A huge brass gong bellowed like the eruption of Mount Wardhana. Sengkolo was drawn to its oddly soothing noise like a pack of winged termites to a light source during the turning of seasons. His legs took him through the plaza of Temple Bonsar as if they had their own will. His steps were wide but slow. His boots clinked as they touched the ground.

Sengkolo's eyes leaped from one Danker in his proximity to the other. His stern gaze either made them look away or hastened their pace. His armor glinted under the midday sun. Despite the apparent increase in temple attendance over the last four weeks, Sengkolo somehow still found himself surrounded by a two-men-wide spacing in any direction.

He took off his steel boots and attached them to a chain strap that was wrapped around his waist. The ablution was flights of stairs away. A series of smooth protruding elliptic rocks pressed against Sengkolo's bare feet as he climbed toward the temple proper. The weight of his armor increased the pressure, emphasizing their impact on Sengkolo’s state of mind. The free, albeit brief, reflexology was one of his motivations for becoming a regular attendee.

Sengkolo looked aloft. The masses of Dankers ahead failed to obstruct the great temple’s half-prolate spheroid dome. Its conic crown pierced the ashen sky with pride. The golden structure shone with such holiness that even the clouds circled around to get to the other side. He then glanced over his shoulder. Even on the tightly packed stairs, his people still chose to keep a distance from him. The equally spaced weeping figs on the temple’s plaza, which appeared small from where Sengkolo was standing, reminded him of what he had heard about their ancient enemy.

Turning a corner toward the ablution, Sengkolo found himself standing face to face with a Danker who had just turned in his direction. His shoulders briefly broadened as he gasped. The visible part of his body was as wet as those who had swam in a lake for a day. Transparent water dripped from the faucet nearby. The Danker nodded and shriveled. He slipped through the crowd as if Sengkolo was going to apprehend him for using too much water.

A pandhita wearing a brown ceremonial robe with golden sewing pointed toward the hallway with the least Dankers. His head was covered by a blankon decorated with pearly trinkets. Sengkolo nodded at him before abiding his direction. The pandhita returned the gesture, adding a bright smile that made the general feel a little more secure.

Sengkolo climbed a twisting staircase. There was still an hour before the sermon began and the first two stories were already filled to the brim. The general found a vacant spot on the third floor where he sat cross-legged. The pandhita successfully read his mind; he and his armor demanded a little bit more space than an average Danker.

The beige basalt ceiling was paneled with spaced out three by three squares. Recurring floral, triangular, and hyperbolic patterns that mingled into an aesthetic view extruded from them. The marble pillars that held them were connected by four centered arches. Wheel-shaped golden chandeliers five arms wide that hung from the ceiling added to the grandeur of the great temple’s interior.

A heavenly fragrance made the general feel at peace. He wished it stayed that way until he closed his eyes for the last time. The bushy green tapestry he was sitting on invoked an image of the Eternal Garden — a land of everlasting joy promised by the Almighty Three for those who devoted their life to them. The longer he was in the temple, the more he yearned to be there.

The available spaces around Sengkolo became occupied over time. Normally, one would have to sit down and listen to the sermon, which was amplified with a Mantra of Mirage so that it could be heard across the temple. Sengkolo rarely listened as the preacher often reiterated the same spiritual lectures that were taught everywhere in Mananggal countless times, and brought up the same set of verses that he came across himself in the Kawi at least thrice. He closed his eyes and beseeched his Gods. He kept his head full of praises and repeatedly whispered them to prevent drowsiness from consuming him.

Once the prayer session was over, Sengkolo brought himself before the dais where the lead prayer had stood. He raised his hands as he looked toward the three icons above the huge parabolic arch. He stilled his heart and made his mind vacant. Nowhere else could he be vulnerable but before the Almighty Three. He asked for steadfastness as he sensed the news would herald arduous times. He might not be able to entirely depend on his people, but he could depend on his Lord. As long as his devotion stood, They would show him the way.

“Praise the Three…The Holy…The Almighty…”

Sengkolo raised his hands to his forehead before crossing them on his chest. He withdrew them and touched his fingers to the tip of his shoulders. When he opened his eyes, he found a pandhita standing next to him.

The pandhita opened his arms and greeted the general with a smile. “How have things troubled you today, general?”

The two shook hands.

“I need more sleep hours,” Sengkolo said.

“Did you tell that to our Lord and Saviour?”

Sengkolo chuckled. “Definitely.”

The pandhita leaned closer. “Now,” he whispered. “Please tell me what's actually going on. I promise it'll end with me.”

“What are you talking about, Riffin?”

“You stood there five minutes longer than you usually do.”

Sengkolo looked around. As a temple built by Prophet Gajah Salto himself which later became his resting place, Temple Bonsar was constantly crowded. High Pandhita Ariffin Aran Fasih Fikih Lan Mimpin seemed to acknowledge his concern as he nodded his head toward a certain corner where there were relatively fewer people.

“Let's make it a deal,” Sengkolo said. “Tell me how's the house, then I'll tell you what has been bothering me.”

Riffin chuckled. “Which one would you like to know?”

“Great House Langgar.”

“The usual I see,” Riffin said. “But I would like you to play your part and also remain silent.”

“Certainly.”

“The fundamentalist group has grown in numbers and begun demanding the Grandmaster to convert Imperial settlers. For now, they have no way to bring him to do that. They could be a concern in the future, though. I have also heard a rumor that Santoso himself is backing their movement.”

“Unless this conversion was done by a Pringgitan, Santoso wouldn't consent,” Sengkolo said.

“That remains to be seen. I believe he is a friend closer to you than I am. Why don't you check on him?”

“Are you expecting a response?”

“If it's convenient,” Riffin said with a gentle smile.

Riffin spoke with irresistible friendliness. Whenever he asked for something, Sengkolo always felt compelled to fulfill it, even when the pandhita made it clear that he would be fine without it.

Sengkolo nodded. “I'll see what I can do. Is it alright if I ask you about the other house?”

Riffin told the general about his son who was eager to make a name for himself. He told him how his son was clueless as much as he wished to fulfill his dream. Such was the spirit of the youth, Sengkolo thought. The general offered a position in the corps led by his son. Riffin said that his son wasn’t keen to be in the military, despite the post-service benefits and opportunities. Sengkolo's hand itched upon hearing that the pandhita's son wished the PNS was in a better state. The general would argue that it would be if young men like him enlisted, but he wouldn't say it in front of Riffin.

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After a little bit of back and forth, it was time for Sengkolo to keep his end of the bargain. He walked with Riffin toward the outer porch, where they could see the view leagues ahead. Sengkolo pointed at the direction where the clouds formed a subtle reversed conic in the distance.

“Of course, it has to do with our fallen kin,” Riffin said.

Sengkolo gestured at him. “If your enemy has been idling for the past ten years, wouldn't you be suspicious too?”

“I'm afraid I'm not well versed to speak of this matter, friend.”

“It doesn't take an experienced general to see it. Great House Thong is plotting something.”

“If you think that way, why haven't you sent the army across Firdha Ridge?”

“Thong's forces have proven time after time to be unable to break through Firdha Ridge. It's our advantage in this war and I will not turn it down. We will crush our enemy on the mountain range, and strike back once their numbers have plummeted.”

“An intriguing plan,” Riffin said. “I suppose Great House Thong is aware of this as well. Perhaps whatever they are plotting has something to do with dealing with your strategy.”

Sengkolo frowned. “And we will find out.”

Sengkolo glanced at Riffin with a look that spoke of the seriousness of the situation.

“The most recent expedition I sent has reached Mount Wardhana,” Sengkolo said.

“Ah, so you are worried about what they'll find down there?”

Sengkolo looked away while maintaining his indifferent face. “I…sense it's something so twisted…so uncanny that our mind couldn't even comprehend.”

And he was scared that the Sultanate wouldn't be ready to face it by then. He couldn't tell that to anyone.

“Fear not,” Riffin said, tapping on his shoulder guard. “The Almighty Three is with you. If it's something whose existence is prohibited by Them, then it will surely perish one way or another.”

The Almighty Three, especially Vahsani, made lying one of the greatest sins to be committed. Yet his subordinates and his colleagues in the Great Houses still lied to him.

Riffin looked over his shoulder. “Seems like I have to attend to other affairs,” he said. “I will see you next time.”

Sengkolo nodded and waved to him. The general made his way back to the temple's pen, where all the nyambek were kept. He hopped onto his lizard mount and rode away.

Fort Njomplang was located fifteen minutes away from Temple Bonsar. The grand fortress complex spanned the entirety of the hill it was built on. The dark gray basalt walls on every layer appeared both sturdy and aesthetic. The soldiers that manned the bottom layer opened the steel gate which had the insignia of the PNS embossed on it.

Sengkolo rode through battlements, outdoor encampments, training grounds, and weapon storage depots until he reached the top layer. His men along the way saluted him, even though he didn't bat an eye to them. The tower at the center of the top layer — the fort's citadel — had golden attachments on its edges. The arched walls were carved with an eloquent pattern that was akin to the one etched on Sengkolo's armor.

Once he put his nyambek in the allocated pen, Sengkolo entered the tower and climbed the stairs that led to his office. A pack of books and scrolls sat in front of a shelf that was already overloaded. Dust and cobwebs settled about them. A board made out of stretched nyambek hide hung on the other wall, housing pinned scrolls that Sengkolo hoped to return to in the future.

The general rotated the protruding bolts on his ornate silver stand. As soon as they were oriented correctly, Sengkolo spoke a phrase that made the purple crystal glow. He didn't have to wait long until a figure materialized in his office.

“What is it, this time?” Santoso said. The Resonance broadcasted his voice into Sengkolo's office.

“Let's first wait for Sulistyo,” Sengkolo said.

General Santoso Ing Ngarso Lan Tulodo, who was also the Grandmaster of Great House Pringgitan, crossed his arms and gave Sengkolo a cynical look. Two swords hung from his waist. One of them was the standard issue officer sword — the one that Sengkolo also had with him. The other had an ornate golden scabbard and was wielded only by Santoso.

“I'm quite in a hurry right now,” Santoso said. “I have a duel coming in thirty minutes.”

“What? This is the fifth time this week.”

Santoso shrugged. “Oh well you know…if only a certain general does something to seize the initiative and turn the war in our favor, instead of leaving his army idling without a purpose.”

Sengkolo pointed at Santoso. “Tell your House Lord that ‘something’ is more than just bashing the skull of our enemy. Also, do brief them again about our strate–”

Santoso raised an index, interrupting Sengkolo. “What do you think I'm going to do in thirty minutes?” He said, chuckling a little.

Sengkolo sighed. “Fine.”

Sulistyo finally responded to the Resonance.

“I trust our bickering here will bear fruit, friends,” he said as his figure materialized into Sengkolo's office.

Sengkolo and Santoso turned their attention to the golden-faced Danker. Sulistyo Alon Nanging Setyo, the Grandmagister of Great House Dalem, wore an exquisite purple robe with golden stripes. Gems of all kinds were sewn to the opening of his gloves that covered his forearms. He had a single column of hair that curved slightly to the front. It was as still as his facial expression.

“Oh, I assure you it will,” Sengkolo said. “Anything from the Wei Han Empire?”

“Despite my contributions to their arcane knowledge,” Sulistyo said, hitting the butt of his staff to the floor. “Erming Tang is still unconvinced. You're going to need a set of victories if you wish to win their full support. They too have their own matters to deal with.”

“There are Imperial settlements all across the Sultanate. Aren't they willing to protect them?”

“Knowing the Empire,” Santoso said. “They would probably negotiate with Great House Thong instead if, the Almighty Three forbid, we lost this war.”

“They still think that this is a mere civil war and that our enemy is just like us,” Sulistyo said. “Even though I've been telling them that we're fighting a dark power that can corrupt an individual's mind.”

Santoso pointed at Sulistyo. “That is a fancy way of saying that they're scared.”

Sulistyo glanced at Santoso. “I feel the same way.”

“Do they pledge any kind of support at least?” Sengkolo asked.

“For now,” Sulistyo said. “Emperor Ji Chuan and I agreed to send participants of my Foreign Apprenticeship Program to Mananggal as a part of their study. They'll study our superior magic indeed, but they'll do it in a way that serves our cause.”

Sengkolo took a deep breath. “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

The general drank the remaining water from his mug, which he then placed again on his desk.

“Alright, I'll take over,” Sengkolo said. “The latest expedition I sent has recently reached Mount Wardhana.”

Sulistyo and Santoso traded looks.

“Confirm–”

“Confirmed,” Sengkolo said, interrupting Santoso.

“How long until they find something?”

Sengkolo rubbed his chin. His eyes wandered around his office. “I'm unsure. Perhaps, a week or a month if the tunnels beneath Mount Wardhana are still the same as the one in the archives.”

“What do you think they will find down there?” Sulistyo said.

Sengkolo looked at Sulistyo. “What does the source of a dark power look like?”

“Perhaps like that one abomination that was described in the Kawi?”

“Whatever it is, we have to expect the worst.”

“What do you think we should do against the worst that our enemy could offer?” Sulistyo said.

Santoso turned to Sulistyo and smirked. He tapped on his ornate sword two times.

“So you're just going to charge headlong into it?” Sulistyo said to Santoso.

“It always worked for me,” Santoso said, approaching Sulistyo’s figure. “If it exists here, we can make it disappear.”

“If Great House Thong decides to escalate,” Sengkolo said, gaining the attention of his friends. “Then we must escalate ourselves. I will tell you my plan.”