Introduction
A barely paved path of trampled grass, slick with fresh mud, carries the distant thud of horses and the low murmur of voices from the downtrodden kampung (village). An oil lamp flickers, its weak glow casting long, warped shadows across the wooden walls of a poor man’s house. From beyond the bend looms a figure unfamiliar to these parts.
A man clad in luxurious hulubalang (kingsmen) attire. Reddish maroon cloth drapes his frame, embroidered with black and gold sleeves in the royal songket style. His slender hand—steady, ready—clasps a surian wood parang (machete). His features appear chiseled from stone, eyes catching the trembling light of the oil lamp as it dances across his gaze: Lord Canari Senyara Keturasan.
Above, a bright crescent moon hangs low, smiling back. Clouds gather and roll over the humble kingdom, cloaking it in dew-laced air and the lingering sting of old embers. Behind the dashing young lord, a smaller figure stands, emanating a warmth that cuts through the night’s damp chill.
A vibrant silk deep royal blue lapis lazuli cloth drapes across her shoulder, spilling over brown-tinted hair parted like a secret waterfall. A faint blend of floral and sandalwood trails her presence, weaving through the cool midnight dew that settles over this rural quiet. As she turns to face Canari, a gold necklace glints against her chest—three tiers, each bearing a jewel cradled in delicate traditional floral patterns. Her hair is strangely bare, adorned only with a few hibiscus flowers pinned at the back.
Princess Nala Amaraya Suralai speaks;
“We need twenty minutes more. The rest of the aid is still arriving. I promise—we’ll leave before sunrise.”
Canari holds her gaze, defiance warring with concern.
“We must move quickly. I can’t ensure your safety much longer out here.”
A spark of protest flashes across Nala’s face. She mutters a reply, but it is swiftly cut short by Canari’s voice—firm, low, unyielding.
“My words are: make haste, Nala.”
She exhales once, sharp and resigned.
“So be it.”
