PUSAKA

I am Pusaka -- a finely wrought spearhead that was forged centuries ago on the Island of Java by the hands of an Empu, a kingdom priest whose name has long been forgotten.

From the moment I was created, my destiny has been tied to the hearts of men. My sharp edge was not merely for battle but for reverence. They said I carried power, that I granted victory and dominion.

I began as a weapon of war, held by a great chieftain who believed I was a gift from the gods. His enemies feared me as much as they feared him. With me in his grasp, he conquered lands and commanded loyalty. Yet it was not long before his kin turned against one another, each believing they alone deserved to wield me. His sons quarreled, and soon the blood was spilled -- not by the enemy, but by his own flesh and blood. His family fell apart, the empire crumbled, and I was buried in the rubble, forgotten.

Years passed, and the earth hid me well. I rested in silence until a farmer, digging his fields, uncovered my gleaming surface. To him, I was a treasure. He took me home, believing I would bring him prosperity.

At first, his fortunes indeed improved. His crops thrived, and his family flourished. He was happy. But then the whispers began anew. Neighbors grew envious, his family suspicious. His sons accused one another of stealing my power. They fought viciously, and one night, the farmer's home was consumed in flames. When the fire cooled, I was among the ashes, untouched by the blaze.

I passed through many hands after that. Each owner convinced that I was their key to greatness. A merchant kept me on display in his home, claiming that I protected his wealth. But when his rivals heard of me, they plotted his downfall. His riches were stolen, his family scattered, and I was sold to a wandering mystic.

The mystic, too, fell to the allure of what so-called power, using me as a symbol of his authority. He amassed followers who revered him -- until they grew suspicious and turned against him, accusing him of dark magic. His own disciples betrayed him, and I was stolen by one of them. Once again, they turned to each other, and they destroyed one another. Friendships were ruined, loyalty betrayed, and love crumbled.

Generations blurred into centuries. My legend grew with every passing hand. I was hailed as a relic, a talisman, and a curse. I was adored, worshipped, and sometimes feared. I enjoyed high status, often elevated above those who possessed me. I watched families tear themselves apart, their love poisoned by greed and ambition, all because of the charms I held over them. Fathers betrayed sons, brothers turned on brothers, and kingdoms fell. Each time, I was blamed -- and they were not wrong. Over time, I grew my own power. I developed a will of my own. I could move from one place to another, simply by thinking of it. All of this, thanks to the belief they placed in me. They gave me their power, transforming me from a mere object into something alive, just like them.

Then came the family who vowed to guard me, not for power, but for tradition. They claimed I was a legacy of their ancestors, a symbol of their heritage. At first, they treated me with reverence, storing me in a sacred place and speaking of me only in hushed tomes. But over time, the old patterns reemerged. Arguments broke out over who would inherit me. Distrust festered and accusations flew. I saw a father's pride crumble, a mother's tears fall, and siblings became strangers. Their unity dissolved, and I was locked away. I was hidden from sight, yet never from their memory.

It was during one such turbulent time that a young woman came to me. She was different from the others. She didn't see me as a source of power but as a symbol of all the harm I had caused. "You are not to blame," she whispered, as if she knew that I had my own soul now. "It is us who are at fault, for letting you define us."

She made the bold decision to destroy me. "It is time for you to go," she said.

She believed it was the only way to break the cycle. But as she prepared to rid the world of me, others intervened. Their anger reignited by the thought of my destruction. "Are you out of your mind?! They screamed. "Do you know what will happen if you destroy it? We will get cursed! The island will be divided into two. A lot of souls will be lost. This heirloom is the one that protects the land and the people!"

The conflict escalated, and she was forced to hide me away. For years, I remained in her care. She tried to rid herself of me again, but I managed to vanish before she could. I grew fond of her resilience and sincerity, but I wasn't ready to sacrifice myself for her. I still wanted to see the world one more time. So, I chose to leave her, seeking another soul that willing to embrace me.

Now I sit with another keeper. People still debate about my purpose, and meanwhile, my legend remains undimmed. I could tell them the truth: that I am not their savior, nor am I the curse. I am merely a witness, bound to the choices of those who possess me. However, I don't. I still want to see their hopes, their fears, and the fragile threads of their humanity unraveling. I wonder if they will ever learn that I hold no true power -- that the power has always been within them, for good or ill.

And so, my journey continues as a silent shadow in the lives of men. I endure not because of what I am, but because of what they believe me to be. My story is not my own; it is theirs. And it is a story that I know will never end, as long as they will continue it.