CESAGA

Crossing the sturdy wooden bridge near the base of the hill, Purnama and Suria could see locals going about their daily routines.

In the nearby paddy fields, villagers bent over to harvest rice, while others pushed wheelbarrows laden with charcoal, collected from the nearby mines, and finely cut wood, gathered from the surrounding forest.

Livestock—chickens, ducks, sheeps, and cows—wandered freely in the pastures, their sounds blending with the natural hum of the village.

The heart of the village pulsed along the main road, where businesses operated from dawn until dusk.

This road, the only one connecting the western regions to Renok, served as a critical artery for merchants making their way through.

Rows of wooden stalls lined the road, each sheltered beneath weathered cloth roofs.

Vendors offered everything from vibrant vegetables and fragrant spices to freshly butchered meat, intricately carved wooden ornaments, and traditional medicines.

The warm, earthy scent of charcoal mingled with the tang of ripe fruits, creating an intoxicating blend of aromas.

As Purnama and Suria approached, the lively shouts of street traders filled the air, each calling out to passersby, eager to showcase their wares.

"Fresh vegetables! Fresh vegetables! Three cabbages for just five SAGA!"

"POTATO PUFF! CHICKEN PUFF! SARDINE PUFF! Ten SAGA for ten puffs!"

"Treat your joint pain and bone aches with our special remedy! No SAGA? We accept pewter in exchange!"

"Step into the world of the Bunian! Our magical mushrooms ready to take you there—special offer for those buying in bulk!"

The traders' voices, a daily chorus, echoed through the vibrant main street, reminding them of Aurea's marketplace.

Purnama and Suria navigated the lively market, observing the flurry of activity as merchants and their entourages haggled over goods.

They moved slowly until they reached the village entrance—a worn, triangular wooden gate.

The old arch, draped in colorful but tattered cloth, displayed the village's name: 'JYALA,' painted in faded yellow on a weathered wooden sign.

Despite its humble appearance, Jyala was a well-known trading village, brimming with charm.

"Suria, let's head inside to rest and plan our next move. Too many people out here," his gaze drawn to the dilapidated arch above.

"I'm with you. Hopefully, there's a food stall inside—I'm starving," Suria rubbed her stomach.

Beneath Jyala's lively trading scene lay a darker reality. The villagers were bound in chains of servitude, living under the control of the Rakshasha Puaka, Erabis, a monstrous creature of the Puaka species.

Erabis's cruel decree casts a shadow over Jyala. His soldiers are ordered to seize one member from every family as a hostage.

These captives will only be freed if their families pay a steep price within a limited timeframe.

Any defiance or plea for aid from external powers will result in the hostage's gruesome torture and death, followed by the capture of another family member.

Periodically, they are forced to gather the ransom and deliver it to Renok, where they are granted a brief, heartbreaking visit with their captured family members.

Those who cannot pay face a horrific punishment: their loved one's body is displayed as a gruesome warning, hanging from a wooden pole before the Jyala arch.

Such acts of cruelty have occurred before, casting a long shadow over the village and leaving them all deeply saddened.

To prevent such tragedies from happening again, they have banded together, supporting each other and sharing the burden of the ransom. This united effort fuels their relentless resistance against Erabis's tyranny.

For 6 years, the people of Jyala have suffered under Erabis' rule. His empire thrives on fear and manipulation, feeding his insatiable greed.

The resources extorted from the villagers—whether food or metals—are funneled into the Darkseed army, fueling the production of weapons for both defense and destruction.

The village, a tranquil oasis away from the hectic main road, is filled with the gentle hum of daily life.

As the twins entered, they saw a line of horse, donkey, and buffalo carriages resting in the large, open square where locals were filling up on goods.

The gathering square, usually a vibrant hub of activity, felt strangely subdued.

The village itself was a collection of weathered houses, their wooden frames and cloth-patched roofs showing signs of neglect.

Many of the houses leaned precariously, their paint peeling, revealing the bare wood beneath. The stalls lining the square were equally dilapidated, their wooden counters cracked and splintered.

The villagers themselves looked weary, their clothes worn and patched, their faces etched with lines of hardship.

Most of the elderly shopkeepers tended to their stalls in the village, leaving those young with more energy to handle trade on the mainroad.

Observing the bustling trade on the mainroad contrasted sharply with the desolate scene within the village, raising questions about the underlying situation. It was clear that something was amiss.

As they wandered through the area, their eyes were drawn to a row of food shophouses nestled against a curving rock wall, which provided a natural overhang, offering protection to the end of Jyala.

One shop, in particular, caught their attention with its timeworn exterior, colorfully adorned with depictions of satay.

"Purnama, it's the end of the road and our best Earth foods are just around the corner, ah, finally, we can eat in peace," Suria said, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement.

"Do you notice something is not right in here, Suria?" Purnama asked, his gaze sweeping across the Jyala village.

"Jeez, Purnama, can we do that thinking after we eat? I need to fill my empty stomach now," Suria replied, her own concerns momentarily forgotten.

"Yea, sure..." Purnama agreed, though his mind was already grappling with the unsettling atmosphere that permeated the village.

The twins entered the shop and slipped into a quiet corner, taking their seats at a worn wooden table.

A hush fell over the small shop, broken only by the sizzling sounds of satay cooking on the grill, tended by an elderly shopkeeper.

The vibrant energy that usually pulsed through this bustling village seemed to have vanished, replaced by an unsettling stillness.