The Search for Answers

Dawn painted the temple garden in gold and charcoal, light slicing through banyan trees whose roots coiled like ancient serpents. Thalia knelt beside a moss-crusted pool, her reflection fractured by koi fish that glided beneath lily pads. The elders sat in a semicircle, their silence heavier than the humidity. Mbah Sari poured tea from a cracked clay pot, the steam curling into a shape that, for a heartbeat, resembled wings.

“Satu naga untuk setiap zaman,” the old dukun began. “One dragon for every age. But the Tenth…” She paused, her gaze sharp as the keris at her waist. “The Tenth is the age itself.”

Thalia’s fingers tightened around her jade pendant—a gift from Bima, carved with the Javanese eagle. “The vision… it asked me to choose. To let Jakarta burn.”