Proof That Shook Him

The courtyard before the gates of Tirta Nirmala remained frozen in silence. Dust hung in the air, stirred only by the faint tremble of a breeze too afraid to trespass.

And then, she stepped forward.

A woman, strikingly beautiful, but cold as a winter moon, walked across the fractured ground. The lingering echoes of battle made way for her presence, as though the world itself dared not obstruct her path.

Her eyes, cold and commanding, brushed past the dust-covered youth who stood unyielding despite his wounds. She barely spared him a glance. Her attention locked instead onto the proud figure on the other side, the one still smirking, still ignorant of the tide turning against him.

"Sagara," she said. Her voice was level, yet it struck like a sword unsheathed. "why is it that you're always stirring up trouble?".

Sagara scoffed, tilting his chin. "It wasn't me who started this. He insulted our sect," he said, jabbing a finger toward Gugum. "I merely taught him a lesson."

"Hmph."

The sound she made was light, but it carried weight. Her brow furrowed; frost gathered in her tone.

"I know exactly what happened. The ones at fault… were yours."

Sagara blinked. "What are you talking about, Saras?"

"Yesterday. At Lake Tirtawening," she replied, her words clipped but resolute. "Your subordinates ambushed Jaka and Lila. I was there. This young man—he only arrived before I did. He stopped it."

A ripple of alarm broke across Sagara's face. He turned sharply to his followers, who now trembled as if caught in a blizzard with no shelter.

One of them whispered, pale as ash, "We're doomed… we're so doomed."

Sagara clenched his jaw. He knew Saras well—this woman before him never spoke without evidence. He knew... it was true.

He exhaled through his nose, gave Gugum one last look, a glare full of wounded pride, and turned without a word, vanishing into the shadows of the sect.

Silence settled again. Heavy, contemplative.

Saras now stood alone before the stranger. Their eyes met.

He didn't flinch.

"What business do you have here?" she asked at last. Her voice, sharp as icicles, betrayed no emotion. But behind her gaze flickered a memory, the duel by the lake, the ease with which this unknown had dispatched two trained disciples.

"I carry a message," Gugum replied. His tone was calm, steady. "From my master. I was told to seek an audience with the Head of Tirta Nirmala."

Saras narrowed her eyes. "Who is your master?"

"Andini," he answered softly.

The name brought pause. Saras stilled, her mind reaching deep through the annals of sect legends and martial renown. No such name echoed in her memory.

"She left the martial world long ago," Gugum added, sensing her hesitation. "It's not surprising you don't know her."

Another moment passed. Then she turned away. "The Head is not here. He returns tomorrow."

"Then I shall return tomorrow," Gugum said, his voice respectful. He turned, about to leave.

"Wait." Her voice stopped him mid-step.

He glanced back.

"You should stay the night. We have guest lodges."

"There's no need," Gugum replied. "I'm used to sleeping in the forest."

"Sagara might seek you out again. He… doesn't forget grudges."

"I'm not afraid."

And he walked.

Saras watched his retreating back in silence. Then, without warning, she called out again, "Make yourself presentable before you meet the Head. Your body… stinks."

Gugum paused.

He raised his arm, sniffed his collar and underarm, thoughtful.

A beat of silence.

Then he nodded, and kept walking.

Saras stood still. That last remark, those were not the words of the Ice Maiden she was known to be. She wasn't one for chatter, much less jabs. They called her the Frost Fairy, the cold flame of Tirta Nirmala. But this boy…

For some reason, he made her forget to be cold.

She exhaled deeply and turned away, heart strangely unsettled.

Morning at the Main Gate of Tirta Nirmala.

Gugum had returned.

This time, he appeared clean. His hair was neatly combed, and his body emitted a faint, natural fragrance, fresh and subtle, as though the forest itself had blessed him. No one knew where he had acquired it.

Not long after, Saras arrived, accompanied by the same guard who had summoned her the day before. Her gaze met Gugum's for a brief moment, calm, impassive.

"Follow me," she said.

Gugum gave a quiet nod and stepped behind her. As they passed the guard post, hushed murmurs rippled among the sentries.

"That's the Ice Goddess... she came to escort him personally."

"Who is that young man?" whispered another.

None of them could answer.

Within the Domain of the Sect.

Gugum took in his surroundings with quiet awe. Towering wooden structures loomed around him, grand and pristine. For someone who had lived a life of simplicity, this place felt like a palace in the heart of the forest. Its beauty and order momentarily stilled his breath.

They arrived at a wide chamber, a waiting hall reserved for guests. Saras gestured for him to sit, then left without further word.

Moments passed. Then came the sound of measured footsteps.

From behind the inner doors emerged an old man, his age somewhere between sixty and seventy. His face bore a calm dignity, untouched by arrogance. A neatly kept white beard framed his chin, and though his garments bore no extravagant adornments, they radiated a clear status.

This was Sanjaya, the Head of Tirta Nirmala. Two middle-aged men followed behind him in silence.

Sanjaya halted and fixed his gaze upon Gugum. His eyes studied the youth intently. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the two guards.

They bowed and exited without a word.

"Come," Sanjaya said.

Within the main chamber, Sanjaya invited Gugum to sit. With a subtle motion of his hand, a translucent veil shimmered into existence, wrapping around the room like a mirage.

Gugum instinctively flinched. He had never witnessed anything like it, but he held his silence, steadying his heart in preparation.

"No need to worry, young man," Sanjaya said, his voice deep, yet calm, bearing the weight of authority. "It is merely a sound barrier, none outside these walls will hear what we discuss."

His gaze sharpened, cutting through pretense.

"Saras said you're Andini's disciple. Is that true?"

Gugum did not respond immediately. Instead, he posed a question of his own. "Are you the Head of Tirta Nirmala, Sanjaya?"

Sanjaya nodded. "Yes. I am Sanjaya."

He was not angered by the deflection. In fact, his curiosity deepened.

"What proof do you have that you're Andini's disciple?"

Gugum hesitated briefly. Then, slowly, he reached into his robes and retrieved a bundle of worn cloth. Unwrapping it with care, he revealed a small object within.

A silver hairpin, simple, yet elegant. At its tip shimmered a blue gemstone, gleaming like a drop of moonlight.

The moment his eyes landed upon it, Sanjaya fell silent.

The calm mask on his face trembled. His eyes widened, as if something deep within him had been stirred.

His lips moved, voice barely a whisper.

"An… dini."