"Before Adanu Raksa could walk, his fate was already written by a cursed blade."
***
Inside a chamber lit by wavering oil lamps, flames throw restless shadows across polished teakwood walls carved with ancient reliefs. The air hangs heavy with sandalwood and incense, smoke rising in pale ribbons toward the rafters where bats stir against the thatched ceiling.
A newborn cries, raw and relentless. His mother is gone, claimed by death moments after giving him life. His father weeps too, but his grief is silent, suffocating, a drowning weight only he, and the whisper in his ear, can hear.
We can bring her back. But every desire demands a sacrifice.
"Shut up," the man rasps, clutching his head. "Shut up!"
Offer the child. Wasn't it him who caused her death?
He glances at the kris lying before him, a wavy blade charged with a strange unseen pulse. His trembling hand hovers above the hilt. Then he looks again at the baby, still crying, still helpless.
Yes… stab the kris into the floor. Summon the carrion flower. Offer the child, and she will return.
His fingers close around the hilt. His breath comes shallow, uneven.
But suddenly…
A knock breaks the moment.
"Your Highness Jayantaka! It's me, Arkadevi!"
The man's jaw tightens. He shoves the blade back into its sheath and pulls open the door.
A palace maid enters with worry etched across her face. "Your Highness, you look unwell." Her eyes flick to the crib. "The child… he must be hungry. I can nurse him, if you wish."
Jayantaka lifts the boy, staring down at him in silence, then turns to her.
"Arkadevi," he says, voice low but firm, "you love Rangkabhumi, right? Marry him… and leave this palace with my son."
She blinks. "Eh? Your Highness…?"
"Rangkabhumi is the man I trust above all others. You have my blessing."
She hesitates, but Jayantaka cuts her off. "This is a decree from your king. Take the child. Leave the palace. And never return."
***
Before dawn, Rangkabhumi strides across the palace grounds, gold-woven cloth glinting faintly in the torchlight.
His sharp eyes find Jayantaka seated alone in a pavilion near the waterfall, moonlight casting shadows across his solemn face.
"Jayantaka!" Rangkabhumi's voice slices the air. "Why cast away your own son? Don't tell me you blame the boy for Gayatri's death!"
Any other man would be executed for such insolence. But Jayantaka only exhales.
"It's not the child," he murmurs, gripping a kris with a dragon-head hilt. "It's me. Gayatri died because of the curse I carry. Because of this."
Rangkabhumi scowls. "Nonsense. Women die in childbirth every day. That blade has nothing to do with it."
Jayantaka's grip shakes. "I don't know anymore. The whispers grow stronger."
Silence stretches, until then Jayantaka hurls the kris into the waterfall. The blade vanishes in the torrent, and he staggers as though a piece of him has been torn away.
Rangkabhumi steps forward, lays a hand on his shoulder. "It's done. You've thrown it away. Not you don't need to abandon your son."
Jayantaka shakes his head. "Tomorrow I might send men to retrieve it. The temptation is stronger than you know. Take the boy. Take him far from me, far from this cursed palace."
Rangkabhumi holds his gaze, and then nods. "…Alright. I'll take him, raise him as my own."
Jayantaka lowers his eyes. "Thank you. Of everyone I know, you are the only one I trust."
In the middle of the night, Prabu Jayantaka raises Rangkabhumi's rank to Senapati, commander of Talang Asri Fortress.
But before his departure, Rangkabhumi asks, "What of the child? Will you name him?"
"Gayatri chose his name," Jayantaka replies. "Adanu Raksa. Never tell him who he is. Let him live free of my curse."
***
Before dawn, under a veil of darkness, Rangkabhumi departs the palace with Arkadevi at his side. At the reins sits Bramasti, a palace servant pressed into their service.
The road is long, and as the wheels creak over stone, Bramasti urges them to rest. And soon, Rangkabhumi surrenders to sleep, but Arkadevi cannot. The baby cries without end, forcing her to cradle and nurse him through the night.
There, by the glow of a resin lamp, Bramasti glances behind. He sees the curve of her hands, the softness of her features, the gentle rise and fall of her breast, and heat rises in his chest.
"The king has made you the child's mother?" His voice carries something sharp, something unreadable, trying to break the silent.
"Stop speaking as if this is the king's child," Arkadevi replies, her tone cold, her eyes fixed on the infant. "Jayantaka's decree is clear. No one must know his true blood."
Her dismissal stings. To Bramasti, she is only a palace maid, beautiful yet of low birth. And still she speaks with such arrogance.
Yet he cannot stop looking at her. The lamplight catches in her dark eyes, glances across her lips, traces the soft arch of her body.
Bramasti clenches his jaw. He has known Rangkabhumi for years, but never imagined Arkadevi belonged to him. Still, the admiration gnaws. But for now, he buries it.
***
By morning, the carriage halts near a river to rest the horses. Bramasti lingers at a distance, watching as Rangkabhumi sits beside Arkadevi, teasing the baby in her lap.
The way she smiles at him, the way her hand brushes his arm, sends bitterness coiling in Bramasti's gut.
"That bastard," he mutters. "Wasting his affection on a maid. He could have any noblewoman he wanted."
Holding his grudge, he turns toward the river to fetch water. And there he sees a dagger, half-buried among the river stones, its dragon-head hilt gleaming in the morning light.
Bramasti's breath falters. "No… it cannot be…"
His hands trembling as he lifts the blade. His pulse pounds in his ears, his chest tight with disbelief. Prabu Jayantaka's royal kris lies heavy in his grasp.
For a moment he forgets everything, jealousy, resentment, even Arkadevi. His first instinct is to return at once and tell Rangkabhumi.
But then he pauses. From across the bank, he sees Rangkabhumi laughing softly, Arkadevi gazing at him with warmth in her eyes.
There Bramasti's grip tightens on the dagger. His stomach twists, and something dark begins to stir.
Why him?
Why does Rangkabhumi receive everything?
The king's favor.
The honor.
And now… Arkadevi.
His knuckles whiten around the kris. His breath grows ragged.
That's when he hears the whisper.
<< You want her, don't you? Just admit it. >>
Bramasti freezes. The voice seeps into his mind, deep and insidious. It sounds like his own voice, only darker.
He whirls, scanning the trees. But there's nothing, only silence.
"What… was that?" he whispers.
Then slowly, his eyes fall back to the blade, his reflection warped in the polished steel. His grip tightens.
Deliberately, he slips the kris beneath his robe. And without another word, he returns to camp, but says nothing to Rangkabhumi.