Whoever Wields the Crown

The air in the Jakarta National Archives hung thick with the scent of mildew and aged parchment. Dust motes drifted like forgotten ghosts in the jaundiced glow of a flickering desk lamp. David Lau hunched over a cracked mahogany table, his fingers tracing the frayed edges of a 17th-century nautical map.

Komodo Island’s jagged coastline stared back at him, ink bleached by time, but his eyes lingered on the crimson dragon in the margin—a symbol he’d seen etched into the Dragon Crown’s obsidian base.

“Selamat malam, David. Still digging up graves?”

David jerked upright, nearly toppling his coffee. On the table’s edge, a holographic comms device hummed to life, projecting Eka’s pixelated smirk. Her neon-green hair glitched in the static.

“I told you not to ping me after midnight,” David muttered, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “The archivists think I’m smuggling artifacts.”

“You are,” Eka snorted. “That map’s been ‘missing’ since ’89. What’s so special about Komodo?”