Since that night at the grave, Mr. Wiryo had never slept soundly.
The black book they'd found was kept inside a small safe. Yet whenever midnight came, he always heard the sound of pages turning from inside the safe.
**Scrape... scrape... scrape...**
Even though the safe was locked.
Laras had changed, too.
She had grown quieter.
Sometimes she woke up calling her mother's name.
At times, she stared at an empty corner of the house as if she were talking to someone.
Mr. Wiryo didn't dare ask.
He was afraid the answer would be even worse.
Three months.
That was how much time remained before Laras turned seventeen.
And according to the family records, the pact would become active again on her birthday.
Mr. Wiryo didn't want to wait.
He decided to leave the village.
They would abandon the house, the rice fields, their ancestors' graves—even everything they owned.
If necessary, they would live as strangers in another city.
What mattered was that Laras would be safe.
But on the morning they were about to leave, something changed their plans.
An old woman stood in front of the house.
She wore a simple kebaya and carried a bamboo basket.
Mr. Wiryo recognized her.
“Nyi Karti?”
The woman nodded.
“I've been waiting for you.”
“What for?”
Nyi Karti looked toward the house.
“To warn you.”
Mr. Wiryo stepped outside.
“If this is about Laras, I already know.”
“Not everything.”
Nyi Karti fixed him with a sharp stare.
“Don't take your daughter out of the village.”
Mr. Wiryo was startled.
“Why not?”
“Because the pact isn't tied to a place.”
“Then what is it tied to?”
“Blood.”
Mr. Wiryo fell silent.
“Wherever you go, they'll find Laras.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Find the person who started it all.”
Mr. Wiryo remembered the name in the book.
“Raka Wijaya?”
Nyi Karti nodded.
“But Raka is dead.”
“No.”
The old woman shook her head.
“Raka never truly died.”
The hairs on the back of Mr. Wiryo's neck rose.
“What do you mean?”
“Raka left his body behind.”
“Then what?”
“And that body was kept somewhere.”
“Where?”
Nyi Karti looked toward the forest.
“Beneath the ground where it all began.”
That afternoon, Mr. Wiryo opened the black book again.
He read every page carefully.
Some of the writing was in ancient Javanese.
The rest was written in symbols he didn't recognize.
Laras sat beside him.
“Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“How does Nyi Karti know so much about our family?”
Mr. Wiryo stopped reading.
“I don't know either.”
“Do you think we can trust her?”
Mr. Wiryo looked at his daughter.
“I don't know.”
Laras gave a faint smile.
“Then we've learned something.”
“Learned what?”
“Not to trust people so easily.”
Mr. Wiryo smiled, too.
But that smile quickly vanished when he found a folded page.
There was a map inside.
A map of the village.
The forest.
The river.
The graves.
And a building he'd never seen before.
Written beneath the drawing were the words:
**THE FIRST HOUSE.**
Mr. Wiryo studied the map.
The building was deep inside the forest.
“This isn't Grandpa's house.”
“Then whose house is it?”
Mr. Wiryo shook his head.
“It looks older.”
Laras pointed to a symbol.
“What is that?”
Mr. Wiryo looked at it.
A pig's head.
But beneath it was another mark.
A white circle.
The same symbol as the one on Laras's bracelet after she became the breaker.
Mr. Wiryo stood.
“We have to go there.”
They set out before sunrise.
Nyi Karti refused to come with them.
“If I go, he'll know.”
“Who?”
The old woman only replied,
“The one who's been waiting all this time.”
Mr. Wiryo didn't ask anything else.
He led Laras into the forest.
The journey took nearly two hours.
The deeper they went, the stranger the atmosphere became.
There were no birds.
No sounds of insects.
The trees looked ancient.
Their roots spread across the ground like snakes.
Then Laras stopped.
“Dad.”
“What is it?”
“There's someone here.”
Mr. Wiryo turned.
There was no one there.
“Over there.”
Laras pointed behind a tree.
Mr. Wiryo approached.
All he found was a piece of white cloth caught on a branch.
The cloth smelled of wet earth.
Mr. Wiryo touched it.
Suddenly, a woman's voice rang out.
“Don't go any farther.”
Mr. Wiryo immediately pulled Laras back.
The voice came from every direction.
“Wiryo...”
He recognized it.
Sulastri.
“Mom?”
Laras stepped forward.
Mr. Wiryo held her back.
“Don't.”
The voice came again.
“Don't trust Jaka.”
Mr. Wiryo fell silent.
“Why not?”
“He isn't a guardian.”
Laras asked,
“Then who is he?”
Silence.
Then Sulastri's voice answered:
“He's the heir.”
Mr. Wiryo felt his heart pounding.
“Whose heir?”
There was no answer.
The wind suddenly blew.
The white cloth fell from the branch.
One sentence was written on the ground:
**AN HEIR ISN'T ALWAYS BORN.**
Mr. Wiryo stared at the words.
Laras looked confused.
“What does that mean?”
Mr. Wiryo didn't answer.
They continued on.
As evening approached, they found the building shown on the map.
An old stone house.
It had no door.
No windows.
Its walls were covered in roots.
Above them was a carving of a pig's head.
But right in the center of the carving was a white line forming a circle.
Laras stepped closer.
“This is my symbol.”
Mr. Wiryo nodded.
He touched the wall.
At once, the stones shifted.
A door opened.
Cold air poured out from inside.
They entered.
The first room was empty.
The second was filled with candles that had already gone out.
The third contained dozens of human statues.
Mr. Wiryo stopped.
The statues' faces looked incredibly lifelike.
He recognized some of them.
His grandfather.
His father.
Sulastri.
Even Mbah Ranu.
Laras approached her mother's statue.
“Mom...”
She touched the stone face.
Suddenly, the statue's eyes opened.
Laras screamed.
The statue spoke.
“Don't look for Raka.”
Mr. Wiryo backed away.
“Mom?”
“He isn't the source.”
“Then who is?”
The statue of Sulastri turned its head.
“The first person to ask for wealth wasn't Raka.”
Mr. Wiryo froze.
“Who was it?”
“The first person...”
Sulastri's voice cut off.
Then all the statues in the room began to move.
One by one, their heads turned toward Mr. Wiryo.
And together, they said:
“...is someone who's still alive.”
Mr. Wiryo stared at the statues.
“Who?”
Every statue pointed toward the door.
Mr. Wiryo turned.
Someone stood in the doorway.
An old man.
His hair was white.
His body was thin.
But his face was unmistakable.
Mr. Wiryo was stunned.
“Dad?”
The old man smiled.
“You finally came, Wiryo.”
Mr. Wiryo couldn't speak.
His father had died fifteen years ago.
Yet the man standing before him had a real, solid body.
“That's impossible...”
The man stepped forward.
“I did die.”
Mr. Wiryo backed away.
“Then who are you?”
The man smiled.
“The one who made the first pact.”
Laras gripped her father's hand.
“Raka?”
The man shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed to himself.
“My name is **Surya Wijaya**.”
Mr. Wiryo froze.
That was his grandfather's name.
A name he'd known only from family stories.
Surya smiled.
“I never died.”
“Then who was buried?”
“An empty body.”
Mr. Wiryo felt as if the entire world were collapsing around him.
“Grandpa...”
Surya nodded.
“I am where all of this began.”
Then he looked at Laras.
“And three months from now, your blood will perfect my pact.”
Laras stood behind her father.
Mr. Wiryo gripped his machete.
“I'll stop you.”
Surya laughed.
“You can't stop your own blood.”
“I can.”
“No.”
Surya pointed at Laras.
“Because without realizing it...”
He smiled.
“...Laras isn't just the heir.”
Mr. Wiryo stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Surya answered slowly:
“She is the key to awakening something far older than wealth-pact sorcery.”
The lamps in the room suddenly lit up on their own.
A throbbing sound came from beneath the floor.
**Thud...**
**Thud...**
**Thud...**
Like the heartbeat of a giant that had only just begun to beat.
Laras clutched her chest.
“Dad...”
“What?”
“I can hear it.”
Mr. Wiryo stared at the floor.
The pounding grew stronger.
**THUD...**
**THUD...**
**THUD...**
Surya smiled.
“It has begun.”
And from beneath the old house came a sound they'd heard so many times before.
A snort.
But this time, it wasn't just one.
There were thousands.
**Hrrr... hrrr... hrrr...**
Surya looked at Laras.
“Welcome to your ancestral home.”
“The place where the first pact was made.”
“And the place where the world will change when the last heir is born.”
Laras looked at her father.
Mr. Wiryo raised his machete.
He knew they were no longer merely facing wealth-pact sorcery.
They were facing a dark legacy that had been waiting for more than a century.
And they had only three months left.