State High School 01 of Nusantarana, Bandung.
From the outside, it looked like any ordinary school. Towering buildings faded with age, long rows of tall windows, and a flagpole standing firm in the center of a wide courtyard. Children arrived in the morning, left in the afternoon, and repeated the routine almost every single day.
But look a little closer, and school becomes more than just a place of learning. It is a space where ideas are shaped, values are planted, and ways of thinking are slowly framed. The philosophy of a school does not lie solely in its lessons—it is a medium through which the future is crafted, defined by the stories chosen to be told… and those carefully left untold.
At times, without anyone noticing, a classroom seat becomes the silent witness to the birth of a generation molded with the same worldview. And at that point, school becomes more than just a place to study: it becomes an instrument—an instrument to shape, to arrange, even to restrain. Behind the smiles of teachers and the rows of textbooks, dogma may take root, curling in slowly like ancient roots too deep to pull from wet earth.
The automatic school bell rang.
Its sound echoed through the hallways and open windows, marking the change of class. The students in Class X-3 prepared to shift their focus—some stood up, others sighed quietly. Yet by the row of windows, three students remained seated: Ikrar, Yuda, and Guruh.
They didn't speak. Nor did they look at one another. Each was lost in his own thoughts, as if the bell hadn't been loud enough to shake the silence of the world they were facing.
Ikrar finally let out a soft sigh. He stood up and said, "I'm going to the teachers' office. It's been two and a half hours … and not a single teacher has shown up. This should've been our second class."
No one replied, but Yuda gave a faint nod. Guruh only stared blankly ahead, as if something was still lingering behind his eyes—something unresolved.
Ikrar walked away, his steps echoing through the long corridors and quiet stairwells. The classroom door had creaked open behind him without his noticing, allowing the stillness after the bell to seep into the room—stillness that felt too heavy to be caused by an absent teacher alone. There was something else in the air—unspoken questions, secrets recently disturbed from where they had long been buried.
The corridor seemed to listen to the sound of Ikrar's footsteps, as if the school itself was slowly shifting—no longer just a place of learning, but something else entirely… something watching him back.
Meanwhile, inside the classroom—
Guruh was still staring forward, at the empty whiteboard that showed nothing but the faded remains of Riana's previous lesson.
Behind him, Yuda lowered his gaze, then turned slowly.
"Judging from how you're avoiding the truth, you haven't told Ikrar everything… have you?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, but it pierced the silence like a needle through cloth.
It took several seconds before Guruh replied.
"… yeah. Just like you guessed. I don't think he's ready to hear it—or at least, that's what I tell myself."
Yuda sighed, leaning back against the chair.
"Then tell me instead."
Guruh glanced at him, eyes still carrying an unresolved storm.
"He… Ikrar… he's just like us. A younger brother to one of the Celestial Guardians. From the fifth generation."
"… what? You're kidding."
Yuda furrowed his brow, confusion tightening around his thoughts.
"More precisely, there are two possibilities," Guruh said. "Either he chose not to tell us, or… he truly doesn't know. But what's clear is this—Ikrar… is Sylvia's younger brother."
Yuda scratched the back of his neck, more out of disbelief than itch. "Damn it. Why is this getting more complicated? And why—why didn't anyone, especially us, know this from the start?"
A faint, almost tired smile crossed Guruh's lips. "Shouldn't you already know the answer, Yuda? This ties in with why the public doesn't know that you… are Karya's younger brother."
"Don't tell me—"
"Yes. For reasons still unknown, both Karya and Sylvia erased all traces of their families."
Silence fell between them, heavy and unresolved, like a weight suspended just above their heads. Guruh still wore that faint smile, but there was something unspoken behind it—something he hadn't voiced.
Yuda, on the other hand, sat still, trying to process the truth unraveling before him, searching for clarity in the haze of his confusion.
"Hey," Yuda finally said, his voice low and analytical. "You said earlier, 'Ikrar had no idea his sister was a Celestial Guardian.' But honestly, that doesn't make sense—unless the kid's suffering from amnesia or something."
"Then, if Ikrar does know, why hasn't he told us?"
Yuda glanced briefly out the window, where a faint layer of snow was still falling slowly. "Maybe, for one reason or another, he chose not to reveal it. Maybe he didn't want to create any unnecessary expectations from the public. Especially since... he's a Nusalain."
Guruh crossed his arms. "That's a fair assumption."
"Have you ever asked him directly—about being Sylvia's younger brother?"
"Truthfully, yeah. A few times, actually. But never directly. One time, I simply asked if he had an older brother, like I do. Something like that."
"And his response?"
"He just shook his head. What's more interesting is how quickly he changed the subject."
"And do Riana and Aira," Yuda said quickly, "know too?"
"You're getting more talkative when you're curious, huh?" Guruh responded, a bit mischievous.
Yuda let out a brief sigh before speaking seriously. "You might as well answer my question."
"Alright, alright. Fine." Guruh gave a small smile, aware that Yuda wasn't in the mood for jokes in such a serious conversation—he felt more like he was being interrogated. "Riana... I've never asked her about it. You know full well that I'm not close with that fierce girl. Our personalities are the complete opposite."
"Aira?"
Guruh glanced briefly toward the front of the class, where Aira was seated—just a row ahead of them.
"She... seems to avoid my questions."
"Avoid?" Yuda repeated, confused.
"I think—maybe it's just my feeling. But something tells me she knows something. Or at least, something close to it."
A cold breeze blew gently, sneaking through the cracks of the window. The noise of the classroom began to rise, but not from the teacher—rather, the sound of students chatting while waiting for the second period to start. Some were joking, others munching on small snacks, and a few were busy doodling on their desks with pencil tips. Amid the bustle, however, Guruh and Yuda stood in stark contrast. Both sat in silence, their eyes occasionally flickering toward the front—toward the girl in question.
Aira sat quietly, seemingly untouched by the world around her. Her fingers moved softly, writing something in the open notebook before her. Her expression was serious, but peaceful—like someone jotting down trivial notes.
Yuda finally spoke, his calm tone still unshaken. "Guruh, did you bring your brother's notebook?"
Guruh nodded. "Of course. I always carry it in my bag."
"In that case," Yuda said, leaning back in his chair, "show it to me."
Without thinking much, Guruh nodded and bent down to his desk, rummaging through his bag.
"Hold on," Guruh muttered, frowning. His hand sifted through the contents, but his face slowly shifted to confusion. "Wait… where is the notebook?"
He dug deeper, pulling out item after item—a water bottle, a pack of sanitary pads, even a half-empty bag of chips—everything except what he was looking for.
"I… I swear it was in here!" Guruh exclaimed, panicking. Then, in desperation, he shook the bag upside down, sending chips scattering into his friend's lap.
Yuda didn't react. He simply stared at a single chip that had landed on his shoulder, flicked it off, and then fixed Guruh with a flat stare. "It's still believable that you brought chips here. But… what's with the sanitary pads?"
Guruh, pale and awkward, could only laugh nervously. "Don't get the wrong idea! I'm just doing a task."
"Who asked you to do that?"
"My girlfriend, of course!"
Yuda sighed deeply, casting a quick glance toward Aira, still calmly writing at her desk.
"I think you've lost more than just a notebook. You're really careless."
Guruh was about to speak, but his words were caught in his throat when his gaze landed on Aira's hand, which had just lifted a tattered brown notebook from her bag.
"Hey, isn't that…?" His voice finally came out, realizing that the very notebook they'd been searching for was now in Aira's hand.
At Ikrar's Place.
With slow, yet determined steps, he walked down the quiet halls. The light from the windows swept across the old tiles, reflecting his shadow as he moved.
The classroom doors stood still like silent sentinels, each one he passed without a sound. Nothing but the clink of his shoes, faint laughter from inside other classrooms, and the whisper of the wind seeping through cracks in the walls. As he descended the stairs towards the Main Building, a cool breeze greeted him—a sense that something was waiting.
SMAN 01 Nusantarana Bandung was no ordinary school. It loomed large, like an academic complex, with several buildings standing strong over five hectares of land. Each building had its own purpose—Astradi Building for the study of realms and the history of power; Silvani Building, where mystical botany and ecological experiments were carried out; Vetra Building for physical training and simulated duels; Senandhika Auditorium, a place where arts, the voice of the heart, and cultural studies came together in harmonious beauty; and the Main Building, sprawling like a palace, housing the teacher's offices, archives, library, and principal's room.
Ikrar stepped over a connecting bridge, his feet tapping against the cold floor due to the snow. He descended a few spiral steps toward a small courtyard that separated the main building and the training complex. Each step felt heavier, not from exhaustion, but from the shifting atmosphere around him. The closer he got to the Teacher's Building (Main Building), the quieter the air seemed to become. Even the small laughter of students in the classrooms he passed now felt distant, like an echo from another world.
The large glass doors of the Main Building loomed at the end of the hall, standing tall and closed tightly. The thin snow continued to dance in the air, though the coolness that greeted him from that direction was not just any ordinary chill. It carried an unsettling sense that crept under his skin, penetrating deep into his veins.
As soon as Ikrar stepped toward one of the Main Building's entrances, the biting cold immediately seized him. The silence inside was oppressive, with only the soft click of a door closing marking his arrival. The polished floors reflected the dim light from hanging lamps, while the towering walls, clad in dark wood, added an air of arrogance and sanctity to the building.
Yet, what stopped him wasn't the grand architecture—it was the figure standing in the middle of the main hall, directly in front of the elevator to the teacher's office.
A woman sat hunched on a marble bench, seamlessly blending with the corridor's design. Her long hair covered part of her face, and her hands gripped her head as if trying to hold back something.
The woman seemed... out of place. Not in terms of space, but in terms of her state.
Ikrar swallowed hard. His eyes widened. He recognized the figure.
Nita.
One of the Seven Celestial Guardians. A name often whispered in grand tales. A figure worshipped by the younger generation as a symbol of strength and resolve.
And now, here she was. Alone. Silent.
"What...," Ikrar muttered, but his voice faded into the echoes of the corridor.
Slowly, he approached. Confusion and unease wrestled within him. "Why is she here? Could it be true what Guruh said about Miss Nita being a guest at this school?"
His footsteps left a faint echo on the floor, his gaze never leaving the fragile-looking woman beneath the grandeur of the Main Building. He wanted to speak, wanted to ask, but doubt held him back. She was too significant to be addressed casually.
For Nita, however, the world around her was silent. Only the pressing stillness from all directions filled her mind, seeping in through the window cracks and settling in the crevices of her thoughts. She sat hunched, one hand covering her forehead, her fingers trembling slightly.
In her eyes, the world had long since shattered. Not by war, nor by defeat, but by the solitude that followed after everything was over.
"Windah, Windah... how could you become a teacher? Even I'm traumatized by coming here," she thought, reflecting quietly.
She shouldn't be here—at this school, at the place that marked the beginning of many memories and many wounds. Yet something seemed to have pulled her back.
Footsteps disrupted the stillness. Soft, hesitant, but enough to make her slowly lift her head.
Before her stood a child. Nita stared at him for a long moment, recognizing the same bewildered look she once had. The boy—yes, she knew who he was.
"Ikrar," she said softly, but his voice came first.
"Miss Nita?" Ikrar asked, quietly but clearly. "Why are you here?"
Nita slowly lifted her gaze. Her hair was a bit disheveled, her tired eyes meeting Ikrar's… before narrowing sharply.
"Miss? Do I really look that old? Can't everyone stop calling me 'Miss'?"
Ikrar flinched. "Ah—I mean, Kak—uh, Ma'am—eh… ah! Kak means 'Sis' in Indonesian!"
Nita just stared at him for a moment… then let out a soft laugh. Her laughter was hoarse, as though it hadn't been used for something light in a long time.
"Relax. I was just joking," she teased, offering a thin smile. "But seriously, don't get used to calling a young woman 'Miss', okay? It'll age your heart fast."
Ikrar could only nod awkwardly, scratching his head even though it wasn't itchy.
As the light laughter faded, Nita took a deeper look at the bespectacled boy. "Ah, Sylvia… I really see her shadow in your younger brother," she thought fondly, though a trace of sadness quickly passed over her face. "And, I'm sorry, Ikrar."
"By the way," she said as she slowly lifted her head again, her gaze now calmer, "why are you here alone, Ikrar? Shouldn't there still be class?"
Ikrar, still a bit awkward, took a short breath before answering, "Uh, yeah, Miss—uh, Kak—uh, well, you know…" He quickly straightened his posture. "Actually, I was heading to the teacher's office, Kak. It's been one class already, but no teacher's shown up in our class."
Nita raised an eyebrow slightly, as if processing something odd. "No teacher has shown up...?"
The bespectacled boy nodded. "It's been almost two and a half hours. Even my friends are starting to wonder."
The smile on Nita's face slowly faded, replaced by a subtle wrinkle in her forehead. She turned her gaze to the large window facing the central courtyard, watching the light snow still falling like fine dust from the sky.
"It's strange," she murmured almost inaudibly. "I've been here for quite a while, but… I haven't seen a single teacher walk by."
An odd aura crept into their words. The hallway inside the Main Building seemed to hold its breath, and the echo of Ikrar's footsteps now felt like the only heartbeat left.
Ikrar stared at Nita, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "So… Kak Nita hasn't seen anyone either?"
Nita didn't answer right away. She only gave a faint smile, this time without the usual teasing. "Not yet. And that makes me even more curious as to why you're the one who came here first."
Ikrar immediately swallowed, unable to shake the ominous feeling that slowly spread through his body.
"When you entered school this morning, did you happen to cross paths with any teachers?" Nita asked again, her tone deep, almost like she was investigating.
Ikrar furrowed his brow, trying to remember. "Not really, Kak. I mean… the gates were open, the school guard was there, vehicles were parked neatly as usual. I thought everything was normal." He glanced around for a brief moment, trying to make sense of it. "But now that I think about it… not a single teacher has been seen since this morning."
Nita nodded slowly, her gaze deepening. "I felt it too. Earlier, I parked my car in the east yard. There were plenty of teachers' cars there… but not one of them was visible in the hallways when I came in." She took a slow breath. "I thought they were having a meeting. But usually, there would be signs… or at least, some noise."
Silence slowly crept in, like a thin fog seeping into the walls of the school. The distant ticking of a wall clock briefly shattered the quiet, then faded away again.
"Do you think... we should check the teacher's room?"
Nita stared at the young man for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes. We need to find out what's really going on at this school."
They began to walk together, down a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly, even though the distance remained the same. The silence around them was suffocating, broken only by the soft echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the high walls and ceiling.
It was as if something was waiting ahead—not just behind the teacher's room door, but perhaps much deeper than that.
Ikrar occasionally glanced to the side, toward Nita walking beside him, appearing calm despite not being entirely at peace.
"If I may ask," Ikrar spoke softly, "You said you've been here for a while. Why didn't you go straight to the teacher's room if you had business there?"
Nita didn't answer immediately. She took a deep breath and looked straight ahead—toward the end of the corridor where the teacher's room door awaited.
"A lot of things happened today," she said finally. "One of them is that I stood in front of that door. My hand had touched the handle. But something made me step back."
Ikrar turned his head, waiting for her to continue.
"At first, I thought the teachers were in a meeting. But after hearing your account, my assumptions changed," Nita continued. "But what's clear is that when I was there... the atmosphere around it seemed to reject my presence—the silence was too perfect."
They paused for a moment, standing there. Despite the seemingly ordinary surroundings, the door, with its quiet and the cold touch of snow outside, felt oddly out of place.
With a hesitant voice, Ikrar said, "But with your name and influence, why didn't you just walk in… to it?"
Nita smiled softly—though this time, the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "The higher you stand, the more caution you must carry," she said quietly. "I'm not afraid. But experience has taught me that some doors… should not be opened just because you can."
Her hand reached out, her fingers touching the cold handle, though she didn't push it open right away. She stared ahead, but her gaze held something—an unspoken regret.
"Now I can't ignore it anymore," she whispered, more to herself. "I hope I'm not too late."
With a deep breath, Nita turned the handle. A faint click echoed, but the silence that followed seemed to reverberate down the entire corridor.
And behind that door, they would find more than just an empty room.
Meanwhile.
The noisy classroom buzzed on—laughter, sighs of boredom, and the constant screech of shifting chairs blended into one. Yet, in the middle of it all, Guruh nearly leapt out of his seat when his eyes caught a sight that sent his heart racing like mad.
"Hey—hey—HEY! Hold up!" he shouted, leaning forward dramatically with a pointed finger as if trying to freeze time. "That! That notebook!"
Yuda glanced over lazily. "Which one?"
"In Aira's hand! Holy crap, that's Windah's notebook! What the heck is it doing in her bag‽"
Without thinking twice, Guruh jumped onto his seat, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped from one desk to another, making his way straight to Aira's.
"Sorry, excuse me—national emergency, coming through," he muttered quickly while slipping past chairs, leaving classmates startled and scrambling to clear a path before he crashed into them.
Once in front of Aira's desk, Guruh leaned toward the notebook, as if about to sniff it.
"Yes! This is it! Smells exactly like my old cupboard at home—vintage overload!"
Aira merely raised an eyebrow, eyes still fixed on the open page. "You figured that out by the smell?"
"Yeah, and by the scent of balm on the bottom-left corner," Guruh answered proudly, pointing at a faint smudge. "That's my brother's masterpiece—the only one worthy of being archived in history!"
Yuda finally caught up, standing calmly beside them and letting out a long sigh. "Guruh… sometimes I'm torn between admiring your brain or just plain pitying it."
Guruh ignored the comment. "Seriously though, Ra, how did this notebook end up with you? Do you have some kind of... attraction spell?"
"Just found it lying on the floor on my way here," Aira replied flatly.
Guruh pursed his lips, unconvinced. "How's that possible? You walked to class before we did this morning, didn't you?"
"That's just your assumption," the white-haired girl answered, still expressionless. "I made a detour to the restroom. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
Just as Guruh was about to retort, Yuda cut in first, his voice dropping a note lower.
"The more important question—did you read what's in that notebook, Aira?"
She didn't answer right away. She stopped writing, placed her pen on the desk, and looked straight at him. "And what difference would it make, Yuda, if I did or didn't?"
The atmosphere between them seemed to dim, as if the entire classroom faded into the background. Their gazes locked—flat, cold, like two mirrors reflecting nothing but silent tension. No anger, no guilt, just a quiet pressure hanging in the air.
Guruh, standing close by, looked from one to the other, eyes darting left and right.
He raised an eyebrow and muttered, like someone watching a soap opera, "Oof. Staring contest level: existential. It's like two loading screens facing off—spinning and spinning, but nobody's saying anything."
Yuda glanced sideways at him, while Aira blinked slowly—as if realizing their tension had spilled over to an unintentional audience.
"But seriously, why do you two look like you're stuck in a samurai movie standoff?" Guruh added, pretending to hide behind the notebook like a shield.
Yuda finally looked away, taking a short breath. "Just answer the question, Aira."
"Yes. I read it," Aira answered calmly, almost expressionless. Her shoulders didn't even twitch, as if she had merely stated the weather.
"Hey! Hey! That's top secret! Only good-looking people are allowed to read my brother's journal!" Guruh blurted out. "And that journal's pretty long, by the way—did you read all the way to the end?"
"Like a novel. The juiciest parts usually come near the end."
Guruh slapped his forehead instinctively, then pointed at her with mock wisdom. "Ugh! Spoiler addict! You'll never understand the beauty of a plot twist if you don't go through the journey first!" He clicked his tongue and sighed dramatically. "Let me guess—you're the kind of person who eats the filling first when snacking on cookies, huh? Or the type who dives straight into the rendang when eating Nasi Padang?"
Aira glanced at Guruh for a second before returning to her writing. The corner of her lips twitched slightly—almost a smile, but it never fully formed.
"Maybe you should ask yourself that, Guruh. Or better yet, ask your friend next to you. He's no different, is he?"
Yuda fell silent. That wasn't just a casual reply—he knew. It was a veiled jab. And she had just confirmed that she knew far more than she should.
"You knew about Ikrar too, didn't you?"
The sound of Aira's pen scratching across paper halted for a beat before continuing again. "Yes. From the journal—"
"No," Yuda interrupted sharply, leaving her no room to finish. "I'm asking if you already knew, from the start, that Ikrar is Sylvia's younger brother."
Aira lowered her gaze slightly, fingers tightening around her pen. She was usually composed, but this time there was a strain she couldn't quite conceal. Her eyes fixated on the journal in front of her, not to think—but to hold her breath.
But before she could speak, a calm yet cutting voice slipped between them.
"Guruh."
Footsteps approached with a steady rhythm. Riana stood just a few paces from their desk, her hand resting lightly on the back of a chair. She didn't cross her arms, nor did she interrupt harshly—she simply stood tall, with eyes that spoke first before her lips did.
"If you're planning a circus act, I don't think our school has an acrobatics club. Did you forget you're still in class?"
Guruh straightened instantly, awkward and sheepish. "Ah—perfect timing, Class President …"
Riana's gaze lingered on him for a moment before shifting toward Yuda and Aira, who had also turned their attention to her. The tension that once hung heavily in the air loosened slightly, though it hadn't entirely dissolved.
"What's going on?" Riana asked quietly, her words calm but weighty. "This doesn't look like a regular study chat."
Aira slowly raised her head. A faint smile curled at the edge of her lips. Her gaze moved from Riana, to Guruh, and finally to Yuda—as if silently aligning puzzle pieces in her mind.
"Well, now we're complete. The younger siblings of the Celestial Guardians: Alex, Windah, and of course… Karya."
"Hey, keep your voice down!" Guruh hissed, leaning in toward her. "If the world hears that, Yuda will end up on the front page of some trashy talk show!"
Beside him, Yuda and Riana exchanged glances—brief, but dense with unspoken understanding. The secret they had so carefully protected had just shifted hands.
Aira knew.
And to Yuda, nothing was more dangerous than someone who knew too much—too soon. A few classmates were beginning to glance over, sensing tension in the air.
"Aira, if you—"
"You have no grounds to threaten me into silence," she interrupted without looking up from her notebook. "Even if I screamed that you're Karya's little brother, who would believe me right away? But the real question is… why are you so afraid?"
Yuda clenched his hand into a fist atop the desk. His voice stayed level, but there was weight behind every word.
"This isn't about belief. It's about who holds the key to something that should've been buried long ago. And you just touched it."
"The same could be said about you... when it comes to Ikrar," Aira replied softly. "But truthfully, what fascinates me more is this: unlike Riana or Guruh, whose lineage is practically public knowledge, why did you choose to hide it?"
Yuda turned his gaze toward the window. Snow was still falling, slow and steady, blanketing the world in silence. When he finally spoke, it was more of a murmur than a statement.
"Because Karya isn't just a name... he's a symbol. And symbols carry weight. I don't want that weight dropped on the shoulders of people who don't even know how to carry it."
Aira paused her writing. The tip of her pen hovered mid-air before she quietly closed her notebook, sealing it with deliberate calm. Then she looked at Yuda—eyes still, unwavering.
"Then we're even. Don't ever question me again about Ikrar. Or Sylvia."
Yuda didn't respond.
He watched as Aira resumed writing, as if the entire conversation had been nothing more than background noise—something forgettable, something disposable.
But in Yuda's mind, the questions grew. They didn't fade; they rooted deep, multiplying with every passing second. The quiet fear settled in his chest, squeezing tighter.
How much does Aira know?
Is it just about Sylvia? Or… is it more than that?
Yuda feared the answer. He feared Aira knew more than she should—more than anyone had a right to know.
He turned toward Riana, who hadn't spoken a word since arriving. Yet the way she observed everything, the slight narrowing of her eyes—Yuda could tell. She'd noticed it too.
Aira wasn't just informed.
She was hiding something.
Yuda exhaled slowly, but the unease stayed with him. Not loud. Not overwhelming.
Just quietly growing.
Aira knows more.
Far more.