Alam found himself in a child's bedroom, lying in a small bed. The sheets were soft against his skin, and when he glanced at his hands, they were tiny—chubby, unfamiliar, impossibly young.
The figure of a woman stood at the foot of the bed, her silhouette framed by the faint glow spilling through a slightly open door behind her. The room itself was dark, thick with the warm stillness of night. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sliver of light, but her features remained hidden, swallowed by shadow.
"Who are—"
But before he could finish the question, she began singing:
Nina bobo, (Sleep, Nina,)
Oh, nina bobo, (Oh, sleep, Nina,)
A wave of serenity washed over him, warm and heavy, like sinking into a dream. With each line, she stepped closer, her presence softening the air around him.
Kalau tidak bobo, (If you don't go to sleep,)
Rakshasa datang, tidur bobo (The Rakshasa comes — sleep now.)
Adikku sayang, (My dear little one,)
Tidurlah tenang, (Sleep peacefully,)
She placed a warm, gentle hand on his cheek and continued singing.
Jangan takut, sayang, (Don't be afraid, dear,)
Ibu jaga, sayang. (Mother watches over you, dear.)
Her hand dissolved into mist, and the room collapsed into darkness. Alam jolted awake in his dorm room bed, breath sharp, head pounding with a fierce headache.
He pressed a hand to his temple. "That woman. She felt… familiar…" he whispered. The more he tried to grasp the memory, the sharper his headache became, pulsing behind his eyes like something trying to claw its way out.
Flashes from last night surged through him in jagged bursts: the dark ritual circle, the cold stone table he'd been strapped to, black robes shifting like shadows, golden serval masks gleaming in torchlight, crimson robes paired with snarling hyena masks—and towering above them all, the Hyndie, its massive silhouette burned into his mind.
A sudden knock at the door snapped him back. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet room. He pushed himself up, legs unsteady, and walked to the door.
"Who is it?" he asked.
No answer.
When he opened the door, the hallway was empty—silent, still. A faint draft brushed past his ankles. He looked down and spotted a folded note on the floor. He picked it up. The handwriting was sharp, impatient:
Dean's Office, NOW!
A shiver ran through him. He remembered the hyena mask mounted on her office wall—the way its empty eyes seemed to follow him—and fear tightened in his chest.
"Why does she want to see me?" he muttered.
"Maybe Cindy can tell me more about what happened last night," he said, voice low. "I can also ask her more about the dean, and try to find out why she wants to see me."
The vision of the mask on her wall flashed again—those empty hyena eyes staring straight through him. "I hope it's not the reason I think."
He turned around and spotted his clothes crumpled on the floor, caked in drying mud. When he picked them up, a thick strand of Hyndie saliva slid off the fabric and dripped onto the tile.
"Ugh, gross."
Alam dropped the clothes back onto the floor, Hyndie saliva dripping from his hand. He tried to shake it off, but it clung stubbornly, thick as honey.
"Why does the universe hate me?" he muttered, slouching as his head drooped.
He sighed, the sound thin and weary in the quiet room. "I should get dressed."
He moved to his closet, fingers brushing over the fabric as he pulled out a clean shirt and pants. The fresh clothes felt cool against his skin, a small relief after the clammy residue of Hyndie saliva.
Outside, the Academy courtyard greeted him with crisp morning air and the faint scent of damp stone. His club foot dragged softly across the path with its familiar uneven rhythm, each step sending a dull echo through the open space. Students' distant chatter drifted from somewhere across the grounds, muted and far away.
He approached the fountain, its water glinting in the early light. Leaning over, he dipped his hand into the cold stream. The shock of it made him inhale sharply as the last traces of saliva loosened and swirled away in pale ribbons.
"That's better," he whispered. Cool droplets clung to his fingertips as he straightened, the fountain's chill still lingering on his skin. He glanced around the courtyard—the pale morning light stretching across the stone paths, the distant murmur of students drifting between buildings.
"Now where's Cindy?" he muttered, eyes scanning the campus.
Alam noticed Saucey Mac nearby, holding his phone out at arm's length, ring light clipped to the case, streaming with exaggerated enthusiasm. Alam walked over and said, "Hey."
"Not now, dude, I'm streaming," Saucey Mac snapped, barely glancing away from his screen.
"I just wanted to ask a quick—"
"GTFO, loser!" Saucey Mac barked, shoving Alam away with his foot.
The kick caught him off‑balance. Alam stumbled, his club foot dragging awkwardly, and he crashed to his knees on the rough stone path. Pain flared up his leg.
"Dude, what the f**k?!" another student shouted, rushing over to help him up.
"What?" Saucey Mac asked, as if genuinely confused.
"You're just gonna kick a disabled kid?" the other boy demanded.
"I'm alright," Alam said, brushing dirt from his palms.
"No, f**k that! He owes you an apology."
"I'm not apologizing to that stream sniper. He saw I was busy and he stepped into my shot anyway!"
"Really, it's okay," Alam said, trying to defuse the tension.
"Saucey Mac is only here for the ladies," Saucey Mac added smugly, gesturing to himself.
"Calm down, Clarence," the other boy said. "No one's forgetting you fudged your pants last semester just 'cause you're pretending to be some big‑time streamer now."
"I—I have IBS! It's a real medical condition," Saucey Mac stuttered.
"You know he only has three followers?" the other boy said to Alam.
"S‑Shut up! That's three more than you have!" Saucey Mac shot back.
"One's his mom, the other's his grandma, and the last one is some creepy middle‑aged dude who lives in the middle of nowhere but never misses a stream."
"Wow…" Alam murmured, pity softening his voice.
"Y‑you're just jealous!" Saucey Mac shouted, then turned and ran off, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"That guy's something else," the other boy said, shaking his head.
"Sorry for the trouble," Alam said.
"No, it's no trouble. I'm always happy to help. My name's Julio, by the way."
"Thanks, Julio. Alam."
"Anything else I can help with, Alam?"
"Have you seen Cindy?"
"You mean Cinderella?" Julio replied.
"Cinderella?" Alam repeated.
"Yeah, she's basically queen of the school. Everyone treats her like royalty."
Alam chuckled softly. "If she's the queen, who's her king?" he asked.
Julio's phone rang. "Sorry, I gotta take this. It's my mom."
Alam overheard part of the conversation as Julio stepped aside.
"It's not my fault, he's always being a jerk and picking on people!" Julio shouted into the phone.
Alam walked away, continuing his search for Cindy.
He couldn't spot her from the courtyard, so he headed down one of the outdoor school corridors. The morning breeze funneled through the walkway, carrying with it the faint echo of a voice—soft, melodic:
Shì shàng zhí yǒu mā ma hǎo ( 世 上 只 有 妈 妈 好 )
A soft, lilting voice drifted through the corridor, warm as sunlight through a window. Alam felt himself pulled toward it, his steps instinctive.
yǒu mā de hái zi xiàng gè bǎo (有 妈 的 孩 子 像 个 宝 )
tóu jìn le mā ma de huái bào ( 投 进 了 妈 妈 的 怀 抱)
xìng fú xiǎng bù liǎo (幸 福 享 不 了 )
He followed the sound around one corner, then another, the melody echoing off the tiled walls like a memory he couldn't quite place. The voice grew clearer—bright, steady, almost glowing.
He finally found the source: the maid girl. She stood alone in the hallway, wiping down a row of lockers, her motions slow and rhythmic as she sang.
Shì shàng zhí yǒu mā ma hǎo (世 上 只 有 妈 妈 好)
méi mā de hái zi xiàng gēn cǎo ( 没 妈 的 孩 子 像 根 草)
Alam lingered at the end of the corridor, letting the last notes wash over him. Her voice carried a softness that made the air feel heavier, like the world had paused to listen.
lí kāi mā ma de huái bào ( 离 开 妈 妈 的 怀 抱)
xìng fú nǎ lǐ zhǎo ( 幸 福 哪 里 找 )
"Hey!" Alam said.
The girl gasped, hand flying to her chest as the rag slipped from her fingers and brushed the floor. Her breath trembled in the quiet hallway.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Alam said.
She exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening. "It's alright, I was just caught off guard. There's usually no one here around this time." Her voice was soft, still settling from the scare.
"That's a beautiful song you were singing."
"Thank you," the girl replied, cheeks warming as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"What's it called?" Alam asked.
"Shi Shang Zhi You Mama Hao. It's a children's song from my homeland."
"I'm not familiar with the language. Can you translate?"
"Oh, I um—"
"What's wrong?" Alam asked.
"I just— I've never sung in front of anyone outside my family before." Her fingers twisted nervously in the hem of her sleeve.
"You just did."
"Yeah, my voice isn't that good, sorry," she murmured, lowering her head and fiddling with her hair again, the strands slipping through her fingers like silk.
"I thought it was amazing. I haven't heard anything like it since—"
A flicker of the dream returned to him: the dim room, the woman's silhouette, the lullaby wrapping around him like warmth.
"Hmm?" The girl looked up, brows knitting.
"Would you please translate it for me?" Alam asked, voice earnest, almost pleading.
"Alright, but please don't expect much," she said. She took a small breath, steadying herself, and began singing:
Mommy is the best in the world,
Her voice floated gently through the corridor, warm and trembling at the edges. From the first note, Alam felt something inside him loosen—like a knot untying.
With a mom, you have the most valuable treasure,
Jump into your mom's heart,
And you will find happiness!
The words washed over him like a breeze through an open window. An image of Gillian—her smile, her arms, her warmth—flashed in his mind. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
"I'm sorry, it's bad, isn't it? Do you want me to stop?" the girl asked, voice shrinking with worry.
"No, no. Please continue," Alam said quickly, wiping his cheek.
She nodded and sang again, more quietly this time:
Mommy is the best in the world,
Without your mom, you are like a blade of grass,
Away from your mom's heart,
Where will you find happiness?
The last line lingered in the air like a fading echo.
Alam stepped forward and reached out to hug her. She gasped, hands lifting in startled reflex, but he pulled her in tightly, his breath shaky against her shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered, voice thick.
Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, then dangled as she relaxed. "U‑um, you're welcome," she said, face flushing pink.
Alam jerked back as if waking from a trance. "I'm sorry," he blurted, realizing he'd hugged a stranger without asking.
"I‑it's alright," the girl said, rubbing her arm shyly.
"You haven't seen Cindy, have you?" Alam asked, scratching the back of his head as the awkwardness settled between them.
"Oh? No," she replied, turning slightly away, her voice small again.
"Darn, I needed to ask her something about the dean," Alam said.
"What about the dean? Maybe I can help," the girl offered, curiosity softening her expression.
"Well, you see, there was this weird ritual last night, and these weird people in robes and—"
The girl blinked at him, clearly lost.
"Never mind. I'm just supposed to go see the dean, and I'm worried what she wants to talk to me about."
"Don't worry about her. She's all bark," the girl said, waving a hand dismissively.
"But what about the timeout room?"
"Timeout room?" she echoed.
"You know, the big rusty iron door that sounds like it has a monster living in it?"
"Oh, that's nothing to worry about. That's just Boom‑boom, her terrier."
"A dog?"
"Yep," she said with a small nod.
"You expect me to believe all she keeps in there is a dog?!"
"I'm telling you that's all it is. I clean that room once a week."
"Then what about all the whispers I hear around school about it?"
"Honestly, the dean and teachers probably started that rumor to scare the students. They've been kind of wild lately," she sighed. "Especially those no‑win twins. They double my workload at least twice a week."
"Yeah, those two are a handful. My arm still hurts from them taking my essence, they called it," Alam said, rubbing his arm where the memory still stung.
"They got you, too, huh?" the girl asked sympathetically.
"They do it to everyone?" Alam asked.
"Pretty much," she replied.
"Why don't they get expelled?"
"I heard their dad has deep pockets, and he's one of the few donors left," she said with a shrug.
"That sucks," Alam muttered. "I still can't believe it's just a dog behind that door."
"Yeah, anyway, I should get back to work," she said, lifting her rag again.
"Alright then, cya around," Alam said, turning to walk down the hall. He took a few steps, then paused. "Wait—her name," he muttered, spinning back around. She was still there, watching him curiously.
"What's your name?" Alam asked.
"Huh? You want to know my name?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, is it against the rules or something?"
"No, it's just… no one's ever asked before."
"My name's Alam," he said.
"Lian," she replied with a small bow, her voice soft but steady.
"That's beautiful," Alam said with a gentle smile. She returned one, shy but bright.
"Have a beautiful day, Lian."
Alam walked away for the final time, the echo of her song still clinging to the air. "Now to the dean's office," he muttered.