What Once Was, No Longer Is
Diah and Rendra left what remained of their camp—now nothing but ashes and scorched stone. They didn't speak. Only their hurried footsteps filled the silence, crunching over broken twigs and burnt debris.
Behind them, the remnants of the battle still radiated heat.
In both their minds, one figure repeated again and again—
A towering being cloaked in mist, with glowing blue eyes, walking through frozen bullets and explosions turned backward.
It was real.
That creature… had saved them.
And yet, amid the chaos, Diah found room for regret. Not just the tents and supplies, but her geothermal sensors, magnetic field scanner, and digital soil-layer maps—destroyed. She bit her lip, frustrated. But she knew their lives mattered more.
"What was that thing?" Rendra's voice trembled. "It's not human… right?"
He didn't understand it himself. The figure was shaped like a man—but wasn't. It had form, eyes… but no face. And bullets—how could they just stop in midair, like the mountain itself rejected them?
Diah shook her head. Her throat was dry, not from fatigue, but from something rising within her—fear colliding with awe.
Their pace quickened, weaving through sharp rocks and narrowing paths, away from the main trail. As if something unseen guided them. Instinct, maybe. Or a call.
The mist grew thinner, but the air remained wrong. Too quiet. No birds. No insects. Only pine trees swaying… without a sound.
Diah looked back.
"We can't return the same way," she said softly. "They're still out there."
Rendra nodded.
Their lives had changed in an instant.
They said nothing more as they stepped through a narrow crevice between rocks—
A passage that had never been open before.
And somehow… they knew:
This was the only way forward.
Symbols That Refused to Speak
The gap was tighter than it looked. Diah had to twist her body, pressing against the damp stone. Jagged edges scraped her skin. Behind her, Rendra followed, his breath echoing in the dark.
Their flashlight barely helped.
But another glow shimmered in the distance—a faint blue light, like living phosphorus. It pulsed... as if breathing.
The surface of the stone changed. From rough to smooth, like it had been carved—deliberately.
Diah stopped.
"There's something here," she whispered.
She raised her light to the wall. Carvings appeared—spirals, suns, open eyes, and claw-like lines. Not letters. But not random either.
She touched it.
Warm.
Too warm for this cold place.
"Not a local script," she murmured. "Not Sasak. Not Old Javanese. I don't recognize any of this."
Rendra crouched, eyes fixed on a symbol—
A vertical eye flanked by two wavy lines.
"I've seen this before…"
Diah turned to him. "Where?"
"When I was a kid," Rendra said softly. "At my grandmother's house in Bima. It was carved into an old wooden frame. She said... it was the third eye. The eye of the mountain guardian."
He stared at it longer.
"Dewi Anjani," he whispered. "The spirit of Rinjani."
The tunnel widened into a chamber. Half-crumbled stone pillars lined the space. At the center stood a circular altar. One of the pillars bore the third eye symbol—this time, with a teardrop beneath it.
Diah felt something watching them.
Not from ahead.
But from above.
They locked eyes.
Their hearts raced.
No sound.
No movement.
For a breathless moment… time stopped.
Then—
A gentle thrum echoed from the earth.
A soft vibration.
Like the mountain was whispering.
What He Had Become
At the center of the chamber, someone sat cross-legged. Still. As if he had been waiting for a long time.
His back faced them. Long hair spilled down his back. His body was broad, carved like it was shaped by nature itself. Not like a starving man—but someone forged by something ancient.
Rendra grabbed Diah's arm. "Someone's there."
Diah held her breath and stepped forward.
The figure opened his eyes.
And turned.
Their gazes met.
Time shattered.
That face—it looked like Hulio. But not quite.
The Hulio they knew was tall and athletic.
But this man… was denser. Still.
His face glowed faintly blue.
And his eyes—bright blue, holding something far older than memory.
Diah's voice trembled. "You're… alive?"
"I'm… not fully," he replied. "But I didn't die."
Rendra stepped forward. "What happened to you?"
"I fell. I broke. But the mountain… wouldn't let me go. It saved me… or trapped me. I'm still not sure."
Diah noticed something on his chest—
The third eye.
Glowing softly beneath his skin.
"You're… different."
"I'm no longer the Hulio you knew.
But I haven't become something else either.
I'm… in between."
He looked at them—like he had known them for years, though they'd just met.
"You bring truth, Diah. But also danger.
And you, Rendra…
You carry wounds."
Diah took a step closer, her voice barely a whisper.
"We came to bring you home."
Hulio paused. A bitter, hollow smile tugged at his lips.
"Home? But where is home…
for someone never truly wanted?"
Diah held her breath.
"Señor Antonio… and Dona Teresa," she said softly.
"They're still waiting for you."
Hulio's expression shifted. His shoulders tensed. His eyes closed.
Teresa. Her smile.
Antonio. The voice that once called him my son.
And then… silence.
Guilt pressed down on his chest.
He whispered,
"Father… Mother…"
Suddenly, a deep rumble rose from the ground. The tremor spread through the chamber.
"It's getting closer," Hulio said. "Maybe… it's time I return."
He walked to the altar. Its surface pulsed faintly. A glowing handprint shimmered on the stone.
The mist swirled around the walls.
The carvings… seemed to move.
Rendra stared at the main symbol—
The third eye, with a glowing tear beneath it.
"What is this place?" Diah asked.
"A place mankind forgot," Hulio replied.
"Before words. Before history."
He turned to her.
"This altar is a crossing.
Between what is seen, and what is hidden.
Between what came from the sky… and what's rooted in the earth."
Diah stared at him. The face was familiar.
But his eyes… were not.
Was this truly Hulio?
He spoke like a hermit.
Like someone who carried ancient truths.
Rendra asked, "Where… are we?"
Hulio pointed to the floor—spirals carved into stone, all leading to the altar.
"We are on the threshold.
Between the human world…
and something far, far older."
Diah stood frozen.
This was no longer the man Antonio once described.
That man was a rationalist.
This one… was a keeper of forgotten secrets.
Hulio smiled, as if he could read her thoughts.
"I've learned from silence.
From roots and water that store memory.
Here… time doesn't pass the same as it does above."
Suddenly, light flared from the altar.
Not their shadows.
But a ghostly figure—mist-like, vaguely human.
Its voice echoed not in their ears… but within their chests:
"What you seek… cannot be found with eyes.
But with sacrifice."
The walls trembled.
The fog spun.
The air thickened.
Diah turned sharply. "What was that?"
"The Guardian," Hulio answered.
"Or… a lingering spirit that chose to stay.
To protect.
Or to wait."
Blood and Fear
In a dark office deep in the heart of Rio de Janeiro, Mateo Moreira hurled his phone at the wall. Glass shattered. Everyone in the room froze.
His face flushed red.
His jaw clenched like steel forged in fury.
"You can't even handle two people?" he roared, voice soaked in venom. "Why do I even pay you? You're all worthless!"
On the flickering projector screen, Jack's face appeared—one of Mateo's top men, reporting in from Lombok. He looked pale. Shaken.
"S-sir… they're being protected… by something. Something not human," Jack stammered.
Mateo stepped closer. His eyes narrowed. "Something? What thing?"
Jack swallowed.
"We… we don't know. It came out of the mist. Like… living smoke. Bullets didn't touch it. Our men—some panicked. One even fainted. Like… like it sucked the soul right out of him."
Mateo turned away, gripping his temples.
"Dammit!" he growled. "Don't tell me this has anything to do with—"
He stopped short. But everyone in the room knew what loomed in the silence:
Myths.
Curses.
Things money and power couldn't tame.
One assistant spoke carefully, "Perhaps… we should consider a spiritual approach, sir. There are many local legends that—"
"Silence!" Mateo snapped. "I don't believe in superstition! If they want to play with fire, we'll bring a storm. Call in the elite squad. I don't care what it is—anything protecting Hulio… will burn."
Jack tried to respond, but Mateo cut him off:
"And Jack. Fail me one more time… don't bother coming back."
The screen went dark.
The room fell into silence.
But outside the tall glass windows of Moreira Corporation…
The wind stirred—soft, but full of whispers.
They thought Hulio was dead.
They were wrong.
Beneath breathing stone and whispering fog, he awakened—
not as a man,
but as a guardian of truths too ancient for history to remember.
Now the mountain speaks.
And no one is safe.
Mateo sends his army.
But Rinjani has already chosen—
who stays… and who will vanish.