let's go home…," the world seemed to stop for a moment. Simple words, yet they struck like lightning, cutting through the darkness that had long enveloped Rika's soul.
Amid her dim, fogged consciousness, buried by the curse and the spirit's grasp, Rika slowly began to remember.
The voice…
The smile…
The musty smell of a cramped boarding room, piles of unread books, the constant hum of a small fan, and Arya—the lazy one who insisted on sleeping at odd hours, yet always left an extra pillow for her. That foolish human with no plans for life, yet always there whenever she felt alone.
They often argued. Over trivial things. But beneath it all… Rika knew. In the quiet of the night, after all the laughter faded, Arya saw her as Rika—not just a spirit, not just a supernatural being, but as a friend. A companion. The only person who never ran from her.
Tears began to pool in the corners of her empty eyes, then slowly trickled down her cold cheeks.
Before her, Arya staggered, blood dripping from his temples and lips, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion. Yet he didn't stop. Still trying to rise. Still looking at her.
Rika bit her lip. Her pale fingers clenched. The faint aura that had always surrounded her spirit began to shimmer—like a small flame reigniting.
"No… I can't…" she murmured softly, almost inaudible."This… can't happen…"
At that moment, the tree spirit lashed out again with a sharp tendril—whipping Arya across the side of his body. "CRACK!!" He was thrown sideways, slamming into a massive root. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He coughed but didn't scream, only grunted, swallowing his pain.
Rika screamed, "Arya!!"
And then, her golden eyes flared to life. The light inside her, previously dim, now burned like a torch through the mist. She fixed her gaze on Arya, her body trembling—not with fear, but with anger, unwilling to watch him suffer for her sake.
"Arya… go! Leave me!" Rika shouted, voice hoarse, breaking with tears. She hoped—just this once—that Arya would listen, that he would run and save himself. But…
Collapsed, Arya slowly lifted his head. Blood dripped from his chin. His body shook violently. Yet his eyes… stayed locked on Rika.
Gasping for air, he let out a bitter, small laugh.
"Don't joke… go, you said…" he muttered softly, coughing up blood. His hands gripped the earth, forcing himself to rise once more. "How can I leave… without taking you with me?"
He stood—knees wobbling, body swaying like a broken puppet.
"Aren't we… FRIENDS?"
Rika's eyes widened. Her heart felt squeezed, guilt and relief rising like an unstoppable flood. She writhed in the spirit's embrace. Roots bound her arms and legs like demonic shackles, but she began to struggle.
"Let me go!" she screamed. Her aura flared. Her hair whipped around, though no wind blew. Her usually smiling face now radiated fury and genuine fear.
But the tree spirit only watched calmly, smirking mockingly.
"Quiet now, my child… mama will never leave you…"
Her cold hand stroked Rika's cheek with a slow, disgusting tenderness. But Rika bit her lip, gritted her teeth, and turned her gaze to Arya.
From a distance, a golden-red light shot through the night mist. It struck the tree spirit beside Rika like a thunderclap swallowed by the earth.
"BOOOM!"
The spirit was thrown backward, and the black roots ensnaring Rika dissolved like boiling tar. She collapsed to the ground, weak, but her eyes remained alive.
Arya froze for a moment, breath caught.
"What… was that…?" he muttered, eyes scanning the sky still echoing with the fading light.
But he didn't hesitate long. Wounded and aching, he rushed to Rika, lifting her cold body—now feeling more alive than before. He held her tight, like an older brother protecting his only sister on a battlefield.
Rika trembled in his arms—but this time, not from fear. From warmth. The warmth she had longed for, since becoming a forgotten spirit. And Arya… stood firm, almost collapsing, still vigilant, holding Rika as though protecting the last remnants of hope.
Footsteps came—fast, heavy, resolute—through the wild grass and bamboo leaves.
From the smoke and shrubs emerged Dio. His gaze was sharp, face serious as if he had never known a smile. In his right hand, his ancestral kris pulsed with faint red light, as if breathing in anger.
"So it's true…" Dio muttered, watching the cloud of smoke where the tree spirit had been hurled. "As Nagini said… that spirit isn't dead yet."
He glanced at Arya and Rika, still seated. "Are you alright?" he asked briefly.
They only nodded. Words failed them. Wounds and exhaustion left their voices trapped behind ragged breaths.
But seeing their battered state—torn clothes, dried blood, and above all… the spark in their eyes that had returned from the brink of ruin—Dio's face hardened. Anger crept across his features. His fingers clenched the kris tighter.
"How dare you act like this?" Dio shouted toward the smoke. "This is my world… and I won't let you escape."
The smoke swirled, condensing into a small vortex… and the tree spirit floated out, arrogant, patting her blackened clothes as if dismissing the earlier attack. She tilted her head, gazing at the full moon bathing her in pale light.
"So you finally move… general spirit?" she said slyly, eyes toward the sky.
Above, Nagini hovered, clad in blazing red, hair whipping with astral wind. Her gaze was sharp, commanding.
"Haven't you crossed the boundary I guard?" Nagini said calmly, voice echoing like a queen judging a traitor.
The tree spirit glanced at Arya and Rika, smiling.
"Oh… I see now," she muttered sharply. "You want to relive your story, huh?" She gestured toward Nagini.
Nagini's eyes widened for a brief second. Just a spark—but enough to show that old wounds still lingered, words etched deep.
Dio stepped forward, unblinking. "How… did you survive Nagini back then?" he asked, kris glowing brighter with restrained rage.
The tree spirit laughed. Long, hoarse, mocking.
"Destroyed? Are you joking?" she said teasingly. "Back then… you only fought my twigs."
She floated slowly, grin widening. Then she turned toward Rika, still cradled in Arya's arms. Her gaze turned cold, hungry.
"That girl…" she hissed.
"I'm still holding her tight," Arya said, resolute. "Her soul may be here… but her roots remain with me."
Arya, who had restrained himself all this time, slowly rose, trembling, eyes red, breathing heavy. Yet his gaze burned like a coiled flame.
"…Give her back."
The spirit raised an eyebrow. "Hm? What did you say?"
"Give her back," Arya repeated, louder, fists clenched. Blood trickled from split fingers.
"GIVE HER BACK!!" he shouted, shaking violently with anger.
The spirit chuckled, covering her mouth as if suppressing an excessive laugh.
"Oh my… I guess I said something wrong," she said lightly.
Tears streamed down Arya's face—not of fear, but of unbearable anger, voice trembling from his bloody lips.
"Give back Rika's body… You… are truly cunning…"
The tree spirit laughed softly, grinning proudly.
"Thank you for the compliment," she said, bowing slightly as if accepting an award.
Before the words could fade, Dio lunged with his glowing red kris. No warning. No hesitation.
Roots erupted from the ground—sharp, massive, writhing like giant serpents. They attacked Dio from every angle, trying to stop him.
"SWOOSH—CRACK—ZZT!!"
Dio slashed, spun, leapt, and rolled. His movements like wind. One strike shattered two roots. Three. Four. He pressed forward, ignoring minor cuts forming on his arms.
A massive root shot from the side, nearly hitting him—then a roar of fire split the sky.
"FWOOSH!!"
Nagini intervened. From above, she unleashed flaming spears, destroying roots that nearly struck Dio. Explosions ignited the grass, steam rising. Red and orange light reflected across her cold, vengeful face.
Dio saw an opening—he surged forward toward the spirit, lured out—but as he neared—"BLAAARR!!"
A terrifying aura burst from the tree spirit. Invisible, yet palpable. The wind thickened. The air pressure shifted. The ground trembled softly. It felt like thousands of ghostly hands clutching the heart.
Dio was thrown back like a dry leaf, kris nearly slipping from his grip. His body skidded over earth, hitting rocks and roots, panting.
"This aura… it's not just a spirit… older than any ordinary curse…" Dio muttered, wincing.
Nagini rained down flaming spears at the spirit. Explosions filled the air. Amid the smoke, Dio rose and pressed forward, Arya following, wounds and all, trying to break through the root defenses.
But the tree spirit now fought seriously.
"CRAAASH!!—BOOOM!!—SRAAAAK!!"
Explosions erupted before Rika's eyes. She could only watch—Arya flung by thorned roots, blood on his temple. Dio counterattacked, but too far, too slow.
"Hahaha… your efforts are useless…" the spirit murmured, calm as lake water, yet full of threat."I'll give you time… until the third full moon… before I… erase the girl completely."
With light steps, the spirit slowly retreated, shadows merging, enveloping her form. She faded like night mist swallowed by fog.
"Don't go! OUR BUSINESS ISN'T OVER!" Arya yelled, trembling in anger and helplessness."GIVE BACK RIKA'S BODY—!!!" he tried to run toward the spirit.
But then…Rika gripped Arya's jacket.
He froze. Looked.
Her tear-streaked face met his gaze. Pale. Exhausted. Yet her smile… slowly returned. Small, cheerful, warm, like before.
"That's enough…" Rika whispered, bowing as she sat. Arya stared, breath caught.
"Let's go home…" she said, trying to smile as usual, though tears still ran down her cheeks.
Dio, standing not far, gripped his kris but did not move. Eyes on Rika, a mix of relief and unease in his chest. Nagini, still hovering, pressed her lips together, red eyes watching Rika as if seeing a shadow of the past.
Then…
"No…" Arya whispered, head bowed, fists clenched. "Even if it costs my life… I won't let her—"
SLAP!!!
Arya turned quickly. Rika had slapped him. Her small hand trembled, yet held firm.
"Didn't you hear me?!" she shouted, voice shaking, tears flooding her face."Just this once… LISTEN TO ME. Don't be stubborn…"
"I… I am already dead, Arya. And it's okay if it happens again."
She drew a breath, fists clenched over her knees.
"I will not… I cannot let you risk yourselves… for me… who has clearly… been dead for a long time."
Silence. Cold. Thin clouds returned, covering the moon. Night wind seemed to cry with them. For a moment, no one spoke. Arya bowed, eyes trembling. Tears fell to the ground. Dio closed his eyes, silent.
"I've seen everything. I've seen it all clearly…" Arya whispered, voice nearly lost in the night wind thick with the scent of death and lingering fog. Hoarse, like someone long burdened with guilt, unable to atone.
Rika froze. Eyes widening slowly, breath caught. She had never told Arya. Not about that day. Not about the face that killed her. Not the dimly glowing golden dagger under the full moon. Not the killer's tears dripping along with her own.
Yet here, before her, Arya stood, eyes clear but broken—like he had witnessed Rika's past through the walls of fate.
"I truly… cannot accept this…"
Arya's voice trembled; his body weakened. Shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world fell at once.
"Even in death, I would never forgive myself… if I failed to free your body."
Those words hit Rika harder than all the spirit's root lashes that night. For the first time, she realized she was not the only one trapped between worlds and death. Arya, too, was a prisoner—not of death, but of guilt inherited by blood.
"So that's why he forced himself…"
Rika's heart whispered softly, watching the man before her—wounded, yet standing for her.
Without another word, Rika slowly approached. Steps light, like morning wind in dry season. She grasped Arya's fingers with both hands, warm and firm, looking into his wet eyes and smiling.
"Three full moons… that's still a long time, isn't it?" Rika said, voice back to her old self—cheerful, light, though sorrow hid behind her small laugh."Let's go back first…"
Arya was silent. Even Dio held his breath. Nagini, floating in the air, closed her eyes, letting a small tear roll slowly. Relief unspoken, as if the chaos had ebbed, giving space to a hope almost extinguished.
That night, they walked back to Arya's small boarding house. Their steps traced the dim path, accompanied by silent stars.
Yet something lingered in the air. Something unfinished. Something waiting to return. Something nesting in shadows, watching from afar… awaiting the third full moon.
But for tonight… they returned as one—with breaths unspent and a story still unfolding.