Parahyangan Genta: The Song of Blood in the Land of Tumapel

8.1: Tumapel Drama Stage

The Duchy of Tumapel Palace is a completely different world, a living, breathing entity with its own unwritten laws. If life on the slopes of Mount Kawi is about the harsh honesty of nature, where wind is wind and stone is stone, where the struggle for survival is real and unadulterated, then life within the palace walls is a giant stage. A colossal performance running twenty-four hours a day, where everyone, from the highest noble to the lowest servant, plays their respective roles under the most convincing masks.

Arok, now walking a few paces behind Kebo Ijo, felt it with every fiber of his being. He was like a child of the forest entering a bustling, colorful city for the first time. But instead of awe, he felt a dense, oppressive sense of danger. The grandeur of the buildings, made of intricately carved teak and finely chiseled andesite, stood in stark contrast to the tense, suspicious atmosphere that hung in the air. The sturdy walls seemed less to protect against external enemies than to enclose their inhabitants in a labyrinth of intrigue and fear.

He bowed his head deeply, a gesture that was now beginning to feel natural. His back hunched slightly, and his steps became lighter and more hurried, as if he were a mouse afraid of being stepped on amidst the throngs of big cats. But behind that mask of obedience, his eyes, tempered by wildlife, moved quickly and alertly. He took in everything, every detail, every sight, like a tactician mapping out a battlefield before the battle began.

He watched the servants pace back and forth with brisk steps and hunched backs. Their faces were pale, almost expressionless, as if their souls had long since left their bodies. Their eyes were always cast downward, refusing to make eye contact, as if even a glance would be considered an offense. They moved like machines, carrying out their duties in anxious silence.

He saw the sentries standing proudly at every corner and gate. They wore polished leather armor and held spears with gleaming tips. They looked dashing and invincible. However, Arok saw something else in their eyes. Their gazes were restless. They constantly darted from side to side, as if afraid of their own shadows. They were wary not only of external threats but also of their own comrades, of any officers who might be watching them, of any whispers that could end their careers or even their lives.

Arok could feel a thick, suffocating aura of power in this place, like the air in an unventilated cave. An absolute power, built not on prestige or the love of the people, but on a shaky and rotten foundation: fear. Everyone feared those who held a higher position. And everyone, without exception, feared one name never uttered in vain: the Akuwu Tunggul Ametung.

Kebo Ijo, seemingly accustomed to this atmosphere, walked with a steady, unfazed stride. He returned the salute of the guards with a curt nod and headed straight for the back of the palace complex. Arok followed him like a shadow, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible.

They passed beautiful but sterile gardens, with brightly colored flowers arranged in rigid patterns. They passed open pavilions where lower-ranking nobles conversed, their laughter dry and forced. Arok caught a glimpse of a younger nobleman bowing deeply to an older one, his smile so wide it looked painful, but his eyes betrayed undisguised hatred. He saw how the women, the wives of the nobles, complimented each other on the silks or jewelry they wore, while behind their backs they slandered each other with vicious gossip.

This is the stage. Everyone is an actor. Every smile, every bow, every word of praise is part of an unwritten script for survival and advancement. Honesty is a currency that doesn't sell here. It's the most convincing falsehoods that are most highly valued.

Lohgawe was right. This place is hell disguised as heaven.

Arok felt a wave of nausea rise from his stomach. He missed the honesty of the forest. He missed the raw brutality of nature. A tiger will pounce on you because it's hungry, not because it hates you or wants your position. Here, humans can be more ferocious than tigers, and they do it with smiles on their faces.

Kebo Ijo led her directly to the back of the palace, an area rarely seen by guests or nobles. This area was the engine that kept the entire palace running. Here were the giant kitchens, the soldiers' barracks, the storage warehouses, and a vast and well-maintained stable complex.

As they entered the stables, a sharp yet familiar scent greeted them. The scent of dry hay, horse sweat, and manure. Strangely, to Arok, this scent felt more honest and comforting than the perfumes of the nobles he had encountered earlier. Here, among the animals, at least there was no falsehood. Horses would neigh when they were happy, and kick when they felt threatened. It was a refreshing honesty.

Dozens of carefully selected horses, war horses of the finest breeds from all over Java, and even some from overseas, were cared for there. There were brown, white, and gray horses, all with sturdy bodies and shiny, well-groomed coats. The horse grooms, most of whom were slaves or convicts, were busy cleaning the stalls, bringing water, and combing the horses' coats.

"This is your new workplace," said Kebo Ijo, finally dismounting his horse. He handed the reins to a servant who ran hurriedly to greet him.

Kebo Ijo's gaze then fell on a stall situated slightly apart from the others. It was the largest, cleanest, and most sturdy. Inside, a jet-black stallion, devoid of a single hair of any other color, stood proudly. He was much larger and more muscular than the others. His neck was long, his chest broad, and his legs as sturdy as stone pillars. But what stood out most was his eyes. Those large, black ones conveyed intelligence, pride, and a wild spirit that refused to be subdued.

Arok stared fixedly at the horse. Something resonated within him as he looked at the animal. It was as if he saw a reflection of his old soul, the tiger he was now forced to imprison. The same passion, the same pride, and the same imprisonment.

The Tumapel stage play now felt more real. He, Arok, had to play the role of an obedient servant. And before him stood a horse that refused to play the role of a tame mount. A bitter irony. He knew the task ahead would not be easy. Taming the horse might be as difficult as taming himself. But he had to succeed. Because on this stage play, only the most convincing actor would survive to see the end.

***

8.2: Taming the Thunder Geni

Kebo Ijo pointed to the jet-black horse standing proudly in the largest stall. An aura of dominance and wild power radiated from the animal, making the other horses around it seem like tame ponies.

"His name is Guntur Geni," said Kebo Ijo, his voice a mix of pride and slight frustration. "He is my most prized horse, a descendant of the finest warhorses from the land of Pasundan. His strength is unmatched, his running as fast as lightning. But his spirit… his spirit is as wild as his name. He is my most prized horse, and my most unruly."

He sighed. "Many grooms have given up on him. Some have broken arms from being kicked, others have had their fingers nearly severed from being bitten. He only listens to me, and even then only when I'm holding his reins. Your job is to care for him. Feed him the finest grass, bathe him every day, clean his stall until not a single piece of dirty straw remains. And most importantly," Kebo Ijo glared at Arok, "tame him. I want you to make him obedient to you, so he'll be ready whenever I need him, even when you're the one preparing him. If you succeed, you'll receive a fair reward and my trust. If you fail, or even cause him the slightest injury, I'll personally break your bones. Understand?"

The threat was uttered in a flat tone, which only made it sound more intimidating. Arok stared at the horse. He saw ferocity in Guntur Geni's eyes, a free spirit that refused to be subdued by cage and bridle. For some reason, he felt no fear. Instead, he felt a bond, a tacit understanding. He saw a reflection of himself in the animal. His former soul, before it was forged by Lohgawe.

"I understand, Your Majesty," Arok replied obediently, bowing deeply. In his heart, he added, 'I will not tame you, my friend. I will be your friend.'

"What's your name? I can't keep calling you 'young man' or 'wanderer,'" Kebo Ijo asked, his tone impatient.

This was the time. The time to fully embrace his new identity, to bury the name Arok within this palace. Arok had thought about it on the journey, as he pondered the lesson of Ganesha. He needed a simple name, a commoner's name, one that wouldn't attract attention and might even sound a little foolish.

"People in the village usually call me… Elephant, Gusti," answered Arok.

He chose the name for two reasons. First, it sounded rustic and contrasted sharply with his build, which, though thin, still looked sturdy. It would lead to him being underestimated, and being underestimated is a spy's greatest advantage. Second, and more importantly, the name served as a secret reminder to himself. A reminder of Ganesha's lesson at the Watu Kembang Temple. A reminder to possess the wisdom of an elephant, the ears of an elephant, and the belly of an elephant.

Kebo Ijo chuckled, a laugh he rarely showed. "Elephant? That's a strange name for someone as skinny as you. Like naming a bull 'Little One'. But okay, Elephant. That's easier to remember. From now on, you're mine. Your room is over there, a small, stuffy cubicle next to the hay barn. Do your best. Don't disappoint me."

After giving that final command, Kebo Ijo turned and left, leaving Arok—or rather, Gajah—alone in the middle of the unfamiliar stable complex, with a seemingly impossible first task.

His first task was to approach Guntur Geni. The other grooms, who had been observing from a distance, now stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and derision. They all knew the dark horse's reputation.

The elephant slowly approached Guntur Geni's enclosure. When he tried to grab the bar of the enclosure door, the horse reacted ferociously. It neighed loudly, its cry shrill and furious. It raised its front legs high, stomped wildly in the air, and then kicked the sturdy enclosure door with its hind legs, making a terrifying thud. Its eyes bulged, showing the whites, and foam poured from its mouth.

The other grooms watching from a distance laughed in disdain.

"Look at that skinny elephant," one of them whispered to his friend. "Who does he think he is? That new guy won't last a day."

"I bet his legs will break before sunset," said another. "Guntur Geni only wants to be ridden by Gusti Kebo Ijo. Besides, he'll trample anyone who dares approach."

But Gajah wasn't afraid. He didn't back down. He did something no other groomer had ever done. He didn't try to force his way in. He didn't use a whip or a rope. He simply stood still in front of the trembling stable door, letting the horse's anger crash down on him like waves. He stared straight into the horse's eyes, a gaze calm and unwavering. He radiated neither hostility nor a desire to conquer. Instead, he radiated the same energy he had when he faced Mahesa's reckless assault on the mountainside: an energy of calm, acceptance, and emptiness.

For nearly an hour, he simply stood there, a rock in the midst of Guntur Geni's raging storm. He let the horse vent all its anger, frustration, and fear of being confined. Slowly, like a storm losing its wind, Guntur Geni's rage began to subside. He still snorted loudly, but he no longer kicked. His high-pitched whinnying turned into a low growl. He began to sense that this figure before him was different. This figure was not dangerous.

When the horse began to calm down, the elephant began to speak to it. Not with commands, but in a low, gentle whisper, the voice he used to soothe wild animals in the jungle. "Calm down, my friend… calm down… I won't hurt you. I know you don't like being in this cage. I don't like it either."

He continued speaking, telling me things no other human would understand. "I see the same fire in you that I see in me. A passion that yearns for freedom. They tried to keep you locked up here, giving you a brave name, but they could never extinguish the fire within your soul. We are the same, you and I. Both trapped in this cage. But we will survive, won't we?"

Whether it was because of her soothing words or the calm energy she radiated, Guntur Geni slowly stopped moving wildly. He stared at Gajah with his large, intelligent eyes, as if trying to comprehend every word she said. His head, previously held high, now lowered slightly.

With a very slow movement, slower than the movement of a cloud, the elephant reached out to the bar. He opened it very carefully, without making a creaking sound that might startle the horse. He stepped into the stable.

The other nurses held their breath. This was the most dangerous moment.

The elephant didn't approach the horse immediately. He knew that would be perceived as aggression. Instead, he turned to the side, grabbed a brush and a bucket of water. He began cleaning another corner of the pen, humming a folk song from his village about wind and mountains. He turned his back to the horse, a gesture of absolute confidence, showing no fear of being attacked from behind. He let the horse take the initiative to approach him.

And sure enough. After a while, driven by an irresistible curiosity, Guntur Geni slowly stepped forward on his sturdy legs. He approached the elephant from behind, and very carefully, he sniffed the young man's shoulders and back. The elephant didn't move at all. He remained focused on his task, allowing the horse to recognize his scent, his presence.

Finally, feeling reassured, the elephant put down his brush. He turned very slowly. He was now face to face with the mighty beast. He showed no fear. He held out his empty hand, palm open, a universal sign of peaceful intent.

Guntur Geni stared at the hand for a moment, then he lowered his head and touched his soft snout to Arok's palm.

The elephant smiled, his first genuine smile since entering the city. He then stroked Guntur Geni's sturdy neck and then climbed up to his thick mane. The horse didn't resist. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the touch, his previously wild eyes now calm and peaceful.

The other grooms, who had previously been dismissive, now stared open-mouthed. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. They looked at each other, then back at the stable. The skinny young man named Gajah, the newcomer, had done what they hadn't been able to do for months. He had tamed Guntur Geni, not by force, but by understanding. He had done it in less than two hours. From then on, no one dared underestimate Gajah. They might not have understood how, but they had a newfound respect for him.

A bond had been forged between Gajah and Guntur Geni. A bond between two wild souls both trapped within the Tumapel stage. For Arok, taming Guntur Geni was more than a task. It was therapy for his own soul. By calming the horse, he also learned to calm the tiger within himself. By befriending the horse, he found a glimmer of honesty amidst the palace's sea of falsehoods. The horse became the only creature in Tumapel who knew him for who he truly was, not as Gajah the servant. And this relationship, he knew, would be one of his most important assets in weaving his deadly web.

***

8.3: Ghost Behind the Haystack

From the day he successfully calmed Guntur Geni, Arok's new life—the life of Gajah the horse groom—began with a monotonous yet calculated rhythm. During the day, when the Tumapel sun shone brightly, he was the embodiment of a perfect servant. From morning to evening, he was the most diligent and meticulous horse groom in the entire stable complex. He never complained, never slacked off. He cleaned Guntur Geni's stable until it was odorless, removing every dirty straw and replacing it with fresh, dry straw. He bathed the black horse until its jet-black coat glistened like silk in the sunlight. He fed it the finest grass he cut himself from the pasture outside the palace walls, refusing to use the grass provided in the barn, which was sometimes already wilted.

He developed a strange and profound bond with the wild horse. Their relationship was no longer that of master and pet, or keeper and beast. They were friends, two souls who understood each other without words. As Gajah cleaned his stall, Guntur Geni would stand quietly in the corner, watching him with his intelligent eyes. As Gajah brushed his fur, the horse would bow his head, savoring every touch. Only to him would Guntur Geni obey.

This unique relationship did not go unnoticed. Kebo Ijo, the owner, was very pleased with the results of his work. Every time he came to check on his horse, he always found Guntur Geni in top condition, calm, and ready to ride. Gajah's reputation as a skilled horse groomer quickly spread among the servants and lower-ranking soldiers. He became both respected and somewhat feared for his almost magical ability to handle the most ferocious horses in Tumapel. His standing in Kebo Ijo's eyes quickly rose, from a mere novice servant to a trusted confidant in horse matters.

However, it was all just a facade. It was a play he put on during the day.

When night fell, as the moon replaced the sun and most of the palace's inhabitants drifted off to sleep, the obedient and somewhat dim-witted Gajah, the horse nurse, vanished. What emerged was Arok, the spy. Using the Ilmu Angin Lereng Kawi (Wind Slope Kawi) he had mastered, which allowed him to move as light as a shadow and hold his breath for long periods, he began exploring the palace complex. He became a ghost, sneaking through dark alleys, climbing silently up rooftops, and hiding in unexpected places.

The stables, which to others would have seemed a dirty and degrading place, turned out to be a very strategic location. Located at the rear of the palace complex, it bordered the public kitchen, the barracks for lowly soldiers, and the back alleys rarely used by nobles or high-ranking officers. From here, from behind the haystacks or above the dark roof of the stables, he could hear much. He became a giant ear, absorbing every whisper and complaint.

He listened to the complaints of the low-ranking soldiers who gathered at night to drink cheap palm wine. They complained about their meager wages, which were often deducted for no apparent reason by the squad leaders. They complained about the harsh treatment of the officers, who considered them little more than expendable pawns. They also spoke of secret patrols and heightened security at several armories, valuable information he kept secret.

He overheard the gossip of the kitchen servants as they cleaned up the remains of the banquet. They whispered about the frenzied orgies often thrown by Tunggul Ametung and his inner circle. Feasts that consumed dozens of roast goats and hundreds of jugs of the finest palm wine in a single night, at a time when the duchy's granaries were reportedly running low due to crop failure. They also gossiped about the Akuwu's new concubines, and how some of them had suddenly disappeared without a trace after displeasing him.

He heard more dangerous whispers from the noble's personal guards as they waited for their master, who was in a meeting late into the night. They spoke of wealthy merchants from overseas who often came to see the Akuwu in the middle of the night through the back gate, carrying heavy chests suspected of containing gold and jewels as bribes to win trade monopolies in the Tumapel region.

Every piece of information, no matter how small—a soldier's complaint, a servant's gossip, a guard's whisper—he stored and weaved in his mind. He was like a patient weaver, gathering thread after thread to weave a vast tapestry depicting the web of power in Tumapel. Who was whose friend, who was whose enemy, who owed a favor, and who held a grudge.

One night, when the wind was strong enough to muffle the sounds, Arok attempted a more daring infiltration. He crept near the mid-ranking officers' barracks, a more heavily guarded area. He hid behind a large pile of straw intended for the officers' horses. From there, he could see the light of a torch coming from a slightly open window. He strained his ears, held his breath, and tried to catch the conversation within.

Two officers were talking in whispers, but their voices were tense and full of emotion.

"I can't take it anymore, Jaka," said one of them, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "My conscience burns every day. The Akuwu is getting crazier. Last week, you saw it yourself? He ordered us to whip an old farmer to death just because his old horse accidentally grazed his cart. The farmer prostrated himself and begged for mercy, but the Akuwu just laughed!"

"Shhh! Lower your voice, Wirang!" another said, his voice filled with worry. "Do you want your head displayed on the city gates? Even the walls have ears in this place!"

"But this isn't right, Jaka! This isn't the way of a leader anymore, it's the way of a tyrant! We are soldiers, not executioners! I swear allegiance to the great banner of Tumapel, not to the personal cruelty of Tunggul Ametung!" retorted the officer named Wirang. His frustration was so strong that Arok could sense it from his hiding place.

"Then what do you want? Fight back?" Jaka replied sarcastically. "Don't be stupid, Wirang! Tunggul Ametung's power is too great. He commands the complete loyalty of Commander Dangkang and his ruthless special forces. They are the most loyal and ferocious guard dogs. We mere officers are worthless if we try to resist. We will be crushed like ants."

The conversation abruptly stopped when the footsteps of a patrolling guard were heard approaching. The two officers immediately fell silent, and the torches in their room were extinguished.

Arok remained hidden until the guard passed and silence returned. He didn't move. He replayed the conversation in his mind. He had gained something very precious. A name: Wirang. An officer whose heart still held a conscience, who could still distinguish between loyalty to the nation and blind obedience to a tyrant. This was a crack. A small crack in the wall of Tumapel Fortress, which from the outside appeared so sturdy and impenetrable. And through this small crack, water could begin to seep in.

On the other hand, Gajah's appearance as an innocent, obedient, and slightly stupid elephant managed to fool everyone during the day. His quiet and hardworking nature made him popular with the stablemaster. His ability to tame Guntur Geni earned him the respect of the other horse grooms. And his feigned stupidity often led to him being ordered around with trivial tasks outside of his horse-grooming duties.

"Elephant! Deliver this letter to the Patih's residence!"

"Elephant! Buy the best liquor in the market for us soldiers!"

"Elephant! My back is sore, give me a massage!"

Arok accepted it all without complaint, always with a goofy smile on his face. He would reply, "Sendika dawuh, Gusti," in the most submissive tone he could muster.

However, each assignment was a golden opportunity that he made the most of. When delivering mail to the haunted residence of Commander Dangkang, he didn't just deliver mail. He memorized the building's layout, the number of guards at each post, and their shift schedules. When buying liquor at the market, he didn't just buy it. He sat in the stall, listening to the people complain about the soaring prices caused by stifling taxes, or about their daughters being harassed by the soldiers. When massaging a drunken officer's feet, he would patiently listen to the officer ramble about his dislike of another officer, or about the planned patrol for the next day.

He became an omnipresent ghost. A lowly servant whose presence was so ordinary as to be unimportant, unsuspected. He was the air, present in every room yet never seen. He absorbed information like a sponge, building a map of the strengths, weaknesses, and secrets of the rotten Tumapel palace. He was a ghost who hid not in the darkness of night, but in the haystacks of his most despicable occupation. And no one realized that from those haystacks, a pair of eagle eyes were watching them all.

****

8.4: The Call of the Officer

Several weeks had passed since Arok, now known as Gajah, had set foot inside the Tumapel palace. His days were a grueling dance on a thin tightrope, a constant balancing act between two conflicting identities. By day, he was Gajah, the dim-witted and obedient horse groom. His face was always adorned with a goofy smile, his back always slightly hunched, and his voice always a humble tone. He was the perfect figure to underestimate, so harmless that his presence was barely noticed.

But behind the mask, Arok, the warrior and strategist, worked tirelessly. He turned every trivial task into a reconnaissance mission. He analyzed every conversation he overheard and stored it in his memory library. His mental map of the Tumapel palace was now more complete and detailed. He knew not only the physical layout of the building, but also the unseen power structures. He knew who was sleeping with whom, who owed whom, and who secretly hated whom. He knew that Commander Dangkang was Tunggul Ametung's most loyal guard dog, but he also knew that the Commander had a weakness for alcohol and women. He knew that Patih Lohgender was a brilliant bureaucrat, but he also knew that his son was a high-roller and deeply in debt.

Every piece of information is a thread of silk. And Arok, the spider, patiently weaves those threads into an intricate, invisible web. He's still waiting. Waiting for an opportunity, an opening, a moment when he can start pulling the first thread to wreak havoc.

One afternoon, as the sun began to set in the west and the sky was tinged with orange, Kebo Ijo called out to him. Arok was cleaning Guntur Geni's nails when a soldier arrived and ordered him to meet the officer on the front porch of his house.

Arok quickly washed his hands, dusted his face again with a little dust to maintain his appearance, and then walked with hurried but reverent steps to the main house. He found Kebo Ijo sitting on a large wooden chair, cleaning the blade of his sword with an oiled cloth. His gaze was serious and thoughtful.

"I am here, Ndara," said Gajah, kneeling on the wooden floor, his head bowed deeply.

Kebo Ijo did not answer immediately. He finished his work cleaning the sword, every movement full of precision and respect for his weapon. After a while, he sheathed his sword again and looked at Arok who was still kneeling.

"Elephant, I'm going hunting for two or three days, starting early tomorrow morning," he said in a flat voice. "I'll be going with some other officers. We'll be camping in the Tambakbaya Forest."

Arok's heart pounded slightly.

"Prepare Guntur Geni. Make sure he's in top condition. Give him extra food tonight. And…" Kebo Ijo paused, his eyes fixed on Arok sharply. "You're coming with me."

This was a surprise. Normally, when officers went hunting, they would only bring a few escort soldiers. It was rare for them to bring lowly servants like grooms.

"You're coming," Kebo Ijo continued, "to take care of our horses at camp. I don't trust those soldiers to take care of Guntur Geni. Only you can handle him. Besides, you can also help set up the tents and cook."

This was a golden opportunity. A chance that fell from the sky. Going outside the palace with a group of high-ranking officers meant he would be in a more relaxed environment. Outside the spy-filled palace walls, people tended to let their guard down. They would be drinking around the campfire, and that was when their usually sealed tongues would begin to unravel. He would overhear more honest, more important conversations, ones they couldn't possibly have had inside the palace.

"Yes, Ndara! I will prepare everything perfectly!" Gajah replied in the most obedient and enthusiastic tone he could muster.

Kebo Ijo nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Pack some supplies for yourself, too. This trip isn't for relaxing."

Arok returned to the stables, his mind racing. He had to be extremely cautious. On the one hand, this was a great opportunity to gather information. On the other, it was also extremely dangerous. Being in such close proximity to high-ranking officers for days on end would be the ultimate test of his disguise. One small mistake, one wrong word, or one look that didn't fit his role could be fatal.

Little did he know that this hunting trip would lead him to a discovery far greater than he could have imagined. A discovery that would bring him face to face with his greatest, yet most tragic, destiny. A discovery that would give him a new purpose far more burning than simply overthrowing a tyrant. This journey would be a turning point in his mission, a new rung on the ladder to a pinnacle of power he never dreamed possible.

As he prepared the expensive leather saddle for Guntur Geni, cleaning it of every speck of dust, he accidentally caught sight of his own reflection in the shiny copper water container.

He saw the face of Gajah, the stupid horse groom, with his disheveled hair and cheeks that he had deliberately smeared with a thin layer of soot. The face of a meaningless person, someone who would be forgotten as soon as he passed.

But if he looked deeper, beyond the reflection of the surface, he could see something else. He sensed the presence of Arok, the warrior from the Kawi slopes. Arok wasn't missing. He wasn't dead. He was simply sleeping, hiding behind the elephant mask, waiting for the right moment to awaken. And in the eyes of that reflection, Arok seemed to be smiling coldly.

This new name and this new face were his most perfect mask. A shield that protected him from suspicion. And behind that mask, the spider continued to weave its web patiently. This summons from the officer was no mere duty. It was an invitation. An invitation to delve deeper into the heart of the dragon's lair, to the place where the darkest secrets lay. And Arok, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation, was ready to accept it.

⭐⭐⭐🇮🇩⭐⭐⭐

Continued chapter 09