NARAK: The Blood Covenant

School's bell for morning class has been rang.

They were summoned.

No knock. No reason.

Just a message on the school app:

"Report to the Headmaster's Office. Now."

Signed: Narayana

That alone made Vicki raise an eyebrow.

Raka just sighed.

Nayla had already closed the Archive, sensing something was coming.

"Bet he found out we accidentally opened an anti-narrative abyss last night," Raka muttered.

"That," Vicki replied, "or someone caught your mid-battle TikTok draft."

"That one was private."

"You're all idiots." Daramahesa yawned from Nayla's shoulder.

"Since when he became your pet?" said Raka.

Daramahesa yawn again boredly.

The Headmaster's Office was too quiet.

Usually, Narayana made a show of serenity, blue lotus tea on the desk, soft gamelan playing from enchanted speakers, a curtain half-pulled to let the light fall just right on his Vishnu lineage painting.

Not today.

Today, the curtains were shut.

No tea. No music. Just shadows.

Narayana stood behind his desk with hands clasped, staring at something only he could see.

"You're here," he said finally, voice steady. "Good."

"We didn't do it," Vicki offered reflexively.

"He did it," Raka added, pointing at Daramahesa.

"I resent that," the cat replied. "Though you're not entirely wrong."

Narayana finally looked up.

"Oh, and I think that heroic sacrifice needs to be honored but apparently you are not dead. Yet."

"I assume you've noticed the shift in atmosphere lately."

"You mean the screaming echoes in the walls?" Nayla asked. "The third-year who said she saw her dead twin in the mirror? Or the floating angklung in the music room last Friday?"

"Yes," Narayana said calmly. "All of that."

He walked slowly to the window, then pulled the curtain aside—revealing a sky that shimmered just slightly wrong.

"The spiritual boundaries near our school are thinning. I believe the collapse of the Seals and the disappearance of the Nameless Balance are only the beginning."

"He's right," Arkana murmured into Raka's mind. "There is too much noise in the aether. Something is leaking through."

"Like ghosts?" Raka replied internally.

"No. Like memory trying to claw its way back."

Narayana turned back toward them.

"To redirect attention and to shield the other students, I've arranged for a mandatory study tour for Class XI-C."

"Field trip?" Vicki asked. "That's your solution to multi-dimensional spectral bleed?"

"Yes. And no."

He tapped the edge of his desk.

A map of Bali shimmered into view above the table covered in small, glowing glyph markers.

"Denpasar. You'll be staying there. But your true focus will be near... here."

He pointed to the area between Sanur and the southern coast, close to an old temple hidden behind mangrove forest paths.

"There's a disturbance in that region. A temple that should be dormant has begun... speaking again."

"What kind of temple?" Nayla asked.

"One not found in any travel guide," Narayana said, eyes narrowing. "A place erased from the cultural archive decades ago. Even the locals avoid it."

Daramahesa's tail swished.

"Let me guess. It's haunted by something that's not technically dead?"

"Worse," Narayana replied. "It's haunted by what was meant to be forgotten."

And as the holographic map flickered.

Far away, across sea and salt, deep beneath the mangrove roots of that temple.

A silhouette stood. Still. Watching.

Its limbs bent wrong.

Its body wrapped in black veils and broken narrative thread.

And from where no eyes should be, It watched the trio's location glow.

The mask on its face cracked. And beneath it...

Nothing.

But it smiled.

It was the day before departure.

The courtyard of Naraya Dharma was chaotic in the most teenage way possible, suitcases with one broken wheel, over-packed backpacks, snacks traded like contraband, and multiple students arguing over who brought too many skincare products for a "spiritual cleansing" field trip.

Raka had already claimed the entire back row of the school bus before anyone else could, legs stretched out dramatically.

"Call me the guardian of legroom," he said.

"Call yourself annoying and be done with it," Nayla muttered as she sat next to him, flipping through a prep sheet.

Vicki flopped beside them with a sigh that sounded like he had aged twenty years since yesterday.

"I still think this is a trap."

"Everything is a trap," Nayla replied.

"That's comforting."

"It's also true."

Across the courtyard, a small crowd had gathered—not around the bus, not around the teachers... but around her.

Putri Vasanta.

Immaculately dressed in her perfectly coordinated white-lavender uniform variation, she stood beneath the shade of a cherry tree like she owned the air around her. Her lips were pursed. Her aura? Suspiciously tuned.

She was holding a pendulum, eyes half-closed, murmuring something to her phone camera.

"I'm telling you," she said in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, "someone in our class has a guardian spirit. A very strong one. Maybe even... cursed."

Raka perked up from across the yard. "Uh-oh."

Vicki sat up straighter. "No."

Putri turned slowly, locking eyes with Vicki.

"It's you, isn't it?"

"It's not."

"Oh it is. My aura never lies."

"Maybe your aura's on low battery."

"Shh," she whispered dramatically. "He's standing right next to you."

"What?"

Before Vicki could say another word—The air shifted.

The temperature ticked up.The shadows bent ever so slightly.

And then, Avici appeared.

Not in full infernal god mode, but as a faint fiery silhouette with burning eyes and the outline of a crown made of flame-warped bone.

He stood beside Vicki, arms crossed, unimpressed.

Visible.Real.Only for a few seconds.

Putri screamed.

"SEE?! I KNEW IT!""I FREAKING KNEW IT!"

"AVICI?!" Vicki hissed under his breath. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Giving the people what they want," Avici replied, voice low and smug.

"You're burning energy!"

"She was annoying me."

"That's not a reason—!"

Daramahesa, lounging on top of Nayla's bag, rolled his eyes hard enough to ripple the fabric.

"And now the war god is putting on a talent show. Wonderful."

"You're glowing again," Nayla said calmly, sipping from her water bottle.

"I told him not to do it," Vicki muttered.

"You tell him not to do a lot of things."

"No regrets," Avici muttered, before flickering and fading out like a candle flame snuffed mid-smirk.

Vicki slumped backward onto the bench.

"I think he drained my soul a little just to do that."

"Your soul's always a little drained."

"Thanks, Nay."

"Anytime."

Putri was still pacing ten feet away, fanning herself with her astrology notes.

"I KNEW IT. He's handsome and haunted. The most dangerous combo."

"Please don't encourage her," Nayla said under her breath.

"Too late," Raka replied. "She's already planning their wedding in the spirit realm."

Despite the chaos, despite the drama, despite the flaming boyfriends—

Something was still off.

Nayla felt it first.

A strange tug in the back of her Archive-linked mind.A presence just at the edge of perception.

It wasn't a ghost.

It wasn't a myth.

It was something... misaligned.

Something that had boarded the bus with them.

And it wasn't one of the students.

Finally the bus arrive at Soekarno Hatta International Airport. After checking all the tickets of students and teachers, they finally enter the airplane to Bali.

The plane was mid-air.

Clouds like slow-moving silk drifted past the windows.

A calm buzz filled the cabin—classmates chatting, earbuds in, flight attendants walking up and down offering snacks that tasted vaguely like cardboard and regret.

Class XI-C, for the first time in weeks, felt almost... normal.

Raka was playing a card game with three other students, dramatically announcing every move like it was a televised championship.

"Behold: Uno. Reverse. Destiny."

"You're playing wrong," said Nayla from across the aisle without looking up from her tablet.

"There is no wrong in war."

Vicki had slumped into the window seat, hoodie up, earbuds in... but no music playing. He just stared at the clouds, silently counting the seconds between turbulence bumps.

Daramahesa slept curled up under the seat, tail twitching occasionally like he was chasing invisible data mice in his dreams. And apparently he can choose whether everyone can see him or make himself invisible to the others

And Putri Vasanta was sitting one row behind them, furiously scribbling in her violet notebook, occasionally holding up a crystal pendulum for dramatic flair.

"Something's off," she whispered. "Something's following us."

"She's not wrong," came Arkana's soft voice in Raka's mind. "There is a thread between realms, brushing against the hull of this vessel."

"Like turbulence?"

"Like someone trying to listen."

Suddenly, the cabin lights flickered.

Just once.

No one reacted, except Nayla, who glanced up sharply.

"Did anyone else feel that?"

"Feel what?" Vicki muttered.

"Like we... dipped. But didn't."

"The plane's fine," Raka said. "Probably air pressure."

"Or pressure from the other side." Daramahesa yawned without opening his eyes.

Putri suddenly stood up in her seat.Frozen.Eyes locked forward.

"There's someone in the aisle," she whispered.

Raka turned. "What?"

"Someone just walked by. But... there was no sound. No footsteps. No shadow."

Vicki looked back.

Empty aisle. Just one flight attendant.

"You're probably just tired—"

Then a flash.

Bright. Sudden.

Everyone blinked.

A student two rows down had snapped a selfie.

He laughed.

"Haha! Ghost pic!"

They looked at the phone.

There were thirteen people in the photo.Only twelve were on that chair line.

Nayla stood up immediately."Let me see that."

The boy handed her the phone, joking, until he saw her face freeze.

In the photo... behind them... near the emergency door...

Stood a figure in white.Hair covering the face.Feet not touching the ground.No eyes.

Just a crack in the face, as if the head was made of porcelain.

Putri stepped back. "That's her."

"Who?" Vicki asked.

"The one from my dreams. She asks people their name... and if you answer... she takes it."

The cabin lights flickered again.

Longer this time.

All screens glitched for half a second.

And then, from the speaker system, soft, broken, and definitely not the pilot's voice:

"Passenger... forty-four...""Please prepare... to be forgotten."

Raka looked around.

"Wait... how many of us are on this flight?"

Vicki counted.

Nayla's voice trembled.

"...Forty-three."

They all turned to the back of the plane, where a seat was slowly folding itself down.

As if someone invisible had just sat there.

And then—

From overhead, a single oxygen mask dropped.

Only one.

Dangling over the aisle.

Dripping.

With blood.