The bell had not rung in fifty years.
it hung from a wooden frame deeo within the forest, half-swallowed by vines and moss, its bronze surface dulled by time. The villagers called it Genta Bisik the Whispering Bell. They said it only said only rang when the veil was wounded.
Aryasa stood before it now, the kris at his side, the river stone his palm, the mask tucked beneath his robe. The jungle was silent. Even teh fireflies kept their distance.
Mangku Gede had spoken in riddles that morning.
"if the bell speaks, do not answer. i it falls silent, listen."
Aryasa didn't know what that mean. nBut he had learned to trust silence more that words.
He stepped closer.
The bell pulsed not with sound, but with memory.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
A gust of wind swept throught teh trees, and the bell rang.
Once.
Soft.
But the sound didn't fade. it echoed inward, into Aryasa's chest, into the stone, into the mask.
He dropped to his knees.
Vision surged.
He saw the Hidden Realms fractured, bledding,trembling. He swa guardians falling, masks shattering, light dimming.
And he saw a figure.
Not Rangda.
Not Barong.
Something new.
A child.
Eyes closed.
Floating between worlds.
Aryasa gasped. The Vision faded. The bell was silent again.
But the jungle was not.
From the shadows, a figure emerged cloaked in black, face hidden behing a mask of bone an feathers. its presence was cold. Familiar.
"You heard it,"
the figure said.
Aryasa stood. "Who are you?"
"A messenger. A wound. A warning."
The figure stepped closer. Its mask cracked slightly, revealing a glimpse of pale skin and a single eye—burning red.
"The veil is not dying. It is being killed."
Aryasa gripped the kris. "By who?"
"By those who remember too much. And those who refuse to forget."
The figure raised a hand. The bell rang again.
This time, the sound was sharp.
Painful.
Aryasa staggered back. The stone in his hand pulsed. The mask beneath his robe grew warm.
The figure vanished.
Mangku Gede was waiting at the shrine.
Aryasa placed the stone and mask before him.
"The bell rang," he said.
Mangku's face darkened. "Then the wound has opened."
Aryasa looked toward the jungle. The silence was gone. The veil was bleeding.
And somewhere, between realms, a child was waiting.