The night in Jakarta was restless. Even as the rain subsided, the city felt tense, as if the streets themselves held their breath. For Eland'orr, the world had shifted since that night in Freiyah's apartment. Though his body still appeared unchanged, he could feel the silent war waging inside his blood—mutations slow, patient, but undeniable. Every heartbeat was like a drumbeat heralding something new, something dangerous.
Freiyah had warned him: "The transformation will not come all at once. It will creep upon you, shaping you day by day, until the man you are and the being you were meant to be finally converge."
Now, that prophecy echoed in his mind as he sat by the window of Freiyah's apartment, watching the city lights ripple across the river. His body was heavy with fatigue, yet his mind refused to rest. Beneath his skin, he felt currents shifting, like whispers of another life waiting to break free.
Meanwhile, far from the tranquil apartment, in a derelict warehouse near the port, the Pemuja gathered. Cloaked figures lit candles in a circle, their shadows dancing on rusted walls. Their leader, a man who called himself Suraka, raised his hands, his voice deep and commanding.
"The signs have begun. The heir of the fallen Futa walks among us. His blood carries the spark of rebirth."
The circle murmured with fervor. Their chants rose and fell like the tide, the sound thick with desperation and hunger.
One acolyte whispered, "Master, do we seek to destroy him? Or to claim him?"
Suraka's lips twisted into a smile. "Both. For if he resists, we will cut him down before his power matures. But if he can be turned—if the Lioh within him can be bent to our cause—then the world will kneel before us. The Borhlog are but tools. He is the key."
The acolytes bowed, their eyes gleaming with zeal. The name of Eland'orr spread among them like sacred scripture, a promise of salvation or ruin.
Back in the apartment, Freiyah stood behind Eland'orr, watching him silently. She could feel the shift within him too—not with eyes, but with the sense that only her kind possessed. The Lioh that had entered his body was stirring, weaving itself into his very DNA like fire creeping through dry leaves.
"You feel it, don't you?" she asked softly.
Eland'orr didn't turn, but his voice was low, strained. "It's like something alive inside me. Changing me. I don't know whether to fight it or surrender."
Freiyah walked closer, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. "Neither. You accept it. Resistance will break you, and blind surrender will consume you. This is a path you walk with eyes open. The balance between who you were and who you are becoming will define you."
Her words calmed him, but only slightly. What unsettled him more was not the mutation itself, but the weight of destiny pressing down.
"Why me?" he asked again, the same question he had whispered before.
This time, Freiyah answered differently. "Because the Futa bloodline is nearly extinct. You are not pure Futa, but you carry enough of their essence to awaken what lies dormant. That makes you unique—dangerous to both sides."
"Both sides?"
She hesitated, then sighed. "The Borhlog are not the only enemy. There are humans—Pemuja—who worship the fallen and seek to harness their power. They will hunt you, just as the Borhlog will. Some may seek to turn you into a weapon. Others will simply wish to destroy you."
Eland'orr turned at last, his face pale but resolute. "So no matter what I do, I'm a target."
Freiyah met his gaze. "Yes. But you are also a choice. You can decide whether your bloodline becomes a curse… or salvation."
Days passed, and the city seemed to grow darker. Reports of unexplained violence surfaced—gangs tearing each other apart in brutal displays, bodies found with marks resembling ritual wounds. Rumors of the Borhlog spread, whispered in alleyways but dismissed by officials as superstition. Yet Eland'orr and Freiyah knew the truth: the battle was no longer coming. It was already here.
One night, as they walked through a quiet street, Eland'orr suddenly stopped. His senses—sharpened beyond human—caught something. A whisper of movement where no one stood. A scent, metallic and wrong, carried by the wind.
"They're here," he murmured.
From the shadows, the Pemuja emerged. Not Borhlog, but humans—ten of them, clad in black robes, their faces hidden. At their center stood Suraka, his eyes glinting like steel.
"Eland'orr," Suraka called, his voice smooth and venomous. "The child of two worlds. We have waited for you."
Eland'orr clenched his fists, unease rippling through him. "You know my name."
"Of course," Suraka said with a smile. "We know everything about you. The blood in your veins. The Lioh that has claimed you. You are the vessel of change—and we are here to help you embrace it."
Freiyah stepped forward, her sword already drawn. "Lies. They only seek to enslave you."
Suraka's gaze flicked to her, his expression amused. "And you, guardian of the old ways. Always so protective. But tell me—do you truly think he can resist forever? When the world falls, it is not love that saves us. It is power."
At his signal, the Pemuja drew curved blades, their chants rising in unison. The air grew thick with menace, the very ground trembling under their zeal.
Eland'orr's heart pounded. For the first time, he felt the new strength coiling inside him, demanding release. His vision sharpened, colors brightening unnaturally. The world slowed around him, each movement of the Pemuja etched in crystal clarity.
"Eland'orr," Freiyah whispered, her voice steady despite the danger. "This is the moment. Not to fear what you are becoming—but to use it."
And in that instant, as the Pemuja lunged forward, Eland'orr felt the awakening surge like a storm through his veins. He moved.
Faster. Stronger. Beyond human.
The war had truly begun.