CHAPTER 5 — THE SHADOW BEHIND THE SYMBOL

The rooftop of the police headquarters—once a symbol of justice and safety—had long become a forgotten sanctuary. It was a designated resting place for staff, tucked away from the burden of bureaucracy below. The night poured cold and merciless, soaking the bench beneath him—wood soft with rot. Max didn’t flinch. His stare clung to the city lights like a man watching a dream decay.

Doubt gnawed at his soul.

Not just about justice or the law—but about the very nature of humankind. He had not come into this world to serve the system. No. He was here to hunt something far older than any court or badge—a presence that had evaded capture for centuries. A figure known only through the echoes it left behind—in the chaos, in the sins men refused to acknowledge. Once, the creature had been easier to find, easier to track. But now, it hid behind the faces of the ordinary. It blended in, disguised, camouflaged… whispering corruption from within the shadows of the human conscience.

And somewhere in the tangled echoes of his memory, Melianor’s voice rang out once more.

“You don’t have to fight alone, Max.”

But trust, Max had learned, was a double-edged weapon.

Humanity was fragile. Greedy. And the entity—they—knew precisely how to exploit that weakness. People would falter. They always did.

“In this case, D’Kingdom isn’t your enemy,” Melianor had said.

“Then who is?” Max whispered, his breath carried off by the wind. “Could it be… him?”

Images from the past surged into his mind—blood, flames, the sound of a child’s cry piercing through smoke. He was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“Don’t talk to yourself. It’s creepy,” said Teguh, placing a soda can beside Max’s half-empty paper cup.

He had followed Max to the rooftop, as he often did when things got too tangled. Hot coffee and silence—Max’s ritual when the world made too little sense. And as his partner, Teguh never let him spiral alone.

In Max’s hands was an old document, its surface powdered with the dust of decades. It was filled with notes—strange, ancient notes—on a ritual involving a guardian spirit and the pursuit of power. Jason had given it to him after the briefing, face pale and voice trembling as if haunted by something he’d never escaped.

When Max had first mentioned the phrase “the ritual of three souls,” Jason had frozen. Too long. Too unnaturally. Then, without a word, he’d led them to the archive room.

“This… has been passed down from one senior officer to another,” Jason had whispered. “A reminder that in some cases… are darker than anything we’re allowed to investigate.”

Max had asked, “Then why now?”

Jason looked at him, not with fury or sorrow, but with something far worse—detachment. His eyes met Max’s like glass meeting ice: silent, reflective, and utterly unfeeling. It wasn’t the absence of words that chilled Max, but the absence of presence, as if Jason was already half-gone, a phantom clinging to memory rather than life.

“Try! Compare it to the case from thirty years ago.”

Then Jason had left, claiming he needed to go home, to see his wife and child. But Max knew better. Jason wasn’t going home—he was fleeing something he couldn’t explain.

“Demons, riches, obsession…” Teguh murmured, his eyes scanning the night sky for answers that never came. “Sounds like folklore. But sometimes, obsession can create miracles… or curses.”

Max took a sip of his now-cold coffee. Bitter. Lifeless.

“You don’t sound like a profiler,” he said, his voice sharp.

Teguh chuckled lightly. “Maybe I’m slipping. But this case defies logic. Profilers see people through patterns, psychology, and data. From our lens, a ritual like this—a spirit worship—it’s just a motive. A reason someone believes killing will bring salvation. But as a person… that logic terrifies me.”

Silence fell between them. The sky above remained a void, but something stirred beneath its shadow—unseen, yet unmistakably present.

“What if the spirit is real?” Max asked quietly, watching Teguh’s expression.

“Impossible,” Teguh replied, laughing. But the laugh never reached his eyes.

Then Max felt it—a presence. A gaze. A flicker in the corner of his vision. He turned swiftly.

Just a blur across the rooftop of the adjacent building.

Too distinct to dismiss. Too vivid to forget.

He tightened his grip on the old document. That symbol again—three interlocking circles, claw marks etched beneath. He had seen it before. In his dreams. The kind that left him walking in a cold sweat, lungs gasping for air.

But… was it really a dream?

Teguh checked his phone, unopened soda still in hand.

“Wantar and Yeri are back. Let’s head down,” he said softly.

Max rose to follow, eyes on Teguh’s back as his friend walked ahead. The night wind brushed against his face—gentle, yet laced with whispers. Not only Melianor’s voice this time… but something older. Something that predated even the darkness.

Someone was watching.

He turned. The rooftop across the way was empty again.

Max clutched the document tighter.

That cursed symbol burned in his memory.

—

Back on the main floor, Max and Teguh stepped into the Special Unit’s war room. The lights were dimmed, the only illumination spilling from Yeri’s glowing monitor. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed, jaw tight.

“You’re late,” she muttered. “We’ve got a problem.”

Max approached silently. Teguh slumped into a nearby seat and stared at the screen.

Footage played—grainy CCTV from what looked like a ritual chamber. A wealthy man in pristine white entered the room, carrying an item wrapped in crimson cloth.

“Watch the twenty-third second,” Yeri said, rewinding.

The man unveiled a small statue. Not human, not quite. Too perfect. Too smooth. Its eyes were empty sockets. Its mouth slightly ajar, as though about to whisper.

Teguh’s breath caught. “That statue…”

“The symbol on its base matches the one in the document,” he added, glancing at Max.

“Three circles and claw marks. The guardian spirit of power.”

Max muttered, “The ritual of three souls has begun.”

“Ritual of three souls? What report is this?” Yeri asked, confused.

Max handed her the document.

Oddly, Wantar remained silent. Known for her iron will and commanding presence, she seemed distant, lost in thought.

“She hasn’t said a word since returned,” Yeri whispered.

“What happened at the scene? And where’s this footage from?” Max pressed. His gut told him something had changed.

Teguh nudged Wantar’s arm gently. She didn’t flinch. That alone was wrong. She always flinched—or retaliated.

Something serious had gone down.

As Yeri flipped through the document, Wantar finally spoke.

“We found the footage in Jos’s apartment. Remember today’s sweep? We checked three locations: Ming’s, Kao’s, and Jos’s. This… this came from them.”

She showed them a cardboard evidence box. Inside, photographs of Ming and Kao sealed in a plastic sleeve labeled Found at Ming’s. An old flash drive, similarly packaged, marked Found at Kao’s.

“The footage you saw came from the flash drive we found at Jos’s place,” she explained.

Max studied her face. “There’s more. I can see it.”

Wantar hesitated. Her voice cracked slightly.

“I felt like… I was being watched.”

Chills crept down Max’s spine.

He’d felt it too.

“Oh, same here,” Yeri added, glancing at Wantar. “It happened at Kao’s house.”

Wantar then says, “I thought I saw someone… in the mirror. But when I turned to check, they were gone.”