The old book with the black leather cover slipped from my arms and slammed onto the wooden table with a clatter that shattered the silence of the archive room. My eyes remained fixed on Evara's oil painting. The face on that weathered paper was mine—the shape of her eyebrows, her sharp nose, even the light-brown eyes I saw in the mirror every morning.
"I told you to get out of here!" the thick-glasses-wearing librarian snapped. He lunged forward, snatched up the ancient book, and slammed its cover shut, sending a thick cloud of dust billowing into the air. "You have no right to be in this room!"
"Sir... the woman in that painting..." My voice trembled, and my fingers clenched the edge of the faded denim jacket I was wearing. My usual mischievous, cheerful nature had vanished without a trace.
"Get out of this library right now, before I call the city-hall officers!" he threatened, his face flushed bright red as he roughly shoved my shoulder toward the exit.
I didn't fight back. With my thoughts in chaos and my mind battered by a storm of conflicting information, I stepped out of the old library. The late-afternoon sunlight had been completely swallowed by the thick fog of Niskala creeping down from the hill, turning the sky into frozen dark gray.
I walked aimlessly along the rounded stone streets, letting the cold wind sweep through my shoulder-length wavy hair. Pieces of the mystery spun wildly inside my head like a thick net tightening around me: the supernatural visions I'd had since childhood, the shadowless girl who called me Evara, the crack in the seal in the town square, the glowing symbol on my right palm, and the old painting displaying my own face. Was I really Evara reincarnated? Or was I just the victim of a string of insane coincidences? I screamed inwardly in frustration.
"Nirwana..."
A hoarse, calm voice called out from the shadows of a stone alley beside an old herbal-medicine shop. I jumped in alarm, pressing my back against the stone wall as I took a defensive stance. "Who's there?!"
From behind the coils of thick night fog emerged an old man walking slowly with a wooden staff carved with a dragon. He was thin but upright, dressed in a slightly worn traditional Javanese black beskap and a dark blangkon. His white hair and beard were neatly groomed, while his dark-brown eyes radiated profound wisdom and a sorrow that had long since ripened.
"Don't be afraid, kid," the old man said gently, offering a warm smile that somehow managed to calm my racing heartbeat a little. "I'm Darma. I've been watching you since you stepped out of the library."
I narrowed my light-brown eyes, trying to read his expression. My wariness stayed firmly at the front of my mind. "Elder Darma? You know me?"
"I know the energy you carry, Nirwana," Elder Darma replied, tapping his wooden staff against the stone floor. Tuk... tuk... "Come with me for a moment. There are too many eyes in the fog listening out here."
Curiosity and courage wrestled with caution. But realizing that the old man had called me by my name without bringing up Evara in a threatening tone, I finally nodded and followed him down the narrow alley toward a warm wooden stilt house at its end. Inside Elder Darma's wooden house, the aroma of brewed green tea and cinnamon filled the air. A small fireplace burned in the corner, casting a warm orange glow across the wooden walls covered with hanging dried leaves. I sat on a pandan mat, holding the clay cup of hot tea Elder Darma had handed me. "Elder Darma," I said softly, unable to hold back the burden pressing on my chest. "Who was Evara, really? And why does everyone—even this city's history—seem scared to death whenever they hear that name?"
Elder Darma sipped his tea slowly, then stared into the fireplace with a distant look, as if gazing deep into the past. "Evara was Niskala's last Guardian," Elder Darma explained in a deep, soothing voice. "Four hundred years ago, this city was not a safe place to live. Niskala stood directly above the Mist Gate—a gigantic dimensional rift connecting the human world to the Niskala World, a realm inhabited by creatures of darkness."
I listened with bated breath, letting the cup in my hands grow cold.
"The Mist Gate opened often, spewing out savage monsters that preyed on the townspeople," Elder Darma continued. "Until finally, a young girl named Evara—blessed with the pure energy of the earth—decided to act. She fought alone in the heart of the city, leading an army of spirits to hold back the assault of darkness."
"Then... what happened to her?" I asked quickly.
Elder Darma let out a long, sorrow-laden breath. "An ordinary sealing spell couldn't withstand the Dark Lord's destructive power. To save Niskala and the human world, Evara made the ultimate sacrifice. She bound her own soul into the structure of the Mist Gate's seal, vanishing permanently from the physical world to become its eternal lock. Before she disappeared, Evara swore an oath: if the seal ever cracked and darkness threatened the world again, her soul would be reborn to complete its task."
An oppressive silence suddenly enveloped the wooden stilt house. The crackle of burning wood in the fireplace sounded unnaturally loud. I lowered my head and stared at my right palm. I rubbed the jacket fabric covering the glowing symbol. "Elder... that story sounds like a fairy tale or a bedtime legend. I'm... I'm just an ordinary twenty-year-old girl. I just want to live a normal life here with my mother."
Elder Darma looked at me with deep empathy. "I understand the turmoil inside you, Nirwana. Even my human logic would reject it. But you can't lie to the pure energy vibrating from within your body. The Guardian's symbol on your hand is proof."
"But why does it have to be me?!" I cried softly, frustrated tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. My resistance rebelled fiercely. "I never asked for this power! I don't want to sacrifice my soul like Evara!"
"You are Nirwana, not the Evara of old," Elder Darma said, gentle but cutting. "You have your own free will. But fate will not wait until you are ready."
Elder Darma suddenly straightened in his seat. His friendly face turned intensely serious and rigid. He leaned toward me, his voice dropping into a very soft, ominous whisper. "Nirwana, you need to listen carefully," Elder Darma said, his eyes locking onto mine. "The crack in the seal in the town square yesterday wasn't just an ordinary supernatural natural disaster. A group of humans in Niskala deliberately triggered the damage to the seal from within."
"What?" I asked, startled. "Who?"
"The city's elders and their dark allies," Elder Darma whispered, his voice carrying a cold warning. "They want the immortality promised by the Dark Lord beyond the gate. And to open the Mist Gate completely, they need the blood or soul of the Guardian's Heir."
Elder Darma reached for my wrist and clasped it gently. Outside the wooden house, the air suddenly whistled as the night wind swept through, carrying a faint stench of sulfur. "Someone is actively hunting the Guardian's Heir throughout Niskala," Elder Darma whispered, pure terror in his voice. "And after what happened in the town square last night... you've become their primary target, Nirwana. You don't have much time left."