Lukas woke to the smell of smoke.
Not the sharp sting of something burning—but something older. Earthy. Sacred. Like smoldering leaves and incense offered to forgotten gods.
He opened his eyes slowly.
The sky above him had turned a bruised orange. Ash drifted in the air like snow. All around, the villagers of San Esteban stood in stunned silence. Some wept. Others stared at Lukas like he had grown wings—or horns.
He sat up.
The glowing stone was gone.
But something pulsed inside his chest. Warm. Heavy. Alive.
Lola Rosa was kneeling beside him, pressing a cold hand to his forehead. "Lukas, anak, do you hear me?"
He nodded slowly. His mouth was dry. "What... happened?"
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes were filled with fear and awe. "You touched something you shouldn't have. Or maybe... something chose you."
He looked toward the ocean.
The waves had receded far beyond the reef. Boats lay cracked on the sand. The woman was gone. Only her red cloth remained, tangled in driftwood.
In the distance, smoke curled up from the treetops—from where the old balete grove stood. The very heart of San Esteban.
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Tagapagmana... the heir... awaken..."
He stood on shaky legs.
The world felt too bright. Too sharp. Every breeze against his skin carried whispers. Every footstep around him vibrated in his bones. Even the earth beneath him—he could feel it breathing.
He took a few steps forward, then stopped. People backed away from him. Even those he knew—his neighbors, his friends—looked at him with fear.
"I don't understand..." he murmured. "Why me?"
Before Lola Rosa could answer, the wind shifted again.
This time, it carried the scent of rot.
Far beyond the village, at the forest's edge, black birds scattered into the sky. Dogs barked. A baby wailed. The sky trembled.
Something was coming.
"You need to come with me," said a new voice.
Lukas turned. A boy, maybe a few years older than him, stood at the edge of the crowd. He wore black and gold robes, tattered but still noble. His left eye glowed faintly, like an ember.
"Who are you?" Lukas asked.
"A friend. And a warning. If you stay here, you and this town will burn. Others have felt the awakening. Not just the light... but the darkness. The Aswang are coming."
Lukas stared at him. "The what?"
"Monsters born of forgotten sins," the boy said quietly. "They hunt what they fear. And now... they fear you."
Lukas looked again to the sea. The memory of the serpent's seven eyes burned behind his eyes.
"Why me?"
The stranger stepped closer. "Because you are not just a bearer. You are the last vessel of Bathala's fire. You are his heir."
Lukas's heart pounded. Inside his chest, the warmth flared—as if something ancient had just opened its eyes.
And far away, in the deep cracks of the earth, something else did too.