The sky burned red.
A crimson moon hung above the ancient forests of the kingdom of Surya Mahardika, casting shadows that twisted like dying spirits.
Villagers whispered in fear.
They said when the moon turned blood-colored, the boundary between the human world and the spirit realm weakened.
And that night…
The curse awakened.
Arya Rudra Wardhana ran through the narrow paths of his village, barefoot, his breath tearing from his chest.
Smoke filled the air.
Screams echoed behind him.
Homes that once glowed warmly with firelight were now devoured by flames.
His mother's voice still rang in his ears.
"Run, Arya! Don't look back!"
But he looked back.
And what he saw shattered his world forever.
Dark armored soldiers stood among the burning houses. Their banners bore the royal crest of a neighboring kingdom.
But behind them…
Shadowy figures moved.
Not human.
Spirits with hollow eyes and twisted bodies crawled through the fire, ripping villagers apart as if they were nothing but cloth.
Blood painted the dirt.
Children cried.
Men fell screaming.
Women were dragged into the flames.
Arya froze.
His legs refused to move.
His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.
"Mother…"
He saw her.
Surrounded.
A shadow creature rose behind her, its claws dripping black mist.
"No!"
Arya screamed and ran toward her.
But before he could reach her—
A blade of darkness pierced through her chest.
Her eyes widened.
For a brief moment, she smiled at him.
"Live…"
Then she fell.
The world went silent.
A powerful force suddenly shook the ground.
From the center of the burning village, an ancient altar cracked open.
A deep, haunting hum echoed through the air.
Something was awakening.
Arya was thrown backward by an invisible wave.
He slammed into the dirt, coughing.
From the broken altar, a blade slowly rose.
It was a keris.
Its surface was dark as midnight, yet glowing with golden runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Spirits screamed around it.
Some bowed.
Some fled in terror.
The soldiers stepped back in fear.
"What… is that?" one of them whispered.
A cold voice answered.
"The Sacred Keris."
"The cursed weapon of the ancient kings."
Arya felt something pulling him.
His chest burned.
His hands trembled as he crawled toward the floating blade.
Every instinct told him to run.
But his soul was screaming for it.
When his fingers touched the hilt—
Pain exploded through his body.
Visions flooded his mind.
Kings drenched in blood.
Warriors falling in endless battles.
A massive dragon roaring across a burning sky.
And a voice.
Deep.
Ancient.
Hungry.
"Bearer of grief…
Bearer of hatred…
Will you accept my curse?"
Arya screamed.
Dark energy wrapped around his arm.
Golden light clashed with black shadows.
The ground cracked beneath him.
The spirits howled.
"I… I will!"
Tears streamed down his face.
"I will destroy them all!"
The keris sank into his hand like it had become part of him.
His eyes turned crimson.
A terrifying aura exploded outward.
The shadow creatures were ripped apart instantly.
Soldiers were thrown into the air like broken dolls.
Silence fell.
From the ashes of the village, a boy stood alone.
Blood stained his face.
Fire reflected in his glowing eyes.
The Sacred Keris pulsed in his grasp.
And in that moment—
The curse of Mahardika was born.
Far away, inside a grand palace bathed in golden light…
A young noblewoman suddenly gasped.
Her chest tightened.
A sacred crystal shattered in front of her.
Putri Liora Maheswari dropped to her knees.
"The curse has awakened…"
Her eyes trembled.
"And so has the one bound to it."