Chapter Fifteen:The Return

The sun hung low over the hills as Budin and Rania descended into the outskirts of Kampung Hijau. What was once a vibrant village of songs and silat had turned into something else—quieter, colder. The air itself seemed heavy with unspoken dread.

Budin clutched the satchel tighter, the scroll of Langkah Roh humming faintly within. He hadn't realized how much he missed the scent of his village: the smoky air from cooking fires, the sweet waft of pandan, the familiar rhythm of distant gendang drums during evening training. But none of that greeted him now.

The people were gone from the fields. The streets were muddy and empty. Doors were closed. Lanterns dim.

Something had happened.

Rania walked beside him in silence. Though she wore her hood, her presence felt more spirit than human now, as though her time in the mortal realm grew short.

They passed by the training courtyard of Pak Cik Leman, Budin's old silat teacher. The once-lively arena, where he had fallen, bled, and learned the basics of Tapak Harimau, now lay cracked and overgrown.

"He would not leave this place unless taken," Budin muttered.

Rania nodded grimly. "Then we should ask the wind where they've gone."

Just then, a soft whistle came from the trees.

Budin's body tensed. The whistle was a signal—the old hunter's call—used only during emergencies.

He stepped into the jungle path beside the road and followed the faint trail of pressed leaves and bent branches. After several quiet minutes, a figure emerged from the underbrush.

It was Din Si Bongkok, the elderly scout who once guided hunters to safe trails. He looked thinner, eyes sunken, but his bow was steady in hand.

"Budin?" the old man whispered in disbelief. "By the ancestors... it is you."

Budin knelt respectfully. "Where is everyone, Tok Din? What happened here?"

The old scout ushered them deeper into the brush, speaking in hushed tones. "Two moons ago, the dark ones came. Not bandits—worse. Men with silver masks and shadow beasts beside them. They called themselves the Waris Senyap, descendants of the old forbidden sect from Bukit Luruh."

Budin felt the name stab his memory like a dagger. The Silent Heirs—an order said to have perished a hundred years ago after betraying the old silat councils.

"They came in the night," Tok Din continued. "Took Pak Leman, Tok Imam, even Kak Dayang the healer. Burned the scroll house. Said they were cleansing the village of weakness and false traditions."

Budin's fists clenched. "And my mother?"

Tok Din looked away. "They left her house standing. I don't know more."

Budin rose, eyes blazing. "Then I'll find out."

---

Budin approached his home slowly.

It was dark, the windows shattered, but the roof still held. A single lamp flickered on the porch—an offering of light to wandering spirits.

Inside, the air was thick with incense. His mother's altar remained untouched, a sign someone had continued the rites.

He moved deeper into the house and paused.

There, lying on a sleeping mat, was his mother—eyes closed, breathing shallowly. A damp cloth rested on her forehead.

"Mak," Budin whispered, falling to her side.

Her eyes opened slowly. "Budin... anakku?"

Tears brimmed in his eyes. "I'm here."

She lifted a weak hand and cupped his cheek. "You've grown taller. Your aura… it shines."

"What happened, Mak?"

Her voice cracked like old paper. "They came asking for the Seven Forms. Your father's old enemies… they knew you were training. They feared what you'd become. When I would not answer, they cursed this body."

Rania stepped forward and knelt. "A sleeping hex. Spirit-rot. They tied her soul to silence."

Budin turned, desperate. "Can you undo it?"

"I can guide you," she said, "but you must open the Seventh Scroll and accept its full gift. Only then can you sever what binds her."

Budin nodded. "Then let's do it."

---

Under the moon's pale gaze, Budin stood behind his house in the clearing where his father once taught him the silent step.

He laid the scroll of Langkah Roh on a stone and unwrapped it. The symbols within pulsed with inner light, moving like flowing water.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and began to move.

The form was nothing like the others. No sharp kicks or crashing blows. It was flowing, like air weaving through trees. Each step echoed into the world, but not with sound—with intention.

With each movement, the mist from the scroll rose, wrapping around him like a gentle tide. Budin's body disappeared into it, then reformed, each time more luminous.

Rania circled him, whispering the ancient chant of separation. "Dari roh ke roh, dari jalan ke jalan. Biarlah yang membelenggu gugur di hadapan terang."

Budin stepped forward, planted his foot, and let out a single word:

"Lepas."

Release.

The mist surged into the house.

A silence deeper than sleep fell over the clearing.

Then—his mother gasped.

Inside, her eyes widened as though awakening from a hundred-year dream. Color returned to her cheeks. The spell had broken.

Budin dropped to his knees, exhausted but smiling.

"She's free."

---

Later that night, as Budin sat by the stream sharpening his keris, Rania approached with a stern look.

"We don't have much time," she said. "The Waris Senyap knows you've returned. They will come for you."

Budin's eyes narrowed. "Let them."

"No," she said. "You will go to them."

He looked up.

"The final battle will not be won by waiting. They seek to awaken the Spirit of the Forgotten Temple—an ancient power sealed for good reason. If they succeed, no silat form, no warrior, will be able to stand against them."

Budin stood.

"Then I'll stop them before that happens."

Rania bowed slightly. "Prepare yourself, Pendekar Tujuh Langkah. The final war begins soon."