Empu Wirasena's collected papers arrived by midday, carried in a locked cedar chest that had sat untouched in the scholar's own quarters since his capture, and the sight of it made something in Rama's chest ache in a way he had not expected. Wirasena had spent months chasing the shrine's mystery with nothing but patience and curiosity, and now his life's careful work was being pawed through by strangers because he could no longer do it himself.
Sekar spread the papers across the camp table with the same methodical care she brought to everything, sorting sketches of the shrine's original carving from Wirasena's own dense, cramped notes, translating the older script under her breath as she went. Ardhana and Wibawa stood at either shoulder, and their daughter sat close by on an overturned crate, quiet and watchful in a way that made Sekar glance at her every few minutes to check she was truly all right.
