Time keeps running (not sure to continue it or not)_

back to the past

Indo couldn't respond. His mind screamed a single, undeniable truth: He's dead. I killed him nine years ago.

Indo: (whispering) "You... You're alive."

PKI's expression softened, concern flashing in his eyes as he set the tray down on a nearby table. He crossed the room in a few strides, placing a hand on Indo's forehead.

PKI: "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Indo shook his head quickly, forcing a weak smile.

Indo: "No, it's... nothing. Just a weird dream."

PKI: "Well, snap out of it, Indo. You'll be late for sparring with the BKR Commander if you don't hurry. And you know how he get when you skip training."

Indo: (barely audible) "Sparring...?"

PKI raised an eyebrow, smirking.

PKI: "Yes, sparring. Honestly where's your head today?

PKI: "And hurry up and get dressed. Nusan already waiting. he won't be happy if we're late for another council meeting."

Indo: (confused) "Council meeting...?"

PKI: (irritated) "Yes, the council meeting. Honestly, you're acting weird."

He left the room with a soft laugh, his footsteps fading into the distance. Indo stood frozen, his thoughts like a whirlwind.

Indo fell into a chair near his desk, holding his head.

Indo: (saying to himself) "This can't be..."

His words stopped as his eyes fell on something that hadn't been there a moment ago.

A black book.

The book lay innocently on the desk, its leather cover gleaming faintly in the morning light. Indo's breath hitched. He reached for it with trembling hands and opened it.

The pages were blank at first. Then, red writing began to scribble across the paper, each word etched into it:

"Welcome back to the moment when it all began."

Indo's hands gripped the edge of the book.

The writing shifted, rippling as if alive:

"This is a chance to rewrite what's broken. To save what's lost."

Indo's jaw clenched as memories flooded his mind—betrayal, slaughter, lives stolen before his eyes.

The writing moved again:

"Every choice has a price. The threads of time are fragile. Will you pay the price?"

Indo slammed the book shut, his breath coming in short gasps.

But the book didn't disappear. Its presence was undeniable, like a sinister promise.

Indo clenched his fists, his mind racing. He wanted to bring someone back—to take away the pain of loss. Instead, he had been thrown into his own past, back into the life he had lived.

Indo: (to himself, firmly) "Okay. This time it's going to be different. I won't let that happen again, it's time to change the history."

He turned toward the door, but a voice stopped him in his tracks—a voice that echoed from every corner of the room, low and resonant.

Voice: "Change history? Or make history something worse?"

Indo froze, his fists clenching.

Indonesian version