Chapter 23: Their Return
The night wind whispered softly from the north, carrying the damp scent of earth and the musty breath of fallen leaves. Trees loomed like silent sentinels beneath the sliver of moonlight, their shadows stretching across the narrow forest trail. Amid the darkness, a lone figure trudged forward—his steps slow but steady.
Ardian.
His black coat was dusted with dried dirt, the hem torn from brambles. His boots squelched with forest mud. His face, though outwardly composed, bore the fatigue of battle—not just of body, but of soul. Yet in his eyes gleamed a subtle flame. Not pride. Not triumph.
Resolve.
Something rustled behind him. A large rat skittered from the undergrowth and leapt nimbly onto his shoulder, nestling there like a soldier returning to his captain.
Ardian raised an eyebrow. "Ah. You made it."
The rat squeaked, then stuck out its pale pink tongue as if reporting for duty.
He gave a weary chuckle. "So... the trio succeeded in freeing their Qorins?"
A soft snort. Confirmation.
"Good job. Everyone came through." His tone softened, barely audible over the breeze. "Now we just wait for payment. But don't get your hopes up for grilled cheese tonight."
The rat scratched behind its ear, sulking in silence.
Back in the village of Lingkar Pinus, inside the home of the kepala desa, tension still clung to the walls like a lingering fog. For nearly twenty-four hours, the villagers had kept vigil over the four unconscious young men—silent bodies lying like husks, pale and unmoving, as if waiting for lost souls to return.
Then—subtle signs. A twitch of fingers. The flicker of an eyelid. The faintest sound of breath hitching in a dry throat.
It was as if four lanterns, once snuffed out, were now beginning to flicker back to life.
"Dear! Our son... he moved!" a mother gasped, half-sobbing, gripping her husband's arm with trembling hands.
"I saw it too! His hand! It moved—I'm sure!" the father stammered.
Within seconds, the room erupted with a tangled flood of joy, disbelief, and holy murmurs. But before the wave of relief could sweep them all away, a firm voice grounded the moment.
"Everyone—please," called the village cleric, standing in the corner, fingers tightly wrapped around his prayer beads. "Remain calm. Don't break the recites."
He stepped forward, eyes sharp beneath his kopiah. "Remember Ardian's words—do not stop the verses, no matter what you see."
A woman clutched her shawl. "But Ustadz... they're awake. Shouldn't we call a doctor?"
The cleric's jaw tightened. The echo of Ardian's warning resurfaced in his thoughts like a cold hand:
"Even if they open their eyes, even if they speak—don't believe it's over. The Qorins may return, but the door remains ajar."
He inhaled slowly. "Split duties. Mothers, tend to the boys. Gently. Fathers, continue the recitations. Aloud. Keep the verses flowing."
No one questioned him. Action replaced panic. Warm water was fetched. Blankets adjusted. Someone dabbed a damp cloth across a sweat-slicked brow. The air, thick with tension, began to shift—tempered not by relief, but discipline.
Suddenly, the howl of an approaching siren sliced through the night. Blue-red lights flared in the mist outside the house, crawling through the village like a ghostly fire.
The village heaf turned toward the door, startled. "An ambulance?"
Before anyone could respond—Tok! Tok! Tok!
Three deliberate knocks echoed from the front entrance.
The cleric moved toward it with measured steps. He paused, closed his eyes, and opened his spiritual senses. No shadows. No cold dread. No whispers behind the veil.
He opened the door.
A man in his late forties stood under the porch light, his long white coat buttoned neatly, a leather satchel slung at his side.
"Good evening. I'm Doctor Herlambang," he greeted calmly, handing over a pristine business card.
The cleric scanned the card—clean, legitimate, bearing the seal of a city hospital.
"You're sent by Ardian?"
"Yes," the doctor replied. "He requested medical supervision for the returning individuals."
The cleric nodded and stepped aside. "Then please, come in. We've waited long enough."
Doctor Herlambang didn't waste time. Inside, he quickly began examining each of the boys. Stethoscope, blood pressure monitor, penlight—his hands moved with the ease of a seasoned professional.
"They're physically stable—dehydrated, minor hypoglycemia, a few elevated pulses," he said. "I'll administer IV fluids and monitor vitals. But overall, nothing critical. They… seem to have returned clean."
The village head exhaled. "Thank God."
Minutes later, a different sound broke the heavy atmosphere—not a siren, but the familiar chatter of two bickering voices.
"Kulo nuwun! Good evening, everyone! Guess who's back!"
The cleric smiled knowingly and opened the front gate.
Ardian and Rendy stood there—clothes dirty, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but smiling nonetheless. Relief filled the cleric's face as he pulled them both into a tight embrace.
"Alhamdulillah... You're safe."
Rendy grinned. "Of course we are, Ustadz! When I arrived, the spirits just ran! I think they thought I was a covid-19 patient!"
Ardian smacked the back of his head.
"Respect, Ren. We're in front of an elder."
"Okay, okay... Sorry."
They stepped into the house. Ardian's eyes scanned the room, noting the soft glow of oil lamps, the faces of relieved parents, and Doctor Herlambang busy adjusting IV drips.
"Barrier," Ardian muttered. "Now."
Without further delay, the two went back outside and circled the house. Ardian knelt at each corner, drawing sigils in chalk infused with sandalwood ash. Rendy followed, sprinkling crushed rose petals mixed with saltwater. The sacred verses still chanted inside lent te sigils strength. Empower it's barrier.
As they completed the last mark, Ardian whispered an incantation. A faint shimmer pulsed across the perimeter—barely visible, like heat over asphalt. The house was now protected.
They returned inside.
The kepala desa approached them with tearful eyes and hugged them both. "My son is breathing again because of you two. I... I don't know how to repay this."
Rendy opened his mouth, smirk forming—but Ardian's glare cut him off.
So instead, Rendy simply bowed slightly. "We're just doing our job, sir. The credit belongs to the One above."
"...and a little to the invoice," he muttered under his breath.
"Rendy," Ardian hissed.
Doctor Herlambang emerged from the back room, wiping his hands with a cloth. "All four are stable. Their vitals are steady. If no further anomalies arise, they'll recover fully within days. But if there's even a hint of odd behavior... bring them in. Immediately."
The cleric and kepala desa nodded in unison. "We will. Thank you, Doctor."
Outside, the world exhaled. The air was lighter. The trees no longer loomed with menace. Stars pierced the sky once more, their light silver and distant, but comforting.
Ardian and Rendy stepped onto the porch, standing shoulder to shoulder in the cool night.
"Feels good," Rendy whispered. "Like the air's finally clean."
Ardian nodded. "For now."
But the chill hadn't left his bones.
He still remembered the face that had emerged from the shadow realm—a hulking, smoldering figure with eyes like burning coals and a voice like gravel dragged through iron, and a horned one.
A sign of Demon's appearance.
A genderuwo name Gundala Tirtopurwo. He's not ordinary spirit, but a strong one with complicates techniques controlling negative energy.
A Warlord-class, rank three, the one befit of leading army of spirits from Territorial-class, in the hierarchy of triangle Satanic.
"No wonder Eyang Ismoyo took interest in you, Ardian Putra Wirawan. Son of Adam."
Eyang Ismoyo.
The name pulsed in his mind like a warning bell.
It wasn't listed in the demonology records he ever read, nor even in the book of Ars Goetia. Maybe a deep traditional folklore will have this information.
One door had closed tonight. But another...
...had just creaked open.
And Ardian knew—sooner or later, he'd have to walk through it.