The wheels of a carriage made a splatter of the puddle from the rain last night. As the peak of the rain season, it was predicted to rain every single day. Even two weeks ago, the heavy rain that poured for two days straight had caused a massive landslide in Rangsan municipality, Gadilengka. Two villages had been buried underground in a matter of minutes. As of now the surviving 72 civilians were settling in under the makeshift evacuation barrack near the town hall.

The evacuees were lining up in front of the boiling pot for their breakfast that morning. Each had a bowl in their hands, waiting patiently for their turn to get their food.

Within the line, there were two men standing at the same spot. One was holding on to the other, seemingly sick and weak. Even so, the healthy one let a woman carrying a baby to cut his line.

"Bless you," she said.

"You too," he replied. "Say, sister, do you think we can get some chicken soup today? My younger brother needs it to get himself back on his feet."

The sick man started coughing.

"Chicken?" asked the woman. "There's no way they're going to provide chicken for us."

"What's going to be there, you reckon?"

"Porridge, tofu, some vegetables, eggs. Like every other day."

"I think it's the porridge that made him sick."

"Ssshh... don't let them hear you say that. You're going to get yourself in trouble. And if you get in trouble, who's going to take care of your brother?"

"You're right. I just hope our luck will change today."

"Hoping isn't good enough."

They arrived in front of the pot. Just before the cook poured a ladle full of porridge, the man asked, "Can I get some chicken soup for my brother? He's really sick."

The cook stared at him. "If he's sick, he should stay in the barrack, not standing in line here with you. He's going to spread his sickness on everybody's food."

"Please, Sir, can he get something more than just porridge and tofu?"

"Be grateful we're still cooking food for you and not let you out to fend for yourselves."

"I could swear I saw some chickens in the cart the other day. You know, when they sent food supplies from the palace."

"Food supplies from the palace? Are you nuts?"

The cook's shout alerted the guard that was standing watch nearby the line. He quickly barged in and asked, "What's going on here?"

"He's dreaming of getting food supplies from the palace," the cook laughed at him. "There's no chicken, no cart. I doubt the palace even knows about what happened here. You're lucky the other villages are willing to share their food with you. Now off you go. I've still got people to feed."

"So we'll never have anything other than tofu and egg?!" the man yelled. "Where are you hiding the other food?"

"You're unsettling people," slammed the guard. "Shut your mouth and eat your breakfast. Don't let me catch you spitting nonsense about chicken again."

"Did they tell you to shut your mouth about it?"

The guard slapped the empty bowl from his hand. The sick man also fell to the ground. "That's it," he barked as he gripped his wrist and turned him around. "You're going to the cell. No food for you."

"What?! What did I do?!" the man struggled to get away from him, but it only made the other guards jumped into the scene. "I'm only asking for food. Where are you taking me? Brother! I'll come back for you. Wait for me. Please, wait for me."

The guards carried the man away from the line. Everyone was so surprised to see that someone was foolish enough to start a fight against the guards. So surprised that no one paid attention to the sick man on the ground.

Dragged like a cattle, the other man was finally locked up in a cell by the town hall. His hands were tied with a piece of rope. The guard regretted the fact that they didn't seal his mouth too because he didn't stop shouting. This time, he demanded to speak to the village chief.

Meanwhile, someone was breaking into the warehouse where they stored the food supplies. It was almost empty, with only three sacks of rice and two crates of vegetables lying on the ground.

"Hey you!" a guard noticed his sickly figure. "What do you think you're doing?"

The man fled behind the warehouse before the guard could reach him. But that didn't mean his search was over. He checked on every barn, every cart and still he couldn't find anything that satisfied him. Until his steps slowed when a big house was seen at the end of the street.

"I want to see the village chief!" screamed the man in the cell. "He needs to hear what I want to say."

"Which one?" a guard suddenly slammed the door.

The man blinked. "Huh?"

"Which one?" repeated the guard. "There are two village chiefs here. Which one do you want to see? What's his name?"

Panic burst in his face. "Uhhh..."

In the big house, a maid was walking down the terrace when she noticed the shed doors were open. She went to close it, but instead, she found the gardener being held captive by the sick man as they stood in front of crates full of food supplies. His left hand closed the gardener's mouth while his right hand pulled a dagger in front of the gardener's throat.

"I wish to speak to the commissioner," the sick man let out a soft but chilling voice as he made his demand.

The maid rushed to find the commissioner of Rangsan, the owner of this big and beautiful house.

Back at the cell, an old man was escorted to meet the arrested man. When they opened the door to let him in, he just stood there before turning to the guards. "Who is he?"

"He wants to speak..." the guard paused. "What do you mean 'who is he'? Isn't he one of your people?"

"Why, I've never seen this man in my life," answered the confused village chief.

"What?!"

They all looked at the convict who all of a sudden had lost all of his rage. The man who sat there quietly lifted his head. Composed. Polite. Graceful.

"Gentlemen," he said. Even his Ranundalan accent changed into a common Sanuratnan. He pulled his hands forward as the rope that tied them had burned to ash. "Please allow me to apologize."

En Hesak, the commissioner of Rangsan, didn't even hurry to save his gardener. He just ambled toward the shed like a big, old fat man he was. And when he arrived in front of the shed, he just looked down at the two and said, "Let me tell you that whatever it is your demand, you will not have it."

"Sir?" whimpered the gardener.

"But I am interested to hear what you want to say," continued En Hesak.

The sick man whispered to the gardener, "Tell him our little conversation."

The gardener gulped. "He... he asked if I know where all these things come from."

"And what did you say?" asked En Hesak.

"I said no, I don't know," said the gardener. "He asked again if I know where these things are supposed to go. And I said... it's supposed to go to the market. You're selling them."

En Hesak's face began to change.

"And he asked again if you have your own private farm," continued the gardener. "And I said I don't know. He said commissioners do not receive a farm from the government. So he... you, don't have any source to get this many crops and food. And he asked again if I could guess where these come from and..."

The sick man kicked one of the crate. It broke open and the onions rolled out, revealing a stamp inside the crate: a firebird with a shield and a diamond on its chest. The symbol of the Royal Palace of Ranundala.

"Go on," he said to the gardener.

"And... and where these should have gone to," finished the gardener.

"You haven't answered that question," whispered the sick man.

"Sir?" the gardener pleaded. The dagger was pressed closer toward his throat. "They come from the palace! And... and they should've gone to the landslide survivors!"

As soon as he said that, the sick man let him go as if he never wanted to hurt him in the first place. But he didn't let him leave his side. He put his dagger back into its sheath and waited for the commissioner to make a move.

"So you accused me of stealing from the palace, huh?" croaked En Hesak. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"You tell me, En Hesak," the sick man stepped forward and let the morning sunlight landed on his eyes. Now everyone could see how yellow his almond eyes actually were. A pair of sun eyes, they called it. "Who the fuck do you think I am?"

That's when the gardener noticed that there's someone coming from behind the shed while pointing the end of the matchlock at him. "Look out!"

"BANG!"

A shot was fired.

The sick man opened his eyes. Standing between him and the matchlock, there was the man who had been thrown in the cell. The bullet bounced off of his bare arm that was put up to protect him.

"Ah, Gaptin Jantra Kawa," said the sick man. "Impeccable timing."

Gaptin? Everyone stared at him. It's a title of a third rank military personnel. And not only that, he just demonstrated a technique of the mystical martial arts known as janak kurat which made him bulletproof. This man was not a common civilian.

"I had to notify the others to bring in the cavalry," he answered as he carelessly put his back on the matchlock and walked toward his 'brother'. He glanced at the pile of food in the shed. "Oh? It appears that all your suspicion is proven. Well done, Your Highness."

"Y- Your Highness?" En Hesak became as pale as a ghost.

"May I present you," Gaptin Jantra Kawa slithered behind the sick man. The sun lit up his eyes and showed the similar yellow hues on his irises. "His Royal Highness Prince Basandaya, the Prince Regent of Ranundala."

Instantly, everyone fell to the ground and prostrated toward the dirty and sickly man. "Your Highness."

They'd never thought that this amber skinned figure who looked like any other landslide survivor was the most powerful individual in Ranundala. En Hesak couldn't even contain the tremble that overpowered his aging figure as he realized there was no running away from this. No way of silencing, lying, cheating, bribing his way out like he usually did. It's the end.

The Prince Regent stepped closer toward the commissioner, "You shall answer to your crime at the city court. May truth arise and may justice prevail."