05 - Goodbye Palace
I. The Lingering Warmth Beneath Unshod Soles
Road dust had begun to cling to Arya’s bare feet. For fifteen years of his life, the young prince’s soles had known only the silky polish of palace marble scrubbed with flower water, or the gentle warmth of handwoven pandanus mats crafted by the finest handmaidens. Now, every single step brought him into raw contact with jagged gravel, cracked dry earth, and stray husks of straw that pricked his skin.
At regular intervals, Arya glanced back over his shoulder.
The grand silhouette of Arcapura Palace, with its seven-tiered deep crimson roofs, was slowly shrinking against the horizon. The watchtowers that usually loomed like invincible bastions now looked like nothing more than fragile toothpicks beneath the morning mist, which was gradually lifting as the sun warmed the sky.
Beneath the wide grin and endless chatter he had put on display ever since they left the South Gate, a tight knot choked Arya’s chest. The boy clenched his hands deep inside the pockets of his baggy black trousers.
Was I really thrown away?
The question spun endlessly in his mind like the wooden top he had played with yesterday. He remembered the deep, lingering look in his father’s eyes, his mother’s overly tight embrace, and the frantic haste of it all. Why would a prince destined to rule a kingdom be forced to walk thousands of miles on foot in an itchy peasant tunic? Was he not good enough to remain in the palace? If a prince no longer wore a crown and fine silk, was he even worthy of being called a prince?
"Hey, Kid," Sakka Geni’s abrasive voice shattered Arya’s reverie. The fire warrior marched in front, his bamboo conical hat tilted low to cover half his face. "If you keep walking with your head turned backward like that, you’re going to crash right into the back of the buffalo ahead of us. And trust me, I’m not cleaning off whatever gets stuck to your shiny new tunic."
Arya blinked rapidly, instantly hiding the gloom on his face behind his signature cheeky grin. "I was just counting how many palace roof tiles I can still see from here, Sakka! And by my calculations, if I stacked a hundred bags of rice right where we're standing, I could still spot the top of the west tower!"
Sakka Geni snorted sharply. "We were assigned to protect you, not to help you count roof tiles or stack rice bags. Walk properly."
Beside Arya, Bayu Bajra was whistling a lively tune while twirling his green paper fan. His sharp eyes never stopped scanning the left and right sides of the trail, particularly whenever a procession of village merchants or a horse-drawn carriage passed by.
"Oh, come on, Sakka, don't be so harsh on our little brother," Bayu said in a breezy, exaggerated tone, glancing down at Arya with a playful wink. "Besides, this journey would be dreadfully boring without his bizarre ramblings. Speaking of which, Arya, are all the handmaidens in your palace as pretty as Nurse Sari? Or is there a younger one who might... long for the gentle whisper of the Lawu mountain breeze?"
Arya tapped his chin, thinking hard. "Nurse Sari makes an incredible vegetable stew, Bayu. But if you mean someone who 'longs for the whisper of the wind,' I think there’s Dayang Asri. But she suffers from a severe dry cough, so every time the wind blows, she sneezes and sprays saliva that—"
"Enough! I regret asking," Bayu cut him off instantly, his handsome face twisting in disgust while his hand furiously fanned the air to banish the absurd image Arya had just painted.
II. The Burden of Stones and Thoughts
The royal highway stretching beyond Arcapura's city borders grew narrower and narrower, transitioning from a wide, stony dirt road into a winding trail flanked by a lush teak forest on one side and endless paddy fields on the other.
Along the trail, a very peculiar, rhythmic sound echoed from the rear of the group.
Clack... clunk... clack...
Sakka Geni abruptly halted in his tracks. His shoulders went rigid. Swinging around, he glared at Krisna Tara, who was trailing at the back with a completely innocent, blameless expression.
"Krisna," Sakka’s voice was dangerously low, straining to suppress the irritation that had been building since they left the city gate two hours ago. "What is that noise?"
Krisna stopped. The colossal cloth bundle on his back gave a subtle wobble, unleashing an even louder clack-clunk. "It's the sound of my river stones, Sakka. I brought thirty-two perfectly round river stones from the slopes of Kelud. They’re fantastic for throwing at mischievous squirrels or anchoring our tent later."
"We are walking toward Mount Kelud! Why on earth did you carry rocks from Kelud, make a detour through Arcapura, just to carry them back to Kelud?!" Sakka bellowed, his bamboo hat rising slightly from the intense heat surging from the crown of his head. "That is ridiculous! Throw those rocks away right now!"
Krisna looked at his bundle with genuine, heartbroken pity. "But Sakka... these stones have been my friends since our time at the academy. They’re extremely loyal."
"They are rocks, Krisna! Rocks don't have feelings!" Sakka yelled in utter frustration, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as if tempted to slash the bundle to ribbons.
Arya, watching the squabble unfold, approached Krisna’s bundle with sparkling eyes. He reached out and stroked one of the stones peeking through the tied fabric. "Whoa, Krisna! This stone is so smooth and cold! Was it once river water that froze because it missed the dry land for too long? And if I draw a happy face on it, will it feel happier?"
Krisna nodded firmly, his face lighting up with genuine gratitude at the prince’s support. "Exactly, Arya. I believe a stone with a happy face feels much lighter to carry."
"You two are unbelievable..." Sakka Geni was at a loss for words. He turned to Bayu Bajra, hoping for moral support from his more mature companion.
However, Bayu Bajra was currently occupied at the edge of the trail, waving with his most dazzling smile at a young farmer girl who was carrying a woven basket of young coconuts atop her head.
"O fair maiden, bearer of the sweet nectar of coconut water," Bayu purred, his voice trembling with melodramatic romance. "Might a thirsty traveler beg for a single drop from your basket? In return, I shall recite a poem celebrating your beauty, which rivals the glisten of the morning dew."
The farmer girl paused. She looked Bayu up and down, glanced at Sakka—who was fuming bright red—then at Krisna, who was hauling a mountain of rocks, and finally at Arya, dressed in ratty lurik clothes with wild, round eyes.
"Creepy beggar," the girl muttered curtly, speeding up her pace without a backward glance, leaving Bayu frozen in place with his fan hovering mid-air.
Sakka Geni snorted with immense satisfaction at Bayu’s failure. "Masterclass in cultural diplomacy, Bayu. I don't think your poetry is worth a single rotten coconut."
Bayu hurriedly smoothed his hair, trying to salvage his wounded pride. "The wind never fails, Sakka. The wind simply chooses to blow in a different direction."
III. The First Camp at the Forest's Edge
As the sun began to sink below the western horizon, leaving behind a streak of fiery orange that slowly bled into deep purple, the small group decided to halt for the night. They were now at the outer perimeter of Arcapura’s territory, right at the foot of the Forbidden Teak Wilderness—a dense, sprawling forest that served as a natural barrier separating the kingdom from the wild, untamed lands beyond.
The air grew sharply cold. The night breeze sweeping from deep within the forest carried the scent of wet leaves, damp soil, and ancient, decaying wood.
"We camp here," Sakka Geni ordered, setting down his supply pack beneath a massive teak tree. "Bayu, find clean water at the small stream to the east. Krisna, set up a bed using dried leaves. And you, Kid..." Sakka jabbed a finger at Arya, "...your job is to collect dry firewood around here. Remember, dry wood! Do not bring back damp twigs or living green plants."
Arya gave a stiff, overly formal palace military salute. "Yes, Captain Sakka! I shall return with the finest firewood in all of Nusantara!"
Arya immediately darted off into the underbrush at the forest border. To Arya, this was not a tiring physical chore; it was a grand new adventure. He pushed through the bushes with boundless, overflowing curiosity.
Half an hour later, Arya returned carrying a massive bundle of... lush green leaves, several damp vines still dripping with dew, and a giant chunk of decaying wood that was soaked through and coated in fungus.
Sakka Geni stared at the pile of "firewood" at his feet with a completely blank expression.
"Kid..." Sakka’s voice vibrated softly with suppressed rage. "What did I tell you about dry wood?"
"But Sakka!" Arya protested with absolute earnestness, pointing toward the heap of green leaves. "These green leaves look super warm! And this rotten log... I brought it because there's a whole family of red ants living inside it! I thought if we burned this log, we could give the ant family free heat before they relocate!"
Sakka buried his face in both palms, his shoulders trembling as he fought against overwhelming frustration. "If we burn this soaking wet wood, Arya... there won't be any fire! There will only be thick, suffocating smoke that will sting our eyes and invite every beast in this forest over for dinner!"
Krisna Tara stepped forward slowly, patting Sakka’s shoulder gently. "Sakka, don't be mad at Arya. I already prepared actual firewood a while ago." Krisna pulled out several bone-dry pieces of teak wood from between the pile of stones in his bundle.
Sakka let out a resigned sigh. With a quick flick of his fingers, a tiny red spark leaped from his nail, instantly igniting the stack of dry wood Krisna had prepared. Bright flames flickered to life, radiating a comforting warmth that pushed back the night's chill.
IV. Whispers in the Dark
Night deepened. The small campfire flickered in the dark wilderness, casting long, dancing shadows across the trunks of the surrounding teak trees. Bayu Bajra was already fast asleep with his paper fan covering his face, his quiet snorts harmonizing with the chirping of night crickets.
Krisna Tara sat quietly beside Arya, slowly peeling the skin off a warm boiled cassava root before handing it to the young prince.
"Eat up, Arya," Krisna said in his signature gentle tone. "Tomorrow’s trek will be much harder. Your feet must be sore."
Arya accepted the boiled cassava and took a slow bite. The warmth of the root spread through his chest, reigniting a faint ache for the comforts of his home. He stared blankly into the dancing flames.
"Krisna..." Arya whispered softly, his voice sounding small against the vast silence of the night. "Do you think... Father and Mother sent me away because they don't like me anymore? Because I was always causing trouble in the palace?"
Krisna went still for a moment. His gentle eyes locked onto Arya’s face, illuminated by the golden firelight. Slowly, Krisna shook his head.
"No, Arya," Krisna replied firmly. "Your parents sent you away because they love you dearly. The earth... the earth beneath our feet is vast, Arya. Sometimes, a stone must be rolled down from a high mountain peak so it can be carved by the river's current, strike against other rocks, and ultimately become a priceless gem at the bottom of the valley. If that stone stays on its comfortable peak, it will only ever be an ordinary rock covered in moss."
Arya stared at Krisna with wide eyes, processing the surprisingly profound philosophy coming from a youth usually thought to be slow-witted. A different kind of warmth blossomed in his chest—a sense of security he hadn't felt since leaving the walls of Arcapura.
Suddenly, the air around the campsite turned strangely heavy. The campfire flickered erratically, swaying wildly from side to side even though there was no strong gust of wind.
Inside his head, Arya heard a faint, delicate whisper—as thin as a strand of silk, yet capable of shaking his very consciousness.
“...The... pure... vessel...”
Arya gasped, snapping his head around. "Who's there?!"
Sakka Geni, who had been sharpening his sword in a dark corner, instantly went rigid. His sharp eyes scanned the pitch-black forest beyond the circle of firelight. "What is it, Arya?"
"I... I heard a whisper," Arya stammered, his breath quickening as his hand instinctively touched the smudged cotton headband covering the Mahaprana birthmark on his head. "The voice... it felt like it was calling me from deep inside the forest."
Sakka Geni dismissed Arya’s words as mere jitters from a city boy unaccustomed to sleeping in the wild. "This forest is full of rustling leaves and night creatures, Arya. It’s just your tired mind playing tricks on you. Go to sleep."
Sakka leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, pretending to rest, though his fingers never strayed far from the hilt of his cowhide-bound sword.
Yet, Sakka was not entirely wrong—nor was he entirely right.
Far beyond the dark gloom of the Forbidden Teak Wilderness, nestled between the branches of an ancient banyan tree untouched by the campfire's glow, a pair of glowing crimson eyes slowly opened. They locked onto the tiny campsite, blinking slowly while emanating a cold, ravenous aura of Dark Prana.
A shadowy creature covered in thick black fur, boasting razor-sharp talons, crept silently along the high branch. It sniffed the night air, which had suddenly become saturated with the sweet, intoxicating scent of pure prana emanating from the boy named Arya.
The hunt had officially begun on their very first night away from the palace.