Janu's eyes fluttered open, his face pressed against the cool, damp earth of the riverbank. The cacophony of the jungle had dulled to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle lapping of water nearby. He groaned, pushing himself up, every muscle protesting the movement.
"You're awake," Jantaka's voice echoed in his mind, a mix of relief and his usual smugness.
"Yeah, still breathing," Janu muttered, wiping mud from his cheek. "Thanks for the heads-up back there."
"Hey, you're alive, aren't you? Means I'm doing my job."
Janu rolled his eyes, staggering to his feet. His clothes clung to him, soaked and muddied from the night's ordeal. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings—a narrow stretch of river cutting through dense foliage, the canopy above filtering the early morning light.
"We need to talk," Jantaka's tone shifted, seriousness replacing his earlier jest. "About that... thing."
Images of the towering pocong flashed in Janu's mind—the charred shroud, the malevolent red eyes, the way it commanded the lesser spirits. A shiver ran down his spine.
"Yeah," Janu replied, his voice low. "What the hell was that?"
Jantaka sighed. "A manifestation of something beyond the realm of the dead—Grave Torment (Siksa Kubur). It's a spirit trapped in eternal suffering, its shroud burned by the sins it carries."
"Great," Janu muttered, rubbing his temples. "So, how do we deal with it?"
"First, let's see what we're working with," Jantaka suggested. "Check your bag."
As he rummaged through his belongings, his fingers brushed against something smooth—the wooden box from Dalang. It was completely unharmed, as if the chaos of the past hours hadn't touched it.
He hesitated before picking it up, its weight grounding him amidst the uncertainty.
"Open it," Jantaka urged.
With a deep breath, Janu lifted the lid, revealing a Badik—a traditional blade from South Sulawesi, its handle curved elegantly, the sheath wrapped in aged burial cloth. The metal glowed faintly in the dim jungle light, carrying an almost ancestral presence with it.
Jantaka let out a short chuckle, his voice tinged with something between amusement and deep respect. "Hah… that sneaky Dalang. He knows me and you well to gift you this."
Janu blinked, holding up the blade. "Wait—what do you know about this knife?"
Jantaka's tone shifted, becoming more reverent. "This isn't just any blade, boy. This is a Badik—a weapon deeply tied to our people, to the Makassarese. It was used in both ceremonies and duels, especially in Sitobo Lalang Lipa—the legendary 'fight inside the sarong,' where warriors proved their honor by dueling in a confined space, ensuring neither could flee."
Janu traced his fingers over the hilt, feeling the weight of its history. "So, what? You're telling me this is supposed to help me kill ghosts?"
Jantaka hummed in thought. "Badik aren't just weapons. They are carriers of intent and spirit. Some believe they hold the essence of their wielders, binding the soul to the steel. Dalang wouldn't have given you this without reason. If we can figure out how to awaken it… we might just have a chance."
Janu scoffed, shaking his head. "Fantastic. A sealed ghost knife and a spirit with a taste for theatrics. Just what I needed."
Jantaka chuckled. "At least you're keeping your sense of humor."
Before Janu could respond, a rustling echoed from the dense foliage across the river. The underbrush parted, revealing a figure draped in tattered white—a pocong. Its hollow eyes seemed to lock onto Janu, its presence a stark reminder of the dangers lurking.
"Time to move," Jantaka urged.
Janu secured the Badik in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. With a final glance at the approaching spirit, he turned and sprinted along the riverbank, determination fueling his every step.
The jungle seemed to close in around him, shadows dancing in the periphery of his vision. Yet, amidst the fear and uncertainty, a spark of resolve ignited within him. He would uncover the secrets of the Badik, confront the horrors that pursued him, and reclaim control over his destiny.
As the first light of dawn pierced through the canopy, Janu pressed on, the path ahead fraught with peril, but also with the promise of answers.