The sun was a mere sliver above the jungle canopy by the time Aishah stumbled back into the outskirts of Melaka, her limbs aching, her mind reeling. The encounter in the cavern had stripped away any lingering doubt. Magic was real, dangerous, and now inextricably tied to her. The cloaked figure, his chilling voice and dark power, had branded themselves onto her memory. She couldn't face this alone.
But who could she trust? Master Aris, with his knowing gaze and cryptic warnings? He was wise, but would he believe the full, fantastical truth? Her childhood friends knew nothing of ancient scales and mythical beasts. She needed someone who understood the unseen, someone connected to the deeper currents of Melaka.
Her thoughts drifted to Old Man Bakar. Bakar wasn't just an herbalist; he was a collector of tales, a man whose small shop near the river was always filled with the pungent scent of dried roots and the soft murmur of hushed conversations. People came to him not just for remedies, but for advice on strange ailments, for interpretations of unsettling dreams. He was Melaka's quiet confidante.
Aishah found his shop, a ramshackle wooden building leaning precariously over the river, its interior lit by a single flickering oil lamp. Bakar, a wiry man with a long, greying beard and eyes that seemed to see right through you, was grinding herbs at a worn wooden counter.
"Aishah," he said, his voice raspy but kind, without looking up. "You carry a heavy storm within you tonight. And a very old song."
Aishah gasped, instinctively clutching the wooden fish pendant. Bakar chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. "The pendant, child? Its hum has grown louder these past days. Others may only hear the marketplace, but some of us… we hear the echoes of the deep."
Hesitantly, Aishah began to speak, words tumbling out in a rush: the glowing map, the roar of the tiger, the ancient scroll, and finally, the encounter in the cavern with the cloaked figure and the blinding burst of light. Bakar listened, his face impassive, occasionally nodding slowly.
When she finished, the silence stretched, broken only by the chirping of crickets outside. Then, Bakar reached under his counter and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. He opened it, revealing not herbs, but five small, smooth river stones, each a different color.
"These are old," he said, picking up a dark, basalt-like stone. "Older than Melaka. Older even than Singapura. My family has been their keeper for generations. They are not magic themselves, but they resonate with it. They feel the ebb and flow of ancient powers." He tapped the dark stone. "This one has been restless lately. It senses a stirring, a hunger for power, a shadow stretching from the past."
He then pointed to a pale, almost translucent stone. "And this one," he continued, looking at Aishah, "it resonates with what you now carry."
"The Dragon's Scales," Aishah whispered, remembering the scroll's words. "There are five."
Bakar's eyes, ancient and wise, met hers. "Indeed. Five scales, left by the legendary guardians who once protected Temasek. Each one unique, each connected to a powerful spirit of the land, the sea, the jungle, the sky, and the heart. Your fish, child, is the Scale of the Sea. And the one who seeks them… he desires to gather them all, not to protect, but to command. To twist the very essence of these lands to his will."
Aishah felt a surge of cold dread. "Who is he? What does he want?"
"He is called the 'Shadow Seeker' by those who remember," Bakar explained, his voice low. "A sorcerer from a lineage long thought extinct, one who believes the fall of Singapura was merely an unfinished ritual, a prelude to greater power. He seeks to reawaken the sleeping giants of this land, but not for balance. For dominance."
Bakar stood, walking to a shelf filled with ancient, leather-bound books. "You are not alone, Aishah. Your pendant chose you for a reason. And just as there are those who seek to twist the ancient magic, there are those who have watched, and waited. Keepers of knowledge, silent guardians. I am but one small voice. But there are others, hidden within the very fabric of Melaka's diverse communities. The Chinese guilds hold ancient lore, the Indian merchants have their own whispers of powerful deities, and our own Melayu chiefs remember the spirits of the land."
He handed her a small, dried flower, its petals a vibrant blue. "This will help you discern. And remember, child," he said, his gaze piercing, "Melaka thrives because of its connections. Its strength is not just in its walls or its ships, but in the unseen threads that bind its people, its history, and its magic."
Aishah looked at the flower, then back at Bakar, a flicker of hope amidst her fear. She wasn't just a girl with a strange pendant anymore. She was connected to something vast and ancient, a part of a hidden legacy. And for the first time since the cloaked figure's menacing appearance, she didn't feel completely alone. She had allies, unseen threads woven into the vibrant tapestry of Melaka, waiting to be discovered.