"By the soul of Durga, what manner of object is this?" exclaimed the first voice, with a hint of bewilderment in its tone. "Gading! The very automaton doll that's been whispered about in hushed tones throughout the ages, the one-sixth-scale replica of the legendary Kayuranggi Langgengrejasa! Where did you get that?

A reply came from a boy, who shared the same tan skin as the first speaker, only with longer hair and a more cherubic visage. With unbridled enthusiasm, he hoisted the toy in his hand and proclaimed, "Father bought it for me in the city centre! Behold, its intricate craftsmanship and impeccable details, is it not the very embodiment of coolness?"

A chirp followed the boy's statement, "What? Coolness? It transcends such simplistic labels! This is the stuff of legend! The embodiment of the real Kayuranggi Langgengrejasa, who, with valor and cunning, expelled the nefarious Sjittordam colony from Yawadwipa, then all Lojitengara! ‘Begone from this land, oh cursed West! Your wretched presence shall forever be but a bane and the rich spices of Lojitengara forever be but a lingering in your stare, mouths drooling in despair!'"

The two children sang a triumphant anthem that almost read like propaganda. Yet, despite the martial tone and the implied bravado, still, little children they were. The true import of the lyrics mattered less as long as it fuelled the unquenchable fervour of childishness.

The younger child deftly manipulated the intricate mechanics of the automaton, displaying a technical proficiency beyond his years. With a flourish, he placed the doll on the floor, and the tiny gears whirred to life. Strands of wires pulled and twisted, animating the miniature automaton to perform a dazzling display of martial prowess with impossible grace.

Naturally, the older child was captivated by the sight, and he eagerly reached out to take the toy from his younger sibling. "Can I hold it?" he asked.

The younger child beamed at his brother. "You may!" he granted. "But don't hold it for too long!"

The automaton doll exchanged hands, from the younger brother to the older one, who received it with palpable excitement mixed with a hint of apprehension. A spark of wonder in his eyes, but his touch did not embody that awe very well as it was too brusque, and that flickered his younger brother with concern instead. The younger one instinctively raised his hand, as if to snatch the toy back from his brother's grasp.

"Brother, handle it with care! It'll break!" the younger child's eyes were flitting anxiously between his sibling and the toy.

But his older brother shrugged off the warning with a confident grin. "Relax, Brother! Adjusting the automaton toy system is child's play!"

He would be dared again to say such words when the automaton doll leapt from his grasp, its limbs and head tumbling off, and a thin plume of smoke erupted from every aperture. All within five seconds since the warning.

"Brother!" the young one wailed. He snatched up the remains of his beloved toy and fled past his brother with tears streaming down his face. "Oh no, no, no!"

The costly toy's tenure in the household was tragically brief.

"Wait! I'm sorry!" The older sibling raced after the fleeing child, desperate to make amends.

He continued to implore his younger brother as they ran, until their cries attracted the attention of the housemaids and servants. "Come on, Brother! I'm sorry! I'll replace your toy, but don't tell Father!"

The younger child scurried into a small vermilion building adorned with earthen tiles. A peculiar notion indeed that he did not head straight to the palace so their father could deliver justice over a trifle. Perhaps he fancied more curling up in a corner, lamenting over the unfortunate fate of his toy.

When the older brother pushed the door ajar, he discovered his sibling with his back to him, immersed in the workshop. He was hunched over the table, surrounded by crates of tools, and the room echoed with the clatter of screws, wires, and thuds.

As the cacophony subsided, the younger brother attempted to activate his automaton, which lay on the table, and he had earned his sigh of relief.

"What have you done!" the younger brother turned around, his face sullen. "I told you to handle it with care!"

The elder brother simply gawked at the automaton's impeccable death kicks in every direction. It was no jest! The child before him was undoubtedly the prodigious engineer of Lojitengara's future.

"I… am sorry," he muttered while bowing, then walked over to his younger brother. His eyes were again caught by the automaton's performance. His wonder had not yet faded. "Really, how did you do that—"

A loud thud interrupted the boys, causing them to whirl around and discover a tall man waiting in the doorway. He wore a blangkon hat and a silk beskap suit, and a long cloth draped over his lower body.

"What are you doing here?" the sharp tone from the man. "Has your toys been broken by Wisesa again, Gading?"

Wisesa, the elder brother, felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

"My toy is fine, Father. I just wanted to calibrate it a little," was Gading's response.

The man's gaze shifted to the automaton on the table. His eyebrows were raised, and so was his suspicion. "That looks like more than just a little calibration to me."

The weight of panic in little Wisesa’s heart was slightly lifted by his sibling next to him. But the heavy voice of his imposing father—The Sunan of Alas Purwo—resembled the thunder rumbling. Panic raged in his heart again at the prospect of the father still suspecting him—or worse, finding with him fault.

But despite the gravity of his voice, his father was never a harsh man, let alone a blind judge with a broad stroke. The voice ruffling his son’s hair had been with him since he first breathed the mundane air.

"Gading, your toy is new, and expensive. Do not fiddle with it carelessly in the workshop. You lack the skill for it," said his father.

His father's words contradicted what Wisesa had just witnessed with his own eyes!

However, Gading still obeyed. "I'm sorry, Father. I'm going to play outside."

Gading then passed through their father. That left only Wisesa.

"Then you, Wisesa!" The father's eyes bore into him like a drill. "Why are you still out and about? Don't you have shamanic arts lessons to attend?"

"But I want to see Gading's new toy!" cried Wisesa.

His father's wrist swung out the door. "Don't bother your brother with his toys. Toys should not be a part of your life now. It's not your destiny!"

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

A weary sigh escaped Wisesa's lips. That lecture again, he thought. Little Wisesa was fed up with all the ramblings about his life's destiny that seemed to be artificially arranged. Did destiny not allow him to have toys? He did not desire to be ruled. He wanted freedom. A normal child should have their freedom. But once again, his father proclaimed to know better.

"Come on, what are you waiting for? The magic class awaits!" his father urged again.

***

"No, no, no! I don't want to see this! I don't want to see this! Don't bring me together with him, get me out of here, you damned crooks!"

Wisesa's heart was pounding in his chest as he frantically scanned the courtyard of Kasunanan Alas Purwo palace with its lush botanical garden. The sight of the small reddish children playing with a robot toy filled him with terror. He paced back and forth, desperate for an escape that he could not seem to find. He remembered this place well, but somehow the "way out" was as elusive as dreams.

He paddled his legs fast, sometimes brushing past the palace guards who did not seem to mind, until he burst through a gate leading to another park, and a massive banyan tree surrounded by an artificial lake came to greet him. Wisesa decided to slow down, as his eyes caught sight of familiar figures across the water. Sure enough, there was Little Wisesa, his father, and a retinue of bodyguards. But there was also an old man with patchy hair and sunken eyes, dressed in a tattered cloth that revealed his lean, muscular frame. A shaman it seemed, or perhaps a teacher, with a gnarled staff clutched in one hand.

The real Wisesa circled around them. Little Wisesa and his teacher were meditating, while the sunan watched in the shade of a songsong—a long, Yawanese priestly umbrella—upholstered, and crowned with gold, held by a guard. Wisesa waved his hand in the face of the old bastard he had once referred to as his father, then stared intently at his tutor. Neither of them gave the slightest reaction to his presence. The only real Wisesa in their realm was the little one.

Wisesa touched his father's shirt, feeling the smooth fabric wrinkle under his fingers. It felt real, but his father remained apathetic nonetheless. In frustration, he slapped the state leader, but the man's face only twisted momentarily before returning to its former expression. Wisesa then pushed his father with all his might, but the man simply stood up and resumed his original stance. What in the manner was this? They acted like automatons following a predetermined script, oblivious to his existence. This was, after all, a strange form of dream for the lad.

Wisesa's ears picked up the faint sounds of a commotion nearby. Other soldiers approached, carrying a chest in a swaying carriage. The chest seemed to be thrashing about violently, and a howl could be heard emanating from it. The real Wisesa realised this moment. His body suddenly went limp. This was his first time practising a real spell, after endless sessions of tedium and asceticism.

"Our enigmatic subject has arrived," the old master announced.

Two soldiers armed themselves with restraining rods and pried open the chest, capturing whatever was inside. A bizarre creature emerged; Two heads and a scorpion's tail, bound and gagged with cloth. Its eyes glowed with a sickly mauve light, and from its snout dripped a viscous, black ink.

The expression of Adult Wisesa became grim as his gaze fell upon the dog. Tiny Wisesa, however, was so horrified that he stumbled backwards, but his father held him back.

"Someone has put a curse on that dog," explained his father. "Guess how many have been killed by that shapeless monster."

"M-many?" Little Wisesa hesitated.

"Many," his father agreed.

"I-It’s... must be the crafts of Girahites!"

"It might be. The creatures have killed many of our people. However, most of them were traitors who claimed to be supporters of Bratadikara, your uncle. So from a certain point of view, this dog served its purpose."

"Uncle Bratadikara, the traitor..."

Wisesa's father slapped his little son!

“Why, Father?” complained Little Wisesa.

Not accepting that as well, Adult Wisesa laid a jab at his father. However, he seemed to forget that the old man was scripted to rise to his feet and send a warning to Little Wisesa. "Don't drag your uncle back to the world of the living!" the father snapped.

Little Wisesa glared at his father, then his eyes narrowed into slits, a predatory intention to pounce. The old man did not flinch. Instead, he lowered himself to the ground, crouching to meet his son at eye level. "Listen, Wisesa. No matter what people say about your uncle, he is not a man who is always talked about by his 'followers'. He shares the Sunanate's mission to proclaim to the world that the Yawanese are the true descendants of Sang Hyang Sukra himself. It is a mission of great importance to safeguard mankind."

"No, you are lying! You're lying, you old bastard!" The Adult Wisesa muttered near his father's ear. "Those people are right. You killed him. You wanted to enslave the country under the soles of your feet. You corrupted me. You slayed my brother! Isn't that right, you fucking dog? Answer me!"

His father's ears only caught the sound of water rippling from the lake's fish.

Then the father handed the kris and its sheath to Little Wisesa. The weapon was different from the one Wisesa held now, and he remembered how heavy it had felt in his small hands when he first received it. Along with the kris, Wisesa's teacher had given him a chest filled with herbs and flowers.

The father continued his wise "advice", "However, humans are strange. They desire the presence of gods, but when their requests are granted, they rebel. They rebel because egoism eats away at them. They don't see us as gods in the flesh, and so they rail against their fate. We cannot blame human nature for that." He assisted Wisesa in drawing the kris from its sheath. "But we have to be better. Show yourself strong. Show that you are a god."

"You have learnt the way," said the teacher. "Now it is time to put your knowledge to the test. End the dog's suffering. Show the world that you are ready to ascend."

Little Wisesa gazed at the dog monster, and as he did, it was as if he could understand the primal language of every howl and snarl that came out of the creature's mouth.

Kill! Kill! I'm hungry! I'll shred you all to pieces! Kill! Kill!

All these threats and the young child still had compassion for the cursed beast.

"Don't we have the might of Kalimasada?" Little Wisesa asked once more.

"Kalimasada is for mankind without godhood!" said his father. "Only the Empire of Roma now holds the might of Kalimasada, but tell me, are you willing to surrender your pride for the West?"

Again, Little Wisesa did not answer. The seed of anti-western sentiment had been deeply ingrained in the minds of every Lojitengara's son and daughter. He then took a deep breath, adding herbs and flowers to the mix. After the smoke began to pour out, he chanted:

"Asep ngelebur nya ing raga. Mugi-mugi kasangsaranipun saben otot dipun raosaken wonten ing jiwa, lan pageblug jiwa saking Durga kedah ndadosaken tiyang ingkang laknat ing pati."

A nod from the father sent the dog loose, and it immediately lunged at Little Wisesa! Startle overtook the kid, and he fell to the ground.

Adult Wisesa was also startled. In his eyes, the dog's face abruptly transformed into that of a wolf-nosed deer with its eyes flashing with hunger for his younger self. He could not recall ever facing a deer-like creature like this during his first attempt at practising the Knowledge of Dhemokan Durga.

Wisesa rubbed his eyes in disbelief, only to see it reverted to the mutated dog he knew. The kris remained tightly gripped in the boy's hand as he stabbed the smoke repeatedly, and the dog whimpered in mid-air. Its maw failed to reach his neck. It crashed down next to him instead, twitching and writhing in its final moments.

As Little Wisesa listened to the whimpering of the mutated dog, he felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. Adult Wisesa, however, was detached from it all.

His father's hand descended on his shoulder in a congratulatory gesture, a symbol of pride for his son's achievement. "I have high hopes for you as the bearer of the glory of the just Yawa Nation," he said. His pat on the shoulder turned into a gentle caress. "If this weighs heavy on you, do not fret. All humans feel a stirring within themselves of everything the first time. Soon, you will grow stronger than your peers. You will know no fear. You will lead Alas Purwo in spreading its affection to Lojitengara, then the Republic of Svarga, until the Eternal Empire... Sang Hyang Sukra assured me of this."

Adult Wisesa stood there, face contorted in disgust as he regarded his father. His fists were balled as a vent of regret for ever acquiescing to his father's fanciful notions.

Suddenly, something strange caught his attention—a graceful deer, poised behind a towering banyan tree, looking at him with an air of derision.

For the life of him, he could not recall ever keeping a deer there. []