Steam hissed from the creature's colossal back, rising in thick, sulfurous plumes into the cold night air. Awan gritted his teeth, his fingers digging deep into the cracked stone hide of the minor deity. Underneath him, the beast thrashed, enraged by the coarse salt Awan had showered over its ancient, calcified skin. Every muscle in Awan's body burned with exhaustion. He had broken his veil, unleashing a fraction of his true, terrifying power, but the cost was heavy. His physical form, currently masquerading as a common laborer, strained against the immense spiritual pressure. One final strike. That was all he needed. Raising his dagger, he prepared to drive the steel directly into the creature's soft temple. But as he leaned forward, his eyes met the beast's massive, glassy orb. Deep within that wet, milky eye, the reflection did not show the dark bay or the stormy sky. Instead, a vivid, horrifying image crystallized. Gajah Wulung's sharp, aristocratic face appeared, twisted into a cruel, knowing smirk. He stood inside a damp, subterranean dungeon, holding a jagged ceremonial dagger. Beneath the villain's blade lay an older man bound in heavy iron chains. Gray hair clung to the captive's sweaty forehead, but his eyes—bright, emerald-green, and filled with quiet defiance—were unmistakable. It was Sekar's missing father. "No," Awan whispered, his fingers losing their grip on the beast's wet hide. Suddenly, his mind, usually a fortress of cold calculation, splintered into a thousand chaotic pieces. He was no longer the invincible swordsman; he was a helpless boy again, staring at the cold backs of the noble family who had cast him out into the dirt. Taking advantage of his sudden paralysis, the minor deity let out a guttural rumble that shook the wooden planks of the pier. A massive, barnacle-encrusted limb slammed directly into Awan's chest. Ribs groaned under the immense pressure. Air exploded from his lungs in a single, painful gasp, leaving him entirely winded. Flying backward, he trailed blood and seawater. Downward he plummeted, the world spinning in a dizzying blur of dark sky, splintering wood, and churning ocean. Splash. Cold water swallowed him whole, rushing into his nose and mouth like liquid fire. Struggling to find his bearings, Awan clawed at the liquid darkness. His limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, as the crushing weight of the ocean pressed down upon him. Iron-clad boots and waterlogged clothes dragged him deeper into the black abyss of the bay. The light from the surface dwindled into a tiny, mocking speck, far out of reach. Deep beneath the waves, the silence was absolute. It was the same cold, suffocating silence he had felt the night his noble family cast him out into the dirt, leaving him to rot. "Let go," a whisper seemed to echo in the dark water. But his survival instinct, honed through years of blood and betrayal, refused to submit. Above the surface, chaos erupted on the docks. Sekar stood at the edge of the splintered pier, her eyes wide with sudden terror as she saw Awan disappear beneath the foaming waves. Without a second thought, she reached behind her back. She drew three arrows tipped with pale silver feathers from her leather quiver. Crafted from ancient sky-wood, these arrows were imbued with the volatile essence of the southern winds. Fitting them to her bowstring, she pulled back until the wood creaked under the immense tension. Her muscles tensed as she took a deep breath, channeling her inner energy into the weapon. Swirling gusts of wind began to whip around her ankles, rising up to blow her long hair wildly across her face. Air grew heavy, humming with raw, kinetic power. "Get away from him!" she screamed at the towering beast, her voice cracking with desperation. With a sharp release, the arrows flew. They did not travel in a straight, predictable line. Instead, they spun violently, catching the wind and creating a miniature vortex that ripped through the heavy sea air. A roaring gale compressed into a single, deadly point echoed across the empty docks. First arrow pierced the creature's massive, glassy eye. Black fluid erupted from the wound, sizzling as it hit the wet planks. Shrieking in agony, the beast let out a sound so high and piercing it shattered the nearby oil lanterns. The remaining two arrows struck deep into its soft underbelly, unleashing bursts of pressurized air that tore through its thick flesh. Thrashing violently, the creature retreated. It plunged backward into the ocean, its massive bulk creating a giant wave that nearly swept the pier clean before disappearing into the dark, churning depths. Sekar threw her bow aside and rushed to the edge of the dock. "Awan!" she screamed, her voice cracking with panic as she scanned the black water. Scanning the dark water, she spotted a hand breaking the surface, gasping and clawing desperately at the wooden pilings. Latching onto his collar, she pulled with all her strength, her muscles straining against his dead weight. She dragged his wet, shivering body onto the wooden planks. Awan collapsed, coughing violently, hacking up salt water and gasping for air. He rolled onto his side, his chest heaving as he stared up at her. Sekar knelt beside him, hands shaking as she grabbed his shoulders. "Are you alright? Talk to me!" "Never better," he wheezed, trying to force his signature smirk onto his face. It felt heavy, like wet clay. "Just... taking a quick bath. The water's lovely this time of year." "Stop it," she snapped, her voice trembling. "You froze. I saw you. You had the killing blow, and then you just... stopped. What did you see in its eye?" Awan avoided her gaze, looking at the splintered wood, at the dark water dripping from his sleeves, anywhere but at her. "It was nothing," he muttered, coughing again. "Just a trick of the light." "Don't lie to me!" Sekar's grip tightened on his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his wet clothes. Her eyes were wide, filled with a desperate, agonizing hope that made Awan's stomach twist. "You saw him, didn't you? My father. I know that look. Tell me the truth, Awan!" She was practically pleading now, her voice breaking. Cold panic seized Awan's chest. He recognized that look in her eyes; it was the same hope he had carried as a child, waiting for a family that would never return. Hope was a poison. It made people weak, vulnerable, easy to break. If he told her the truth—that her father was a hostage of Gajah Wulung, a plaything of a dark sorcerer—she would run headfirst into a trap. More than that, he couldn't bear the weight of her vulnerability. He couldn't handle being the custodian of her hope; it was a burden too heavy for his scarred soul. He forced a soft, mocking laugh to escape his lips. He put on the mask. "Sekar, sweet-cheeks, you're letting your imagination run wild," he said, his voice smooth, dripping with practiced ease. He sat up, brushing a wet strand of hair from his forehead. "It was a mirage. A psychological trick. The beast projecting our deepest fears and desires to disorient us. It showed me a giant pile of gold that I couldn't reach. Classic sea-monster tactics." Sekar stared at him, her lips trembling. The hope in her eyes flickered, fighting against the heavy weight of his dismissive tone. "A mirage?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Just... an illusion?" "Exactly," Awan said, offering her a wink. "They use the salt and the sea mist to play mind games. Don't let it get to you. Your old man is probably out there somewhere, drinking palm wine and laughing at us." She slowly let go of his shoulders. Her hands fell to her lap, her shoulders slumping. Dull, aching disappointment replaced the light in her eyes. "Right," she said quietly, looking down at the wet wood. "Of course. Just a trick." "That's my girl," Awan said, standing up and stretching his sore limbs. He felt a pang of guilt, sharp and deep, but he pushed it down. "Let's clean up this mess before the guard arrives." Sekar stood up slowly. She walked toward the edge of the pier, her eyes scanning the ground where the beast had thrashed before retreating. Thick, black scales and viscous slime covered the wooden planks. The stench of decay and salt was overpowering. "We should burn these scales," she murmured, her voice hollow. Kneeling down, she reached toward a cluster of regurgitated scales. Something caught her eye. A small, wet object was tangled in the sticky, black mucus between the scales. Reaching out, she pulled it free. Her fingers trembled as she wiped away the slime. It was a torn scrap of fabric. A very specific fabric. Woven from dyed hemp and gold thread, the intricate pattern of the double-headed eagle was unmistakable. It was the unique pattern of her father's traditional Javanese sash—a sash she had helped him weave with her own hands before he vanished. Blood ran cold in her veins. She stared at the scrap of fabric in her hand, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. Turning slowly, her eyes locked onto Awan's back as he walked away, his shoulders tense under his wet clothes. Sekar finds a torn scrap of her father's distinctively woven sash caught in the beast's regurgitated scales, proving Awan lied to her face.

Chapter 12: A Father's Phantom