Chapter 1
Deep in the southern state of Johor, Malaysia, stands Mount Ledang — a place wrapped in mist and legend.
Locals call it the mountain of spirits.
For centuries, it was said that Princess Gunung Ledang, a celestial being, once lived atop the peak.
Many believed she had vanished into another realm, leaving behind traces of her world — one of gold, beauty, and enchantment.
The most famous tale was the Golden Bridge, built to connect her kingdom to the mortal world.
But no one had ever seen it.
However, locals tell of a man who once encountered a witch and the vanished golden bridge on Mount Ledang.
His name was Azman — a weekend hiker with a big mouth and zero belief in old legends.
“Golden bridge? Fairy kingdoms? Please. It’s all grandma stories,” he laughed one night at the campsite.
His friends told him to stop mocking the spirits — Gunung Ledang wasn’t like other mountains.
But Azman only grinned.
“If the bridge is real, I’ll walk across it myself.”
That night, after everyone had fallen asleep, he sat outside his tent smoking.
The forest was silent — too silent.
Only the distant hum of insects and the occasional rustle of leaves.
Then he saw it.
A glow — faint at first, like fireflies dancing in the fog.
Then brighter.
And brighter still… until the trees around him shone gold.
Azman stood, frozen.
Before him, a bridge of pure gold stretched across the valley, floating in mid-air.
The rails gleamed, the floor shimmered like liquid sunlight.
He could feel heat radiating from it — and… whispers.
Soft, musical voices, like women singing far away.
Without thinking, he stepped closer.
The air grew heavy.
The whispers turned to laughter — distant, echoing.
He reached out a trembling hand toward the rail —
And then a voice hissed behind him.
Low. Old.
“Now you believe?”
Azman spun around — and saw her.
A hunched old woman, skin grey and cracked, hair long and matted like roots.
Her eyes glowed faintly gold, her mouth twisted in a grin that showed too many teeth.
The stench of rot filled the air.
Azman’s scream died in his throat.
The bridge flared once, blindingly bright — then vanished in an instant.
Darkness rushed back.
He collapsed, fainting where he stood.
When morning came, his friends found him sprawled outside the tent, pale and trembling.
“Eh, what happened to you?” one of them asked.
Azman didn’t answer at first.
He just stared into the trees, lips quivering.
Then he whispered, voice hoarse —
“The bridge is real… but it’s not meant for us.”
🌫️ Hikers say sometimes, on a quiet night at Gunung Ledang, you’ll see flashes of gold in the mist —
and if you follow them,
you’ll never come back.
