I didn't sleep.

  Not because of the revelation. Not because of my father's name hanging in the air like smoke that wouldn't clear. Not even because of the keris, which spent the whole night pulsing gently against my side like a second heartbeat.

  I didn't sleep because someone was singing.

  Badly.

  At five in the morning.

  Joko.

  The kid stood in the middle of the yard, eyes closed, face pointed at the sky, belting out a Javanese children's song with the enthusiasm of someone who had never been told he couldn't sing. Because no one had. Because everyone who heard him was too busy covering their ears.

  Kliwon sat beside me on the porch, watching Joko with an expression I could only describe as existential crisis.

  Even the dog was judging.

  "System."

  "Yeah."

  "Is this my life now?"

  "Seven lifetimes of cosmic sacrifice and reincarnation, and this is the question you ask. Is this my life now. Yes, Raka. This is your life now. A kid singing off-key at five in the morning while a magical dog judges him. This is what you came back for."

  Mbah Timun appeared in the doorway, looked at Joko, looked at me, and shrugged.

  "Bocah seneng, Ndhuk. Biar wae."

  The kid's happy, child. Let him be.

  "Happy isn't the word I'd use."

  "Ora usah grusa-grusu. Mengko mlebu, tak wenehi sambel."

  Don't be grumpy. Later come in, I'll give you sambal.

  The universal solution. I got up.

  Inside, Mbah Timun was already cooking. Rice steaming. Fish frying. And in the corner, a fresh batch of sambal that hadn't existed five minutes ago.

  "Kowe mangan akeh, Ndhuk. Joko yo mangan. Kabeh mangan."

  You eat a lot, child. Joko also eats. Everyone eats.

  "How many people are we feeding exactly?"

  She thought about it. Counted on her fingers.

  "Kowe, aku, Joko, Simbah Dukun, Pak Kades, wong liya liya."

  You, me, Joko, the Shaman, the village chief, other people.

  "Other people?"

  "Ya. Wong liya. Mesti ana."

  Yes. Other people. There are always others.

  She wasn't wrong.

  By the time the sun fully rose, our porch looked like a train station. Pak Kades showed up first, because village chiefs have a sixth sense for free food. Then three old men I didn't recognize, who apparently had a schedule for which houses had the best breakfast. Then two women carrying baskets of vegetables, because you can't eat for free without contributing. Then four children who followed Joko like he was their cult leader.

  And in the middle of it all, Mbah Timun moved like a general commanding an army. Rice here. Sambal there. Fish distributed with surgical precision. No one went hungry. No one dared complain.

  I sat in the corner, eating my third plate, watching the chaos.

  "This is weird."

  "This is Indonesia. You've been away too long."

  "Seven lifetimes."

  "Exactly. You forgot how we do things. Eat first, ask questions while full. Everyone eats. Everyone belongs. That's the rule."

  Joko appeared beside me, mouth full of rice, holding up a drawing.

  "Mas! Mas! Deloken iki!"

  Brother! Brother! Look at this!

  I looked.

  The drawing showed a house. Our house. With people sitting on the porch. But in the corner, almost hidden behind a tree, two red dots.

  Eyes.

  My stomach dropped.

  "Joko, iki gambar apa?"

  Joko, what's this drawing?

  "Wingi bengi aku weruh, Mas. Neng pinggir alas. Mripat abang."

  Last night I saw it, Brother. At the edge of the forest. Red eyes.

  The chatter around us continued. No one noticed the shift.

  Mbah Timun appeared behind me. Looked at the drawing. Went still.

  "Joko, kowe weruh kapan?"

  Joko, when did you see it?

  "Pas mbok Sri mulih. Pas lawang menga."

  When grandmother Sri came home. When the door opened.

  The door. Of course.

  After breakfast, after the crowd dispersed, after Mbah Timun had smoked two cigarettes in silence, she looked at me.

  "Ndhuk, kudu mrana."

  Child, we have to go there.

  "To the door?"

  "Ora. Neng alas. Ndelok mripat kuwi."

  No. To the forest. To see those eyes.

  Kliwon stood up. Tail wagging. Ready.

  Even the dog knew this was serious.

  The forest was different in daylight.

  Less mysterious. More green. Birds sang. Insects buzzed. Sunlight filtered through leaves in golden patches. It looked like a normal forest. The kind you'd take a walk in. The kind where nothing bad ever happened.

  I didn't believe it for a second.

  Joko walked ahead of us, completely unafraid, humming his terrible song. Mbah Timun followed, her eyes scanning the trees like she expected them to move. I brought up the rear, keris in one hand, sambal package in the other. Just in case.

  "System."

  "Yeah."

  "Any idea what we're looking for?"

  "Red eyes. Probably attached to something with red eyes. Possibly a creature. Possibly a demon. Possibly a very angry owl."

  "This isn't funny."

  "It's a little funny. You're walking into a forest with a magical dagger and a package of sambal to fight something you know nothing about. If that's not funny, I don't know what is."

  I couldn't argue.

  Joko stopped suddenly. Raised his hand.

  "Neng kono, Mas."

  There, Brother.

  He pointed at a clearing. A circle of mossy stones. And in the center, sitting on the largest stone, something that looked like it had been waiting.

  It was humanoid. Sort of. Tall. Thin. Skin like bark. Hair like vines that moved slightly even though there was no wind. And eyes like burning coals.

  Red.

  It looked at us.

  Joko waved.

  "HEY! Aku Joko! Iki Mas Raka! Iki Mbah Timun! Iki Kliwon!"

  HEY! I'm Joko! This is Brother Raka! This is Mbah Timun! This is Kliwon!

  The creature tilted its head. Confused. Or amused. Hard to tell.

  Then it smiled.

  Not a scary smile. Not a hungry smile. Just a smile. Like it had been waiting for someone to introduce themselves properly.

  Mbah Timun stepped forward.

  "Sopo kowe? Keno neng kene?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Who are you? What are you doing here?

  The creature opened its mouth. The sound that came out wasn't words. It was wind through leaves. Water over stones. Earth shifting.

  But somehow, I understood.

  Ngenteni.

  Waiting.

  "Ngenteni apa?"

  Waiting for what?

  Kowe.

  You.

  The creature stood. It was taller than I thought. Seven feet at least. But it moved like water, like there were no joints, no resistance, just flow.

  It pointed at me. At the keris.

  Penjaluk. Wes suwe ora ketemu.

  Penjaluk. Long time no see.

  The keris pulsed. Warm. Almost eager.

  "You know this thing?"

  "I don't know. The keris knows. I just live here."

  The creature stepped closer. Mbah Timun moved between us. Fast. Protective.

  "Aja cedhak-cedhak!"

  Don't come closer!

  The creature stopped. Looked at Mbah Timun. And did something unexpected.

  It bowed.

  Mbah Timun. Wong tuwa sing pinter masak sambel. Anaké Budhe Jum. Mbahmu wong pertama buka lawang.

  Mbah Timun. The old woman who cooks good sambal. Child of Budhe Jum. Your grandmother was the first to open the door.

  Mbah Timun's face went pale.

  "Kowe ngerti mbahku?"

  You know my grandmother?

  Kabeh ngerti Mbahmu. Dheweke sing mbukak lawang pertama. Dheweke sing mulang kita ngenteni.

  Everyone knows your grandmother. She was the first to open the door. She taught us to wait.

  Joko tugged my sleeve.

  "Mas, iki kancaku. Ora usah wedi."

  Brother, this is my friend. No need to be scared.

  "Your friend?"

  "Ya. Wingi aku dolan kene, diajak nggambar. Jare, aku iso weruh masa depan."

  Yes. Yesterday I came here to play, he invited me to draw. He said I can see the future.

  The creature nodded.

  Bocah iki duwe mata. Ora mata biasan. Mata sing weruh sing durung kelakon.

  This child has eyes. Not normal eyes. Eyes that see what hasn't happened yet.

  Joko beamed.

  "Mbak Sri ngerti. Mbak Sri mulang aku nggambar opo sing tak delok."

  Grandmother Sri knows. Grandmother Sri taught me to draw what I see.

  Mbah Sri. The other grandmother. From the other side of the door.

  Of course she knew.

  We sat in the clearing. On the mossy stones. Having a conversation with a tree creature while Kliwon chased butterflies like none of this was unusual.

  Mbah Timun had relaxed slightly. Slightly. She still held her broom like a weapon.

  "Jadi kowe iki sopo?"

  So who are you exactly?

  The creature thought about it.

  Jeneng? Ora ono. Wong kene celuk "Penjaga". Wong liya celuk "Memedi". Anak-anak celuk "Mata Abang". Joko celuk "Kon".

  A name? Don't have one. People here call me "Guardian". Other people call me "Ghost". Children call me "Red Eyes". Joko calls me "Buddy".

  Joko nodded proudly. "Kon. Soale konco."

  Buddy. Because friend.

  Kon. Aku seneng.

  Buddy. I like it.

  The creature Buddy looked at me.

  Kowe Raka. Sing lahir neng kana, mati neng kana, urip neng kene. Sing nggawa Penjaluk. Sing bapake ilang.

  You're Raka. Born there, died there, lives here. Who carries Penjaluk. Whose father disappeared.

  "How do you know about my father?"

  Kabeh weruh bapakmu. Dheweke sing mbukak lawang kaping pindho. Dheweke sing bali karo keris. Dheweke sing bali tanpa tangan.

  Everyone knows your father. He was the second to open the door. He came back with the keris. He came back without hands.

  The image hit like a physical blow.

  "Where is he now?"

  Ora ono sing weruh. Mbukak lawang maneh. Ora tau bali.

  No one knows. Opened the door again. Never came back.

  ---

  The walk back was quiet.

  Even Joko wasn't singing.

  Mbah Timun held my hand. Not because I needed holding. Because she needed to hold.

  Kliwon walked between us, pressing against my leg whenever the path narrowed.

  "System."

  "Yeah."

  "He opened the door again. After losing his hands. Why?"

  "Maybe he found what he was looking for. Maybe he didn't. Maybe the keris asked for something he couldn't give."

  "Penjaluk. The one who asks."

  "Everything asks, Raka. The door asks. The keris asks. Your father asked. Now you're asking. The question is whether you'll get an answer."

  We reached the edge of the village. The sun was setting. Orange light painted everything gold.

  Mbah Timun stopped.

  "Ndhuk."

  "Ya, Mbah?"

  "Bapakmu... dheweke mbiyen takon aku. Pitakonan sing padha karo kowe."

  Your father... he asked me once. The same question you're asking now.

  "What question?"

  "Dheweke takon, 'Mbah, opo kudu milih?'"

  He asked, "Mbah, do I have to choose?"

  "And what did you say?"

  She looked at me. For a long time.

  "Aku ora jawab. Merga aku ora ngerti jawabane."

  I didn't answer. Because I didn't know the answer.

  She squeezed my hand.

  "Nanging saiki, Ndhuk, aku ngerti siji."

  But now, child, I know one thing.

  "Apa?"

  "Ora usah milih, Ndhuk. Merga pilihanmu wes ngenteni kowe suwe."

  You don't have to choose, child. Because your choice has been waiting for you a long time.

  ---

  That night, I sat on the porch again.

  Kliwon beside me. Keris beside me. Joko's drawing in my lap. Two red eyes staring from behind a tree.

  Waiting.

  Like everything else.

  Like my father.

  Like the door.

  Like the choice I didn't know I had to make.

  Joko came out. Sat beside me. Leaned his head on my shoulder.

  "Mas, aku wedi."

  Brother, I'm scared.

  "Wedi apa?"

  Scared of what?

  "Aku weruh masa depan. Kadang apik. Kadang elek. Kadang... bingung."

  I see the future. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. Sometimes... confusing.

  "What do you see now?"

  He pointed at the drawing.

  "Mripat iki... ora jahat, Mas. Mung ngenteni. Kaya kowe."

  These eyes... they're not evil, Brother. Just waiting. Like you.

  "And what happens next?"

  He closed his eyes. The way children do when they're trying really hard to remember.

  "Banyak wong teka. Banyak lawang mbukak. Banyak sambel."

  Many people come. Many doors open. Much sambal.

  Despite everything, I laughed.

  "Much sambal?"

  "Ya. Mbah Timun masak terus. Ora tau entek."

  Yes. Mbah Timun cooks forever. Never runs out.

  Kliwon wagged his tail. Even he knew that was the best possible future.

  To be continued...

  GLOSSARY: JAVANESE DIALOGUE

  Bocah seneng, Ndhuk. Biar wae.The kid's happy, child. Let him be. Mbah Timun's parenting philosophy. Happiness is more important than quiet.

  Ora usah grusa-grusu. Mengko mlebu, tak wenehi sambel.Don't be grumpy. Later come in, I'll give you sambal. The universal solution to all negative emotions.

  Kowe mangan akeh, Ndhuk. Joko yo mangan. Kabeh mangan.You eat a lot, child. Joko also eats. Everyone eats. Mbah Timun's philosophy of abundance. There's always enough.

  Kowe, aku, Joko, Simbah Dukun, Pak Kades, wong liya liya.You, me, Joko, the Shaman, the village chief, other people. Mbah Timun's definition of "breakfast guest list."

  Wong liya. Mesti ana.Other people. There are always others. Because in a village, there are always others.

  Mas! Mas! Deloken iki!Brother! Brother! Look at this! Joko's favorite way to get attention.

  Wingi bengi aku weruh, Mas. Neng pinggir alas. Mripat abang.Last night I saw it, Brother. At the edge of the forest. Red eyes. The moment the chapter turns.

  Joko, kowe weruh kapan?Joko, when did you see it? Mbah Timun's voice changes here. Serious now.

  Pas mbok Sri mulih. Pas lawang menga.When grandmother Sri came home. When the door opened. Everything connects.

  Ndhuk, kudu mrana.Child, we have to go there. Not a suggestion. A statement.

  Ora. Neng alas. Ndelok mripat kuwi.No. To the forest. To see those eyes. Mbah Timun's courage. Old woman, young heart.

  Neng kono, Mas.There, Brother. Joko, the guide.

  HEY! Aku Joko! Iki Mas Raka! Iki Mbah Timun! Iki Kliwon!HEY! I'm Joko! This is Brother Raka! This is Mbah Timun! This is Kliwon! Joko's approach to introductions. Enthusiastic. Complete. Perfect.

  Sopo kowe? Keno neng kene?Who are you? What are you doing here? Mbah Timun, direct as always.

  Ngenteni.Waiting. One word. Heavy.

  Ngenteni apa?Waiting for what? The question everything hangs on.

  Kowe.You. The answer everything hangs on.

  Penjaluk. Wes suwe ora ketemu.Penjaluk. Long time no see. The creature knows the keris. The keris knows the creature.

  Aja cedhak-cedhak!Don't come closer! Mbah Timun, protector.

  Mbah Timun. Wong tuwa sing pinter masak sambel. Anaké Budhe Jum. Mbahmu wong pertama buka lawang.Mbah Timun. The old woman who cooks good sambal. Child of Budhe Jum. Your grandmother was the first to open the door. The creature knows everything.

  Kowe ngerti mbahku?You know my grandmother? Mbah Timun, surprised. Rare.

  Kabeh ngerti Mbahmu. Dheweke sing mbukak lawang pertama. Dheweke sing mulang kita ngenteni.Everyone knows your grandmother. She was the first to open the door. She taught us to wait. Ancestors matter. Always.

  Mas, iki kancaku. Ora usah wedi.Brother, this is my friend. No need to be scared. Joko, the bridge.

  Ya. Wingi aku dolan kene, diajak nggambar. Jare, aku iso weruh masa depan.Yes. Yesterday I came here to play, he invited me to draw. He said I can see the future. Joko's gift. Revealed.

  Bocah iki duwe mata. Ora mata biasan. Mata sing weruh sing durung kelakon.This child has eyes. Not normal eyes. Eyes that see what hasn't happened yet. The creature confirms.

  Mbak Sri ngerti. Mbak Sri mulang aku nggambar opo sing tak delok.Grandmother Sri knows. Grandmother Sri taught me to draw what I see. The other grandmother. Connected.

  Jadi kowe iki sopo?So who are you exactly? Mbah Timun, getting to the point.

  Jeneng? Ora ono. Wong kene celuk "Penjaga". Wong liya celuk "Memedi". Anak-anak celuk "Mripat Abang". Joko celuk "Kon".A name? Don't have one. People here call me "Guardian". Other people call me "Ghost". Children call me "Red Eyes". Joko calls me "Buddy". Multiple names. Multiple identities. One creature.

  Kon. Soale konco.Buddy. Because friend. Joko's logic. Simple. Perfect.

  Kon. Aku seneng.Buddy. I like it. The creature accepts.

  Kowe Raka. Sing lahir neng kana, mati neng kana, urip neng kene. Sing nggawa Penjaluk. Sing bapake ilang.You're Raka. Born there, died there, lives here. Who carries Penjaluk. Whose father disappeared. The creature knows everything.

  Kabeh weruh bapakmu. Dheweke sing mbukak lawang kaping pindho. Dheweke sing bali karo keris. Dheweke sing bali tanpa tangan.Everyone knows your father. He was the second to open the door. He came back with the keris. He came back without hands. The story continues.

  Ora ono sing weruh. Mbukak lawang maneh. Ora tau bali.No one knows. Opened the door again. Never came back. The mystery deepens.

  Ndhuk.Child. Mbah Timun, softening.

  Bapakmu... dheweke mbiyen takon aku. Pitakonan sing padha karo kowe.Your father... he asked me once. The same question you're asking now. Generations repeating.

  Dheweke takon, "Mbah, opo kudu milih?"He asked, "Mbah, do I have to choose?" The question. Always the question.

  Aku ora jawab. Merga aku ora ngerti jawabane.I didn't answer. Because I didn't know the answer. Honesty. Painful. Real.

  Nanging saiki, Ndhuk, aku ngerti siji.But now, child, I know one thing. Wisdom. Finally.

  Ora usah milih, Ndhuk. Merga pilihanmu wes ngenteni kowe suwe.You don't have to choose, child. Because your choice has been waiting for you a long time. The answer. Not an answer. Something better.

  Mas, aku wedi.Brother, I'm scared. Joko, vulnerable.

  Wedi apa?Scared of what? Raka, caring.

  Aku weruh masa depan. Kadang apik. Kadang elek. Kadang... bingung.I see the future. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. Sometimes... confusing. The burden of seeing.

  Mripat iki... ora jahat, Mas. Mung ngenteni. Kaya kowe.These eyes... they're not evil, Brother. Just waiting. Like you. Joko's wisdom. Unexpected. Perfect.

  Banyak wong teka. Banyak lawang mbukak. Banyak sambel.Many people come. Many doors open. Much sambal. The future. According to Joko.

  Ya. Mbah Timun masak terus. Ora tau entek.Yes. Mbah Timun cooks forever. Never runs out. The best future. The only future that matters.