A Vast World and New Perils
Chapter 6: A Vast World and New Perils
The cold morning wind whispered across the slopes of Mount Mahameru,
Carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain.
Nagantara and his guardian descended the rugged path,
Their steps light yet weary,
For the world before them was vast,
And filled with unseen dangers.
As they pressed forward,
The air shifted,
Growing heavier, thicker,
And the dense canopy of the forest below seemed to call to them,
Its shadows hiding both refuge and ruin.
Nagantara, his silver eyes gleaming,
Turned to the handmaiden,
His voice laced with both curiosity and uncertainty.
"Where are we going now, Mother?"
The handmaiden lifted her gaze to the sky,
Her face unreadable.
"We must find a place of safety," she said,
"A place where you can grow without the constant need to hide."
Nagantara nodded,
Though he knew not what "a place of safety" truly meant.
To him, the world stretched boundless,
Its secrets unfathomable,
Its dangers veiled in mystery.
As midday approached,
They came upon a valley cradled between high, rolling hills.
And there—
Nestled within the heart of the valley—
Lay a small village,
A place untouched by war or ruin,
Where wooden houses stood in neat rows,
Their rooftops adorned with the smoke of gentle hearths.
The sight of it was serene,
A stark contrast to the perils they had faced.
Yet Nagantara did not smile,
For he knew—
Even the most peaceful places could be shattered by fear.
The handmaiden halted,
Her eyes scanning the village from afar.
"Perhaps we can rest here," she murmured.
Nagantara hesitated,
His thoughts lingering on the memories of the last village they had sought shelter in.
"Will they accept us?"
His voice held the shadow of doubt.
The handmaiden's gaze softened,
Yet her voice remained firm.
"We will try. But listen to me, Nagantara—
You must not reveal your mark to anyone."
Nagantara nodded solemnly.
"I will be careful, Mother."
As they stepped into the village,
Curious eyes turned toward them,
Yet there was no fear,
No whispers of suspicion,
Only mild intrigue—
As if the villagers measured them in silence.
An old man,
His robes tattered by years of labor,
Stepped forward.
His weathered hands clutched a wooden staff,
And his voice—
Though heavy—
Was not unkind.
"You are strangers," he observed.
"What is it you seek in our village?"
The handmaiden bowed her head slightly,
Her voice steady, polite.
"We seek only a place to rest," she said.
"We have traveled far."
Would they be welcomed,
Or once more be forced to flee into the shadows?
The answer lay in the hearts of these people.
And in the secrets Nagantara carried.
The old man regarded them with keen eyes,
Measuring them as a blacksmith measures unshaped iron,
But then—
A small smile graced his weathered face.
"Strangers are rare in this village," he said.
"Yet, you are welcome. This is a place of peace—so long as you bring no trouble with you."
The handmaiden bowed her head slightly,
Her voice steady, respectful.
"We seek only rest," she said.
"Nothing more."
The old man nodded,
Then turned to a young woman standing nearby.
"Take them to the empty house at the village's edge," he instructed.
"They may stay there—for now."
The young woman nodded,
And motioned for them to follow.
Through the winding paths of the village,
They were led to a small wooden dwelling,
Nestled at the edge of the trees,
Standing half-hidden beneath the boughs of great old oaks.
The house was simple,
Yet it promised shelter from the night's cold embrace.
"Thank you," the handmaiden said softly.
The young woman offered a brief smile.
"May you find comfort here," she replied before slipping into the darkness.
That night,
Beneath a sky woven with countless stars,
A deep silence settled over the village.
The world outside was still,
But the handmaiden remained alert,
For she knew—
That true danger often lay hidden beneath the veil of peace.
Inside the small dwelling,
A single fire burned low,
Its embers casting flickering shadows upon the wooden walls.
Nagantara sat beside it,
His silver eyes reflecting the dance of the flames.
"Mother," he whispered, breaking the quiet.
"Why does this village feel… different?"
The handmaiden watched him carefully,
Then turned her gaze toward the open window,
Where the cold night air whispered through the leaves.
"Perhaps," she said slowly,
"It is because this place has not yet been touched by the outside world."
Her voice dropped to a near whisper.
"But we must be careful, Nagantara. Not all that seems peaceful is truly safe."
Nagantara nodded,
Though deep inside,
He felt something stir—
A feeling he could not yet name.
As midnight approached,
The village fell into slumber,
Its people wrapped in dreams of simple things.
Yet—
From the shadows beyond the trees,
Something moved.
Inside the dwelling,
Nagantara lay asleep upon a woven mat,
His breath slow, steady.
But the handmaiden sat awake,
Perched by the open window,
Her hands resting lightly upon the wooden staff beside her.
She watched, listened,
And then—
Her ears caught it.
Soft footsteps.
Approaching their door.
Moving without haste,
Yet filled with purpose.
The handmaiden stood,
Her fingers tightening around the staff's worn grip.
A gentle knock echoed through the silence.
Not urgent, not impatient,
But measured—
As though the one outside waited, knowing they would be heard.
The handmaiden did not move.
Her voice cut through the dark like a blade of steel.
"Who stands at my door?"
A pause.
Then,
A voice—
Smooth, steady, unfathomable as deep water.
"One who knows the child you protect."
The handmaiden's grip tightened,
And in the dim glow of the embers,
A shadow stirred in her gaze.
For she knew—
That this night had not yet finished speaking its secrets.
The door creaked open,
Allowing the pale moonlight to cast its glow upon the figure standing beyond.
There, in the quiet of the night, stood a man of middle years,
His black hair streaked with silver at the temples.
His sharp eyes, gleaming with untold wisdom,
Scanned the threshold with a knowing gaze.
Upon his back, he carried a staff,
Etched with ancient symbols, glowing faintly beneath the moon's watchful eye.
The handmaiden's grip tightened around her wooden staff
Her stance rigid, cautious.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice edged with both suspicion and resolve.
The stranger offered a faint smile,
A gesture neither entirely warm nor entirely cold.
"I am a guardian," he answered.
"My name is Wisangkara. My duty is to protect and guide the child who bears the Mark of the Dragon."
The handmaiden remained silent,
The weight of his words settling upon her shoulders like an unseen burden.
"How do you know about him?"
Her voice was barely more than a whisper,
Yet it carried the weight of years spent in secrecy.
Wisangkara took a single step forward,
Stopping just before the threshold.
"The prophecy is not a secret to all," he murmured.
"There are those among us who know what the heavens have decreed.
The boy is both a hope and a great peril.
That is why I have come—to ensure he does not fall into the wrong hands."
Inside the humble dwelling,
The fire crackled softly,
Its light flickering against worn wooden walls,
Casting dancing shadows across the room.
Wisangkara sat near the flames,
His presence calm yet unshakable.
The handmaiden watched him,
Her eyes filled with distrust,
While Nagantara, now roused from slumber,
Sat in the corner,
Studying the stranger with quiet curiosity.
Then, Wisangkara turned his gaze upon the child,
His voice filled with a quiet reverence.
"You are different."
Nagantara's silver eyes widened as he listened.
"The Mark upon your back is not just a symbol, child,"
"It is a key—one that unlocks something far greater than you can yet comprehend."
Nagantara tilted his head, his voice soft, uncertain.
"What do you mean, Uncle?"
Wisangkara smiled,
But in his weary eyes,
Lay the weight of knowledge hard-earned and battles long fought.
"That Mark is the bridge between three worlds—man, gods, and the darkness that lurks beyond.
You are that bridge, Nagantara. The world needs you… but it also fears you."
The handmaiden, who had remained silent,
Now spoke, her voice low and cold.
"You still haven't answered why you're here."
Wisangkara met her gaze,
And after a pause, nodded slowly.
"I am here to help.
The boy needs guidance, and you cannot provide it alone.
There are things about him—even about the power he carries—that you do not yet understand."
A heavy silence settled between them.
The handmaiden turned her eyes toward Nagantara,
The child she had sworn to protect,
And in that moment, she knew—
There was truth in Wisangkara's words.
She had spent years shielding Nagantara from harm,
But she had no answers for the questions growing within him.
No wisdom to offer for the power he could not yet control.
That night, by the flickering fire,
Wisangkara spoke of the prophecy,
Of the Mark of the Dragon,
And of the destiny that lay upon the boy's shoulders.
The Mark, he explained,
Was not merely a source of power,
But a map,
A path leading to something called the Gate of the Three Realms—
A place where power beyond mortal comprehension lay waiting.
"You must learn to control your gift, Nagantara," Wisangkara said.
"Because one day, you will need it... to open that Gate."
Nagantara listened,
His young mind turning over the weight of these revelations.
The fire crackled on,
The night stretched deep and long,
And the path before him grew ever darker, ever wider.
Nagantara turned his wide, silver eyes toward Wisangkara.
"What lies beyond that gate?"
Wisangkara's gaze darkened,
As if he carried the weight of a thousand unseen truths.
"It is not something I can explain easily," he answered.
"But know this—
It holds a power great enough to either bring this world to ruin,
Or grant it eternal peace."
He paused,
Letting the words settle like an approaching storm.
Then he turned his gaze upon Nagantara.
"And that choice… rests upon you."
The handmaiden's heart grew heavy upon hearing those words.
Her fingers tightened around the bundle of provisions she was preparing.
"You would place such a burden on a child?" she asked, her voice sharp.
Wisangkara did not flinch.
Instead, he remained steady, unshaken by the weight of his own words.
"I am merely telling the truth," he replied.
"No matter how hard you try to shield him, he cannot escape his destiny."
"What we can do… is prepare him for it."
The handmaiden sighed, her heart torn between doubt and duty.
She knew Wisangkara spoke wisdom,
Yet she could not accept that Nagantara must bear a burden so great.
After a long silence, she spoke again.
"If you truly wish to help him, Wisangkara," she said at last,
"Then you must prove that you can be trusted."
Wisangkara nodded, his expression solemn.
"I will prove it. But first—
We must leave this place."
His voice carried the weight of unspoken warnings.
"This village may seem peaceful, but danger always lurks in the shadows."
The handmaiden looked toward Nagantara,
Who sat in deep thought,
His young mind grappling with truths far beyond his years.
She knew—
Their journey had only just entered a new chapter.
A path more difficult,
Yet far more important than before.
The morning sun rose,
Its golden light bathing the valley in warmth and peace.
Yet within the small house at the village's edge,
Tension lingered like an unseen shadow.
Wisangkara sat by the open window,
His eyes fixed upon Mount Mahameru,
Its peak standing silent and unyielding against the horizon.
The handmaiden busied herself packing their supplies,
While Nagantara sat cross-legged in the corner of the room,
His silver eyes locked onto Wisangkara with quiet intensity.
At last, Wisangkara spoke.
His voice cut through the silence like a blade upon still water.
"You wish to know more about your mark, don't you?"
Nagantara nodded slowly.
"Yes, Uncle. Why do I have this mark? And why does everyone call me the child of prophecy?"
Wisangkara let out a long, measured sigh,
Then began to speak,
His voice calm, yet carrying the weight of centuries past.
"The dragon's mark is a symbol of immense power," he said.
"You may not fully understand it yet,
But this mark is not just a part of you."
"It is the key to something far greater."
Nagantara's curiosity deepened.
"A key to what?"
Wisangkara's eyes grew distant,
As if remembering forgotten lore that few still spoke of.
"Your mark is the key to the Gate of the Three Worlds," he said at last.
Nagantara's breath caught.
"A place known only to a handful of beings,
Where the mortal realm,
The realm of the gods,
And the realm of darkness are bound together."
He let the words linger,
Allowing their meaning to sink in.
"And anyone who bears that mark," he continued,
"Has the power to open that gate."
For a moment, all was silent.
Nagantara lowered his gaze,
His mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of his existence.
At last, he whispered—
"Why is this gate so important?"
The answer lay beyond mere words.
Beyond destiny,
Beyond the limits of his young understanding.
And yet—
The world waited for his choice.
For his path to unfold.
Beyond the flickering light of the hearth, Wisangkara's voice was steady, his words weighty with purpose.
"Beyond that gate lies a power capable of changing the fate of this world."
His gaze did not waver as he continued,
"Such power may be wielded to bring peace… but just as easily, it may summon ruin.
That is why the mark is so dangerous.
There are those who covet this power, who would destroy anything in their path to claim it."
The handmaiden, listening intently, felt a heavy weight settle in her chest.
She stepped closer, her voice hushed yet urgent.
"Then… are you saying that Nagantara must one day open this gate?"
A flicker of worry and defiance danced in her eyes.
Wisangkara turned to her, his tone firm.
"No."
"I am saying that it is his fate to decide what will become of it.
The choice will be his alone."
Outside, the winds of the valley whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of damp leaves and morning mist.
Leaving the handmaiden to finish their preparations,
Wisangkara led Nagantara outside.
They walked to the edge of a narrow, winding river, its waters crystal-clear, reflecting the light of the early sun.
Around them, wildflowers bloomed, swaying gently in the breeze.
Wisangkara seated himself upon a great stone, resting one hand on his staff.
His voice was softer now, filled with an unspoken wisdom.
"Nagantara," he said, watching the river's steady flow.
"The power within you is not merely for battle or for protection.
You possess something greater—
A connection to the world in ways others cannot perceive."
Nagantara's silver-blue eyes lifted toward him, curiosity flickering in their depths.
"What do you mean?"
Wisangkara gestured toward the rippling water.
"Try it."
"Place your hand over the river… and listen."
Nagantara hesitated for only a moment before kneeling at the river's edge.
He extended his small hands over the water, feeling its cool breath against his skin.
At first—
Nothing.
Only the icy sensation of the stream's surface.
But then—
Something stirred.
A pulse of energy ran through him, flowing from the river, through his fingertips, into his very being.
It was as if the water itself whispered, speaking a language without words.
A rhythm, a breath—
Life itself.
Nagantara gasped, eyes widening.
"I can feel it…"
His voice trembled with wonder and awe.
"The water… it's alive."
Wisangkara's expression softened into a knowing smile.
"Because you are connected to the world around you,
through the mark of the dragon."
"If you learn to master this connection, you will wield a power far greater than you know."
Nagantara pulled his hand away, his mind racing.
"But why me?"
His voice was quiet now, filled with uncertainty.
"Why was I given this mark? Why not someone else?"
Wisangkara's gaze turned toward the distant horizon.
"Because fate chose you."
His words were neither a promise nor a burden—
But a truth that could not be denied.
"There are times when fate does not give us a choice," he continued.
"But what matters is how we face it."
As they returned to the small dwelling,
The handmaiden stood waiting, their supplies carefully packed and ready.
Her eyes flicked to Nagantara, observing the quiet intensity that now lingered in his expression.
She crossed her arms.
"What did you two speak of outside?" she asked.
Her voice carried both gentleness and suspicion.
Nagantara met her gaze,
His heart still full of questions, his mind still lost in the river's song.
Yet—
For the first time,
He felt that he was beginning to understand.
Nagantara's voice was quiet yet filled with uncertainty.
"Many things…" he murmured.
"But I still have so many questions."
The handmaiden sighed, her gaze softening as she knelt beside him.
"You will find the answers, child," she said gently.
"But for now, what matters most is that you remain safe."
Wisangkara nodded.
"She is right."
His tone was grave, weighted with caution.
"Danger always lurks in the shadows.
But if you learn to master your power, you will face it without fear."
That evening, the skies darkened,
Clouds heavy and unnatural gathered over the valley,
Their shadows casting an eerie gloom across the land.
The air, once crisp and fresh,
Turned dense and stifling,
A silent omen, seeping into every stone and street of the village.
Wisangkara stood outside their small dwelling,
His eyes scanning the darkening horizon,
His expression grim and unyielding.
"This is no ordinary storm," he murmured.
Inside, the handmaiden checked their provisions,
While Nagantara sat near the dying hearth,
Drawing patterns in the dirt with a simple wooden stick.
He looked up as Wisangkara entered,
Noting the tension etched upon the old warrior's face.
"Uncle, what is it?" Nagantara asked, his voice laced with concern.
Wisangkara exhaled slowly, then sat before him,
His eyes steady, yet shadowed with apprehension.
"I fear something is drawing near."
His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
"The sky does not darken without reason.
Do you remember what I told you about your mark?"
Nagantara nodded slowly.
"You said it can attract those who seek my power."
Wisangkara's expression did not change.
"Yes. And I believe… they have found it."
The handmaiden stiffened, turning toward them.
Her voice was shaken yet firm.
"What do you mean?
We only just arrived.
How could they have found him so quickly?"
Wisangkara's gaze hardened.
"The energy of his mark cannot be hidden easily."
"And if he has used it, even slightly—"
A realization struck the handmaiden.
Her fingers tightened around the straps of their pack.
She did not need to argue—
She knew Wisangkara spoke the truth.
Yet, the weight of it settled heavily upon her heart.
"Then what must we do?" she asked, voice hushed yet urgent.
Wisangkara rose to his feet,
His staff gripped firmly in one hand.
"We must leave. Now."
"Before they reach us."
But before they could take a single step,
A deep, thunderous sound rolled through the valley.
Not the crash of a storm—
But footsteps.
Heavy. Relentless. Echoing through the land.
A presence vast and undeniable.
Villagers emerged from their homes, faces pale with fear.
They whispered among themselves,
Their voices trembling against the encroaching silence.
And then—
A shadow loomed beyond the trees.
Something massive, emerging from the dusk.
It was no mere man.
It was a creature of darkness.
Towering, broad as a fortress wall,
Its skin was black as the void, glistening like obsidian beneath the dying light.
Its eyes burned red—
Not with life,
But with the hunger of something ancient and unrelenting.
And in its grasp,
It bore a great spear, forged from blackened steel,
Its edges glinting like the fangs of a beast.
A herald of ruin had come.
And it had come for Nagantara.
"A harbinger of darkness," whispered Wisangkara, his keen eyes narrowing.
"They have come for Nagantara."
The villagers, upon beholding the monstrous figure, fled in terror, scrambling into their homes, slamming doors, bolting shutters.
But the creature paid them no heed.
Its gaze— cold, unyielding, merciless—
Was fixed upon the small house at the edge of the village.
Where Nagantara lay waiting.
"It knows we are here," said Wisangkara, gripping his staff with renewed resolve.
His voice was low, but it carried the weight of battle, of duty, of sacrifice.
"You two must prepare to leave. I will hold them back."
Nagantara's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest.
"What do you mean, Uncle? I can't leave you behind!"
Wisangkara turned to him, his expression as unyielding as stone.
"You must."
"This is not about me, Nagantara. This is about your survival."
The handmaiden clutched the boy's hand, her grip firm yet trembling.
"He is right, child," she whispered urgently.
"We must go. Now."
The dark beast advanced, its gait slow yet terrifyingly deliberate.
Each footfall sent tremors rippling through the earth, shaking the leaves from the trees.
When it reached the house, Wisangkara was waiting.
His staff glowed faintly in the dim light, its surface etched with ancient runes of protection.
"Go," Wisangkara commanded, without turning back.
"I will buy you time."
The handmaiden pulled Nagantara toward the back door, their steps swift but laden with sorrow.
They ran.
Through the narrow alleys.
Into the embrace of the forest.
Leaving Wisangkara alone before the beast.
The creature halted mere paces from him,
Its flaming red eyes burning with inhuman hunger.
"Give me the child," it intoned,
Its voice deep, resonant, and unnatural,
As if spoken not from one throat, but many.
Wisangkara did not flinch.
He did not waver.
"No."
"If you want him, you shall have to go through me first."
The beast snarled,
The sound shaking the very bones of the village.
Then—
It leapt.
Faster than anything of its size should have moved.
But Wisangkara was ready.
He swung his staff in a sweeping arc,
And from its tip, a wave of raw energy surged forth,
Colliding with the beast in an explosion of blinding light.
The creature reeled, its form wavering,
But only for a moment.
Then it charged again.
The battle erupted, shaking the village to its core.
The very ground trembled beneath them.
Fires flickered in the wind.
The cries of villagers echoed in the night.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest,
Nagantara and the handmaiden ran and ran,
The trees closing in around them, their path swallowed by darkness.
Yet still—
Nagantara turned, his heart aching.
"Mother, we cannot leave Uncle behind!"
His voice cracked with pain, with desperation.
But the handmaiden held him close,
Even as her own eyes filled with tears.
For she knew—
This was only the beginning.
"He knows what he's doing," the handmaiden gasped, her breath ragged.
"We must trust him."
Yet even as she spoke, another shadow slithered forth from the undergrowth—a creature smaller than the first, yet no less menacing.
Its crimson eyes burned like embers, its fangs bared in a wicked grin.
It blocked their path.
It was waiting.
The forest deepened, shrouded in twilight's grasp.
The last embers of the setting sun faded beyond the western horizon, casting the land into the gloom of night.
The sounds of battle still echoed from the village—
The clash of power, the tremors in the earth, the flickering light breaking through the trees.
Nagantara kept turning back,
His heart torn between fear and the duty to help.
"Mother! We can't just leave Uncle behind!"
His voice cracked, his small hands trembling.
The handmaiden halted, kneeling before him.
She grasped his shoulders, her touch firm but warm.
"Listen to me, child," she said, her voice both commanding and tender.
"Wisangkara is giving us time to escape."
"He fights so that we may live."
"Do not let his sacrifice be in vain."
Tears welled in Nagantara's luminous eyes,
The conflict raging in his young heart.
"But I want to help."
The handmaiden's grip tightened.
"You will help, Nagantara."
"Not by returning, but by surviving."
"By moving forward."
"That is how you honor him."
Yet before they could take another step,
the beast in the shadows lunged forward.
It was small—yet fast, fierce, relentless.
The handmaiden stepped between it and Nagantara,
Her wooden staff clutched tightly,
Her stance unwavering.
"You shall not touch him," she declared.
With a guttural snarl,
The beast leapt—
A blur of claws and fangs.
The handmaiden struck out with her staff,
A swift, desperate blow—
It landed, sending the creature skidding backward into the dirt.
Yet the strike only enraged the beast.
It lunged again, faster, deadlier—
And this time, she would not be fast enough.
Then—
A light.
Nagantara, standing behind her, felt the fear and courage merge within him.
The mark upon his back burned—not in pain, but in purpose.
A warmth, ancient and boundless, filled his veins like fire and light intertwined.
His small hands lifted, as if guided by instinct alone—
And from his palms,
A surge of silver-blue energy burst forth.
A wave of pure power, crackling and radiant,
Collided with the beast.
The creature screeched, its body convulsing as the force of the light enveloped it.
It writhed, clawing at the air, before—
It dissolved into nothingness.
The darkness swallowed it whole.
The handmaiden staggered back,
Her eyes wide with awe and disbelief.
She turned to Nagantara,
Who stood frozen in place,
His breath shallow, his hands still glowing faintly in the dimness of the forest.
"Nagantara…" she whispered.
But the child—
He did not rejoice.
He did not smile.
For in that moment,
For the first time—
He understood.
His power was real.
And so was the weight of it.
The creature howled in agony, its monstrous form writhing,
Before it burst into a cloud of black smoke, vanishing into the night.
The handmaiden turned sharply toward Nagantara,
Her eyes wide with disbelief.
"You did it," she murmured, her voice trembling.
"You protected us."
Nagantara stared at his hands, his fingers still tingling.
"I don't know how I did it," he whispered.
The handmaiden placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You did it because you had to.
Your power knows when it is needed."
Her voice, once taut with fear, now carried a quiet certainty.
At last, they reached the forest's edge.
And there—
Wisangkara stood waiting, his form worn and bloodied,
Yet his stance remained unshaken.
His staff rested upon his shoulder,
And at his feet—
The lifeless remnants of a dark servant lay still upon the earth.
Wisangkara's gaze lifted, relief flickering in his eyes.
"You made it out."
His tone, though weary, held an undeniable strength.
"That is what matters."
The handmaiden's face darkened with concern.
"You are wounded."
Wisangkara let out a low chuckle, waving off the worry.
"These wounds are nothing compared to what we faced."
His expression sobered as his eyes settled on Nagantara,
Who stood, his features still etched with confusion.
"You used your power again, didn't you?"
Nagantara nodded slowly.
"I didn't know how. It just… happened."
Wisangkara's gaze grew sharp, his voice carrying the weight of old wisdom.
"That is because the mark of the dragon is bound to your will.
It answers your need, but if left unchecked, it can also destroy you."
He stepped forward, his presence commanding.
"You must learn to control it, Nagantara.
Or it will control you."
He turned to both the handmaiden and Nagantara, his tone firm.
"We cannot stay here any longer.
The dark ones will keep coming.
And this village will never be safe."
The handmaiden hesitated, glancing back toward the distant valley.
"Then where do we go?"
Wisangkara's expression grew thoughtful, as if weighing a decision long considered.
"There is a place," he said at last.
"Far beyond this valley, where a great sage resides in an ancient temple.
If there is anyone who understands the dragon's mark and the prophecy, it is him.
But the road ahead will not be easy."
A moment of silence fell between them.
The handmaiden's mind raced, knowing the dangers they would face.
Yet she also knew—
They had no other choice.
She turned toward Nagantara.
The boy stood by her side, his young face resolute,
His silver-blue eyes gleaming with newfound purpose.
"I want to go," Nagantara declared.
His voice was steady, unwavering.
"I need to understand this mark. I want to learn."
Wisangkara's lips curled into a faint smile.
"A wise decision."
His gaze turned distant, as if glimpsing the trials yet to come.
"But you must be ready for what awaits."
The handmaiden exhaled, her resolve hardening.
She nodded.
"Then it is decided," she said.
"We journey to the temple."