A bright morning on the school bus, laughter echoed among the students, blending with the chirping of birds to form a beautiful symphony. The day felt so lovely.
So smooth.
So perfect.
Until…
The voice first came inside the bus.
The sky had turned gray by late afternoon, rain streaking across the windows soo impatient. The smell of gasoline mixed with damp seat fabric. His friends laughed, some scrolled through their phones, while others talked about exams, about futures that still ordinary.
Arga sat by the window after handing out drinks to his classmates. His head rested against the cold glass. And in the middle the rumble of the engine and the joyful noise of his friends,
He heard a whisper.
Arga.
He opened his eyes. No one had called him. Satrio was still joking around. Adam laughed loudly, His head shines so bright.
Elara sat a few seats ahead, gazing calmly out the window.
Arga.
This time it was Louder. Like a voice that did not come from outside, But from a crack within his own skull.
You will be chosen.
His heart beat faster. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. "Maybe I'm just tired," he muttered, but the voice did not stop.
The world will fracture. And when it does, only you will remain standing.
He opened his eyes sharply. No one was looking at him. Nothing had changed. Yet something felt as though it was waiting.
Arga didn't know who was speaking. He only knew the voice never introduced itself. And somehow, He felt it had known him long before he ever knew himself.
The world truly fractured. Light swallowed the entire class. The symphony of happiness turned into a sonata of terror within milliseconds.
An unfamiliar land greeted them. And in the summoning hall, when a glowing symbol appeared on his palm. When the title Hero Incarnation was carved in golden light.
The voice returned.
See?
Its tone was gentle. Too gentle.
I am never wrong.
Arga stood in the center of the hall, all eyes fixed on him. Cheers of admiration. Gazes filled with hope. And the voice whispered again and again.
They are nothing. Only you matter in this world.
His classmates' cheers grew louder, while the voice in his head continued murmuring.
To save this world, you don't need them.
Arga clenched his fist. He did not answer.
A star does not need other sources of light to shine.
The voice kept pressing into his thoughts.
Arga lifted his chin, forcing a smile. Trying to avoid the whisper that explode inside his mind.
No. He would not listen. He would not become someone who looked down on his friends. He was not like that.
But the voice laughed softly.
Not angry.
Not forceful.
Just waiting.
***
The night of the banquet. Candles floated like tamed stars. Dancers moved like a beautiful Aurora across a snow-filled sky.
Arga spoke with nobles, trying to adjust to a title way too large for a simple student. Then he saw,
Kafka.
Standing with Elara. The two of them. Speaking softly.
Elara smiled faintly. The voice hissed.
Look.
Arga turned his face away.
Even before this world collapsed, she was always near you.
The tone shifted.
But now?
The voice grew louder than the harp music.
You are the center. Why does she still pay attention to him?
Arga's heart pounded. He did not like the direction of his thoughts.
He did not like how the voice pressed against a small crack inside him, a crack he had long ignored.
Fortunately, a kingdom's butler approached.
"Excuse me sir Arga Archbishop Magnus requests your presence with Mrs. Elara."
Like a hand pulling him back from the edge.
Arga and Elara stood before Magnus. The room was filled with white light.
Too white.
Too clean.
Magnus stared at Arga for a long moment. A gaze that did not just a look, But judged. "You feel it, don't you?"
Arga remained silent.
Magnus continued.
"The tremor of the Dungeon that will emerge in a few days."
Arga nodded slowly. Magnus smiled. "The heavens have chosen you."
He did not mention God. Did not name who spoke behind fate. But his gaze implied something deeper.
Elara looked confused, not understanding what Magnus meant. The bishop noticed immediately and turned to her.
"Elara," Magnus said gently, "you are the light that will support him."
After that, he gave his blessing to the two heroes who would lead their friends to conquer the Dungeon in the coming days.
Arga bowed respectfully. But inside his head, The voice returned.
See? Even he knows.
Arga ground his teeth. He didn't know who "the heavens" were. He didn't know who was speaking in his mind. And for the first time, He feared they were the same thing.
At dinner, forks and knives scraped against plates, food arranged perfectly on top of the long dining table.
Adam mocked Kafka.
Laughter began to rise. And the voice that had never introduced itself whispered louder.
Let it be.
Let them throw him aside.
He is nothing.
He is only a burden.
The words touched a dark side Arga did not want to admit. He had indeed once felt annoyed with Kafka.
Too weak.
Too passive.
Too… close to Elara.
But the voice did not stop.
Remove what is unnecessary. One hero is enough.
"Enough!"
Arga suddenly stood.
"We will not be heroes if we cannot protect one another."
The words came out not just for Kafka, but to fight the voice.
The room fell silent.
Yet the voice changed. It became deeper. Heavier.
You reject me?
Arga's head throbbed. His vision blurred. Then his body staggered and fell to the ground like a meteor striking the earth in the silent night. Panic filled the room instantly.
The smile of Seraphiel's statue felt too close. And the world went dark.
***
The next day.
Kafka was still thinking about the blood that had dripped from the statue's eyes.
He could not focus during training. Even the instructor's voice sounded so far.
After training, they were taken to the royal blacksmith's chamber.
Hot metal. Blazing embers. They were called one by one. But before everyone had their turn, Mr. Rahmat raised his trembling hand.
"What is it, Divine Detective?" asked the royal blacksmith.
"I can't hold it anymore, may I use the restroom?" Mr. Rahmat replied.
The blacksmith glanced at several guards, then nodded. Mr. Rahmat was allowed to go, accompanied by a few guards.
Something is definitely wrong.
"Why does someone need guards just to relieve himself?" Mr. Rahmat thought.
After that, the names were called again one by one.
Adam received a lightning spear engraved with gold.
Satrio obtained a massive rune-layered axe.
Ilham acquired twin lightweight daggers.
Elara received a silver staff with a soft blue crystal.
Nadia was given an elegant longbow.
Yogi received a war iron ball with a wind core.
Rina obtained heavy steel gauntlets.
The other students received their weapons as well.
Each weapon glowed when touched by its owner.
When it was Kafka's turn,
The blacksmith stared at him for a long moment.
"The hell is this? It doesn't show any resonance."
He set down his hammer.
"Sorry to say this young man, but you are not compatible with anything."
A few people chuckled.
Adam smirked. "Then let this fool carry our supplies."
Kafka lowered his head.
"Alright."
He accepted it. Without protest. His thoughts were still in chaos, he did not even notice Elara arguing with Adam to defend him.
***
Meanwhile, Mr. Rahmat had never truly gone to the restroom. He had managed to outplayed the guards with his skill. He slipped out unseen while the guards remained stationed at the restroom door.
His instincts screamed.
Why was Arga being treated directly by Magnus? Why was no one allowed to visit?
He sneaked forward. His steps silent. And through a crack in the door, He saw Magnus standing before Arga's unconscious body.
A faintly glowing magic circle.
Not white light.
But bluish.
Cold.
Magnus murmured something. A language he did not recognize. The air trembled. And suddenly, Magnus stopped.
Slowly.
He turned.
His gaze locked directly onto the crack in the door. Toward Mr. Rahmat.
Mr. Rahmat's heart stopped for a moment.
He stepped back.
Without a sound.
Returning to the corridor. Slipping quickly back into the restroom, so swiftly that even his shadow went unnoticed by the guards, then exiting with cold sweat lining at his head.
He knew. He had seen something he was never meant to see.
***
That night, the sky was dim. The stars felt distant.
Nadia walked quickly, intending to find Kafka. She wanted to tell him something.
About the sports storage room.
About the day Arga had beaten Adam and the others in their old world.
About the look on Arga's face back then.
Not the face of a hero.
But something different.
Yet her steps stopped. Under the night sky,
She saw Kafka. And Elara.
Standing close.
Too close.
Then,
Elara kissed Kafka.
Brief.
Gentle.
Time seemed to stop. The wind embraced two hearts that had fallen in love.
Enough to alter that small world forever.
Nadia froze. And not far from there,
Arga stood.
Just start to recover. The bones in his body just beginning to feel back again.
His body was still weak.
But his eyes were fully open.
He saw everything.
The voice returned.
Finally.
A small flame ignited in his chest.
Not the fire of courage.
Not the fire of justice.
But a quieter fire.
A darker one.
Jealousy.
And for the first time, Arga did not reject the voice.
He did not tell it to be silent. He simply stood there. Watching.
Letting the flame grow.
And in the distance, The statue of Seraphiel smiled in the dark. As if it knew, the first fracture was not in the world.
But in the hero's heart.
~To Be Continued~