Chapter 1: Fractured Life
Drip. Drip.
The night rain trickled cold and sharp, soaking into his bones. A dim streetlamp flickered above a shabby food stall on the outskirts of Yogyakarta, near the ghost of an old terminal.
There, on a creaking wooden bench, sat a man with bloodshot eyes and a bottle of cheap arak (Indonesian liquor) nearly empty at his side.
His name was Arvin Bagaskara.
"…Tch."
He lowered his head, one hand clenched around a soggy rejection letter stuffed in his jacket pocket. The words blurred from all the times he had read them. He already knew what they said.
"We regret to inform you …"
Pathetic.
That was the only word that echoed in his head anymore.
His thoughts spiraled again. His mind tangled with memories of Ayaka—the woman he once loved—who had walked away weeks ago. Her final words echoed relentlessly in his head:
"You're 28, Arvin … still going nowhere. I can't waste my life waiting for someone whose future looks this dark."
Ayaka's voice echoed, unshakable—sharp as glass in his chest.
His stomach twisted. He held back a gag.
"Ayaka… Left me...
Because I am nothing."
No job. No purpose. No future.
Just another failure dragging his feet through a world that never asked for him.
He laughed bitterly and took another swig.
Even that couldn't drown it out.
His gaze rested on the phone beside him.
"…"
That morning, his mother had called him—her voice cracked, trembling—begging him to come home.
But what was the point?
Going back would only remind them how much he'd failed. Failed at love. Failed at life. Failed to even be human.
He stood, unsteady, and staggered down an alley lit by distant motorbike lights. One step at a time, like a ghost dragged by rain and regret. Somehow, his legs took him away from the city—through winding backroads, abandoned footpaths, deeper into the dark.
He wasn't thinking. He wasn't going anywhere.
He was leaving.
The streets turned to mud. The glow of the city disappeared behind the trees.
The forest swallowed him whole.
In Yogyakarta, on the island of Java, temples were scattered like the ghosts of old kingdoms—hidden in jungles, half-buried in silence. Some were famous. Others left to rot, nameless and swallowed by moss. To stumble across one, even in a drunken haze, wasn't unheard of.
Eventually, ahead in the downpour, he saw it: a crumbling ruin—a forgotten temple buried in the wilderness.
Locals whispered about this place.
That it was haunted.
That dark rituals had happened here.
That people came here to die.
Arvin smiled.
"…Maybe this is good enough."
His soaked boots squelched on moss-covered stones. He climbed the ancient steps, collapsing near the mouth of the ruins. The wind howled through broken carvings—grotesque shapes of monsters and spirits leering in the dark.
"If I die here…"
He leaned back, eyes to the heavens.
"...at least no one will find me."
Then…
Warmth.
"…What the hell?"
The stone beneath him pulsed faintly. A green light seeped from a crack—no, from beneath the temple.
Steam hissed up from the earth.
The scent of scorched iron filled his nose.
Before he could react—
CRACK.
The ground shattered beneath him.
A vortex of green light surged upward, howling like a living storm. Wind roared, swirling around him, pulling at his clothes, his skin, his soul.
He screamed.
"WHAA—?!"
Leaves and stones flew past as gravity failed.
His body lifted.
The world spun.
"Am I… dying?"
The last thing he saw was the night sky—splintering like glass—before everything turned white.
And then—blackness.
No sound.
No light.
Only silence.
---
A moment later—he crashed onto hard earth.
"THUD!"
Pain.
Wet soil.
The taste of bile in his throat.
"—Gkhh!"
He rolled over, coughing violently. His body was burning and freezing at the same time.
Above him: trees.
Massive, alien trees.
Around him: chirping. Buzzing. The calls of birds he didn't know.
"…Wh…at?"
He couldn't stand.
And then—
RRRAAAWWWRRR!
A monstrous howl from behind.
He turned.
Eyes.
Glowing red.
Foam. Fangs.
A beast—like a wolf—but massive, twisted, and horned.
It charged.
He ran. Fell. Blood streaked down his leg from a fresh gash.
He crawled beneath a tree root, gasping.
His fingers brushed something smooth—round. Half-buried in mud.
A crystal?
It glowed faintly… green.
The monster snarled, closing in.
He grabbed a rock, threw it. It bounced off the beast like a toy.
It roared.
"No… please…"
Time slowed.
His mind filled with faces.
Ayaka.
His mother.
All the nights he wanted to disappear.
All the times he almost did.
"I don't… want to die like this…"
Blood from his arm trickled onto the crystal.
The green glow flared.
A voice—cold, deep, ancient—echoed inside his mind.
"I am Vhargron… wanderer of the void. You… are broken. Empty. That makes you… perfect."
Arvin's eyes widened.
"What…? Why… me…?" Arvin gasped.
"Because you are empty. Fractured. Your soul is riddled with wounds. You are… the perfect host. Let me plant the seed of power… Let me in. Give me your hollow heart. In return… I will give you strength."
The beast lunged.
Arvin screamed—
BOOOOM.
Green fire exploded outward, incinerating the monster in midair.
The heat was unbearable. His chest burned. His lungs screamed.
"Contract… sealed…"
Darkness again.
When he awoke, it was to cold rain dripping through the canopy. His body throbbed. His breath was ragged.
A symbol—black and faintly pulsing—burned on his chest.
He sat up shakily.
"…Where…?"
A rustle.
His heart jumped.
He turned—
A girl.
A young woman stepped into the clearing.
She was soaked to the bone, clutching a wooden staff, her silvery hair tangled and clinging to her face.
Her eyes—ice blue—widened when they met his.
"You're… alive…?" she whispered.
She examined his wounds.
"You're burned… but not charred. Who… who are you?"
Arvin bit his lip, fingers clawing the earth.
"I'm just… a loser. If I died… it wouldn't matter…" he choked.
She looked to the rain-streaked sky, then slowly reached out, gently tending his wounds with trembling hands.
"You're safe now… I'll help you… hold on…"
She dropped to her knees beside him, inspecting his burns.
"These wounds… You should be dead…"
He looked up at her—his eyes brimming with tears.
"I… should be…"
His voice cracked.
"But I'm not."
The girl hesitated, then placed her hand gently on his chest. Her touch was cold—but… calming.
He trembled.
And somewhere deep inside…
Vhargron whispered again.
"So fragile… Hold on, little flame… the storm hasn't begun."
A chill ran down his spine. The voice faded, like smoke dissolving into silence.
Then—warmth.
Not from within… but from her.
"I… I'm Serina," she said softly. "I'll help you. So please… don't give up."
As her hand touched his chest, a gentle green light pulsed from her palm.
It wasn't just light—it was alive. It flowed like water, forming glowing patterns on his skin—rootlike veins of light stretching from wound to wound.
The air grew warm around them despite the rain. The scent of earth and fresh leaves filled their lungs—like the forest itself was breathing with them.
Serina closed her eyes, lips trembling in silent prayer. The light throbbed slowly, feeding him strength. His wounds didn't vanish—but the bleeding stopped, and color returned to his face.
Tiny glowing specks danced in the air before fading. Serina slumped, exhausted, her breath shallow.
Arvin gasped, blinking.
"What… where is this… why am I still alive…?"
Serina swallowed hard, her voice slightly firmer now.
"…Zamrad…" she whispered. "This is Zamrad. You're in the northern woods."
He blinked.
Zamrad…??
Where the hell was that?
"…Why am I alive?" he croaked.
She shook her head.
"I don't know. But that light… it saved you."
The rain continued to fall, but the air around them felt… different now.
Arvin closed his eyes.
He wasn't dead.
Not yet.
Only the sound of rainfall and his heartbeat filled the silence.
Arvin's hand tightened around hers, just before he lost consciousness again.
"....."
To be continued.