There was no night wind.
No chirping insects.
Even the moon hid behind a veil of gray clouds, refusing to shine upon the world below.
The forest surrounding Rogo Pavilion felt as if it were holding its breath—
a suffocating silence, thick and unnatural, weighing heavily on every leaf and branch.
It was the kind of silence that came before a storm…
or a slaughter.
Ajin descended the slippery stone steps that wound down from the pavilion.
Every step felt heavier than the last, as if molten lead clung to his ankles.
Elder Rogo's orders echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving:
"Do not return."
"Go to the town."
Ajin swallowed hard.
His throat was dry.
The Forbidden Scroll hidden beneath his robes pressed coldly against his stomach—
as if the thing inside it was awake
…watching
…waiting.
He reached the end of the forest path leading toward town.
Before leaving, he turned back.
From this distance, the pavilion looked peaceful, almost serene.
The faint glow of oil lamps flickered between the buildings.
Then he noticed it.
A thin column of black smoke rising from the direction of the kitchen.
Ajin blinked.
Are… are they cooking?
His naïve mind tried to latch onto the most harmless explanation.
He didn't know.
Couldn't know yet.
That smoke wasn't from a stove.
It was the beginning of a tragedy.
At the crossroads where forest met the outer road, he saw them again.
Three men.
The same three he had glimpsed earlier from behind the wooden pillar.
They now stood leisurely beneath a large tree, leaning their backs against the trunk like hunters waiting for prey to wander into their trap.
Their leather armor was pitch-black, unadorned—
except for the faint symbol of a blind-eyed black dragon engraved on the shoulder plates.
Ajin approached, head bowed, heart hammering.
Their eyes followed him.
Cold.
Measuring.
Predatory.
One of them spoke.
"This one?"
His voice was rough, like gravel scraping against metal.
The man at the center—tall, bald, with a scar across his cheek—snorted.
"No. Too scrawny. Not worth the trouble."
He spat on the ground.
"Let him pass. He's just a worm."
Ajin stiffened.
Worm.
Under any other circumstance, the insult would have cut deep.
Tonight, it sounded like mercy.
They didn't stop him.
Didn't question him.
They let him pass.
And for a moment—
Ajin felt something he wished he didn't.
Relief.
They're not after me. I'm safe.
So he walked faster.
But the farther he went from Rogo Pavilion, the heavier his chest became.
Something was wrong.
Horrifically wrong.
It wasn't exhaustion.
It wasn't fear.
It was an instinct deep inside him—
a tightness that threatened to burst.
At the next curve, he saw people running down the dirt road.
Villagers.
Families.
Women holding their children close.
Men tugging livestock in panic.
Faces pale.
Eyes wide with terror.
Ajin's heart dropped.
"Sir!" he called to a frantic older man. "What happened?"
The old man didn't slow down.
He only shouted while pulling his cow behind him:
"Soldiers! A battalion passed through at dusk—heading toward your pavilion!"
A woman nearby cried out,
"There were screams in the forest! Not human screams—something else—something awful!"
Ajin felt ice spread through his veins.
Screams?
Men?
Not human?
The old man yelled as he passed:
"Run, boy! Don't go to town! Something dark is stirring tonight!"
The villagers surged past him, fleeing toward the hills.
And Ajin stood alone in the road.
Frozen.
Elder Rogo's command echoed again:
"Go to the town. Do not return."
But his instincts screamed louder:
Something terrible is happening.
Something wrong. Horribly wrong.
Ajin tried to breathe, but his chest tightened.
Something inside him felt ready to rupture.
Loka's face flashed in his mind.
Then Bodin's laugh.
Then the shy girl tugging his sleeve.
Then—
the last look in Elder Rogo's eyes.
The look of a man sending away someone he loved
…because he knew he was about to die.
Ajin clenched his teeth.
"No," he whispered.
"No… no."
He remembered the words of the scar-faced man:
"Not important."
"Let him pass."
"Just a worm."
A worm.
A coward.
A nobody.
Ajin's hands trembled—
with fear
with guilt
with rage at himself.
"NO!"
He spun around.
He didn't care what Elder Rogo ordered.
He didn't care what danger awaited him.
He couldn't leave them.
Not like this.
Ajin ran.
He ran back toward the pavilion without hesitation—
without breath—
without sense.
His weak lungs burned.
His legs screamed.
Every stride felt like tearing himself apart from the inside.
But he ran anyway.
For the first time in his life, Ajin ran like he meant it.
Like his life depended on it.
Like the lives of others depended on it.
He sprinted up the slope, stumbling over roots and stones, panting hard enough to cough blood.
The forest that had been silent before now whispered around him—
branches trembling
leaves quivering
the air itself humming with dread.
The closer he got, the redder the night sky became.
It wasn't the moon.
It wasn't lanterns.
It was fire.
Ajin finally reached the top of the hill—the overlook where he could see the entire Rogo Pavilion spread across the valley.
He collapsed forward, gasping—
—and froze.
His breath died in his throat.
His mind went blank.
His heart stopped.
Because below him,
Rogo Pavilion was burning.
The roofs were split apart by explosions of flame.
Walls were collapsing.
Smoke roared into the sky like a living beast.
The training yards were drenched in firelight.
Figures ran—some limping, some crawling, some falling.
Ajin pressed a trembling hand to his chest.
"No…"
His voice broke, barely audible.
"No… please no…"
He staggered forward, gripping a tree trunk for support as he stared down in horror.
He could see silhouettes—
some clad in Rogo's robes
some in dark armor of Bayang-Purwa.
Sword flashes.
Sparks.
Shouts.
Screams.
He heard Darta yelling in fear.
He saw Keno topple to the ground as a blade pierced his chest.
He saw adult students falling like straw dolls.
He saw—
Ajin's legs gave out.
He fell to his knees in the dirt.
Tears blurred his vision.
He knew he wasn't supposed to be here.
He knew Elder Rogo wanted him safe.
But he also knew—
This was the night Rogo Pavilion died.
And he was forced to watch it happen.
A hand pressed against his stomach.
The Forbidden Scroll beneath his robes was warm.
Too warm.
Like something inside it was reacting—
awakening.
Ajin gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand.
His body shook uncontrollably.
His legs felt like they would snap with each step.
But he moved.
Because no matter how terrified he was—
He had to go back.
He had to.
Loka's laugh.
Bodin's mischief.
The orphans.
The elder.
They were down there.
They needed him.
Even if he was weak.
Even if he was nothing.
Even if he was a worm—
He had to try.
"Hold on," he whispered through tears.
"I'm coming… please hold on…"
He took a single step toward the burning pavilion—
—and the Forbidden Scroll pulsed against his ribs.
As if calling to him.
As if warning him.
As if welcoming him.
Ajin didn't know yet.
But this night would shatter everything he had ever been.
This night would break his heart.
And only a broken heart could awaken the power sealed within the scroll.
Tonight…
Baja Angkara Batin would choose its master.