NARAK: The Blood Covenant

The oxygen mask dripped again.

One droplet.

Then two.

Blood.

Red as memory.

Heavy as omen.

The seat near the back of the plane shifted again.

Something unseen was now sitting there. And the temperature dropped.

Vicki stood. So did Raka. Nayla didn't move—her eyes were locked on the Archive glyphs now burning softly beneath her sleeves.

"Everyone stay calm," the flight attendant said, forcing a smile.

"Funny," Raka muttered, "no one's panicking, because they can't see what's happening."

"They're not supposed to." came Arkana's calm voice in Raka's mind.

"Buy Vicki time. I'll isolate the moment."

TIME BENDS.

In one sharp inhale, the plane froze.

Not physically—but in causal perception. The world dimmed, slowed.

Passengers were locked in a repeating loop of blinking, sipping, scrolling, trapped in a moment between seconds.

"Raka," Nayla said quickly, "hold the stasis. If they break out of it mid-battle, we'll have more than a ghost to deal with."

"On it."

She pulled a strip of Archive vellum from her sleeve, whispering to it.

"Overwrite: Present Visual → Cabin Calm."

"Overwrite: Emotional Echo → Sleepiness."

The glyphs flared, weaving an illusion across the frozen timeline.

"Clever," Daramahesa purred from beneath her seat.

"Gaslight, gatekeep, ghost-battle."

In the back of the cabin... the air ripped.

And there she was.

The Passenger 44 ghost, no longer hiding.

Her white dress flapping despite no wind, her hair moving upward, not down.

The crack across her face had grown—revealing ink-like flesh beneath, writhing and filled with glyphs that didn't belong to this world.

She looked directly at Vicki.

And smiled.

"Give me your name."

"No," Vicki said.

"Then I'll take it."

Without hesitation, Vicki stepped forward as flames burst from beneath his shoes, cracking the carpeted aisle.

His right arm ignited, not burning flesh, but shifting into scripted fire, coiled with Avici's ancient sigils.

His eyes glowed amber-orange. 

"Cool. So this is my new power?"

"Nope. Our. And I grant you one limb, Vicki," came Avici's voice in his mind. "Don't embarrass me."

"I'm in an airplane!" Vicki hissed internally.

"Then don't miss."

The ghost screamed.

A wave of name-stripping energy surged forward—glyphs like black paper slicing toward Vicki's chest.

He ducked, flames forming into a curved shield around his arm.

Clang.

Reality bent at the collision point.

The ghost flew backward into the emergency exit door, it didn't open, but the metal screamed as her body phased through it like mist.

She reformed in midair. Floating. Upside down.

"You are not remembered," she hissed.

"Good," Vicki growled. "I hate attention."

He leapt forward, flames forming into a blazing chain and lashed toward her neck.

It struck—

But her body dissolved, separating into fragments of her name, each letter scattering into the air like shattered glass.

Nayla strained.

The passengers were starting to stir.

"Overwriting strain," she muttered. "They're feeling the pressure."

"Then write harder," Daramahesa said. "Or this turns into a PR nightmare."

Meanwhile, Raka stood at the center of the cabin, hands outstretched—Arkana's frost channeling through his veins.

"Focus," Arkana said, calm and cold. "Hold the moment still."

"Trying," Raka gritted. "Kinda hard when Avici's throwing literal hell."

"As usual."

The ghost reformed again—this time above the cabin, body bent at unnatural angles, eyes bleeding darkness.

She opened her mouth.

And a thousand forgotten names began to pour out.

Screaming. Echoing. Fracturing the air.

"She's pulling us into a name storm!" Nayla cried.

"How do we stop it?!" Raka yelled.

"He has to erase her before she rewrites us," Daramahesa snapped.

Vicki growled, flame flickering.

He pushed his palm forward, and a searing brand of Avici's core sigil formed in front of him.

"You want a name?" he shouted.

"Take this one."

He slammed his palm into her chest—burning her with the name she tried to steal.

She shrieked.

Cracked.

And—

Shattered.

Like a mirror that never existed.

The flames died.

The ghost was gone.

Time clicked forward.

Passengers blinked, stretched, reached for their water cups like nothing had happened.

Only the trio knew what had been erased.

Only Putri Vasanta, seated near the back, looked up slowly with a pale face.

"She was real," she whispered.

And behind her—

Seat 44 folded closed.

The hotel in Denpasar was almost too perfect.

White walls. Tropical flowers.

Pool with LED lights.

Touristy Balinese sculptures by the entrance that looked like they were bought in bulk off a corporate budget.

But for Class XI-C?

It was heaven.

They dragged their luggage in like war survivors, most of them immediately fighting over who got the top bunk or which room had a working AC.

Vicki and Raka flopped onto their room's twin beds like they'd just survived the apocalypse. Which, to be fair, they kinda had.

"I claim this bed," Raka declared, star-fishing dramatically."If anyone moves me, I'll cry."

"If anyone hears you cry, I'll move out," Vicki replied, tossing his bag into the corner.

Two other boys filed into the room right after them—Gilang and Yuda, both part-time pranksters and full-time chaos goblins.

"YO, our roommates are the myth gang!" Gilang grinned."We're not dying in Bali, bro. We're blessed."

"We're cursed," Vicki muttered."Deeply and historically cursed."

Meanwhile…

In Room 406, things were... tense.

"What do you mean we're roommates?" Nayla asked, arms crossed, standing in front of the hotel bed she clearly already claimed with her Archive bag.

"It means everyone else had even numbers, and this was the last available room. Deal with it," Putri said, throwing her suitcase onto the second bed.

She pulled out a lavender pillow mist and sprayed it like holy water.

"Ugh. This place has such strong death energy. Definitely an earthbound lingering zone."

"That's probably just your ego," Nayla said without looking.

Daramahesa appeared from under the bed, stretching.

"Wonderful. Two alphas. One room. This will go well."

"What the hell is that?!" Putri yelped.

"I'm a reincarnated cosmic archivist in feline form. But sure, let's pretend I'm a stray."

Putri blinked, whispering under her breath.

"Oh no. He has aura."

That evening, as the sun dipped into the sea and shadows grew longer on the palm trees outside, the entire class gathered in the hotel conference room—aka: the banquet hall with one flickering projector and the saddest stack of white plastic chairs ever assembled.

The teachers stood up front.

Narayana looked unusually relaxed, though only Nayla could tell he was faking it.

"Good evening, students," he began. "I'll keep this brief."

"Lies," someone whispered.

"Your itinerary includes several cultural sites," Narayana continued, tapping the flickering slide. "Temples, museums, and... monitored beach walks."

"Will there be ghosts?" Putri asked from the back.

"No," Narayana said.

"That's also a lie," Nayla muttered to herself.

"Stick with your room groups," Narayana continued.

"Curfew is ten. Breakfast is mandatory. And whatever you do... stay within school boundaries."

"Define 'school boundaries,'" Raka whispered to Vicki.

"Whatever line you're not supposed to cross," Vicki replied. "We'll probably trip over it by tomorrow."

As the briefing ended, students began shuffling out, energized for the trip ahead. Some were gossiping. Others were already planning selfies at the temple gates.

But Vicki... paused.

He turned back.Looked at the projector.

For just a second—only he saw it—the next slide glitched.

It showed a temple he didn't recognize.Black stone.

Carved faces.

Eyes scratched out.

The file name in the corner of the slide said:

"TEMPLATE_MISSING_███.jpeg"

Then it vanished.

9:47 PM.

The hotel buzzed with soft evening energy.Dim lobby lights, half-awake receptionists, elevator dings echoing in lazy rhythm.

Some students were chilling in their rooms, phones on their faces. Others were grouped up in the hotel café, laughing way too hard over sweet iced lattes and overpriced fries.

And by the pool—near the far edge, where the lighting barely reached—Vicki, Raka, and Nayla sat around a circular table, lit only by the soft blue glow of Nayla's Archive sigil.

"Okay," Raka said, swirling his soda can like it was sacred, "let's recap: haunted airplane, dimension-ghost passenger, and a temple that may or may not exist."

"Oh, and a slide titled 'TEMPLATE_MISSING' just to make us feel extra safe," Vicki added.

"And," Nayla said sharply, "something that followed us."

They fell silent for a moment.

Only the hum of pool lights remained.

Then, heels clicking on tile.

"Room for one more?" came a familiar voice.

The trio turned.

Putri Vasanta, with an oversized lavender hoodie and a cup of matcha, casually walked up like she hadn't just crashed a secret war council.

"This is a private strategy session," Vicki said.

"Please," Putri replied, sitting anyway. "Your aura screams 'I-need-help-and-denial-is-my-love-language.' I'm here for balance."

"Oh no," Daramahesa groaned from under Nayla's chair. "She's joining the plot."

"I brought snacks," Putri offered.

"…She may stay," the cat decided instantly.

For a while, the four of them just talked.About the trip.

About the temple they were scheduled to visit tomorrow.

About weird dreams they hadn't shared until now.

"I saw water," Putri whispered. "A lot of water. And faces beneath it, calling names."

"Same," Vicki said. "Except mine weren't calling. They were watching."

"You're both haunted. How romantic," Daramahesa snarked.

Then it happened.

The wind shifted.

No warning.

No gust.

Just… a change in pressure.In atmosphere.

The pool's surface, once still, began to ripple.

Lights around the area flickered once.

Then twice.

Then stopped altogether.

"Okay... did someone turn off the universe?" Raka muttered.

"No," Arkana's voice echoed in his mind.

"They're coming."

Figures emerged.

From behind palm trees.

From beneath the pool.

From reflections on the hotel windows.

Not human.

Not illusions.

Hantu-hantu Bali (Balinese's Ghost)

A Leak floated headless above the water, intestines swaying like curtain.

A Rangda appeared in the window's glass, grinning through fangs, eyes blood-red.

A Tuyul, small and bald, peeked from behind a pool chair, whispering in ancient tongues.

A drowned woman with algae for hair stepped from the deep end, dripping seawater and salt.

None of them attacked.

They just... stood.

Watching.

Whispering.

"This isn't a threat," Nayla breathed.

"It's a warning."

One by one, the apparitions turned to Vicki.

And they spoke.

In unison.

"He comes. The broken one. The lost twin."

"He bleeds. And so shall you."

And then, the pool cracked.

Not the tiles.

The reflection.

The water's mirror shattered outward like glass.And from it crawled a body—

Bruised.

Bleeding black mist.

Cloaked in torn shadows.

Arvanu Shura.

Vicki stood instantly. "You—!"

But Arvanu collapsed, coughing dark energy, one eye flickering with mirror-static.

"I... came to warn you," he rasped."They've found it.""They found the first Gate."

Nayla stepped forward. "Gate to what?"

"To the Root Narrative. The place before stories. Before names. They're trying to open it."

"Who's they?" Raka demanded.

Arvanu's body flickered, pieces of him glitching like cracked mirror shards.

"The Untold," he whispered."They'll rewrite everything... even you."

He looked at Vicki, eyes pained.

"I did terrible things... but I was made to."

"Then undo it," Vicki said.

Arvanu's form began dissolving—melting into mist, into data, into shadow.

But before he vanished, he held out a hand.

"Take this. The part of me that still remembers who we were."

A final flicker.

Then light.

And in Vicki's chest—a new sigil burned.

A mirror-shaped brand etched in flame.

Power surged.His reflection in the pool moved on its own.Shadow reached out from the glass.And for the first time...

Vicki controlled it.

Within the mind realm, a vast echo chamber of fire, frost, and flickering obsidian glass—Three voices stirred.

Avici Narak stood tall, his cloak made of molten regrets, eyes burning brighter than ever.

Arkana Arhad appeared as a glacier-born phantom, calm and still—watching the scene unfold in absolute silence.

And kneeling between them—Arvanu Shura, his form glitching, cut, unraveling.

"So you gave him your mark," Arkana said, tone unreadable."Even after everything you've done."

"I didn't give it," Arvanu rasped, holding his side.

"I returned what was stolen from me."

Avici stepped forward, fire hissing off his boots.

"Do you really think a single gesture will cleanse your ash? You nearly unmade him."

"And now I make him stronger," Arvanu snapped back. "Because he will face what none of us could."

The mind realm trembled.

Reflections surrounded them, shards of the past, images of possible futures. Some showed Vicki wielding a mirrored army, others showed flames devouring the Archive.

Arkana looked at the broken twin with his frost-diamond eyes.

"Why now?"

Arvanu's gaze was haunted.

"Because I saw her."

"Who?"

"The one without a name. The one who watches from behind the veil."

He looked directly at Avici.

"And she knows who you used to be."

Avici froze.

Just for a breath.

And in that breath, fire turned to doubt.

"She shouldn't exist," he whispered.

"Then tell her that when she comes," Arvanu said.

And with that—Arvanu Shura dissolved.

One last spark of silver and shadow.

Gone.

Back in the real world, the pool's surface returned to stillness.

The apparitions faded. Silence returned.

But inside Vicki's hand…

The mark burned.

He looked at his reflection.

It blinked—half a second behind him.

And whispered:

"She's already here."