The camp rested in hush beneath the towering canopies near Kalentang, where the scent of damp earth lingered after sunset. The last gold of daylight flickered against the standard of Ra Kuti, its golden trim catching fire in the windless dusk. It stood planted beside the command tent like a silent sentinel, unmoving in the heavy silence of the forest's breath.
Inside, only three figures shared the lamplight: Ra Kuti, Dyah Netarja, and Jaka.
Jaka stood in the corner, arms crossed, face shadowed beneath loose strands of hair. He didn't speak. His thoughts were distant—far from maps and trade and diplomacy. The flicker of lamplight caught the curve of his wooden blade. Not drawn. But never far.
Grief clung to his shoulders like armor—not to protect, but to weigh him down.
Dyah Netarja placed a folded parchment on the table before Ra Kuti. She didn't sit. This wasn't a report—it was a briefing.
"I'll explain everything, Ra Kuti," she began, voice crisp. "We didn't try to solve everything. We focused on what was possible—securing and inspecting the trade routes to the west and east."
Ra Kuti gave a slow nod. "Go on."
She unfolded the parchment, revealing a rough map marked with red and blue strokes. "West of Kalentang, we have Randutangi, Besole, and Trenceng. All three routes are now secure. No active threats. Roads are narrow but passable. The village chiefs are prepared to cooperate."
Ra Kuti gave a low chuckle, amused. "I'm sure they are. Who wouldn't open their gates for the daughter of the Queen of Majapahit? Isn't that right, Your Highness?"
Dyah Netarja rolled her eyes. "I don't like that smug smile, but you were right. Royal blood carries weight in this kingdom."
She didn't say it with pride. Only pragmatism. The progress. The results. All almost according to plan.
Almost.
Her finger slid to the eastern side of the parchment. "Suluwangi is secured. The villagers have cleared the roads, and their patrols are consistent." Her finger stopped on a jagged grey line. "But Mekarjati..."
Jaka twitched.
Dyah Netarja noticed.
That was the almost she mentioned in her mind.
Ra Kuti's eyes narrowed. "So, four out of five. What happened in Mekarjati?"
"I'll explain later," Dyah said quickly, her voice lower now.
Ra Kuti had already read it in Jaka's face—the quiet stiffening, the silent storm. Something had happened in Mekarjati. Something unfinished.
He let it go—for now.
Instead, he turned to Dyah with a different question. "And what of Kalentang's future, Princess?"
"Yes," she confirmed, lifting a small leather-bound ledger from her satchel. The pages inside were lined with deliberate, clean script. "It's time to begin Phase One of the trade strategy."
She opened the book and turned it toward him. "We start with demand. Let them feel the need before we offer the solution. Trade lean—but precisely. No generosity yet. Only leverage."
Ra Kuti folded his arms, his gaze sharp. A sliver of firelight danced across his cheekbone.
"Kalentang is ready," Dyah went on. "Root crops. Freshwater fish. Medicinal herbs. Timber. Clay. Iron. Seeds. Stone. Spices. And now—" she paused just long enough "—copper and silver."
Ra Kuti murmured. "Silver. It's either blessing or a target."
"Exactly," Dyah replied softly. "We keep it quiet for now."
He nodded. A storm cloud behind a tight-lipped smile.
She turned the page.
"Here's what we know," she said, tracing her finger down a neat list.
Randutangi: surplus of cured leather and hand tools. Lacking preserved food and medicinal herbs.
Besole: strong in textiles and pottery. Needs fish and timber.
Trenceng: abundant rice and fruit harvests. No access to metal tools or weapons.
Suluwangi: rich in livestock. Critically low on medicine and high-quality seeds.
Ra Kuti studied the list in silence. The map and the ledger together formed a quiet story—of scarcity and need, of hunger and vulnerability. And opportunity.
"We'll start with exchange caravans," he said at last. "One for each village."
"I'll draft the allocations," Dyah Netarja replied. "Just enough to build trust. No more."
Ra Kuti gave a single nod. "Good. I trust your instinct."
At the edge of the room, Jaka still hadn't moved. His jaw was clenched. His eyes distant—staring at something far beyond the canvas walls. Beyond even this moment.
Ra Kuti glanced at him again, then back to Dyah Netarja. His voice dropped. "Watch him. He's bleeding inside."
"I know," she answered. Her gaze never left the parchment, but her voice softened.
She remembered the second night.
He hadn't spoken. Just stood by the fire until dawn, eyes fixed on the tree line. As if the dark were whispering his name. As if it might call him back.
And when it finally did...
He fell into silence. Into shadow.
And if there's still a way back, she thought—
—I'll be his light. Even if I have to drag him out of that abyss myself.
Ra Kuti straightened again. "Now tell me the rest," he said. "What happened in Mekarjati?"
There was no escape from the truth now. Dyah Netarja set the ledger aside. Her voice was quiet, steady. Too steady.
"The village was overrun. Bandits had taken control—organized, well-armed. They killed many man, turned Mekarjati into palace of fear."
Ra Kuti's mouth was a line of iron.
"We arrived to find that place was an ambush for us—well-coordinated." Dyah Netarja explains.
Jaka stiffened, and for the first time, he stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. "It wasn't just a random attack. They'd been waiting for us. I recognized the signs immediately—the way the traps were set up, the patterns in the village... They knew we were coming."
The words weren't proud. Just honest.
Ra Kuti turned his full attention to Jaka, a silent recognition in his gaze. The boy had keen eyes—eyes that missed little, and he had caught something others would have missed. It was a reminder of the boy's worth.
"An assassinate attempts, huh?"
"Yeah," confirms Dyah Netarja. "I was a fool to pay up some unknown informant before depart toward Mekarjati."
But she wasn't done.
"Arya and Nala able to fight them and defeat them but one of them broke through," she continued.
Her eyes flicked to Jaka.
"He was aiming for me."
A breath passed between them.
"Jaka stepped in."
Ra Kuti turned, slowly. The boy still hadn't spoken, hadn't flinched, hadn't even looked at them.
"He killed him," Dyah said softly.
It didn't need to be said, but it had to be heard.
Jaka's fingers twitched. Just once. As if trying to reach for something that wasn't there anymore. His breath was shallow. His gaze was fixed—but not on anything inside the tent. He was still there, in Mekarjati.
In that one heartbeat. In the blur of motion, fear, instinct, blood.
"He didn't hesitate," Dyah Netarja added. "He just... reacted."
Still no words from him. But his arms, stiff and locked around his chest, trembled.
Ra Kuti walked toward him.
No lectures. No questions.
He placed his hands on Jaka's shoulders. And then—quietly, solemnly—he pulled the boy into a firm, steady embrace.
The kind that says: you are not alone.
The kind that says: this pain does not make you less.
"You did what I asked," Ra Kuti murmured. "You brought her back alive. You fulfilled your duty."
Jaka didn't cry. But his breath caught, held, and shook. His fists slowly unclenched. The storm inside him hadn't passed. But he wasn't lost in it anymore.
"You're not less for what happened," Ra Kuti said, pulling back. "But it will change you. Let it. Let it sharpen, not scar."
Jaka nodded once—barely—but it was enough.
He had been heard. And more importantly, forgiven.
Ra Kuti turned back to the table.
"Mekarjati is free but in ruins, not literally but society. They lacked the manpower and resources to rebuild what they once had." Dyah Netarja said at last. "We should established some support for them from Kalentang. "
"As you wish, Your Highness," Ra Kuti answered.
Silence settled once more in the tent. Not heavy this time, but solemn. A silence of knowing. Of shared truth.
The firelight cracked faintly.
And beyond the canvas, the stars had emerged—bright above the forest, unblinking.
Three figures stood over the map of arteries, hands stained with ink and memory, eyes already on the road ahead.
The future of Kalentang was being written—not in gold, but in grit, silence, and steel.