The sun was already high when Alya and Ardan reached the house of the village elder, Mak Dira.
Her house stood on the hill, filled with the smell of herbs and the soft creak of bamboo.
Mak Dira looked up as they entered. Her eyes were sharp, too knowing for someone her age.
"I've been waiting for you," she said quietly.
Alya blinked. "You know us?"
The old woman smiled faintly. "Not you… but the souls you carry."
Ardan frowned. "We don't understand."
Mak Dira motioned for them to sit. She poured tea into old clay cups.
"There was a time," she began, "when Rarang was not a peaceful place. A long time ago, the villagers made a promise to keep the land alive. To remember every life that was lost here."
She looked at Alya.
"But when the promise was broken, the land started taking back what was forgotten."
Alya shivered. "You mean… the people who disappeared?"
Mak Dira nodded. "They were chosen by the land because no one remembered them anymore. That's the curse of Rarang.
Once the memory fades, the soul follows."
Ardan clenched his fists. "Then what about me? Why do my photos show them?"
The old woman's gaze softened. "Because you see what others can't. You're the witness and she…"
Her eyes turned to Alya again. "…is the one who once tried to stop it."
Alya's breath caught. "Me?"
Mak Dira nodded slowly. "Your soul has been here before, child. You made a promise long ago to protect Rarang's memories. But you failed."
The room fell silent.
Outside, the wind picked up, whispering through the bamboo like a voice calling their names.
Mak Dira's final words echoed softly:
> "If you wish to break the curse, you must remember what truly happened."
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Alya begins to recover fragments of her past life and learns that her connection to Ardan is older than time itself.