Testing Limits
Twilight stretched across the quiet training field beyond the campus walls. Broken patches of grass and scattered debris marked where past battles had scarred the land. Marko spun his spear, fire licking its tip in short bursts. Each strike wavered—his control uneven, precise yet raw. Ara stood a few meters away, bow drawn, frost shimmering along her arrows. Every release was a lesson in patience, each missed shot a reminder of how far she still had to go.
Their synchronized motions created a rhythm, a dialogue without words—a dance of ice and fire, potential and inexperience intertwined.
A soft crunch of gravel made them glance up. Ramon stepped into view, his stone arm flickering back to flesh as he approached. He had glimpsed their powers back in the hostel, but the chaos and need to return to the camp had silenced his curiosity. Now, the quiet evening afforded him a moment to study them.
"You two... awakeners," he said, voice low, a mixture of wonder and caution.
Marko lowered his spear slightly, breathing steadily. "We're still learning. Ara can manifest ice through her arrows, and I can channel fire through my spear. This amulet helps me focus it, but controlling it is... tricky." He touched the glowing symbol embedded in the amulet, its light flickering faintly with his heartbeat.
Ara nodded, tightening her grip on the bow. "That's why we train. We're heading south eventually—to Paoay first. My family is there. We need to be ready for anything along the way."
Ramon's eyes softened as he glanced toward the distant camp. Faint echoes carried over the field—shouts, whispered frustrations, and the fragile pulse of life among survivors. "The refuge is fragile," he said. "Everyone is afraid, and fear spreads faster than fire."
Marko and Ara exchanged a glance. They understood: every small mistake could endanger the people they were sworn to protect.
Ramon stepped closer, stone fingers flexing as though testing the air. "These powers... they're gifts, yes. But they're also burdens. People will look to you, even if you don't ask for it."
For a long moment, the only sounds were the rustling grass and the soft hiss of Marko's fading flames. The two awakeners felt the weight of his words settle on their shoulders, the invisible pull of responsibility anchoring them to the camp below.
The Hard Choice
The field grew dim as twilight gave way to night. Ara sheathed her bow, and Marko rested his spear against a nearby boulder. Ramon leaned against a tree, stone arm flickering faintly as he watched them.
"The attacks in Batac... survivors are still trapped," Ramon began, voice steady but tinged with concern. "We need all the hands we can get. If you two join the search, we could save more lives."
Marko shook his head slowly, a weight settling on his shoulders. "We wish we could, Sir... truly. But we can't stay. Ara's family is in Paoay, and... we have to go. If we delay, they could be in danger."
Ara's fingers tightened around her bow strap, frost glimmering faintly. "We've trained here, we've learned a lot—but our first responsibility is to get to Paoay. I can't leave my family behind."
Ramon's gaze softened but hardened at the same time. He had seen enough to know they were powerful, rare awakeners—and their abilities could turn the tide in Batac. Yet he understood the pull of personal duty, the call that could not be ignored.
He exhaled slowly. "I see... I can't fault you for that. But know this—the city will remain in danger. Survivors may suffer without your help."
Marko met his eyes, regret clear in his expression. "We know. That's why this decision doesn't sit easy with us. But we'll return if we can—after Paoay."
Ramon's jaw tightened. He glanced toward the horizon, his thoughts weighing heavily. "If you must go... then take caution. Monsters don't wait, and neither should you. Fear spreads faster than them. Keep your senses sharp—and watch each other."
Marko gripped his spear tighter, firelight from his amulet flickering along its surface. "We will. We'll be careful."
Ara nodded, her breath visible in the cool evening air. "We won't let anything catch us off guard."
Ramon gave a faint, approving nod. "Good. Now get some rest. You'll need your strength tomorrow for the journey south to Paoay."
Marko and Ara exchanged a glance, both feeling the weight of the road ahead, and they slowly began packing up their gear. The twilight deepened into night, and with a final glance at the camp below, they settled down to rest, knowing that an early departure awaited them at dawn.
The Dream and the Signal
That night, when silence finally settled over the MMSU camp, Marko lay awake for a while, listening to the distant chirping of crickets and the quiet breath of Ara asleep nearby. The weight of the past days pressed heavy on him, but fatigue eventually pulled him under.
Darkness gave way to water.
He stood at the edge of a vast lake, the surface still as glass. The moonlight stretched across it in a silver path, leading him toward the center. At first, there was nothing but the soundless hush of the deep—but then, ripples spread, as if the water itself had begun to breathe.
Shapes rose slowly from below. Great stone pillars broke the surface, slick with moss and time. Carvings wound around them—spirals, flames, and ancient runes he didn't know but somehow understood. Then the shrine itself surfaced, its spires jagged yet regal, as though it had been waiting beneath the lake for centuries. Water cascaded down its sides in a shimmering veil.
Marko felt his chest burn. He looked down. The amulet was glowing, brighter than it had ever been, its ember-like light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The glow reached across the water like a beacon.
And the shrine answered.
Runes along the stone ignited, flaring to life with the same orange-red hue as his amulet. A warmth spread through him, not painful, but heavy with meaning—like a truth pressing itself into his soul.
He staggered back, clutching the amulet, and then he heard it: not a voice spoken aloud, but a whisper that seemed to move through fire and water alike.
The Prime Flame returns... The bloodline stirs once more.
Marko's throat tightened. The words were not just a message—they were a recognition, a claiming. The shrine wasn't merely rising; it was calling to him. For the first time, he felt the weight of his bloodline not as a mystery but as a destiny already unfolding.
The shrine pulsed again, brighter this time, until the light engulfed everything.
Marko's eyes snapped open. He sat up, breath ragged, sweat cold against his skin. The camp was dark, and Ara was still asleep, but the amulet on his chest glowed faintly—warm, alive, as though it had truly awakened.
He pressed a hand against it, heart racing. A mix of fear and awe gripped him. Somewhere out there, beneath the waters of Paoay Lake, a piece of the Gatekeepers' legacy was waiting—and it had just recognized him.
To Paoay
The sun was barely above the horizon when Marko and Ara set out from MMSU, their steps steady but quiet. Behind them, the camp stirred—soldiers preparing rations, survivors tending the wounded. Ramon's words lingered: "If you see survivors, send them here. MMSU is safer than the road."
The path west passed the ruins of MMSU's once-proud halls. Buildings lay gutted, walls clawed open by unseen hands. Steel beams protruded from the wreckage, resembling fractured ribs, serving as a stark reminder of the fragility of human creations in comparison to the creatures that now roamed the land.
Neither spoke much until Paoay's fields came into view, green and gold under the morning light. The journey felt heavier under the weight of Marko's dream. Finally, he broke the silence.
"Ara," he said quietly, brushing the amulet at his neck. "Last night... I dreamed of a shrine rising from a lake. And this—"he held the faintly glowing amulet—"it responded. Almost like it was calling to me."
Ara slowed, brows furrowed. "The lake... Paoay Lake?"
"I think so," Marko replied. "I need to see it. If my dream is real, the shrine... it's connected to me. To the Gatekeepers."
Ara's voice softened. "Gatekeepers... what are they, Marko?"
Marko exhaled, memories surfacing. "You know... when we were kids, Lolo Dario told stories by the fireside. You were there too, though you probably don't remember. He spoke of a time when monsters roamed freely and villages vanished overnight. But there were humans chosen to stand against the darkness. Gatekeepers, he called them. Guardians, not just warriors—carrying responsibilities older than anyone alive, sworn to protect the balance between our world and the unseen."
Ara blinked. "I... I don't remember that."
Marko gave a small, wry smile. "Most don't. Legends tend to fade from memory, especially ones told to children. But sometimes... the past calls, and memories—or dreams—resurface to remind us of what's real."
A chill ran through Ara. Her home was there, her parents were... And now the lake, the shrine, and Marko's dream—all tangled in something she couldn't yet understand.
At the town's edge, silence deepened. Stores that once bustled stood open, doors hanging loose, windows shattered. A bakery lay cracked and cold, its sign charred. A tricycle lay overturned in the street, its frame dented as if tossed by a beast.
The church's bell tower loomed, half-collapsed, its cross shattered at its base. Skittering claws echoed from the alleys. Shadows darted between broken walls—monsters too weak to confront directly, yet too hungry to leave prey unmarked.
Marko reacted first. His spear whirled, piercing the skull of a pale, lanky creature lunging from the shadows. Ara's arrow followed, striking another perched on a rooftop. Silence returned, broken only by their breathing.
The Vanishing Home
A group of weary survivors stepped cautiously from the ruins of the church, their eyes wide with desperation. A child clung to his mother's leg, their faces smudged with soot. Ara's heart clenched—these were her neighbors, people she'd grown up seeing in the plaza.
"Ara?" one of them whispered, recognizing her.
She wanted to stop, to ask if they'd seen her family, but Marko's hand touched her arm gently. His voice was firm, yet soft. "Go east," he told the survivors. "There's a camp at MMSU. Soldiers. You'll be safe there."
The survivors hesitated, torn between relief and fear, before nodding and hurrying down the road. Ara watched them vanish, her bow trembling slightly in her grip.
"Every street feels emptier than the last," she murmured.
Marko glanced at her but said nothing. The amulet's faint glow pulsed once more as they pressed forward, as if urging them onward.
They passed the plaza where the fountain had cracked and spilled into the square, mossy water glistening in the morning sun. A faded tarpaulin from an old festival flapped weakly in the breeze. Ara looked at it, remembering music, laughter—her parents dragging her here as a child. That memory hurts now.
Finally, they reached the path near the lake, where Ara's house stood. But when they arrived, the sight froze them both.
The house was torn apart—wood splintered, windows shattered. Claw marks scored the walls. Blood smeared across the doorstep.
Ara's breath hitched. "No... no, this can't—" She rushed forward, ignoring Marko's hand trying to hold her back. The inside was in ruins, chairs overturned, and pottery smashed. No sign of her parents. Only silence and the heavy stench of beasts.
Marko's grip tightened around his spear. The amulet glowed again, faint but insistent. Something had happened here. Something connected not only to Ara's family but also to the shrine he saw in his dream.