The night had unfolded completely now.
And yet, the sky was awake — full of stars. Not the diluted glimmers Kola had known from the city, drowned out by electric light and glass buildings, but the kind of stars that looked back. Bright. Cold. Infinite.
Above the dark sea, the last trails of glowing green dust floated upward like reverse snowfall — the remnants of monsters returned to Anima, disintegrating softly, slowly, like fireflies too tired to keep glowing.
Kola watched them.
He wasn't sure why, but it made him think of Omegamon.
Not in a morbid way — more like… appreciation.
He glanced at the Digimon hovering nearby in his small form, his crimson cape catching the breeze.
"Omegamon..." Kola murmured, his voice low beneath the hush of the waves.
The knight didn't look away from the ocean. "Hm… yes?"
Kola hesitated, then spoke again, softer this time. "You're not going to leave… right?"
Omegamon was silent for a second — then turned, slowly, eyes gentle.
"I will remain," he said, "until the very end."
That was enough.
Neither Kola nor Dian responded. They just sat there for a while longer, Oren curled against Dian's side, Blumon now dozing like a lump of sleepy jelly on her lap. The air smelled of brine and faint jasmine. Somewhere in the distance, the low call to prayer echoed across the rooftops, signaling the final prayer of the day.
Then Sir Agrama's voice broke the quiet.
"You should come back to our house. It's not far. No need to sit here in the wind."
Kola blinked, startled slightly by the old man's calm tone.
"Ah, thank you, sir… but we're going to head back to Sulawesi later tonight. Ten, maybe."
"It's barely six," Jalu said, already stretching his arms and bouncing on his heels. "Plenty of time. C'mon, Grandpa makes tea that can stop wars."
Kola looked to Dian.
She just shrugged.
And so they went.
The walk took them off the beach and past the plaza, where the last of the vendors were packing up their stalls. Fried tofu oil still lingered in the air, and a few motorcycles buzzed past them like flies darting for home.
But as they turned from the open streets into a narrow alley behind a quiet masjid, things began to shift.
The light fell away.
No streetlamps lined the path here — only dim porch lights and the occasional glint of light from a television flickering inside shuttered windows. The buildings were spaced farther apart. Trees grew taller here, older, the kind whose roots curled like sleeping serpents beneath moss-covered stone.
They walked in single file now, the shadows deepening with every step.
"Where are we going?" Dian asked under her breath.
Kola didn't know either, but Jalu turned around, flashing a grin. "Not far now."
"Earlier you said its not far..." Kola complain with flat face.
"Well, now you know im lied." Jalu make an evil smile in his lips.
Eventually, the alley narrowed into a dirt path that forked behind a set of low stone walls. There, nearly hidden by a thicket of trees and bamboo, was a gate — nothing fancy, just bound stalks lashed together by twine. Jalu pushed it open with both hands.
Inside was a clearing.
And in that clearing, nestled between trees and mist and distant silence, were three small wooden homes.
Not houses, exactly — more like ancient cottages. Each had slanted roofs with clay tiles, carved window shutters, and bamboo wind chimes that rattled softly. There was no one else in sight. No passing cars. No overhead wires.
It felt like a pocket folded out of the world.
"Looks like we're the first ones home," Jalu said, clearly pleased.
Sir Agrama nodded. "Everyone else was posted farther out. I stay near the beach to monitor the Dust."
They entered the middle house.
It was warm inside — not just from the light, but from the scent. Old sandalwood, boiled herbs, maybe a hint of roasted peanuts from the kitchen.
The living room was small and modest. Woven mats lined the floor, and a low table sat between two cushioned benches. On one wall hung an embroidered cloth of a mountain and moon. Against another wall was a wide bookshelf, filled with books — old, thick, with worn edges and strange titles.
Above the shelf, mounted near the ceiling, was a small white modem. A single green light blinked slowly.
"Heh," Dian leaned toward Kola and whispered, "they've got Wi-Fi."
Sir Agrama heard her and chuckled. "Of course we do. We're not monks in the forest."
Dian gave a sheepish smile. "Right…"
"Sit, relax," the old man offered, waving toward the cushions. "Dinner will be ready shortly."
Kola and Dian both hesitated, but finally eased down. Oren hopped into a corner and curled into a lazy loaf on the mat.
Before disappearing into the kitchen, Jalu placed a small ceramic bowl in front of Oren — cat food, fresh and fragrant. The cat meowed once, then began eating contentedly.
"Oh! The Wi-Fi password's on the bookshelf," Jalu added with a grin. "Under the sticker with the butterfly."
Kola nodded, grateful. He hadn't had internet in days — his prepaid data had run out, and he usually relied on his part-time job's café network.
It reminded him — his shift was supposed to start at 8 PM tonight.
He sighed. Not happening.
As he typed the password into his phone, Jalu suddenly reappeared. This time, holding something thick.
A book.
It looked ancient — bound in faded leather, with no visible title on the cover. The boy's face was all mischief as he leaned in.
"Here," he whispered, glancing toward the kitchen. "Don't tell Grandpa I gave you this. Just say you found it on the shelf."
He gave them a wink and a double thumbs-up before darting out again.
Kola and Dian exchanged a look.
Then slowly, Kola opened the book.
The first page revealed the title, written in elegant but old handwriting:
"The Fallen Stars"
Kola read it aloud, his voice hushed.
Dian leaned in. The next page held a single line:
"This is a reminder for those humans blessed — and cursed — with the ability to see what should remain hidden. Know this: a fallen star may shine beautifully… but when it lands, joy will vanish, and lives will be lost without meaning."
The room went quiet.
The wind outside rustled the trees.
And in that little house beyond the light of the town, something shifted — like the air had grown aware of them.
The room was silent — almost too silent — the kind of quiet that made even the smallest rustle of pages feel like thunder in the air.
Kola sat with the thick, leather-bound book resting open on his lap. The glow from the simple ceiling light painted everything in soft gold. Shadows stretched across the walls, long and tired, cast by the thin curtains swaying in the night breeze.
Beside him, Dian leaned in with furrowed brows, her hands gripping the edge of the couch cushion. Omegamon floated gently above them, arms crossed, but his eyes fixed sharply on the pages — as if even he was uncertain what to make of it.
"This book is… weird," Dian murmured.
Kola nodded. "Yeah. Like something out of those creepy fantasy films. Ancient relics and cursed pages."
"It's not cursed," Omegamon added, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.
"You're not sure, are you?" Kola asked, squinting at him.
Omegamon hesitated, then hovered a little closer to the book. "I tried scanning it. Its material — the ink, the leather, even the fiber of the paper — they all resist precise dating. It defies any carbon-based approximation or molecular aging. I can't estimate how old it is."
"You mean like... carbon dating?" Dian asked, tilting her head.
"Yes. Or in my case, macro-molecular scan indexing," Omegamon replied flatly.
Kola frowned. "So it's either really old... or something else entirely."
He turned the page again.
And the three of them went still.
The next spread was illustrated in intricate, hand-drawn murals. Ancient lines. Soft pigments, faded but still vibrant. The kind of style that belonged in temples or forgotten tombs.
But it wasn't just ancient.
It was them.
There, in stylized renderings, was a figure unmistakably meant to be Kola — shaggy hair, gray hoodie, and a sword with a glowing blue gem. In the next panel, Omegamon descended from the sky in his towering form. Then Kola standing before the twin mango trees, and the world beyond them carved in brushstrokes of swirling light and dark.
Dian gasped.
Kola turned another page. His fingers trembled.
The murals continued — telling everything.
The ruined garden. Klaus' grave. The treasure. The portal back. The golden coins. The awkward morning in his kost room. Meeting Dian on campus. The arrival of the boy king, Kardias, and his masked soldiers. Omegamon's flight across the sky. Palabuhan Ratu. Blumon emerging from the waves. The glowing marble. Sir Agrama and Jalu. The fish-headed monsters.
Everything.
Everything that had happened.
And then — a page neither of them were ready for.
It showed the very room they were sitting in now — the couch, the bookshelves, the floor rug with its faded red trim — and there they were, all five of them: Kola, Dian, Omegamon, Oren curled by their feet, and Blumon resting in Dian's lap. All of them gathered around the very book Kola was holding now.
As if the book was watching itself.
Dian's lips parted, her face pale.
"This isn't possible…" she whispered.
Kola didn't reply. His eyes were locked on the next page.
He turned it.
And froze.
The mural now shifted in tone — dramatically.
Gone were the warm colors and safe rooms. This page bled with fire. Burned soil. Black skies. Broken towers and twisted metal. A world in collapse. Swords shattered in dust. Trees charred into ash. In the distance, a mountain crumbled into the sea. And beneath it all — barely visible — silhouettes of people screaming, arms reaching toward a sky that no longer answered.
There was no caption.
No name.
Just destruction.
Dian covered her mouth. "What… is this?"
Kola stared, cold sweat prickling down his neck. The hairs on his arms stood on end. A pressure settled in the room — something like dread, but older. Quieter. A silence so deep, it almost hummed.
Omegamon floated backward slightly, as if recoiling.
"This page…" he murmured, "should not exist."
Kola's hand hovered over the next page, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't want to see more. He had to see more.
But then—
"Kids," came a calm voice.
The three of them jumped.
Standing at the doorway was Sir Agrama, holding a wooden tray with steaming bowls and a pitcher of tea. His face was kind — unreadable — but something in his gaze said he knew exactly what they'd just seen.
"Dinner's ready," he said softly.
The room was silent.
Kola closed the book slowly, hands shaking just a little.
Dian sat back, still staring at the cover.
The book didn't glow. It didn't hum. It just sat there. Innocent. Quiet.
But nothing about it felt harmless anymore.
And neither of them noticed Oren, who had stopped eating his food and was now staring directly at the book — ears pulled back, tail rigid, and fur standing slightly on end.
The dining room stretched wider than the house's humble exterior should have allowed. Wooden walls bore patterns of waves and constellations, and the ceiling beams hung with old brass lanterns that swayed slightly with the evening breeze. Warm yellow light wrapped around everything, gentle and soft — like a memory.
Kola sat frozen in his chair. Dian, just beside him, still held her spoon mid-air. Omegamon hovered behind them, arms crossed, his head bowed slightly as if wrestling with a thought that didn't have a shape.
Despite the comfort of the meal, their minds were elsewhere — still circling that strange, ancient book.
The table before them was a feast: plates overflowing with traditional dishes, served with care and ritual. Golden, crispy ayam goreng lengkuas glistened beside a bowl of steaming sayur asem, its tangy aroma rising in clouds. A tall cone of nasi uduk sat in the center, decorated with crisp tempeh, peanuts, and sliced cucumber. Eggs in balado sauce shimmered like red jewels on clay dishes, surrounded by tiny bowls of sambal and fried anchovies.
It was a banquet fit for kings — but none of them were eating.
Dian furrowed her brow. "Wait... how was this cooked so fast?"
Jalu, cheerful as ever, tapped his spoon to the table. "Watch this."
With a snap of his fingers, the teapot in the center floated an inch off the wood and began to pour itself gently into each of their cups.
Kola nearly fell out of his chair.
Dian jerked back. "That's—magic."
"Telekinetic?" Omegamon added, blinking once.
"Both, sort of," Jalu replied proudly. "We call it Amplification. You channel your intent into an object — guide it with purpose and energy. And then… it listens."
He grinned, pleased with their stunned faces.
But Sir Agrama cleared his throat. "Alright, enough show and tell. The food's hot. Let's not waste it."
And so, they ate.
And it was divine.
Kola had never tasted food like this — not in years. Every bite hit him with warmth, like someone reaching into his soul and gently stitching old tears. He didn't say it aloud, but he was grateful. Deeply.
The warmth didn't last.
As he set down his spoon, Kola glanced at Omegamon, who now hovered a little closer.
Kola cleared his throat.
"There's something I need to ask," he said, his voice low. "That book. The Falling Stars. Why are we in it?"
Jalu stiffened.
Sir Agrama paused mid-bite.
Dian leaned in. "It shows… us. Everything. From the moment Kola met Omegamon. The hidden world. The sword. The twin trees. Even this house. It's all there."
Jalu blinked. "Wait, seriously? I didn't even think it had real pages—just thought it looked cool…"
Sir Agrama set down his spoon. His gaze hardened.
"What else did you see?"
Kola looked at Dian, who nodded again.
"A battlefield," Kola said. "Swords shattered. Fire everywhere. The land torn apart. And a symbol — the twin trees."
Sir Agrama gripped the edge of the table tightly. His voice dropped.
"You found them. The Twin Trees. You actually stood beneath them."
Omegamon's tone turned sharp. "This changes everything."
But before another word could be spoken—
A scream tore through the air.
"Grandfather!"
Outside.
Someone was yelling. Urgent. Breathless. Frantic.
All four of them shot to their feet. Sir Agrama was already at the door. He flung it open.
A wave of forest air rushed in — but with it came panic.
Figures emerged from the darkness. People. The other guardians.
Men and women in batik and sarongs, some still carrying weapons, others with flickering crystals in their palms. They sprinted through the bamboo gate, their faces pale.
One of them stumbled up the steps.
"Ships—!" she cried. "Dozens. No—hundreds! They've surrounded the sky above the cliffs!"
Kola rushed to the door.
And then...
He saw them.
Ships.
Massive, airborne fortresses.
Like floating castles made of white steel and glowing bone, carved with ancient runes that shimmered faint blue. Wings spread wide like mechanical birds of prey, trailing light in their wake. Their engines rumbled like distant thunder — deep, cold, inhuman.
There were so many.
They blotted out the stars.
Above them all, a central vessel loomed.
Bigger than the rest. Regal. Its hull shaped like a throne carved from ivory and stormclouds. It pulsed with pale gold energy, and atop its deck stood a child-shaped silhouette.
Still.
Watching.
A glint of gold in the eyes.
Kardias.
The White Emperor.
He had come.
The forest went silent.
Not a bird. Not a whisper.
Then — a vibration rolled through the ground. The hum of engines shifting into attack position. Above the trees, the air crackled as the fleet began to descend.
The light from the ships grew harsher.
Sir Agrama stepped forward, his hand glowing as sand around the house began to rise — drawn to his palm.
Jalu's wide grin had vanished. His hands trembled slightly, even as he took position beside his grandfather.
Kola felt it.
That old, cold fear. Deeper than instinct.
But mixed with it — something new.
Resolve.
He turned to Omegamon.
The knight's eyes burned with blue fire.
They were surrounded.
And the sky had fallen.