The air in the practice yard, still thick with the acrid scent of pulverized basalt, seemed to solidify around Wira Mandala. He moved with a deliberate slowness that spoke of absolute control, his ash-gray tunic rustling softly as he closed the distance between them. Jaka, still babbling about rotten fish roe and banquet halls, fell silent, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His grin faltered, replaced by a wary frown. Wira stopped a few paces from Bayu, his eyes, dark as polished obsidian, sweeping over Bayu’s still-trembling hands, the shattered target posts, and finally, settling on Bayu’s face. There was no anger, no challenge in his gaze. Instead, a chilling blend of recognition and a calculation Bayu couldn't decipher. “Kartika,” Wira’s voice was a low murmur, barely audible over the distant drone of distant drills. “I’ve seen your… aptitude.” He paused, letting the word hang in the air, weighted with hidden intent. “It’s a raw thing, unrefined. Dangerous, even. But powerful.” Bayu said nothing, a strange prickle on his skin. This wasn't the usual taunt from a senior student. “The institute’s path is slow,” Wira continued, stepping closer. “It stifles true potential. But there are other ways. My clan, the Cakra Clan, holds considerable sway. Provisions, instruction, protection from the prying eyes of those who might misunderstand your… unique talents.” He gestured vaguely at the destruction Bayu had wrought. “Join me. Swear your allegiance, and you will have everything you need. No more scavenging for scraps. No more worrying about the trivialities of rank.” Jaka shifted uncomfortably, his previous excitement completely gone. “Wira, what are you talking about? Bayu just—” Wira merely lifted a hand, silencing Jaka with an effortless authority. His eyes remained fixed on Bayu. “Think of the opportunities, Kartika. Power beyond anything you could imagine. A shortcut to all your aspirations.” Bayu felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The intensity in Wira’s eyes, the way he spoke as if he knew something fundamental about Bayu’s burgeoning power, was unnerving. But the offer, the demand for subservience, grated against his very being. He didn't want a shortcut built on another’s terms, not when Ratna’s life depended on *his* strength, *his* efforts. “I appreciate the offer, Mandala,” Bayu said, his voice quiet but firm. “But I walk my own path.” Wira’s expression remained unchanged, but a flicker—something cold and ancient—passed through his eyes. “A mistake. A foolish, predictable mistake.” He straightened, the languid grace returning to his movements. “You will regret this, Kartika. Some lessons must be learned the hard way.” With that, Wira turned on his heel and walked away, his presence leaving a chill in the air long after he vanished around the colonnade. *** The next morning, Bayu arrived at the communal supply depot, a cavernous space where initiates could exchange tokens for low-grade spirit-infused herbs, nutrient paste, or even simple Spirit-Replenishing Pills. He approached the automated disbursement array, his meager collection of copper tokens clinking in his palm. The touch panel glowed, acknowledging his presence, but when he attempted to select a basic 'Bunga Angin' root, a crimson notification flashed across the screen. [ACCESS REVOKED. STUDENT ID: BAYU KARTIKA] Bayu stared, then tried again. The same message. He tapped the 'inquire' function, and a holographic projection of a stern-faced administrator materialized. “Student Kartika,” the projection’s voice was clipped, “your requisition privileges have been temporarily suspended due to a review of your disciplinary record. Further inquiries can be directed to the Headmaster’s office. Do not attempt to bypass this restriction.” The projection vanished. Bayu’s breath caught. Disciplinary record? He’d never had one. This was Wira. Cold sweat pricked his spine. Without spirit-dense nourishment, his growth would stagnate, Ratna’s timer ticking down unchecked. *** “Wira Mandala is a menace!” Jaka Guntur slammed his fist onto the communal table in the mess hall, making the spiced rice jump in his bowl. “Cancelling your access? That’s unheard of for a minor scuffle!” Bayu picked at his own unappetizing portion, a pale shadow of his usual appetite. “He warned me.” He had combed the outer courtyards for hours, finding nothing but common weeds devoid of spiritual marrow. The thought of Ratna, waiting, relying on him, gnawed at his insides. Jaka leaned in, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a worried intensity. “Look, Bayu, you can’t just let him do this. You need to fight it. You need those supplies, especially with the tournament coming up. If you don’t place high, you’re basically expelled.” “You need to place high too, Jaka,” Bayu countered softly, remembering Jaka’s casual mention of debts. Jaka’s shoulders slumped. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Yeah, well, my reasons are… different.” He lowered his voice, glancing around the bustling mess hall. “My family, the Guntur clan, we took a loan. A big one. From the Cakra Clan. If I don’t win a top spot in the Mid-Cycle Tournament, the interest rates jump, and we… we lose everything. Wira’s family would own us.” Bayu stared at his friend, a heavy twist in his chest. Jaka, for all his bravado, carried a burden far heavier than Bayu had realized. And Wira was at the heart of it. “I’ll figure something out, Jaka,” Bayu promised, a fierce resolve hardening his gaze. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on your forms.” But the words tasted hollow. He could not make progress without a steady source of edible spirit. *** Desperation led Bayu to the forgotten corners of the floating island. The grand halls gave way to dust-choked corridors, then to overgrown paths leading to derelict structures. He followed a faint, sweet scent, distinct from the damp earth and decaying leaves, until he found himself before a dilapidated greenhouse, its glass panes shattered, vines creeping over the rusted iron framework. It was a sanctuary the groundskeepers had long abandoned. Inside, the air was surprisingly warm and humid, nurturing a chaotic tangle of exotic, untended flora. The sweet scent intensified. In the center of the largest planter, bathed in a pale skybeam piercing a gap in the ceiling, was a single, slender stalk. It stood barely knee-high, its stem a pale, phosphorescent silver. At its peak, a single, closed bud glowed with a soft, ethereal luminescence—a 'Moonpetal Sprout'. Bayu knew, instinctively, this was no common plant. Its aura, faint yet undeniably potent, hummed with raw Esensi. It pulsed with a quiet life, radiating a calming energy that momentarily eased the knot of anxiety in his chest. He carefully plucked the sprout, its stem surprisingly resilient. He lifted the stem into the silver glare, watching sap bead along the rind before he bit into the glowing bud. The flesh dissolved on his tongue like cold honey. It dissolved instantly on his tongue, and a powerful surge of energy coursed through his veins, far beyond anything a common Spirit-Replenishing Pill had ever offered. [ESSENCE ABSORBED: MOONPETAL SPROUT (UNCOMMON)] [ESENSI: +1500] [STRENGTH: +15] [AGILITY: +12] [ENDURANCE: +18] [CONSTITUTION: +10] His body thrummed, revitalized, stronger. But as the familiar exhilaration washed over him, something else hit him, sharp and sudden—a blinding flash, a cacophony of sound that wasn’t his own. He stumbled, clutching his temples as the chill of the blossom lingered on his tongue. He saw… Wira. Wira Mandala, but older, his face gaunt, covered in ash and blood, collapsing amidst the ruins of what looked like the campus pavilions. His obsidian ring was shattered, his stare glassy with terror and sharp betrayal. And then Bayu saw himself. Not his current self, but a figure radiating an impossible, oppressive power, a being of pure, swirling spirit energy, his eyes like twin suns. This version of Bayu stood above the dying Wira, serene, untouchable. The air vibrated with the force of his mere presence. “You… you monster!” Wira’s voice, raw and choked, echoed through Bayu’s mind. “You consumed it all! Everything! The islands… the sky… You destroyed it all!” The vision collapsed, leaving Bayu gasping as his ribs heaved. The greenhouse spun around him. His hands trembled, not from power, but from a profound shock. That wasn’t his memory. It couldn't be. Wira’s face, etched with that ancient, bitter venom in the training grounds, the one that suggested he’d seen Bayu’s nightmare before… it all clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Wira had seen it. He had lived it. And Bayu, the god-like figure from the vision, was the one who had destroyed his world.

Echoes of a Buried Future