The Final Healing
Jonas turned to Alden.
The moment stretched longer than comfort allowed.
Jonas's usual crooked smirk was gone. No flippant remarks. No fidgeting. His eyes were sharp and still, full of something ancient and distant. He wasn't just a man in that moment he was a relic. Something older than language, wearing the skin of a teacher.
He crouched beside Alden in complete silence.
Alden lay on the ground, face pale with pain. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, and his ribs rose and fell with each breath like cracked glass barely holding together.
"Can't… move," he gritted out. "Feels like my ribs are stabbing me from the inside."
Jonas winced. "Yeah, you're a mess."
Then, with none of his usual dramatic flair, Jonas brought his hands together. Not in prayer. Not as a show.
But with intention.
Fingers intertwined. Steady. Grounded.
No chant. No glow at first. Just breath. Just focus.
Then the silver-blue light came to life between his palms gentler this time, more concentrated. It pulsed like breath in cold air, like memory made visible.
He placed a single hand on Alden's sternum.
Alden flinched.
Then stilled.
Warmth flooded through his chest, slow and patient. It wasn't heat like fire but warmth like blankets on a rainy day. Familiar. Deep. But underneath it, something older stirred. Something vast.
Alden gasped.
He felt it in his bones.
His ribs realigned not painfully, but with precision, like a craftsman repairing an old, sacred instrument. The ache in his chest gave way to ease. The tightness disappeared. His lungs filled fully for the first time in hours.
Then his shoulder.
He watched in stunned silence as the swelling receded. The bruises faded. His broken arm twitched, then slowly pulled back into place. The skin reknit itself before his eyes. The dried blood shimmered then vanished beneath the surface, leaving no trace.
"…W-What the hell…" Alden whispered.
Jonas didn't answer immediately.
When he finally drew his hand back, the glow faded.
Alden sat up, shaky but whole. He pressed his fingers to his ribs, his shoulder, his wrist. No pain. No cracks. Only the faint phantom of agony that had vanished.
"That was… inside me? That damage?"
Jonas stretched with a grunt. "You were this close to looking like overcooked spaghetti."
Alden blinked. "What are you?"
Jonas glanced over his shoulder, deadpan. "Sexy man."
A beat.
"…Seriously?"
Jonas grinned. "Also, y'know… Kalasag. Guardian. Ancient spirit-bouncer. Babysitter to dramatic Maharlika teens."
Alden just stared.
Jonas burst out laughing.
It was loud, unfiltered, echoing through the hallway like something heavy had finally cracked. He doubled over, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.
"Gods, your face! I've seen less confusion in an algebra exam."
"You're insane," Alden muttered.
"Absolutely," Jonas said, wiping his eyes. "I'm also tired. And now I'm craving a cheeseburger. Maybe two."
A Normal School
Outside, the building was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Students who had been swallowed by nightmares now walked the halls like it was any other afternoon. Camille was braiding Cheryl's hair on the stairwell. Ceasar was showing off a coin trick to a disinterested girl.
No shadows. No screams.
No memory.
Jonas leaned against the infirmary doorway and exhaled.
"They won't remember a thing," he said. "Not even fragments. It's like the world hit a soft reset."
"But I remember," Alden said. "All of it."
Jonas nodded. "Because you're the only one who must."
They didn't want to be overheard, so instead, they walked in silence through an old corridor. One the students avoided. The air was thick with dust and disuse. Lights flickered dimly above, and each step echoed like they were intruding somewhere sacred.
At the end of the hallway stood a door: faded wood, paint peeling, a rusted plaque barely clinging to the surface.
ROOM 3B: STORAGE. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
Jonas opened it without hesitation.
Inside was a forgotten classroom, long abandoned. Desks were pushed against the walls, shelves lined with yellowing books. The air smelled like old paper, chalk, and secrets.
Jonas stepped toward the cracked window, bathing in the dying light of the sun. Alden stayed near the door, eyes scanning the room.
"Sir…" Alden said, finally. "One of those things called me Maharlika. And they called you Kalasag. What does that mean?"
Jonas didn't answer at first. He stared out over the courtyard, watching students laugh as if the world hadn't nearly ended.
Then:
"Maharlika," he said, "aren't myths. Not really. What we call 'diwata' or 'spirits' or 'legends' those are echoes. Shadows. The Maharlika were real. Born of will. Guardians of the balance between worlds."
He turned, gaze locked on Alden.
"And you… are the last of them."
Alden swallowed. "But… I saw someone in my dreams. Another Kalasag. I couldn't see his face, but… it felt like I knew him."
Jonas's smirk vanished.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes serious.
"I believe you," he said. "But your memories are sealed for a reason."
"Why?"
"Because if you open them too soon before you're ready it won't just be memories you awaken. Things you've forgotten… will remember you. And they will come."
Alden felt the air around him grow colder.
Jonas continued. "Those shadows? They were scouts. Pale echoes. The real threat the one that broke the world once before is still out there. Still waiting."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I don't mean to scare you," Jonas said. "Okay, maybe I do. A little. But you need to understand this isn't a game. Once the door opens… it doesn't close."
The Choice
Alden lowered his gaze.
"So… what now?"
Jonas walked to the dusty chalkboard, wiped off a corner, and drew a long line straight down the center.
"One," he said, tapping the left side. "You run. Live your life. Pretend none of this happened. Hope the veil doesn't rip open again."
He tapped the right.
"Two. You stay. You learn. You rise. You fight."
A long silence filled the room.
A curtain rustled. Dust drifted lazily in the amber light.
"You don't have to choose right now," Jonas said, setting the chalk down. "Take a few days. Think. Breathe. Eat vegetables."
"…Wait. Vegetables?"
Jonas placed a firm hand on Alden's shoulder, gaze deadly serious.
"Yes. Absolutely crucial."
Alden stared at him.
Jonas broke into a grin. "Of course not! Come on, I had to lighten the mood."
"Gods, you're the worst," Alden muttered.
He briefly imagined punching Jonas.
Felt so good.
Jonas stepped back toward the window.
"But just know this," he said, voice calm again. "When the veil breaks next time and it will there won't be time to hesitate."
Alden didn't reply.
Outside, the sun dipped low.
Inside that forgotten room, a boy stood on the threshold of a decision that would shape not just his fate…
But the fate of every world connected to his blood.