The jungle swallowed Lukas whole.
He could hear only his breath—shallow, ragged—and the muffled sound of sandals crunching against wet leaves. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, thick with fog and the smell of moss, iron, and something else… something sharp.
"Where are we?" he whispered, brushing aside a curtain of vines.
Beside him, Tala moved without hesitation, her spear humming faintly. "The Gulod ng Alingawngaw. Echo Hill. This place was once sacred—before the shadows took it."
Behind them, Javi and the twin babaylan sisters, Malaya and Diwa, followed silently, each bearing talismans that shimmered dimly in the unnatural twilight. The sun had not broken through since they entered the jungle. Even time itself felt unsure.
"Are we still in San Esteban?" Javi muttered.
"No," Diwa said. "Not anymore. We crossed a threshold hours ago. We're in a liminal space now. Neither here nor there."
Lukas paused as a sudden wind blew through the trees, and the leaves whispered something he couldn't understand. The voice of Bathala stirred again in his chest—a distant echo, like thunder buried under earth.
Beware the mask that smiles.
"What was that?" Lukas asked aloud.
But no one answered.
---
They reached a clearing just as the fog parted.
At its center stood an ancient shrine, overgrown with roots and vines. A massive stone face, weathered by centuries, grinned at them with a wide, cracked mouth and hollow eyes. Offerings—now rotted and forgotten—lay in shattered pots at its base. Above it was a word etched in old Baybayin:
K A L I S T A
"The Laughing Oracle," Tala murmured. "They say she once served both gods and monsters. She saw every truth—past, present, and what could never be."
"We came all this way for a riddle?" Javi asked, arms crossed.
But before anyone could reply, the shrine moved.
Stone cracked. Eyes flickered. The wide mouth opened with a sound like bone grinding on bone.
A voice emerged—soft, female, and cruel.
"Tagapagmana," it hissed. "You wear the fire, but you do not understand its cost."
Lukas stepped forward, heart pounding. "I need answers. About Bathala. About what I've become."
The mouth twisted upward in what might have been a smile.
"Then take off your mask."
A blinding flash consumed the clearing—and suddenly, Lukas was alone.
---
He stood in a mirror world.
The trees around him were dead and colorless. The shrine was gone. The sky overhead was ash gray.
Before him stood himself—but not quite.
This Lukas had silver eyes, burning like the sun, and his skin flickered with golden cracks. Fire bled from his fingertips.
"I am what you could become," the doppelgänger said, voice deeper, ancient. "But the question is—can you still choose?"
Lukas tried to move, but he was frozen.
"Bathala's fire is more than a weapon," the reflection said. "It is a curse. It burns away fear... but also doubt. Also mercy. If you follow this path, you may lose everything that made you human."
The reflection stepped closer. "So tell me, heir—do you wish to become a god, or remain a boy pretending to fight monsters?"
Before Lukas could answer, the false version of him shattered like glass.
---
He gasped and collapsed in the clearing. The others were already standing around him, worried.
"What did you see?" Tala asked, crouching beside him.
Lukas looked up at the grinning shrine. The smile hadn't changed.
"I saw myself," he said. "But... not me. A version of me that didn't care about people. Just power."
Malaya looked uneasy. "It means the fire's growing. And soon, it'll test your soul."
The wind shifted. The jungle darkened again.
Then—screams.
From beyond the trees, dozens of voices howled in pain and fury. The aswang were near. And this time, they were not alone.
From behind the trees, something massive stirred—something ancient.
Not just a monster. A betrayed one.
"We need to go," Tala said sharply. "Now."
But Lukas lingered, eyes still locked on the cracked stone smile.
Because deep in his bones, he understood:
The real enemy might not be out there.
It might be inside him.