Four

“Wake up.”

The whisper was so faint it was almost inaudible. Yet something inside it carried enough force to yank Jaladri out of sleep instantly. And the very first thing he realized was that he was trapped in sleep paralysis—fully conscious, eyes open, but unable to move a single muscle.

It had happened to him before. What was unusual was the voice. He was certain he'd heard someone whisper.

Had it been real? Or was it one of the spirits rumored to haunt the estate? His family's residence had a reputation. Guards and servants regularly claimed to see headless ghosts wandering the grounds, giant black-furred creatures lurking in the gardens, or shrouded specters floating among the mango trees beside the pavilion.

Jaladri, however, had never seen any of them. Not once.

“Relax. I’m not a ghost.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a shadow standing in the corner of the room near the door. The figure was difficult to make out, almost completely swallowed by darkness.

But it was there. Definitely there.

Not a ghost?

“Correct. I’m not a ghost.”

The blood drained from Jaladri’s face.

Can he read my thoughts?

“That’s right.”

The voice sounded amused.

“I’m an ordinary human being with a few unusual talents. Reading minds happens to be one of them.”

Jaladri desperately tried to move his arms. Nothing. His legs. Nothing. Of course not. Sleep paralysis. All he could do was wait for his body to wake up.

Then a thought occurred to him. If the stranger could read minds, maybe he should stop thinking altogether.

“Nah, good.”

The shadow chuckled softly.

“You’ve stopped thinking. That's not a bad start. Ready for your lesson?”

Jaladri froze. Lesson? What lesson?

He remained rigid as the figure slowly approached the bed. One hand extended toward him. For a moment it looked as though the stranger intended to strangle him.

As the distance closed, more details emerged. The figure was remarkably tall. From Jaladri’s perspective, lying flat on his back, it almost seemed as though the stranger’s head touched the ceiling. The face remained impossible to distinguish.

Just darkness. A silhouette. The head itself appeared oddly pointed, as though covered by some kind of hood.

“I hear you're about to embark on your first adventure in the wider world.”

The stranger stopped beside the bed.

“You need a little preparation if you want your life to remain inside that ugly body of yours.”

His tone remained conversational.

“But first, you must become familiar with pain. Because death and danger feel very much the same.”

The shadow leaned closer.

“And they’re a lot less pleasant than fish-head curry or fried chicken with green chili.”

The hand struck. Hard. Directly into Jaladri’s solar plexus. Agony exploded through his body. The pain was so intense he forgot how to breathe. Jaladri was not the sort of person frightened by ghost stories. Physical pain, on the other hand—that was different. That was real.

And at that moment, terror wrapped icy fingers around his heart.

“Oh, one more thing.”

The stranger sounded almost cheerful.

“You aren’t unable to move because of sleep paralysis anymore.”

Jaladri’s stomach twisted.

“That was my strike. You won’t be able to move again until sunrise. So if you'd like to perform the dawn prayer, you'll have to do it spiritually. Your body is temporarily unavailable.”

If Jaladri had been capable of moving, his eyes would have bulged out of his skull. Until sunrise? Like this? With his chest feeling as though a horse had kicked through it?

“Control your breathing and the pain will lessen. But moving? Forget it. Not until morning. And if you suddenly need to urinate...”

The shadow shrugged.

“…Just wet the bed.”

Jaladri nearly exploded.

“What’s the problem?” the stranger sounded genuinely curious. “It happens. We call it bed-wetting. That’s enough for tonight’s lesson.”

The figure began retreating.

“I’ll visit again for the next one. It'll be much harder.  And much more painful.”

Then the stranger faded. Not vanished.

Faded. Like smoke dissolving into darkness. Bit by bit. Until there was nothing left but shadows. Silence reclaimed the room. Jaladri lay there listening to his own ragged breathing. A very long time passed before he managed to form a single coherent thought.

Who the hell was that?

***

“I have a question.”

Wisnumurti and Bajul both stopped eating and looked at him.

“What kind of question?” Bajul asked.

“When you're asleep and get sleep paralysis, can you see or hear things that aren't actually there?”

The two men exchanged puzzled glances.

“What happened?” Wisnumurti asked.

“Last night I had sleep paralysis. I couldn't move at all. Then someone appeared in my room.”

“Who?”

“I don't know. He said he want to teach me something.”

“Teach you what?”

“I don't know.” Jaladri frowned. “He never explained. Then my stomach started hurting like crazy. He told me I wouldn't be able to move until morning.”

“And?”

“I fell asleep again before I could find out.”

Bajul resumed eating.

“Was it a person or one of the ghosts haunting your room?”

“Probably a person.”

“How can you tell?”

“The back of my neck never tingled.”

Bajul snorted.

“Excellent investigative technique.”

Wisnumurti laughed.

“It was probably a dream.”

“No.” Jaladri shook his head. “I was awake. Completely awake.”

“That's exactly what people say about dreams. Sometimes you dream you're awake. You walk around, do things, talk to people. Everything feels real. Then suddenly you realize you're still dreaming and try to wake up.”

“And...?”

“You wake up,” a pause. “Only to discover that was a dream too.”

Jaladri blinked.

“That happens?”

“All the time.”

Wisnumurti stood and crumpled the banana leaf wrapping from his meal before tossing it into nearby brush. He wandered off toward the river to wash his hands.

“But yes, sleep paralysis often comes with hallucinations. People see things. Hear things.”

He splashed water over his face.

“So whatever visited you last night probably wasn't real.”

Jaladri looked unconvinced.

“Either a dream,” Wisnumurti continued, “or your eyes playing tricks on you.”

“Which proves something important,” Bajul rose to his feet.

“What?”

“You sleep too much.”

His palm crashed into Jaladri’s back. Hard. Jaladri nearly inhaled his breakfast. He erupted into a fit of coughing and immediately launched into a stream of profanity. Nearly every unpleasant animal known to mankind got mentioned. Wisnumurti and Bajul laughed so hard they nearly doubled over.

Whenever the three traveled together, Jaladri inevitably became the target. Partly because he was the cleanest and most refined among them.

Yes, he knew martial arts. But unlike the other two, he'd never truly experienced violence. Never fought for his life. Never faced a real enemy. His skills remained little more than an elegant hobby.

A source of pride. Not survival. And whenever real danger appeared, Bajul usually handled it. For his part, Bajul treated Jaladri more like an annoying younger brother than the son of one of the wealthiest men in Karang Bendan. Especially when Ki Somanagara wasn't around.

“Come on,” Wisnumurti called after returning from the river. “We need to get moving. If we want to reach Kenipir before sunset, we'd better leave now.”

Still muttering curses under his breath because of Bajul’s surprise attack, Jaladri climbed down to the river to collect water. As he did, he found himself reluctantly considering the possibility that Wisnumurti might be right.

Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe sleep paralysis had fooled his senses. Looking back on it now, the entire experience already felt strangely distant.

Blurred around the edges. In fact, he could no longer remember exactly what the shadowy visitor had said. Only fragments remained. Like pieces of a dream fading with the morning light.