Elsewhere, far beyond the mortal world, Havi's spirit drifted in silence.
"Where am I? What is this place?!" He whispered, his voice trembling as he gazed into the void.
Around him lay a vast expanse, veiled in a heavy shroud of black mist.
It smothered every horizon, concealing all that might have offered comfort or familiarity.
The air was thick with dread, and the emptiness pressed upon him with a weight he could not bear.
The place was strange, yet hauntingly familiar, as though it had once haunted his dreams.
A chill ran through him, and his body quivered.
He looked down at his hands. Pale, translucent, insubstantial, and then at his feet, which no longer touched the ground.
He was suspended in the air, without anchor, without earth beneath him.
"Is this only a dream?!" He murmured, confusion clouding his thoughts.
Fear began to consume him. His mind faltered, and panic rose like a tide.
He cried out, his voice echoing through the desolate silence, reverberating against the unseen walls of that forsaken realm.
"Impossible! Am I... am I already dead?!"
The words were heavy, reluctant, as though his lips resisted the truth they carried.
Yet the thought clung to him, relentless, and his spirit weakened beneath its weight.
Despair seized him. He screamed again, louder, his voice scattering into the void.
It travelled in every direction, yet no answer came.
No sound returned, no sign of life stirred.
Only the endless mist remained, swallowing his cries, leaving him alone in a realm where silence reigned eternal.
Havi pressed forward through the endless shroud of mist, his steps frantic though the ground beneath him was no ground at all.
His cries tore through the silence, desperate that someone, anyone, might hear and come to his aid.
"I must return!" He whispered, his voice trembling beneath the weight of despair.
"I must return!!!"
Yet the fog yielded nothing. No path appeared, no doorway back to the world he had lost.
The silence grew heavier, the chill more piercing, until at last he faltered.
Slowly, the bitter truth seeped into him. There was no way back. It was too late.
In that desolation, regret consumed him. He sank to his knees, though his body hovered in the void, and wept softly.
His sobs echoed faintly, swallowed by the darkness.
As tears slid down his cheeks, memories rose unbidden, like his life, his sins, and the shadows of his past.
He wondered if God would punish him for all he had done.
Fear filled his mind, leaving him powerless, resigned to whatever fate awaited.
Then, through the veil of sorrow, came gentler recollections.
He saw again his youth, when his parents were alive.
He remembered the warmth of their love, the happiness of simpler days.
As their only child, he had been cherished beyond measure.
Though their means were modest, they had fought tirelessly for his education, sacrificing themselves so that he might have a brighter future.
He recalled their struggles, their hunger borne in silence, their refusal to let him go without.
Even when they themselves starved, they ensured he was fed.
Such was their love. Pure, unyielding, and selfless.
And in the darkness of the afterworld, Havi felt the weight of that love more keenly than ever, a reminder of all that had been given, and all that he had squandered.
In time, his parents' sacrifices bore fruit.
Though born into modest means, Havi revealed a brilliance that set him apart.
At school he was ever among the finest, his name inscribed upon lists of honour, his achievements celebrated not only within the classroom but across the breadth of Telaga City.
His distinction carried him further still, earning second place at the provincial level in Hensa, a mere few points shy of the highest rank.
Such accomplishment marked him as a youth of promise, one whose intellect shone brightly against the limits of his circumstance.
Yet Havi's gifts were not confined to the mind alone.
He was admired for his handsome features, his tall and athletic frame, and a presence that drew the gaze of many.
Classmates, seniors, even students from other schools found themselves captivated.
Among them was Diana Galuh, his closest rival in scholarship and the holder of the province's first rank.
She cherished him in secret, though her affection was met always with gentle refusal.
Havi remained steadfast, his devotion to study unshaken.
Education was his highest calling, and his refusals bore no cruelty, only courtesy.
But fate, indifferent to promise, struck without warning.
In a single day all his happiness, his hopes, his purpose collapsed.
His parents, Ridho Setiawan and Saraswati, perished in a hit and run accident.
The perpetrator was never found, and until the end of Havi's life, the shadow of that tragedy remained unresolved.
That afternoon, which ought to have been radiant with joy, was destined instead to be shrouded in grief, for it marked Havi's seventeenth birthday.
He returned from school with lightness in his step, only to find his home besieged by a crowd.
Villagers pressed close, their faces etched with sorrow, while policemen spoke in hushed, grave tones with Sugiyatmono, the head of the village.
A chill of dread seized Havi. Breathless, he ran to Sugiyatmono, his voice trembling as he sought an answer.
The elder placed a hand upon his shoulder, offering words of patience and endurance, yet withholding the truth that lay heavy in the air.
Panic overcame him. He forced his way through the throng, his steps urgent, colliding with a policeman in his haste.
The officer did not rebuke him, but steadied him kindly and allowed him to pass.
At last he reached the room, and there he halted.
His parents lay before him, lifeless, wrapped in simple shrouds.
The stillness of their bodies was a reality too bitter to deny.
Havi's breath caught in his chest, and his cry broke forth, loud and unrestrained, echoing through the house.
What deepened the cruelty of the moment was the truth that this day was his seventeenth birthday.
A day that should have been crowned with happiness had become the darkest of his life, the day he lost everything.
After the burial of his parents, Havi felt his life hollow, stripped of warmth and meaning.
The house that had once been filled with tenderness now stood silent, its emptiness pressing upon him like a weight.
Bereft of direction, he stepped outside, hoping the air might soothe his troubled mind.
Yet that choice, made in grief, was the beginning of all the trials that would follow.
As he wandered without purpose, two figures emerged from the distance.
They were Rofik and Teguh, young men known not for honour but for mischief, their names whispered in connection with trouble rather than achievement.
Havi recognised them at once. Instinct urged him to avoid their path.
He quickened his pace, lowered his gaze, and sought to escape their notice.
But Rofik and Teguh saw his attempt to withdraw, and they did not relent.
They approached with faces arranged in sympathy, their voices low and measured as they offered condolences for the death of his parents.
Their manner seemed sincere, though something about it rang false.
Yet their words, soft and courteous, began to erode the fragile walls Havi had built around himself.
In his weakened state, he yielded to their kindness.
Their attentions and gentle concern gave him a semblance of comfort, a fragile sense of understanding that he so desperately craved.