The rustle of leaves and the fresh scent of the lake welcomed Arka as he crossed the gentle slope behind Lereng Angin. The dirt path, covered in a thick carpet of moss, carried him deeper into Hutan Pinus. His steps felt light, falling into a steady rhythm that followed the calm, peaceful flow of nature.
Arka paused beneath the shade of a massive pine tree. He took in the surrounding silence, broken only by the soft rustling of the evening breeze and the faint chirping of small birds in the treetops. There was no roar of machinery, no string of deadlines chasing him, and no rush. There was only him and the Velvetide season's nature, so gentle as it embraced his soul.
A soft splash.
The sound of clear running water drew his attention. Arka pushed through the broad-leaved undergrowth. Before him stretched a small, still lake, like a giant shard of glass reflecting the golden-orange hues of the evening sky.
On the shore of Danau Kaca stood an old wooden dock, weathered but seemingly sturdy. Not far away, a small teak rowboat was neatly tied to a mooring post.
Arka approached the dock, letting his boots land on its springy wooden boards. He set his olive canvas backpack on a raised knot in the dock, then knelt at the edge. Arka dipped both palms into the clear lake water, revealing the terracotta-colored stones on the bottom in perfect detail. The refreshing chill swept away the last of his thirst and physical weariness in an instant.
Across the lake, hidden among the dense stand of old pines, Arka caught sight of a small wooden hut with a moss-covered tin roof. The thin smoke rising from the hut's stone chimney suggested the presence of a warm, living hearth within.
Arka took his grandfather's hand-drawn map from his jacket pocket. Carefully, he studied the ink marks etched onto the old tracing paper. A small note in the corner of the map could be read clearly: Watcher's Hut by the Lake—Where Grandpa Brewed His First Coffee. A faint smile appeared on Arka's face. Curiosity and longing for memories of his grandfather urged him toward the small wooden boat at the edge of the dock.
Arka untied the boat's rope with practiced fingers, stepped into the wooden boat as it rocked gently on the water, then reached for the pair of wooden oars lying on the bottom. Srekk... Splash. The oars cut across the surface of Danau Kaca with calm, steady strokes. The little boat glided smoothly across the tranquil lake, slicing through the reflections of the evening clouds and the sun's golden glow. Every stroke felt deeply soothing, creating small, glittering ripples behind the boat.
It took Arka only ten minutes to reach the other side. The boat's bow hissed softly as it touched the fine sand along the shore of the old hut. Arka jumped out of the boat, tied its rope to the nearest tree branch, then walked toward the wooden hut's door.
He knocked casually on the old wooden door three times. "Good afternoon," Arka called in a warm, calm voice. The hut door creaked softly as it opened. An elderly man with silver hair and a thick cloth apron welcomed him with a friendly smile that warmed the atmosphere. In his hands, he held a clay pot wafting the fragrant aroma of locally brewed coffee.
"Welcome, Wanderer," the old man greeted him softly. "Come in. The water just boiled, and this place is always open to anyone who wants to enjoy a peaceful Velvetide afternoon." Arka nodded respectfully, slung his backpack beside the door, then stepped into the cozy wooden hut filled with the warmth of home and family.