The word FOLLOW still lingered clearly in my mind.
I stood frozen in the middle of the field as the morning wind blew colder than it should have. The ground beneath my feet was damp—unnaturally so for the dry season. The cow's hoofprints stopped right in front of me, as if on purpose.
I looked back one more time.
The house. The barn. The world I knew.
Everything was still there. Normal. Too normal.
"If this is a joke," I muttered, "it's not funny."
I crouched down, studying the damp soil more closely. There were faint scratch marks—not letters anymore, just random lines, like something had once moved beneath the surface. Slowly. Patiently.
I reached out my hand.
The moment my fingertips touched the soil—
Thump.
A subtle vibration traveled up my arm. Not like an earthquake. More like a pulse. As if the ground itself… was alive.
I pulled my hand back quickly, breathing hard.
"Putih?" I called. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Putih stood beside me, his large body blocking part of the sunlight. He stared at the ground for a long moment, then looked at me.
His gaze wasn't urging.
Not forcing.
Just… waiting.
"This is insane," I said with a short, nervous laugh. "I'm talking to a cow, standing in a field, waiting for the ground to react."
Putih snorted softly.
I took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. One step. If anything gets weird, I'm turning back."
I stepped forward.
The ground cracked open.
Not violently—it opened slowly, like a flower reluctantly waking up in the morning. The裂 formed a narrow gap, just wide enough for… something to emerge.
Cold air rushed out. The smell of old earth. Dampness that felt buried for decades.
"What the hell…" I whispered.
A sound came from within the crack.
Not loud.
Not clear.
More like… a whisper still searching for words.
I froze.
"Ra… ka…"
My name.
I stepped back, my legs trembling. "No. That's not possible."
Putih moved forward, placing himself halfway between me and the裂. His head lowered slightly, horns aligned with the opening. His posture was… protective.
The whisper came again, clearer this time.
"We… have been waiting."
"Who is we?" My voice cracked.
The ground trembled softly. The裂 widened just enough to reveal pure darkness beneath. No light. No bottom.
Only depth.
"You… are the chosen one."
I let out a panicked laugh. "Chosen for what? I'm just a cow farmer!"
Putih looked at me.
His gaze was gentle.
As if saying: that's exactly why.
The voice from below whispered again, closer, more real.
"Because… you listen."
I fell silent.
All this time…
I really did talk to my cows.
Listened to their breathing.
Treated them as living beings, not just livestock.
My chest tightened.
I looked at Putih. "You know about all this, don't you?"
He didn't nod.
He didn't shake his head.
He simply stood beside me.
And for the first time since this morning, I felt it clearly—
Whatever lay beneath this land was dangerous.
But the cow beside me…
was the only thing I could trust.
The裂 pulsed once more.
Waiting for my answer.
It wasn't threatening.
More like… a breath being drawn.
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry despite the damp air. Putih stood firm at my side, calm, solid. No panic. No urge to flee.
That alone made me uneasy.
"You really understand what's happening, don't you?" I whispered.
Putih flicked his tail slowly. Then—very slowly—he stepped closer, placing his hoof right at the edge of the裂, as if to say: it's safe here.
I closed my eyes.
Counted my breaths.
"One step," I murmured. "Just one."
I stepped forward.
The ground beneath my foot felt… warm. Not wet. Not sticky. Solid—like it had been waiting to be stepped on for a long time. The裂 didn't widen further, but the whispers changed.
They no longer called my name.
Now, they told a story.
Fragments of sound poured into my mind—not full words, but emotions forced into meaning.
About this land.
About this village.
About something buried long before I was born.
I staggered, nearly falling. Putih immediately nudged my arm with his head—gentle, precise—steadying me.
"Thanks," I muttered instinctively.
I opened my eyes.
Inside the裂, there was a dim light. Not bright—more like a distant reflection of a small flame. And behind it, I saw a shape.
Not human.
Not animal.
It was large, but incomplete. As if only half of something that once lived. The shape moved slowly, as though bound by the earth.
"We… are not awake," the voice whispered. "We… were put to sleep."
I stepped back slightly. "Who put you to sleep?"
The ground trembled. Not in anger. More like… sorrow.
"Humans."
My chest felt heavy.
I let out a bitter laugh. "I'm human too."
Putih snorted softly. This time, in disagreement.
I glanced at him. "Okay, okay. Other humans."
The shape drifted closer to the裂, then stopped—as if restrained by an invisible boundary.
"We… need a guardian," it said. "Not a hero. Not a king."
I frowned. "Then why me?"
The answer came without sound.
Because you don't see us as tools.
Because you give before you demand.
Because you speak… and listen.
I stood still.
All of it… such small things. Thoughtless habits I never gave much meaning to.
"I'm just a farmer," I said quietly.
"That is enough," the voice whispered.
The裂 began to close slowly. The dim light faded. The shape retreated, sinking back into the darkness.
Just before the ground sealed completely, one final sentence carved itself into the soil—deeper this time. Cleaner.
"Your time will come."
The ground smoothed over.
Silence.
The wind returned to normal. Insects resumed their morning sounds, as if the world had simply pressed continue.
I stood there for a long time, my breathing still uneven.
"Putih," I finally said, exhausted. "If this is a dream… please don't wake me up in an even stranger way."
Putih turned toward me.
And for the first time—
he let out a soft sound.
Not the moo of a hungry cow.
Not an irritated snort.
It sounded like… laughter held back.
And somehow, I knew one thing for sure:
My life as a cow farmer had just changed.
And this cow—
was no longer just a cow.