By late afternoon, the government finally broke its silence.
Every television in Manila flickered to the same emergency broadcast. In a stiff suit and forced calm, the Secretary of Science and Technology addressed the nation. His voice wavered as he read from the teleprompter:
"Our astronomers are currently studying the unusual appearance of the moon. Early findings suggest an atmospheric disturbance caused by volcanic ash in the Pacific region. Citizens are advised to remain calm. There is no cause for alarm."
Ulysses sat in a crowded cafeteria across from city hall, listening with a dozen strangers. As the official droned on, a collective murmur of disbelief filled the room.
"Volcanic ash?" a tricycle driver snorted. "What volcano? Taal hasn't even sneezed lately."
An old woman shook her head. "They think we're fools. This isn't science. This is judgment."
The broadcast ended with the national anthem, as if patriotism could calm fear. Ulysses closed his notebook, feeling a hollow pit in his chest. The government's denial only deepened the unease.
That night, he returned to the Baywalk. The crowds were larger than before—thousands now, spilling across the seawall and boulevard. Vendors sold candles and bottled water. Some families camped in tents, refusing to leave until the moon returned to normal.
Ulysses moved among them, interviewing quietly. A street preacher declared that the seven seals of Revelation were opening. A young mother clutched her baby and whispered that she dreamed of oceans swallowing the islands. Soldiers patrolled nearby, rifles slung over their shoulders, their faces taut with fatigue.
Everywhere, fear crackled like electricity.
As the evening deepened, the moon swelled larger. Its red light cast eerie shadows across the bay, turning the waves the color of blood. Children whimpered. Dogs howled. The air smelled metallic, like rust.
Ulysses found himself standing again near the fisherman from the night before. The man gave him a grim nod. "Told you, anak. The sea is restless."
The waves proved him right. They slammed harder against the seawall, spraying foam high into the air. The sound was deafening, like drums of war. People began retreating, clutching one another. Soldiers shouted for order, but their voices were drowned by the roar of water and the screams of the crowd.
And then, without warning, the earth trembled.
The seawall shuddered. Glass shattered from nearby buildings. Car alarms blared. Someone shouted "Lindol!"—earthquake—and panic erupted.
Ulysses stumbled, catching himself on the barrier. The ground rolled beneath his feet as if the city itself were being shaken awake. The red moon loomed larger still, glaring down like an eye of fire.
He wanted to write it all down, but his hands were too unsteady. Instead, he looked up, heart pounding, and whispered to no one in particular:
"If this is a story… who's the author?"
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End of Chapter 6