The path through the balete grove was older than memory.
As Lukas followed the robed stranger into the thickening woods, the light from the eclipse still hung heavy in the air. It wasn't night, but it wasn't day either. Just that eerie, in-between shadow where anything might exist—and often did.
"Where are we going?" Lukas asked, brushing aside a curtain of moss.
"To the altar," the boy replied. "Where it all began—and where you'll start to understand."
The trees here bent low, their tangled roots like the claws of sleeping giants. Lukas kept close. Every now and then, the stranger glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see something following them. Lukas didn't ask. He already felt it too.
After several silent minutes, they reached a clearing where the air changed. Warmer. Charged. In the center stood an ancient stone structure—more like a ruin, overgrown with vines. It resembled a stepped pyramid, but it was broken, its top cracked as if struck by lightning.
Baybayin runes were carved deep into every stone. They glowed faintly as Lukas stepped closer.
"This is Bathala's altar," the stranger said, voice quiet now. "Where he last stood before vanishing from the world."
Lukas placed his hand on the stone, and the earth trembled.
Visions flooded his mind—lightning splitting mountains, a warrior of fire battling shadows in the sky, a voice booming like a storm.
He stumbled back, gasping.
"It's inside me," he whispered. "He's inside me."
The boy nodded solemnly. "Bathala's essence. His memory, his fire. He poured it into the stone centuries ago, and now it lives in you."
"Why me?"
"You were chosen. And not just by Bathala. The world itself remembers the ones it needs."
Before Lukas could answer, a scream pierced the air.
It came from the direction of the village.
"No…" Lukas turned, heart pounding. "The Aswang?"
The stranger drew a blade from beneath his robes—curved and gleaming obsidian, etched with protective symbols.
"They move faster at dusk. Feeding time."
He tossed Lukas a small charm—a disc of brass with a stylized sun. "Keep this on you. It wards off their illusions. But it won't stop their claws."
Lukas clutched it tightly. "Then let's go."
They ran back through the grove, leaves whipping past their faces. Lukas's breath burned in his chest, but his legs felt stronger, his strides faster. The fire within him pulsed with every heartbeat.
They reached the edge of the trees just as the village square came into view.
It was chaos.
People screamed and scattered. Homes blazed. A long-limbed shadow leapt from rooftop to rooftop, its face a shifting mask of bone and smoke. An Aswang.
Lukas froze.
It turned toward him, sniffed the air—and smiled.
"Found you," it rasped.
Before Lukas could move, the creature lunged.
But the robed boy was faster.
He intercepted it midair, driving his blade into its chest. The creature screeched, twisting like smoke, but it didn't die. Instead, it knocked the boy aside and turned again to Lukas.
Lukas raised his hand to shield himself—only to watch flames erupt from his palm.
Golden fire.
The creature howled and leapt back.
Everyone saw.
The villagers, cowering behind carts and doorways, gasped.
"He has the sun's fire," someone whispered.
The Aswang hissed and vanished into shadow.
Lukas stood frozen, panting, hand still glowing.
The stranger groaned from the ground. "Well... that was dramatic."
Lukas rushed to help him up. "You okay?"
"I'll live," the boy muttered. "But now they know what you are. And more will come."
Lola Rosa appeared from the crowd, tears in her eyes. "Lukas... what are you?"
He looked around at the scorched village, the frightened faces, the smoldering rooftops.
Then he looked at his hand.
"I don't know," he said. "But I think I need to find out. Before it's too late."