The kris felt heavier than it should. Not in weight, but in memory.
Aryasa stood in the temple courtyard, staring at the blade his uncle had given him. Its surface shimmered faintly, like it remembered the hands that once held it.
"Your father was a guardian," Mangku Gede said, placing offerings at the shrine. "Not of land or people but of the veil."
Aryasa's fingers tightened around the hilt. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
Mangku didn't answer immediately. He lit a stick of incense and watched the smoke curl upward. "Because the veil was still strong. And you were still a child."
Aryasa looked at the kris again. Its carvings were intricate swirls of flame, eyes hidden in the metal, and a faint symbol near the base: a mask.
"Barong," he whispered.
Mangku nodded. "The blade is not a weapon. It's a key."
That night, Mangku led Aryasa to a part of the temple rarely entered. Behind a stone wall, hidden by vines and moss, was a door carved with ancient symbols.
"Place the kris in the center," Mangku instructed.
Aryasa did as told. The blade slid into a narrow slot. The symbols glowed faintly. The door opened.
Inside was a chamber lit by fireflies and moonlight. Scrolls lined the walls. Statues of Barong and Rangda faced each other in eternal silence.
"This is the Archive of the Veil," Mangku said. "Only the chosen may enter."
Aryasa stepped forward. One scroll caught his eye—its seal marked with the same mask as the kris. He opened it.
Inside were drawings visions of past guardians, battles fought in realms unseen, and a prophecy: "When the veil thins, the blood of the last shall awaken the light."
Aryasa's heart pounded. He was the last. And the veil was thinning.
Suddenly, the chamber trembled. A crack split the floor. From it, black mist rose cold, sharp, and alive.
Mangku pulled Aryasa back. "She's testing you."
The mist formed a shape—a woman with flowing hair and burning eyes. Rangda. But not her full form. Just a whisper. A warning.
"You are weak," she hissed. "The veil will fall. And your light will burn."
Aryasa raised the kris. Light surged from its blade. The mist recoiled. Rangda vanished.
Mangku turned to Aryasa. "You must train. The veil won't hold much longer."
Aryasa nodded, eyes still on the blade. He didn't feel ready. But he was chosen. And the war had begun.