Raikha and Lara reached the spot just as the light started to change.
The deeper they plunged into Halimun, the weirder the sunlight got. It wasn't just leaves blocking it; it was like something ancient in the very air was sifting it, breathing it.
The canopy here curved and spiraled above them, like some vast, green cathedral. Every tree trunk was soft with moss, like thick velvet. Even though no rain had fallen, the air still smelled fresh and damp.
Lara dropped to one knee, her hand finding the soft soil. "This is it," she breathed, barely a whisper. "The Heart Root."
Before them stood a tree so massive, it wasn't just a tree—it was the tree. Its trunk was as wide as a small house, its roots snaking deep into the very bones of the earth, vanishing into cracks that glowed faintly. The bark itself seemed alive, shimmering with lines like veins, pulsing with golden sap.
Raikha stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat. "It's... alive," he murmured, almost to himself.
"No," Lara corrected him, her voice low. "It's awake."
She dug into her pouch, pulling out three small bone talismans, each carved with swirling spirals. "Help me place them," she instructed, her voice urgent. "North, east, and west. I'll take south."
Raikha didn't ask what they were for. He just moved, a blur of motion, his feet silent on the moss, his heart a steady drum. He placed each talisman exactly where she'd told him.
As he returned, the ground began to tremble.
Birds exploded from the canopy above. A gust of wind hit them, but it seemed to come from below the earth.
Then Lara's voice rose, clear and strange, a chant echoing through the quiet.
"Root of beginning, spine of life, awaken. By thorn and blood, remember us."
The bone talismans pulsed with a faint, inner light.
A deep thrumming rolled through the forest. Beneath their feet, the Heart Root pulsed once—a slow, heavy beat—then again, faster, before bursting into a radiant bloom. Golden veins of light snaked outwards through the roots, stretching into the forest in every direction like a vast, awakening nervous system.
Then—snap—a branch cracked sharply in the distance.
Both Raikha and Lara spun around.
Through the swirling ferns and mist, Commander Darvas Sangkara's silhouette appeared, a dark, imposing figure striding into the now-glowing clearing.
He moved as if fear didn't exist. His armor looked even heavier here, stained with a deeper, almost wet crimson. His black mantle flowed like dark flame. In one hand, he dragged a curved weapon—a jagged sabit—and in the other, he clutched a severed vine, still twitching faintly, as if freshly ripped from the earth.
The radiant light of the Heart Root seemed to recoil, dimming around him.
Raikha stepped forward, saber drawn, its edge glinting in the strange light. "You're not welcome here," he declared, his voice firm.
Sangkara halted.
"No," the commander replied, his voice a low rumble. "But I am necessary."
Then he raised a bloodstained hand—and the forest recoiled, wilting in a wide, sickening circle around him. Roots curled and blackened as if burnt. Bark split open, weeping. Petals browned, crumbling instantly to dust.
Lara gritted her teeth, her fists clenching. "He's trying to unweave it," she snarled.
But even as the Heart Root's light dimmed, it refused to die. It flickered wildly now, like a challenged heartbeat, growing erratic—but stubbornly refusing to fade.
Raikha whispered, his voice hushed with awe and fear. "It's afraid."
"No," Lara corrected him, her voice a quiet, steel-edged certainty. "It's waiting."
Then the very earth let out a low groan—half sound, half ancient, pained breath.
And Sangkara smiled, a slow, predatory curving of his lips. Then he moved.
Raikha brought his saber up just in time to block the first strike.
CLANG.
The force of Sangkara's blow slammed him back a step. It wasn't just raw strength; it was sorcery. The commander's sabit hummed with blood-forged energy, red veins pulsing down its length like living arteries.
"I expected more grace from a silat child," Sangkara sneered, pushing forward. "Where's your dance? Where's your breath?"
Raikha exhaled sharply—with perfect precision—and flowed into quick movement. His feet shifted in a serpentine pattern, dodging the next arc of Sangkara's cruel sickle-blade by a hair's breadth. He countered with a quick upward slash, but the commander simply blocked the attack with his armored gauntlet, sparks flying as steel met metal.
Then Sangkara whispered: "Red Channeling."
Raikha's vision blurred—just for a split second—but it was enough. The world turned crimson. It wasn't blood he saw, but raw, consuming fear. His heart hammered in his chest. His limbs felt sluggish, heavy. The edges of his vision trembled like heat rising from a fire. Was it an illusion? A poison? No—something far deeper.
Painful memories surfaced: the fall of Langkasuri, the desperate cries of his family, the sickening scrape of a sword across his father's back. His knees almost buckled.
But from the side—
"RAIKHA!"
Lara's voice sliced through the haze like a cold blade. She threw something—a pod of crushed root—into the ground beside him. It burst in a small plume of bitter blue smoke. Raikha inhaled instinctively, and the fog in his mind cleared. His racing pulse calmed. The fear died. He stood straighter, his stance firm once more.
Sangkara's smile faltered.
"You're learning," the commander muttered, his voice low. "Good. That means I won't have to hold back."
He raised both hands. And the earth cracked.
From the fissure, blood-red vines burst forth—bladed tendrils of raw channeling magic, feeding off Sangkara's own old wounds. They whipped toward Raikha like furious serpents, each strike carrying the crushing weight of regret made into a weapon.
Raikha ducked and spun, dancing through the onslaught. But there were too many. One slashed his arm. Another tore a gash in his shoulder.
But he did not fall.
Instead, Raikha stepped inside the pain. His breath flowed, controlled and deep, and he launched into Tebas Bayangan, the Shadow Slash, again—but deeper this time. He pivoted into a whirlwind of cuts, not aimed at Sangkara directly, but at the coiling vines, disrupting their pattern, creating a desperate space for himself. Steel hissed. One vine shrieked as it was severed.
But just as Sangkara prepared to unleash a second wave—
The ground glowed.
The forest struck back.
A deep rumble rolled beneath them. Roots rose, not like the simple trap before, but glowing golden, entwining with the air, the stones, even the very past of the forest.
The Heart Root had awakened.
Lara stood at its base, her hands pressed flat against the soil. Her eyes shimmered with sap-colored light. "You're not fighting alone," she said, her voice calm and distant, yet powerful. "She sees you now."
All around them, the corrupted forest began to shiver. Old vines twisted, then abruptly broke free of Sangkara's dark control. Petals bloomed midair. Bark turned from grey to sickly gold.
The balance had shifted. Raikha felt it, a surge of renewed strength.
So did Sangkara. The commander snarled and thrust his weapon into the dirt—but the ground refused to accept it. The weapon bounced back with a defiant clang.
Sangkara's voice cracked, a flicker of something close to fear in his eyes. "What is this?"
Raikha stepped forward, blood on his brow, a burning fire in his chest.
"This," he said, his voice ringing out, "is not your land."