Cold metal pressed against Awan's palm, humming with an unnatural, high-pitched vibration that made his teeth ache. Turning the silver blade over, he studied the intricate, wave-like patterns carved along its surface. Light from the flickering oil lamp caught the polished edge, casting sharp, jagged reflections across the wooden table. Beside him, Sekar leaned closer, her breath warm against his shoulder. "Is it always this loud?" she whispered, her fingers hovering just over the hilt. "Only when it wants to tear the world apart," Awan replied, a lazy grin plastered across his face. Beneath his easy humor, every muscle in his body was locked tight with tension. Ancient energy pulsed from the metal, vibrating in direct opposition to his Commoner's Veil. His unique technique usually suppressed his presence, blending him into the background like a simple, harmless peasant. This silver keris, however, acted like a massive amplifier, screaming with divine power. Unraveling those cosmic seals would be disastrous if he allowed the weapon's energy to run wild. If the veil broke, his true, overwhelming spiritual pressure would light up the night sky, alerting Gajah Wulung instantly. Wrapped in thick, coarse linen, the blade finally fell quiet as Awan muffled its resonance. "A dangerous toy for a simple farmer," Awan muttered, tossing it lightly into the air and catching it with an easy flick of his wrist. "You shouldn't play with things that can erase your soul," Sekar warned, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. "My soul is far too slippery to be erased, sweet Sekar," he teased, nudging her shoulder with his. Flushed red, Sekar quickly rolled her eyes and looked away to hide her smile. Laughter bubbled up in his chest, but his mind remained cold, analytical, and sharp. Knowing the high stakes of the coming night, he couldn't afford a single slip-up. --- Heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance of the war tent, breaking the brief silence. General Brama stepped inside, his iron armor clinking with every heavy stride. "Our forces are assembled, Awan," Brama reported, his voice thick with anticipation. Pointing to the weathered map laid out on the wooden table, Awan traced a path along the fortress walls. "Your task is simple, Uncle," Awan said, tapping the heavy main gates drawn on the parchment. "A direct frontal assault?" Brama asked, tilting his head in confusion. "I don't want you to actually take the walls," Awan clarified, drawing a wide arc with his index finger. "A massive distraction is what we need," Sekar realized, her eyes widening. "Exactly," Awan said, leaning back against his chair with a confident smirk. Drawing a sharp line to the rear of the fortress, he explained the core of his strategy. "Gajah Wulung expects a desperate rebel army to throw themselves at his front gates," Awan continued. "While his forces rush to reinforce the battlements, Sekar and I will slip through the rear drainage vents." Brama stared at the young man, a mixture of awe and respect softening his weathered face. "You sound just like your father when he planned the defense of the eastern valley," Brama murmured. Pain, sharp and familiar, pricked at Awan's chest at the mention of his family. Abandonment had taught him never to rely on the ghost of his lineage, nor on the people who had cast him out. "Just make sure your men don't die out there," Awan said, his tone dropping to a dangerous quiet. Grasping his sword hilt, Brama saluted and marched out of the tent to lead his men. --- Night fell like a heavy blanket over the jagged volcanic hills surrounding the dark fortress. Distant thunder rolled across the plains, perfectly mimicking the booming war drums of Brama's forces. High-pitched battle cries and the crash of dummy catapults echoed from the front gates, drawing the enemy's attention. Sliding through the narrow, damp opening of the stone drainage duct, Awan moved with the silence of a hunting cat. Sekar followed right behind him, her twin daggers drawn and her breathing synchronized with his. Dark obsidian walls lined the narrow corridors, cold to the touch and polished to a mirror-like sheen. "This place feels dead," Sekar whispered, her eyes darting toward the dark corners. "It is very much alive, and very angry," Awan corrected, halting suddenly. Holding up a single finger, he signaled for her to freeze. Just inches from her boot, a thin, silver wire stretched across the floor, barely visible in the dark. "Pressure-sensitive wire," Awan whispered, crouching down to examine the mechanism. Kneeling down, he pulled a small wooden wedge from his belt and slid it beneath the trigger plate. "There. Harmless string now," he said, stepping over it with effortless grace. Sekar stared at him, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. "How did you even see that in this pitch-black corridor?" she asked. "A good peasant always watches where he steps," Awan joked, giving her a quick wink. Moving deeper into the dark labyrinth, they encountered a massive iron door sealed with a complex lock. Rotating stone rings etched with ancient Javanese celestial symbols blocked their path. "This is a star-lock," Sekar muttered, her confidence faltering. "It takes a master scholar hours to decipher." Smiling gently, Awan stepped forward and began spinning the rings with rapid, precise clicks. "Three steps left to align the Southern Cross," Awan murmured, his fingers moving like a musician's. "Two steps right to match the solar eclipse of the third dynasty." With a satisfying click, the heavy iron door slid upward into the ceiling. Sekar stared at him, her admiration deepening into something far more intense. "Is there anything you can't do?" she asked, her voice soft in the quiet corridor. "I am terrible at sewing," Awan admitted, laughing quietly as they moved forward. Suddenly, Awan pulled her close against his chest, his arm wrapping around her waist. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs, her breath catching at the sudden warmth of his body. "Look up," he whispered close to her ear, his breath tickling her skin. Directly above them, dozens of tiny, dark holes dotted the obsidian ceiling. "Poison gas nozzles," Awan explained, pointing to the floor beneath them. "Can we bypass this one?" she asked, trying to focus on the danger instead of his embrace. "Easily," Awan replied, releasing her with a playful pat on the shoulder. Focusing his inner energy, he channeled a wave of freezing spiritual force down to his boots. Cold air projected from his feet, instantly freezing the heat-sensitive tiles ahead of them. "Walk exactly in my footsteps," he instructed, stepping lightly onto the frost-covered stone. Gliding across the frozen floor, they bypassed the trap without triggering a single hiss of gas. Sekar exhaled slowly, her confidence fully restored by his casual display of genius. "You are absurdly good at this, you know," she said, her eyes shining with pride. "I aim to please, my lady," Awan replied, offering a quick, dramatic bow. Deep inside, Awan felt a strange kinship with the fortress's design. Both he and this place were built to keep people at a distance. While Gajah Wulung relied on lethal traps and obsidian walls, Awan used laughter and flirtatious banter to shield his heart. Neither allowed anyone to get close enough to see the scars underneath. Confidence surged through both of them as they navigated the remaining corridors without a single scratch. Approaching the massive double doors of the inner sanctum, Awan felt a sudden chill run down his spine. Placing his hands on the heavy brass handles, he noticed they were cold as ice. With a slow, heavy push, he forced the doors open, bracing himself for an ambush. They enter the central chamber only to find it completely empty, except for a large, ornate mirror sitting in the center of a pool of blood.

Chapter 21: The Silver Tooth of the King