Dusk was beginning to fall when a young man walked alone along the dirt road cutting through the rice fields.
His name was Brajamusti.
He was still young, handsome, broad-shouldered, and light on his feet despite having walked since morning. His clothes were simple and dark, with a small cloth bag slung over one shoulder.
No guards.
No horse.
No entourage.
All he had was a wooden flute tucked into his waistband.
Brajamusti had chosen to live as a wanderer. He had no permanent home. Whenever he arrived at a village, he would look for odd jobs to earn some food and a little money before continuing on his way.
But there was actually another reason he kept traveling.
He was searching for someone.
Not someone he had known before.
Nor someone whose face he had ever seen.
Brajamusti simply wanted to find a woman who could one day become the place he called home.
The desire sounded simple enough, but at his age, he still had yet to meet anyone who could make his heart stop wandering.
"I wonder how many more villages I'll have to walk through," he muttered.
He stopped by the roadside and watched the sun slowly disappear behind the hills.
Brajamusti then took the flute from his waistband.
The flute was not valuable. At least, that was what he had always believed.
He raised it to his lips and played softly.
A gentle melody drifted across the rice fields.
Several birds perched in the trees took flight at once. The evening breeze swept through Brajamusti's hair.
For a few moments, the world felt utterly peaceful.
Brajamusti smiled faintly.
"If I ever find someone I love, maybe I won't have to travel this far anymore."
He put the flute away.
Then he continued on his way.
Before long, several houses came into view in the distance.
A village.
Brajamusti quickened his pace. His stomach was beginning to growl. Since morning, he had eaten nothing but a piece of cassava he had bought from a roadside vendor.
When he entered the village, it looked fairly lively.
People were starting to pack up their stalls. Several children ran through the streets. The smell of food wafting from the villagers' homes made Brajamusti's stomach rumble even louder.
He smiled sheepishly when a small child turned to look at him.
"Warrior, are you hungry?" the child asked innocently.
Brajamusti chuckled.
"A little."
The child pointed toward the far end of the village.
"There's an old man selling fruit over there. Sometimes his fruit is cheap."
Brajamusti followed the direction the child indicated.
Sure enough.
Beneath a large tree, an old man sat alone in front of a mat covered with fruits and vegetables.
There were bananas, cassava, chilies, eggplants, several bundles of greens, and a few fruits that were beginning to wilt.
Strangely, no one went near the old man.
Brajamusti watched for a moment.
The old man seemed to have trouble standing. His hands trembled as he tried to lift a basket.
Brajamusti immediately approached him.
"Grandpa, let me help you."
The old man turned toward him.
His eyes looked old, but his gaze was remarkably sharp.
"Huh? There's no need, son. Grandpa's still strong."
Brajamusti smiled.
"If you're still strong, that's fine. But if someone can help, why force yourself?"
Without waiting for an answer, Brajamusti lifted the basket of vegetables and set it beside the old man.
The old man smiled.
"It's rare to find a young man willing to help an old person like you do."
"I just happened to be passing by, Grandpa."
"What's your name?"
"Brajamusti."
The old man nodded slowly.
"That's a fine name."
Brajamusti then looked over the goods that remained.
"Haven't you sold much?"
The old man sighed.
"That's how it is. These days, people prefer buying things at the big market."
Brajamusti looked at the old man's face.
Then he opened his cloth bag.
He didn't have much money.
Even if he bought enough food to last several days, it would probably run out soon.
But Brajamusti looked back at the fruits and vegetables before him.
"Then I'll buy them."
The old man was startled.
"Buy what?"
"Everything."
The old man—whose name was Kakek Paijo—fell silent.
"Everything?"
Brajamusti nodded.
"I don't know if I can finish it all. But at least you won't have to carry your goods home."
Kakek Paijo stared at Brajamusti for a long moment.
For the first time, the smile vanished from his face.
His expression turned serious.
It was as if he had just found someone he had been waiting for all this time.
"Brajamusti..."
"Yes, Grandpa?"
"Do you believe that when two people meet, it isn't always by chance?"
Brajamusti furrowed his brow.
Before he could answer, Kakek Paijo slowly rose to his feet.
Then he walked toward an old wooden box stored behind him.
Brajamusti watched curiously.
Kakek Paijo opened the box.
Inside was a long object wrapped in black cloth.
Kakek Paijo lifted it with both hands.
"Actually," he said softly, "there's something Grandpa needs to give you."
Brajamusti stared at the object.
For some reason, the moment the black cloth was partially opened, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
And when Kakek Paijo finally revealed what was inside, Brajamusti froze.
An old, dark-colored flute lay across the old man's palm.
Yet strange carvings covered its surface, seeming to move whenever they caught the fading sunlight.
"Take it," Kakek Paijo said.
Brajamusti did not touch it.
"What for, Grandpa?"
Kakek Paijo smiled mysteriously.
"Because starting tonight, your journey will change."
Brajamusti stared at the flute.
Without realizing it, he saw one of the carvings on its surface suddenly begin to glow faintly.
And for the first time in his life, Brajamusti sensed something strange about an object he had not even touched...
Brajamusti continued staring at the old flute in Kakek Paijo's hand. The strange carvings on its surface made him feel that it was no ordinary flute.
"Take it, son," Kakek Paijo said once again.
At last, Brajamusti accepted the flute.
The moment his fingers touched the wood, a warm current suddenly flowed through his body, spreading from his palm to his chest.
Brajamusti was startled and nearly dropped the flute.
"Grandpa..."
Kakek Paijo only smiled.
"Don't be afraid. As long as your heart remains pure, the flute won't hurt you."
"What exactly is this flute?"
"Just think of it as a travel companion."
Brajamusti looked at the flute in confusion.
He received no further explanation. Kakek Paijo only asked him to keep the flute safe.
After buying all of Kakek Paijo's goods, Brajamusti said goodbye.
"Thank you, Grandpa."
"I'm the one who should be thanking you."
Brajamusti frowned.
"Why?"
Kakek Paijo smiled faintly.
"You'll understand someday."
Brajamusti then walked away from the village.
Night began to fall. He stopped beneath a large tree to rest. After lighting a small fire, he took out the flute Kakek Paijo had given him.
He examined it for a long time.
"A travel companion, huh..."
Brajamusti chuckled.
Then he played the flute.
The first note sounded incredibly soft.
But only a few seconds later, the campfire before him suddenly flared up.
Brajamusti fell silent.
A powerful wind blew from the direction of the forest.
Leaves whirled around him.
"What's happening?"
Brajamusti stopped playing.
In an instant, everything grew calm again.
He stared at the magic flute with a bewildered expression.
Unbeknownst to Brajamusti, a pair of eyes watched him from the distance.
A man in a black robe stood among the trees.
His gaze was fixed on the flute in Brajamusti's hand.
"So it's true..."
The man smiled faintly.
"The Dragon Flute has found its new master."
Brajamusti had no idea the man was there.
He simply put the flute in his bag, then lay down beside the campfire.
That night, for the first time since becoming a wanderer, Brajamusti slept beside an object that would change the entire course of his life.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest, the black-robed man began walking away.
He had only one goal.
To report that the Dragon Flute had been found.