The bus rattled along the highway, cutting through the night like a weary traveler who had forgotten where home was. Adam Rimus Pahsan pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the blurred neon lights of the city disappear into the distance. Somewhere inside his backpack, buried beneath notebooks and a crumpled MIT graduation gown, the medal of achievement clinked against his laptop charger. He hadn't touched it since the ceremony.
For most graduates, the medal would have been a crown. For Adam, it was a chain.
He should have been proud. He should have felt victorious. But instead, he felt as if his soul had slipped through his fingers the moment the dean shook his hand. The applause, the smiles, the congratulations—none of it mattered. His heart had been chasing something else, something far older and stranger than any title a university could give.
Stories.
Worlds.
The impossible made real.
From the age of twelve, Adam had drowned himself in fantasy novels. He had consumed sagas of ancient gods, conspiracies buried under centuries of dust, secret organizations moving behind curtains of smoke and shadow. The real world was gray, logical, and suffocating. But in those books, there was always something more. The whisper of fate. The promise that behind every locked door lay another secret waiting to be uncovered.
And tonight, as the bus rolled toward his hometown in Indonesia, Adam found himself staring at the moon and silently begging:
If the universe is listening… let me step into one of those stories.
The reunion came faster than he expected. His old friends from vocational high school had been waiting at the trailhead of a mountain they once swore they'd climb together after graduation. Years had passed, lives had changed, but tonight nostalgia pulled them back to the same muddy path, as though the past itself demanded to be relived.
Adam smiled faintly as he adjusted his jacket. The air smelled of wet soil, heavy with the promise of rain. Laughter echoed from the group ahead of him, familiar voices that time had not eroded.
But his heart stopped when he saw her.
Catherina Tassya Azalea.
She wasn't supposed to be here. At least, not according to the list he'd seen in the group chat. She hadn't shown up at the gathering earlier either. But there she was, standing beneath the looming shadow of the mountain, tying her hair into a loose ponytail.
Seven years. Seven long years of watching from afar, of stolen glances and unspoken words. Seven years of silence, yet not a single day without her lingering somewhere in his mind.
Adam's chest tightened. He had rehearsed this moment countless times in his imagination, yet now that it was real, he felt smaller than ever. He said nothing. He simply fell in line behind her when they began the climb, as though fate itself had dictated his place.
The trail was slick from earlier rain. Moss clung to the stones, and the fog rolled down from the summit like a ghost descending from the heavens. Adam kept his eyes on Tassya's steps, every muscle in his body tensed. He wasn't just walking behind her—he was guarding her.
Every time her shoe slipped slightly, his heart seized. Every time she brushed her hair aside, he memorized the curve of her fingers. He hated himself for it. For being the silent admirer who never crossed the line between longing and reality. But tonight… tonight felt different.
"Adam," one of his old friends called out, snapping him from his thoughts.
He turned, offering a weak smile.
"You're quiet, man. Same as always."
Adam shrugged. He wanted to laugh, to join their banter, but the words stuck in his throat. His eyes returned to Tassya almost instinctively.
The fog thickened. The ground grew treacherous.
And then it happened.
Tassya stepped onto a mossy stone. Her foot slipped, her balance crumbled. In that instant, time slowed.
"Careful—!" Adam lunged forward. His hand caught hers, gripping tight as though the universe itself tried to tear them apart. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him as they both tumbled down the slope.
Rocks scraped his arms, branches lashed his skin, but he refused to let go. The world spun in a blur of green and gray until they crashed into the muddy earth below.
Adam groaned. His back burned with searing pain, but his first instinct was to look at her.
"Tassya… are you okay?"
She blinked rapidly, stunned, but nodded. A shallow cut marked her cheek, nothing more. Relief washed over Adam—until he tried to move.
Something was wrong.
A sharp, foreign pain pulsed in his back. He reached behind and felt the jagged edge of wood—or maybe stone—piercing through his flesh. His fingers came back slick with blood.
No. Not here. Not now.
Rain began to fall, soft at first, then pouring harder, drumming against the earth like a funeral march.
"Adam—" Tassya's voice cracked when she saw the crimson staining his shirt.
He smiled faintly, even as his vision blurred.
"I think… I only have a few minutes. Six, maybe seven."
"No, don't say that—stop—" She grabbed his shoulders desperately, her tears indistinguishable from the rain.
"I need you to listen." His voice was weak, but his eyes held hers with a rare, unwavering intensity. "There's something I've wanted to say for years."
He pulled a small, weathered novel from his backpack. Its cover was plain, almost fragile from years of being carried. He pressed it into her hands with trembling fingers.
"This… this is for you. It's always been for you. Don't give it to anyone else. Read it, believe it. Because it's my story… more real than you think."
Tassya stared at the book, then at him, her lips parting but no sound escaping.
"And before it ends…" Adam's breath hitched, his chest tightening. "I want to say this, though you may not understand the words."
He leaned closer, whispering with all the strength he had left:
"Minä rakastan sinua."
The Finnish words hung in the storm, incomprehensible to her ears but undeniable in their weight.
Her hands shook as he reached for her again. "Please," Adam begged softly, "hold my hand. Just once."
She obeyed, her palm slipping into his. Warm. Alive. Real. His lips curved into a weak smile, his heart swelling despite the pain.
"This isn't your fault," he whispered. "Don't carry it. Don't let anyone think they killed me. If someone must be blamed… let it be me. Forget me if you must. But don't live with that burden."
Thunder rolled across the sky. His strength faded with every heartbeat.
Adam closed his eyes, and with his final breath, he spoke words that would linger in her memory forever:
"Tassya… thank you… for letting me love you… even from afar."
Darkness swallowed him whole.
But death was not the end.
Adam's consciousness drifted in a void, weightless and formless. He felt the world pulling him apart, unraveling him into threads of memory. The rain faded. The mountain disappeared. Only whispers remained—low, guttural syllables in a tongue he did not know.
"Remna malvak theros…"
The words echoed inside his skull, alien yet familiar, as though carved into the marrow of his bones.
Then came the light.
When Adam opened his eyes, he was no longer on the mountain. He was lying inside a dim chamber, incense smoke curling in the air. His hands were not his own—longer, thinner, with scars he didn't recognize. His heartbeat was steady, too steady for a dying man.
From the shadows, a figure in a dark robe leaned closer and whispered again:
"Remna malvak theros. The cycle has chosen you."
Adam tried to speak, but his throat refused to obey. His mind spun, terror and awe colliding. He had asked the universe for a story.
And the universe had answered.
- Words of the Forgotten Tongue (Chapter 1)
Remna → Soul, spirit.
Malvak → To awaken, to rise.
Theros → Cycle, turning, fate.
Translation (English): "The soul awakens to its cycle."
Terjemahan (Indonesia): "Jiwa terbangun pada siklusnya."