Alter My Fate

Havi was on his way home after escorting Diana when, midway along the quiet road, an elderly man suddenly called out to him.

"Oi, lad! Yes, you. Come here a moment," the old man beckoned, his frail voice carrying a peculiar urgency.

Turning his head, Havi's gaze settled on the aged figure. The man was bent with the weight of years, his tattered clothes hanging loosely off his gaunt frame. Moved by a wave of pity, Havi didn't hesitate. He crossed the road towards the stranger, curiosity tugging at him.

"Grandfather, is something the matter? Do you need help with anything?" Havi inquired, his tone a blend of concern and intrigue.

The old man's weathered face cracked into a thin smile. "Indeed, young man," he replied, his voice rasping like dry leaves. "I need your help to dispose of those logs over there." He gestured with a shaky hand towards a pile of timber stacked haphazardly against the wall.

Havi's eyes followed the direction of the man's pointing finger. The sight of the heavy, cumbersome logs made him hesitate for a moment, but his compassionate nature quickly overcame any reluctance.

Havi studied the old man's weathered face, noting the fine network of lines etched by time and hardship. There was a peculiar depth in his eyes, an almost otherworldly wisdom that both unsettled and intrigued him.

"Very well, Grandfather," Havi replied at last, his voice carrying the deference one might reserve for a figure of quiet authority. "I shall help you. But might I ask, why the clearing? Why not sell the wood or use it yourself?"

The old man's thin lips curled into a faint smile, as though amused by the question. "Ah, lad, you speak with the pragmatism of youth. But not all things in life are weighed in coin, nor all actions dictated by logic. This wood has a destiny beyond what we can see."

Havi raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "A destiny? You speak as though it were alive."

"In a manner of speaking, it is," the man replied, his voice soft but firm. "Teak is a noble wood, imbued with strength and endurance. It was meant to build, to shelter, to endure through storms and time. Yet here it lies, forgotten and wasted. I simply wish to set it free."

Havi hesitated, glancing again at the sturdy logs. The old man's words carried an air of mysticism, and though part of him wanted to press further, he felt it unwise to pry too deeply. "Very well. I'll take the wood to the clearing. But I must warn you, Grandfather, my strength may fall short. These logs are no small burden."

The old man chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. "Ah, but it is not strength alone that moves the world, young man. A willing heart can accomplish what sheer muscle cannot. Now, let us not tarry, there is work to be done, and daylight wanes."

With that, Havi rolled up his sleeves, bending to the task with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. Yet even as he worked, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the old man, and the wood, than met the eye.

Havi, moved by a deep sense of pity, found himself asking gently, "Forgive me, Grandfather, but may I ask—what was your trade in your younger days?"

The old man paused for a moment, as if the question had unearthed a long-buried memory. "Ah, that," he said, his voice tinged with wistfulness. "I was nothing more than a humble carpenter. I spent my days crafting simple tools and objects from wood like this." He gestured toward the teak logs with a slight wave of his hand.

Before Havi could respond, the old man raised a hand, halting him mid-thought. "But come, lad. Before you trouble yourself with the logs, step inside for a moment."

With a curious nod, Havi followed the man into his modest home. The exterior had given no hint of what lay within, and as Havi stepped through the threshold, his breath caught. The room was filled with exquisite wooden creations. Intricate carvings, delicate figurines, and finely crafted furniture, each piece imbued with a level of artistry that seemed almost otherworldly.

Havi turned in awe, his eyes wide. "Grandfather... you're not just a carpenter. You're a true craftsman. No, more than that, a master artisan! These are extraordinary. In this day and age, it's rare to find someone with such dedication and skill."

The old man let out a soft chuckle, a sound both humble and self-deprecating. "Ah, those were different times, boy. A different life. But it matters not now. These pieces are nothing more than a personal collection, a relic of days long past."

Havi frowned, his admiration undiminished. "How could you say that? These aren't just relics, they're masterpieces. Surely, they deserve to be seen and appreciated by others."

The old man waved him off, a touch of weariness in his gesture. "Perhaps they do, but I've no interest in such things anymore. My work was never meant for fame or fortune. It was simply something I loved to do. Now, they sit here, and I am content to let them fade into quiet obscurity."

Havi glanced around the room again, his admiration tinged with sadness. He could see the passion that had gone into every piece, the life's work of a man who had poured his soul into his craft. Yet here it all sat, hidden from the world, like secrets too precious, or too painful, to share.

"Forgive me, Grandfather," Havi ventured cautiously, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "May I ask, what is your name?"

The old man froze, visibly startled by the question. For a moment, his aged features tensed, his gaze sharpening as he studied Havi's face with unexpected intensity.

Something unspoken passed through the air, a ripple of recognition that neither seemed ready to address.

After a brief pause, the man spoke, his voice quieter now, almost wary. "My true name is Mardiraharjo, though most simply call me Grandfather Mardi," he said with a small nod, his expression unreadable.

'Mardiraharjo? Grandfather Mardi? Why does that name sound so familiar?' Havi thought, his mind racing.

Noticing the flicker of thought in Havi's eyes, Grandfather Mardi's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. It was a smile that hinted at a secret long kept.

"The name Mardiraharjo is not one widely known," he said, his tone slow and deliberate. "Only those in this area know me as Grandfather Mardi. But," he added, leaning slightly forward, "when I was younger, I went by another name. They used to call me Har. Har the Carpenter."

Havi's heart seemed to stop. His eyes widened in disbelief, and a chill coursed through him. "What? Har the Carpenter?" he gasped, his voice trembling as if the words themselves carried weight beyond comprehension.

His body gave way under the sheer shock of the revelation, his knees buckling as he staggered. It was only by sheer will that he managed not to collapse entirely.

Grandfather Mardi was alarmed by Havi's sudden reaction. "Lad, are you all right?" he exclaimed, rushing to Havi's side. The old man's hands, though frail, were steady as he helped Havi to a nearby chair.

Havi, pale and shaken, could barely muster a response. His lips moved soundlessly, his thoughts spiralling.

Grandfather Mardi shuffled quickly to the kitchen, his steps uneven but determined. He returned moments later with a glass of water, pressing it into Havi's trembling hands. "Drink, lad. You've turned as pale as a ghost," he said, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

Havi took the glass without a word and drained it in one long gulp. The cool liquid steadied him, but his hands still shook as he set the glass down.

"Now, tell me," Grandfather Mardi demanded gently, his weathered hands gripping the arms of Havi's chair. "Why does my name trouble you so? Do you know me? Or... perhaps you've heard of me from someone?"

Havi stared at the old man, his thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief and half-formed connections. Could this truly be him? The man whose name had echoed through tales of craftsmanship and legend?

Meanwhile, Grandfather Mardi's mind was no less chaotic, darting between possibilities. Was this boy the descendant of an old acquaintance? Or perhaps the bearer of some long-forgotten message?

Their thoughts, though unspoken, seemed to mirror one another, circling a singular question: 'Who truly stood before them, and how were their lives intertwined?'

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