Rain fell again that night, a thin drizzle making Nusaraya's sidewalks glisten like shattered glass under the faint flicker of streetlights. Devara walked alone, her office suit growing damp at the shoulders, water seeping into the cheap gray fabric. The sound of her steps on the wet pavement echoed softly, but another rhythm followed—steady, restrained, like a shadow deliberately matching her pace. She glanced back quickly, her head whipping around. Nothing. The street was empty, save for puddles reflecting the red neon glow of distant advertisements. Yet her body tensed, the hairs on her neck standing on end. The feeling of being followed was too vivid to ignore, like a cold breath on her nape.
Dr. Artha's words from their secret meeting in the B3 restroom echoed in her mind like an unstoppable mantra: "They've marked you. The Night Shadows never let go of their prey." Devara quickened her pace, her hand slipping into her pocket to feel the black access card Queen Li had given her. It felt heavier than it should, like an anchor tethering her to a world she no longer understood.
Since that night in Queen Li's private suite, sleep had become restless. Strange dreams haunted her every night—faces both foreign and familiar: a sailor with wild eyes staring at a gray sea, a colonial soldier clutching a rusted sword, a man from the 1980s with a Polaroid camera around his neck. All were her—people with her face, the same crescent-shaped birthmark on their backs, living in different eras. Devara began to doubt whether they were dreams or memories, and each time she woke, the metal necklace around her throat felt colder, a reminder that she was no longer her own master.
That morning, she tried to push it all aside as she entered Nexus Tower. But her colleagues' gazes were different—probing eyes, whispers halting as she passed. "She's the one Queen called, right?" someone muttered in the break room, their voice low but clear. "Why her?" Another chimed in, "Be careful, Devara. Getting close to Queen Li is like signing a death contract." Devara kept her head down, pretending to focus on her tablet, but the words pierced like needles. She knew each step drew her deeper into Queen Li's web, an invisible trap she felt in every inch of her body.
That afternoon, before leaving, Devara slipped back into the restricted archives in the basement. The room was unchanged—cold, silent, with the hum of cooling machines like the breath of an unseen creature. She powered on the main terminal, her hands trembling as she typed her name: Devara Mahesa. The screen paused, as if the system hesitated to reveal its secrets. Then data flooded in like a deluge.
Subject ID #17. Location: Central Java. Year: 1983. Status: Missing.
Subject ID #23. Location: Batavia. Year: 1751. Status: Missing.
Subject ID #31. Location: Surabaya. Year: 1942. Status: Missing.
And so on. Dozens of records with different names—Raden Mas Arta, Devi Suryo, Mahesa Wijaya—but the same face, the same crescent birthmark, scattered across centuries. Blurry photos, faded sketches, even an oil painting from the colonial era, all showing her. Devara's blood ran cold, her breath catching. "This can't be…" she whispered, her voice lost in the hum of the machines. But the screen didn't lie. Each entry bore a note: Karma wasana: located and monitored. She scrolled faster, desperate for answers, but the screen flickered, as if remotely hijacked. The data vanished, replaced by a single message in the center: "Stop searching. I'll explain it myself. – L"
Devara shut down the terminal with trembling hands, sweat beading on her forehead. The message was a slap—Queen Li knew, as always. She hurried out, the sliding door closing behind her with a hiss that felt like a warning.
That night, she chose to walk home, avoiding the subway's prying eyes. The drizzle wet her face, but the sense of being watched grew stronger, like an invisible hand gripping her shoulders. At a narrow intersection near District 7, the streetlight flickered out, plunging the road into pitch darkness. Devara stopped, her hand reaching for her phone. The screen read: No signal. Her breath caught, her heart pounding like a war drum. Then, from the shadows, came the sound of shoes scraping wet asphalt—slow, but too close.
"Who's there?" Devara's voice broke, echoing in the narrow alley. No answer, only a creeping chill, like air from a locked basement. A long shadow slithered across the brick wall beside her, its form unnatural—too thin, too elongated, its head tilted as if broken. Devara stepped back, and the shadow retreated. She stepped forward, and it advanced, but its movement was off, no longer mimicking her but pursuing with intent.
From the alley, the figure emerged. Its body was skeletal, draped in black cloth that seemed to absorb light. Its face was hidden behind a dark veil, but its eyes—glowing faintly like dying embers—stared at Devara with an inhuman hunger. A Night Shadow. Devara trembled, her feet rooted to the ground. She recalled Queen Li's warning that these creatures were no mere urban legend but something real, tied to her—and to her.
The creature didn't speak, only advanced with slow, rhythmic steps, each one striking Devara's chest like a hammer. Without thinking, her body moved into a defensive stance—fists clenched, knees bent, a fighting pose both foreign and natural, like a memory from another life. As the Night Shadow lunged, Devara's arm blocked with swift precision, her fist striking its chest with a heavy thud. The black figure shattered like smoke, but only for a moment—it reformed, hissing like rusted metal scraped together.
Devara nearly panicked, her breath ragged. The creature raised a hand, its long, twisted fingers reaching for her face. But before it could touch her, a loud horn pierced the darkness. A black car's headlights sliced through the alley, cutting the shadow like a blade. The Night Shadow froze, its body trembling, then dissolved into the darkness like ink in water, vanishing without a trace.
The car's window rolled down, revealing Queen Li's face. Calm, too calm, with a faint smile that felt like a trap. "Get in," she said flatly, her voice smooth as silk but heavy with authority.
Devara was still gasping, her body shaking with adrenaline and fear. Her legs moved toward the car, though her mind screamed to run. Inside, the familiar scent of sandalwood perfume greeted her, tightening her chest. Queen Li sat beside her, her black gown shimmering under the car's interior light, her eyes piercing her like a dive into her soul.
"Now you understand," Queen Li said softly, her voice a lullaby that both embraced and choked. "Those shadows aren't something you can fight alone."
Devara swallowed, her hands clenching in her lap. "Are they… hunting me?" she asked, her voice hoarse, nearly breaking.
Queen Li didn't answer immediately. She touched Devara's shoulder, her fingers gentle but carrying a hidden strength that made her shudder. "They've always hunted you," she said, her voice low, intimate, almost obsessive. "Since long ago. Centuries ago. And I'm the only reason you're still alive."
Devara froze, the necklace around her throat feeling like a tightening chain. Queen Li's voice was so close, so commanding, like a mantra binding her to a cycle she didn't understand. "Why me?" she asked, her voice cracking, laced with fear and anger.
Queen Li leaned closer, her lips nearly brushing Devara's ear, her breath warm and heavy. "Because you're mine, Devara," she whispered, each word a shackle coiling around her soul. "You always have been. You always will be."
The car sped through the drizzle, leaving the dark alley behind. Devara leaned back in her seat, her body still trembling, but a new feeling grew within her—a mix of fear, burning curiosity, and an inescapable pull toward the woman beside her. The city's lights flickered outside the window, like sleepless eyes. Inside, Queen Li's gaze never left her, filled with a cold, eternal obsession.
Devara realized her encounter with the Night Shadow was only the beginning. The true enemy sat beside her now—and she had no idea how to fight her. But deep in her heart, she felt this struggle wasn't just for herself, but to break the karmic cycle that had bound her for centuries.