Work Text:
Act 1 - The Fall (remastered)
Far, far away, in a land known for its wealth, a knight was chosen.
The people cherished him—people who voted his name among five others. People who trusted him, not only because of his skill, but because he was the son of a wealthy man. Raden Sakti dedicated his life to becoming a knight. From the moment he was allowed to hold a blade, he trained day and night, pushing his body until it trembled, until his muscles screamed.
He loved it.
He found it strangely amusing—seeing his opponent hesitate, seeing their eyes blink in fear, seeing blood bloom against skin. It made his heart ache. Not a painful ache. Not guilt.
Something warmer. Something deep. Something addictive.
The day he was chosen, the king of his land threw a short celebration. Rulers from distant kingdoms gathered, their banners hanging heavy and proud.
I followed behind the king, my eyes swaying left and right. Not too far—I couldn’t lose his back. I had studied the rulers before this night: where they came from, how they ruled, how their people spoke of them behind closed doors.
The hall was crowded. Too crowded.
If the king walked too fast, I would lose him. If I walked too slow, I’d be swallowed by conversation, by hands reaching, by voices calling my name. The king walked and spoke like a collector of starving kittens—wherever he went, people followed, desperate for attention.
Then we reached the edge of the hall.
That was where the youngest ruler stood.
The king stopped.
And bowed.
I felt my breath hitch.
A bow?
Why…?
What makes him so different from the others?
He was young. Too young. At least twelve years younger than the rest. His posture was relaxed, almost careless, as if the weight of crowns meant nothing to him.
I stared.
And then—
he caught me.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, my mind went empty.
I was aware of my heart beating. Too loud. Too fast.
I realized everyone around me was bowing. Panic rushed through me. I bowed too—but too late. When I lifted my head, his lips curved into a smile.
Not a friendly one.
Something about it felt wrong. Unnatural. Eerie.
My body froze.
I couldn’t move. My hands wouldn’t clench. My legs wouldn’t bend. I could only blink—slowly, helplessly—like blinking was the only thing keeping me conscious.
Each time I blinked, his smile grew wider.
Wider.
Wider—
until it felt like it would tear his face apart.
My chest tightened. It hurt. A slow ache spread through me, warm and unfamiliar. I didn’t know why my throat felt tight, or why my fingers tingled.
Then suddenly—
the smile dropped.
Just like that.
Everyone stood up as if nothing had happened. Conversations resumed. Laughter returned. The moment dissolved, leaving only me standing there, shaken.
I backed away instinctively as people crowded around him.
That’s when I saw it.
His crown glowed.
Not reflecting the torchlight—but absorbing it. Swallowing it whole.
My stomach twisted.
What was that… some kind of magic? It cant be.
I was thirteen when I began training.
My father said it was useless. With enough money, he said, we could make people worship me as a knight. Money blinded people. It made them obedient. It made them kneel.
People would do anything for money—if they needed it badly enough.
He showed me an example that same day.
Right in front of me.
He ordered a servant to kiss his feet.
The servant did it immediately.
No hesitation. No anger. No shame.
He smiled as his lips touched my father’s boots.
Something cold crawled up my spine.
I had grown up wealthy—spoiled beyond measure. I never learned the word no. Everything I wanted was placed in my hands before I could ask for it.
But that—
That felt wrong.
Cruel.
The servant stood, bowed deeply, and left without a word. My father smiled, unsheathed his sword, and dragged me back toward the practice arena.
I smiled too.
I didn’t know why.
And I forgot what I had just seen.
Later, we sat in the corner of the arena, sweat cooling on our skin. My muscles ached pleasantly. That’s when something from a book I had read slipped back into my thoughts.
“Dad,” I asked carefully, “are magics real?”
He laughed. “No. Well… maybe some. But not like in your books.”
“What about people who can control things? Move them? Hurt others without touching them?”
“Back then, there were dukun,” he said.
“Dukun?”
The word felt heavy in my mouth.
“They’re the ones people claim have black magic. Some use it for good. Some for its… original purposes.”
“Do they really have magic?”
“In my time, they mostly helped with medicine—curing illness, helping women give birth.”
“But does that need magic?”
“They ‘read’ illnesses and gave traditional medicine,” he replied. “Some healed. Some got worse.”
“So they were guessing?”
“Some were. But in your grandfather’s era, dukun were real. They had a connection with God. They could heal. Curse. Control how things worked.”
“What happened to them?”
“Fake ones appeared. Chaos followed. People died.”
I swallowed. “So… could one still exist?”
“Yes,” he said. “If the ability was inherited.”
My heart fluttered. “Can I be one?”
“No,” he answered immediately. Too quickly. “I don’t want you killing people accidentally just because you feel connected to God.”
He stood. “Go bathe. The sun’s setting. I ordered lamb skewers.”
My face lit up. “Really?!”
I jumped up, kissed the back of his hand, and ran. I didn’t notice him watching me disappear, his expression unreadable.
That night, I sat beside my king at the banquet table. Knights filled the seats around me. Across from us sat the rulers—six pairs in total.
To my right was a towering man, known as the Giant. I couldn’t stop staring. I didn’t know people could grow that big.
To my left sat a smaller man—petite, sharp-eyed, fierce. I felt strangely comforted between them, like a child tucked between guards.
The banquet began.
The gates opened.
My breath caught.
It was him.
The one who had frozen me earlier.
Our eyes locked again.
My heart skipped painfully.
Everyone dropped to their knees. I followed, my movements delayed by the pounding in my chest.
Why did everyone fear him so much? Aside from his red eyes, he looked… ordinary.
“Welcome back,” he said calmly. “It’s been a while since we’ve held a banquet here, Raden Bathara.”
My king stood and bowed. “This is our new knight. Chosen by the people.”
“I see,” the man said. “You may rise, Raden Sakti.”
A chill run down my spine.
“Thank you… my lord.”
I hated the title. It tasted wrong. Too heavy. Too high for someone who breathed like I did.
Later, he summoned me to the balcony.
“There you are,” he said, flicking his cigarette away.
I dropped to my knees instinctively. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
He laughed softly. “Relax. I would’ve taken my time too. The food is magnificent.”
My chest loosened slightly.
He asked me questions. Simple ones.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“You look younger.”
My face warmed.
“Ask me three questions.”
His gaze pinned me in place. It felt electric, like it ran through my veins and settled in my fingertips.
“My lord… what is your name?”
He chuckled.
“My name is Poernama.”
“Poernama… like the moon?”
“Yes,” he said. “I was born under a full moon. That was the day I was named heir.”
My heart fluttered.
“Where are you from?”
“Blambangan.”
“That’s all your chances,” he smiled. Its a warm smile now, something soothing.
He reached for my hand.
I let him.
He kissed the back of it.
My mind went blank.
My fingers tingled. My chest burned. Shame and pleasure twisted together inside me. I had fought men. I had bled. I had been praised by crowds.
This—
This felt worse.
This felt better.
“See you next time, Raden Sakti.”
When he left, my chest ached. Not sweet. Not gentle. A sharp, hungry ache that scared me.
I wanted more.
That night, alone in my new room, I stared at my reflection.
“Poernama,” I whispered.
The name felt right. Too right. I remeber how he stared at me.
The cold water washed over my skin, but it didn’t wash away the warmth of his touch. The intense stare.
I went to bed with my heart racing, hoping tomorrow would be bright—
even though a part of me already knew
something had begun to fall.