The wind outside howled as if echoing something long forgotten. Inside the dim house, the cousin moved quickly, his slippers sliding across the wooden floor. He had seen it-just for a moment. His cousin's eyes, flickering like dying embers, his skin pale, breath shallow. Something was wrong. This wasn't just jet lag. This wasn't just fatigue.
He turned toward the old bedroom-Lola's room. It had been untouched since the storm took her away, the one that happened years ago, the same storm the two boys used to talk about like a ghost story. Now it was silent, covered in dust and memory.
He pulled open the closet, digging past the old herbal jars and balms. "Come on... where's the salabat, or... anything?" he muttered, anxiety creeping into his voice.
Then his hand brushed against something strange: a thin crack in the back panel of the closet. Curious, he pushed-just slightly-and a small hidden drawer popped loose, old wood creaking like a whisper. Inside was a book.
It was bound in dark brown leather, aged and worn. No title. No markings. Just a quiet weight that felt far too heavy for its size.
He hesitated. Then opened it.
The pages were filled with myth-not like the stories from bedtime, but something deeper, older. Symbols and illustrations danced across parchment. He read in silence:
> "Long ago, the Moon Eater awakened, drawn by the chaos of imbalance. It was the sun and moon deities who forged the seal and cast the beast into the depths of the eastern sea. But they were not alone.
The fox came-not as a warrior, but as a guardian. Though wounded, it lent its light, a flame that never dies, and it held the seal together as the dragon writhed and broke the skies.
The dragon was not always a beast. Once, it danced with the fox. They were called Yin and Yang-two spirits of perfect harmony, keepers of dusk and dawn.
But when the world began to forget the old ways, when mortals stopped honoring balance, one of them was twisted by sorrow and envy.
The dragon chose to remember through destruction. The fox chose to remember through sacrifice."
He blinked, unable to move. The ink almost looked fresh, as if it had been waiting.
Then his eyes fell to the final page. A message written in his Lola's handwriting-shaky, as if done in her last days.
> "To whoever finds this book: I entrust its truth to you.
But please-do not let my first grandchild see these pages.
Not yet."
His hands trembled.
He looked back at the door, where the MC still lay half-asleep on the couch, the wind gently humming against the windows.
"...What are you?" he whispered, slowly closing the book.
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