The train ride to Bicol was silent at first.
Lukas sat by the window, staring at the shifting landscape. Fields of golden rice gave way to jungles and hills, then long stretches of volcanic rock. The shadows of Mayon Volcano loomed far ahead, its perfect cone wreathed in clouds.
Amihan sat across from him, legs crossed, carving something into a sliver of bone—an old hunter's charm to ward off mangkukulam. Kalem sat farther back, asleep, his cloak drawn over his eyes like a shroud.
Lukas could barely keep still. The visions he'd seen in Apo Lakay's shrine clung to him. Fire raining from the sky. Gods falling. A serpent devouring the stars.
And him—standing at the edge of everything, holding Bathala's flame.
He touched his chest, where the warmth still pulsed. It had grown stronger, like a second heartbeat. Sometimes he thought he could hear it whisper.
He closed his eyes.
"The second shard calls."
He opened them again. No one had spoken. But the voice lingered in his bones.
---
When they arrived in Legazpi, the city was covered in ash.
A mild eruption the night before had blanketed everything in gray. The roads were empty. Smoke lingered in the air. Lukas noticed how even birds avoided the skies.
"This isn't normal," Kalem said, stepping off the train and brushing ash from his sleeves. "Mayon doesn't spit without reason."
"The shard is near," Amihan murmured. "But so is something else. I can feel it."
They walked toward the foot of the volcano, where ancient lava fields formed jagged paths through the forest. Locals whispered stories as they passed—tales of strange figures seen dancing in the mist, and animals going missing.
Lukas's chest tightened with every step.
By the time they reached the ruined church at Cagsawa—the one half-buried by volcanic eruption centuries ago—the air was heavy with dread. The belfry stood like a broken tooth against the blackened sky.
Inside the stone walls, moss and vines curled like skeletal fingers. But in the center of the ruin was a circle of fire—cold fire, burning blue and without smoke.
At its heart hovered a shard.
The second agimat.
It was shaped like a fang, forged from obsidian, pulsing with veins of light. Lukas stepped toward it—but something stopped him.
A voice.
Mocking. Familiar.
"You're not the only one called, Lukas."
From the shadows emerged a girl, no older than nineteen. Her skin was pale, and her eyes—white, like mist. She wore a long red skirt, stained with soot and blood, and her hands crackled with black lightning.
Amihan's hand flew to her blade. "Mananambal. She's corrupted."
The girl smiled. "Not corrupted. Enlightened."
Lukas stepped forward, cautious. "Who are you?"
"I'm the one Bathala didn't choose," she said, eyes glowing. "So I chose someone else."
From behind her, shadowy figures began to emerge—humanoid, but wrong. Their limbs bent the wrong way. Their eyes gleamed like coals.
"Aswang," Kalem whispered.
The girl raised a hand, and the creatures hissed.
"This shard belongs to my master now," she said. "You can try to take it... but it will cost you."
Lukas looked at the shard again. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, calling to him. Begging him to free it.
He clenched his fists. Flames burst from his palms.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Good," the girl hissed, "because fear is for the living."
She sent a bolt of black lightning toward him.
Lukas deflected it with a burst of fire, the shockwave rattling the ancient stones. Kalem dashed forward, sword glowing, meeting the nearest Aswang in midair. Amihan followed, daggers drawn, wind swirling around her like a storm.
Lukas focused on the shard.
The cold fire around it reached toward him, trying to repel him. But his flame burned brighter.
Each step he took pushed the blue flames back.
Each breath ignited more power within him.
Until he stood before it—face to fang.
"Come back," he whispered.
The shard flew into his hand.
A blinding light filled the ruins.
When it faded, Lukas stood transformed.
His eyes glowed like twin suns.
A second agimat now circled his wrist, bound by flame and stone.
The corrupted girl screamed, shielding her face from the light. "No! That wasn't meant for you!"
But Lukas wasn't listening.
His body moved instinctively—guided by the memories of gods long gone. He raised his hand and summoned a wall of divine fire that sent the Aswang reeling back, shrieking.
Kalem and Amihan regrouped beside him, weapons raised.
The girl snarled, black smoke curling from her mouth. "This isn't over."
She vanished in a burst of shadow, her minions following her into the mist.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Lukas knelt, breathing hard. The shard pulsed on his wrist, merging with the first.
Kalem placed a hand on his shoulder. "You did it."
Amihan looked toward the clouds. "But we've drawn attention. They'll come faster now. Stronger."
Lukas nodded.
"I don't care."
He looked at his hands, the fire dancing in his veins, the shard now whispering names he didn't recognize.
"I'll find them all. I'll gather every agimat. And I'll burn the darkness out of this land."
For the first time, his fire didn't just burn—it roared.