Morning had not fully arrived when Mr. Wiryo, Laras, and Nyi Karti left the house.
Not one of them spoke.
They hurried toward the hill. The sky was still gray, and mist hung low over the village road.
Mr. Wiryo kept thinking about Laras's words.
**“This child will return to me when she turns seventeen.”**
Who had said that?
And more horrifying still—
how had that voice known Laras existed before she was even born?
“Mr. Wiryo.”
Nyi Karti's voice made him turn.
“What is it?”
“Stop dwelling on the past.”
“How can I?”
Nyi Karti fell silent.
Mr. Wiryo looked at Laras, who was walking several steps ahead of them.
“If that creature had been waiting for Laras since before she was born, then Sulastri knew.”
Nyi Karti nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why did she never tell me anything?”
“Because maybe she hoped you'd never find out.”
Mr. Wiryo fell silent.
Nyi Karti continued,
“Sometimes people hide the truth not because they want to lie.”
“Then why?”
“Because they want the person they love to keep living without fear.”
Mr. Wiryo stared at the road.
He knew exactly who Nyi Karti meant.
Sulastri.
They reached the hill as the sun began to rise.
An old mosque stood at the hilltop.
Its structure was simple.
Its walls were a dingy white.
The small minaret beside it had begun to lean.
Yet the place felt different.
Peaceful.
There was none of the cold air from the old house.
No whispering voices.
Nyi Karti opened a side door.
“Come in.”
Mr. Wiryo and Laras followed her inside.
An old man was sitting there, reading a religious text.
His hair was white.
His beard was long.
His name was Kiai Hasan.
Mr. Wiryo had heard of him, but had never met him.
Kiai Hasan closed his book.
“You're late.”
Mr. Wiryo frowned.
“For what?”
“For hiding Laras.”
Mr. Wiryo was startled.
“How did you know?”
Kiai Hasan looked at Laras.
“Because her mother came to me once.”
Laras immediately stepped forward.
“Mother?”
Kiai Hasan nodded.
“Sixteen years ago.”
Mr. Wiryo held his breath.
“After Laras was born?”
“No.”
Kiai Hasan shook his head.
“Several months before that.”
Mr. Wiryo fell silent.
“So Sulastri already knew?”
“She knew something was following you.”
“What?”
Kiai Hasan stood.
“Fear.”
He walked to an old cabinet.
From inside, he took out a book.
The book was far older than the records of Mr. Wiryo's family.
Its cover was made of leather.
A white circle was marked in the center.
Kiai Hasan handed it to Mr. Wiryo.
“Read the last page.”
Mr. Wiryo opened the book.
The first pages contained stories about people who had asked supernatural beings for wealth.
But the last page contained only a single note:
**If a child is born after three generations of a pact, that child will not become a sacrifice.**
Mr. Wiryo frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Kiai Hasan answered,
“That child will be the deciding factor.”
“The deciding factor in what?”
“Whether the pact continues to live or dies.”
Laras looked at Kiai Hasan.
“Why me?”
“Because your blood is different.”
Mr. Wiryo immediately cut in.
“Don't talk as if my daughter isn't human.”
Kiai Hasan nodded.
“She is human.”
“Then why is she different?”
“Because your mother, Sulastri, did something incredibly brave.”
Kiai Hasan looked at Laras.
“When you were still in the womb, your mother went to three places.”
“The first was the ancestral grave.”
“The second was the old house.”
“And the third...”
Kiai Hasan paused.
“...was the place where the Collector sleeps.”
Laras fell silent.
“Why?”
“To ask that you not become a sacrifice.”
Mr. Wiryo stared at Kiai Hasan.
“And did it work?”
“Partially.”
“Partially?”
“Your body was saved.”
Kiai Hasan looked at Laras.
“But the mark remained attached to you.”
Laras touched the white bracelet.
“The breaker mark?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Wiryo asked,
“Then why can that creature still hunt her?”
“Because that mark is two things at once.”
“What?”
“A weapon.”
Kiai Hasan pointed to the bracelet.
“And a door.”
The room fell silent.
Laras looked at her bracelet.
“Then... what do I have to do?”
Kiai Hasan did not answer right away.
He took a sheet of white cloth and spread it across the floor.
Three objects lay on the cloth.
A coin.
A small knife.
And a white stone.
“On the night of your seventeenth birthday, you must choose.”
Laras stared at the three objects.
“Choose what?”
“To become the breaker.”
He pointed to the stone.
“Or to become the heir.”
He pointed to the coin.
“If you choose to become the heir, you will receive everything your family has ever wanted.”
“Wealth.”
“Power.”
“Long life.”
Laras stared at the coin.
“And if I choose to become the breaker?”
Kiai Hasan pointed to the knife.
“You will have to sacrifice something.”
Mr. Wiryo immediately stood.
“What?”
Kiai Hasan looked at him.
“Blood.”
Mr. Wiryo shook his head.
“No.”
“Not Laras's blood.”
Kiai Hasan pointed at Mr. Wiryo.
“Yours.”
The room suddenly turned cold.
Laras looked at her father.
“No.”
Mr. Wiryo placed a hand on her shoulder.
“It'll be all right.”
“Dad, you can't.”
“If it sets you free—”
“I don't want it.”
Kiai Hasan shook his head.
“I'm not finished.”
He pointed to the white stone.
“Blood alone isn't enough.”
“Then what is?”
“The person who gives the blood must give something greater.”
Mr. Wiryo asked,
“What?”
Kiai Hasan replied:
“Memories.”
Laras fell silent.
“Memories of whom?”
Kiai Hasan looked at Mr. Wiryo.
“The person he loves most.”
Mr. Wiryo understood immediately.
Sulastri.
He would have to surrender every memory of his wife.
But not only the memory of her face.
Everything.
Her voice.
Her smile.
The way she spoke.
The day they met.
The day Laras was born.
It would all disappear.
Mr. Wiryo closed his eyes.
“There has to be another way.”
Kiai Hasan shook his head.
“There is always another way.”
Mr. Wiryo opened his eyes.
“What is it?”
“Offer up the heir.”
Mr. Wiryo immediately stood.
“No.”
Kiai Hasan remained calm.
“That is why you must choose.”
Laras looked at her father.
“Dad.”
“Don't say anything.”
“Dad, if I have to lose all my memories of Mom to set you free—”
Mr. Wiryo cut her off.
“I'll do it.”
“But you'll forget Mom.”
Mr. Wiryo gave her a sad smile.
“It would be better for me to forget my memories than to lose my child.”
Laras began to cry.
She hugged her father.
But suddenly, the mosque door flew open.
**Crash!**
Everyone turned.
A man stood outside.
Jaka.
His expression was calm.
But this time, he was not alone.
A dozen people stood behind him.
All of them wore black.
And each held a gold coin.
Kiai Hasan stood.
“Jaka.”
Jaka smiled.
“It's been a long time, Kiai.”
“You are not allowed to enter this place.”
“I didn't come to worship.”
Jaka raised the coin.
“I came to claim what is mine.”
Mr. Wiryo stood in front of Laras.
“You have no claim over my daughter.”
Jaka laughed.
“Your daughter?”
He looked at Laras.
“No.”
Mr. Wiryo frowned.
Jaka spoke slowly:
“Laras does not belong to your family.”
“Laras belongs to the pact.”
Kiai Hasan picked up his staff.
“Leave.”
Jaka smiled.
“You still don't understand, Kiai.”
“Understand what?”
“The old pact has ended.”
Jaka pointed at Laras.
“What is active now is a new pact.”
Mr. Wiryo was shocked.
“Who made it?”
Jaka did not answer.
He only looked at Laras.
Then he said,
“Your mother.”
Laras froze.
“No.”
“It's true.”
Jaka pulled out a letter.
It was written in Sulastri's handwriting.
Mr. Wiryo recognized it immediately.
Jaka read the words at the top aloud:
**I am willing to surrender something unborn to save my husband.**
Mr. Wiryo felt his entire body go weak.
Laras began to cry.
“Mother wouldn't.”
Jaka smiled.
“Everyone has a price.”
“Your mother included.”
Mr. Wiryo stepped forward.
“Give me that letter.”
Jaka handed it over.
Mr. Wiryo read it.
But the farther he read, the more confused he became.
Because the letter did not mention Laras.
It did not mention wealth-pact sorcery.
It did not mention the Collector.
There was only one final sentence:
**If my child is born, don't let her find out who her biological father is.**
Mr. Wiryo stopped breathing.
He looked at Laras.
Laras looked back at him.
“Dad?”
Mr. Wiryo could not answer.
Jaka smiled.
“Now you understand.”
Mr. Wiryo looked at him.
“What does this letter mean?”
Jaka said quietly:
“Mr. Wiryo is not Laras's biological father.”
Laras stepped back.
“No...”
Mr. Wiryo gripped his daughter's hand.
“Don't listen to him.”
But Jaka smiled.
“Then ask your mother.”
Laras cried.
“Mother is dead.”
Jaka shook his head.
“Not everyone who dies truly leaves.”
Then he threw a coin onto the floor.
**Ping!**
A small flame appeared.
Within the fire, Sulastri's shadow emerged.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were filled with sorrow.
She looked at Laras.
“Forgive me, child.”
Laras screamed.
“Mom!”
The shadow slowly spoke:
“It is time for you to learn the truth.”
The flame went out.
And before she disappeared, Sulastri's voice rang out with perfect clarity:
**“Your biological father is still alive.”**
Mr. Wiryo looked at Laras.
Laras looked back at him.
Meanwhile, outside the mosque, Jaka smiled.
“Now the real game begins.”
And for the first time since all of this began, Mr. Wiryo realized that perhaps his family's greatest secret was not about wealth-pact sorcery.
It was about **who Laras really was.**
**To be continued...**