The Man the Mountain Kept (M2K)

The Footprints Left Behind

The sky above Komodo Island was still cloaked in morning mist when Rendra stepped out of the small wooden hut where he had been hiding for the past three weeks. He walked slowly, a worn-out backpack slung over his shoulders and a crumpled map in hand. His chest was heavy—with truths he couldn't share with anyone. About Mateo's team. About what really happened on Mount Rinjani.

He wasn't just a hired guide. He had seen something—something too dark to ignore. Mateo never intended to save Hulio. Now Rendra understood. Their mission had never been about finding. It had been about erasing.

What made Rendra tremble wasn't the unseen beings whispered about in mountain legends—it was Mateo's men. They didn't move like rescuers. They carried long-barreled rifles, grenade launchers, and encrypted military comms. Their steps were synchronized. Their formation—flawless.

"Oh God," Rendra whispered, watching them descend the narrow trail in tactical formation. "They're not rescuers. They're… executioners."

Rendra's fear no longer stemmed from ghosts that misled hikers or shook tents at night. His fear now had names and motives. His fear… was of men hiding behind the mask of a humanitarian mission.

When the small boat finally docked back in Lombok, Rendra stood at the stern, staring toward Mount Rinjani in the distance. Its peak was veiled in gray clouds, as if trying to conceal something—something waiting to be discovered, or buried even deeper.

---

A Few Days Earlier

At the edge of the thick tropical forest, Rendra met Diah Saraswati. Rendra had been scouring the underbrush for wild fruits to soothe his hunger. Diah, meanwhile, was collecting soil and moss samples when their paths crossed.

"I know who you are," Diah said, removing her gloves. "You were with Mateo's team, weren't you?"

"Have you been following me?" Rendra snapped, his chest tightening with fear.

He considered fleeing—there were three muscular men behind the woman. Were they part of Mateo's unit?

"I don't work for him," Diah replied, as if reading his mind. "I work for the boy's father—Antonio Moreira."

Rendra let out a shaky breath of relief.

"You believe he's still alive?" he asked finally.

Diah nodded. "I'm not talking about miracles. I'm talking about anomalies. Geo-spatial data that defies explanation. There's something... moving beneath Mount Rinjani."

Rendra lowered his head, torn by guilt and doubt.

"I'll help you find him," he said firmly.

"Seriously?!" Diah's voice trembled with disbelief.

"I was the one who told Mateo about Hulio," Rendra confessed in a whisper. "Now I want to make it right."

They parted ways—Diah headed to Bali, Rendra to Lombok. But they promised to reunite at the mountain.

---

Mount Rinjani has many faces.

Torean is the face it hides from tourists chasing Instagram-worthy views. This trail doesn't appear in glossy travel brochures. Torean is wild, silent, slippery, and at times feels like a gate to another world. It is not merely a physical path—it is a spiritual one.

Rendra walked alone. Each step was more than movement—it was a vow. On the narrow trail flanked by mossy cliffs and jagged walls, he wasn't just confronting terrain. He was confronting himself.

He wasn't without fear. But something stronger than fear pulled him forward: a calling.

Not from voices. Not from light. But from something deeper. An ancient memory, awakening.

A myth.

---

On the third night of his ascent, Rendra dreamed.

He stood on the shore of Lake Segara Anak. But the lake was no longer blue. Its waters glowed red, like embers. The sky above spun slowly, as though the world itself was exhaling.

Across the lake stood a woman draped in a white shawl. She floated above the water, her form like smoke, her voice slicing through the silence.

"Not everything lost is meant to be found. Some… are being called."

"Who are you?" Rendra asked within the dream.

"People call me Anjani. But I am only a guardian. You, who come without vengeance but carry truth—I will show you the way."

Rendra awoke drenched in sweat. The mist still lingered, but faint light shimmered across the stones—not sunlight, but light from the earth itself.

That morning, his steps were no longer just a hike. They were a sign. Now he knew: he was not walking alone.

---

Elsewhere, deep beneath the earth, Hulio was also receiving signs.

But he was not afraid. He was being forged.

His breath steady. His movements flowing. He spun, struck, and leapt as if the air itself lifted him. His body moved in patterns he had never been taught.

"Is this… silat?" he whispered.

He remembered a ceremony in Ubud before their trip to Lombok. There, men had performed ancient silat dances. Their movements painted the air like brushstrokes.

Now, Hulio moved the same way. Somehow, he knew the names of techniques—Langkah Petir Majapahit, Pukulan Naga-Garuda, Sikap Bayangan Sriwijaya—the names came to him without warning.

He stumbled, then laughed with joy. Perhaps he could truly master these strange, rare forms. It was… astonishing.

For the first time, Hulio no longer wanted to escape the belly of the mountain. He wanted to stay. Not just to survive—but because he loved it. This place had helped him find his truest self.

"To whom do I owe this? The wind? The earth?"

He knelt, pressing his forehead to the warm ground. "If I must choose a home… let this be my home."

---

Elsewhere,

Rendra felt the weight of his past. As a guide, he had made a terrible mistake. But this time, he would not run. This time, he would atone. He would help Diah find Hulio.

The Moreira family had announced Hulio's death—twice. They were returning to Rinjani not for rescue, but to bury him again. Rendra now understood: it wasn't Hulio's body they wanted to erase. It was his trace. His name. His legacy.

But truth cannot be buried forever. Rendra carried a fragment of that truth. And he had returned to uncover it.

---

On the fifth day, Rendra arrived at a massive stone crevice—marked as a dead end on the map. But the night before, he'd dreamed again—of glowing roots and fire flowing through veins of rock.

In the morning, the crevice had slightly shifted. As if it had been… waiting.

He touched the stone. Cold. Yet pulsing. Like the skin of something sleeping.

And then he heard it—a voice. Not the voice of a guardian. Not the voice of man.

A voice from the depths of the soul. A voice once known, long forgotten by the world.

Rendra tightened the straps of his backpack. He didn't know the risks ahead, but he wasn't afraid.

Rendra had learned that true courage isn't born from bravado—but from regret finally meeting the chance to make things right.

---

Meanwhile, Hulio—

who once only wished to survive—had surrendered his ego to the mountain that embraced him without judgment. He was no longer searching for a way out. He was learning to walk within.

What saved him wasn't weaponry. It wasn't technology.

It was the pulse rising from the earth. And the echoes stirring from within his soul.

And at this point, Hulio could only whisper gratitude to the Mountain. To the Voice of Nature.

---