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

Will they be the same??

*Bab 21: my parents... Is returning from the war?*

English version

Indo walked alongside Nusan, the silence between them stretching long and thin. The marble halls around them gleamed, the soft glow of afternoon light spilling through the high windows. Dust motes danced in the golden haze, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a lute carried on the breeze.

It should have been a peaceful moment.

But Indo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing—something important, something real.

He studied Nusan out of the corner of his eye. His brother’s posture was straight, his expression calm. Too calm. There was no tension in his shoulders, no signs of the weight he had once carried. Indo had spent years watching Nusan bear the burden of responsibility, had seen the exhaustion settle in the lines of his face long before it should have.

And yet, now… there was none of that.

A quiet unease curled in Indo’s stomach.

Then, finally, Nusan spoke.

Nusan: “There’s news.”

His voice was measured, carefully neutral, but Indo didn’t miss the way his fingers brushed against the small scroll tucked into his belt.

Indo slowed his steps.

Indo: “What kind of news?”

Nusan pulled the letter free, his fingers smooth as he unrolled the parchment. The wax seal—his mother’s personal crest—was already broken, the edges of the paper slightly bent from being read more than once.

Nusan: “A letter from Mother. She and Father are returning.”

The words sent a jolt through Indo’s chest.

Indo: “…They’re coming back?”

He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. His mind had been so consumed with PKI, with BRI, with the strange perfection of this world that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of his parents.

His mother, Queen Khatulistiwa

His father, King Majapahit

Majapahit’s empire rulers, the weight of an empire resting on their shoulders.

They had been away for years, leading their armies in battle. In his world—the real world—he had only seen them through letters and scattered visits. They had always been distant, unreachable figures bound by duty.

But now… they were coming back.

Indo: (carefully) “When?”

Nusan: “A few days. Maybe a week, depending on how soon they leave the warfront.”

Indo felt his pulse quicken.

His parents. Would they be like the others? Would they be different, polished versions of themselves—untouched by the weight of war, the burdens of ruling?

Would his mother still carry that sharp, watchful gaze, the one that always saw straight through him? Would his father still be the man who spoke in measured tones, whose presence alone could command a room?

Or would they be something else entirely?

Something wrong?

Nusan sighed, rolling the parchment back up with practiced ease.

Nusan: “I thought you’d be happy.”

Indo hesitated.

Indo: “I… I am.”