The tranquil shores of Ale Luwu embraced La Galigo and his entourage. Days turned into weeks, filled with the warmth of the locals' hospitality. He found an unexpected comfort here, a peace that made him question his impending departure.
However, his Royal Advisor approached him with a worried expression. "Our king in Ale Cina surely awaits our return, Lord. We have lingered long enough."
La Galigo, though, felt a growing attachment to this place. His gaze often drifted towards a beautiful woman seated quietly in the village square, stirring an unfamiliar desire within him.
Confidently, he walked towards the villagers. "What would you say if a visitor wished to marry one of your daughters?" His gaze then fixed on Sari. "Tell me, is she already taken? I need to know."
The Royal Advisor stammered, his face paling. "My Lord, that woman, Sari, is already wed. She has a husband." La Galigo merely smiled, unconcerned. "Who says I cannot love her still? Her marital status means little to me."
"In our land, a king traditionally possesses the right to marry anyone he chooses, even if they are already bound," the Royal Advisor explained, choosing his words carefully. "Yet, your swift decision, My Lord, is quite audacious, even for a king."
La Galigo's smile widened, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Then it is settled. I shall make her one of my subjects, and she will become my queen. My will shall be done."
Sari, the beautiful woman, felt a cold dread grip her heart. Trapped, she could only look at Samana, her beloved husband. "I do not want to leave you," she whispered, her voice trembling with despair.
Samana returned her gaze, his own eyes filled with a profound sorrow and resignation. "What can I do, my love?" he murmured, helpless. "The king's decree cannot be defied by ordinary folk like us."
The inevitable divorce tore them apart. Samana, his heart heavy with loss, soon set sail, leaving Ale Luwu behind. His departure marked a bitter end to their shared life, a painful memory etched into the land.
La Galigo stood proudly at the wedding altar, celebrating his perceived victory. Yet, even as the festivities unfolded around him, a strange, hollow emptiness began to settle in his heart, a quiet discord amidst the joyous sounds.
His guards, though sworn to loyalty, exchanged uneasy glances. They felt a profound pity for the wronged husband, a silent condemnation of their king's actions.
Later, in his private chambers, La Galigo prepared for the night. Despite his triumph, a creeping anxiety gnawed at him. Was this truly the best path? His formidable ego, however, swiftly crushed any burgeoning doubt, refusing to acknowledge weakness.
"I am the king," he silently declared, attempting to silence the disquiet within. He remained oblivious to the far greater consequences his actions would inevitably unleash, consequences even his power might not control.