"The divine does not fall to hatred—it falls to hands that mean well."
Mt. Makiling — Training Ground of the Heir
Mist wound through the slopes of Mount Makiling, curling around the terraces like the mountain's own breath. In the clearing at its heart, the air hummed with restrained memory — the quiet tension of a place that once knew both reverence and grief.
Marian Dela Fuente stepped into the circle where she had once learned to listen to the voice of the Goddess herself. The faint outline of glyphs glowed beneath the moss-covered stones — remnants of the divine discipline Makiling had taught her: to move like the wind and strike like a prayer.
Now, the clearing carried another presence.
Magdalena Ramos sat in stillness at its center. The Tanikala ng Guniguni lay across her knees, its mirrored links reflecting pale light in small, trembling fragments.
Marian's footsteps broke the quiet. "You still come here."
Magda didn't look up. "You call it returning. I call it repentance."
The Divine Prison
The circle pulsed faintly beneath their feet — an echo, not of life, but of containment. Marian's eyes trailed over the seal, the concentric marks forming a forgotten geometry. "You visit it often."
Magda nodded faintly, her voice low. "I come to remind myself what I've done — and to beg the mountain for mercy. Each visit feels the same. The silence never forgives, but it never condemns me either."
Marian's tone sharpened. "You sealed her here."
Magda's gaze finally lifted. "I did."
A pause, brittle and cold.
"Why?"
"Because Lakambini Reyes ordered it."
The name struck like steel meeting stone.
Marian's expression froze, disbelief spreading across her face. "Lakambini?"
"Yes," Magda answered. "She came bearing the Republic's seal, but her command echoed another voice — one older, quieter, darker. The Anino ng mga Anito sanctioned the rite. She wanted the Makiling Codex that the Goddess protected."
"The Codex…" Marian murmured."
Magda nodded. "Lakambini knew she could never obtain it while Makiling stood guard. The Goddess had vowed that no mortal hand — not even mine — would ever touch the Codex while her breath remained bound to this mountain. That is why Lakambini ordered the sealing. It was not about conquest; it was about removing the one guardian standing between the Council and their prize."
Marian's jaw tensed. "So she struck first."
Magda's eyes dimmed. "And I carried out the command that made it possible."
The Choice in Biringan
Marian's question cut through the mist. "You still obeyed."
Magda's voice broke slightly. "My family was taken hostage in Biringan. Lakambini's people made certain of that. Even if I had called for help, she would have ended us all before dawn. She commanded the Abaniko ni Urduja, a Sandata relic strong enough to silence gods. What choice was left?"
Her fingers brushed the Tanikala's mirrored links. "So I obeyed. And Makiling… she didn't resist. She said—" Magda's throat tightened. "'The mountain endures what mortals cannot.' She smiled as I drew the seal. She forgave me before I betrayed her."
The words hung heavy between them. The wind itself seemed to still, unwilling to intrude.
Marian's voice trembled. "Then why didn't you tell me? We could have joined forces—fought Lakambini together."
Magda looked up sharply, her expression a blend of sorrow and disbelief. "Didn't you see how Lakambini fought off gods in the Capital? I felt that wasn't even the full extent of her powers. If we had stood against her that night, you would have died alongside me and my family.
Marian said nothing, only lowered her gaze, her knuckles whitening around the hilt of the Sundang ni Makiling.
The Confession
"It was never jealousy," Magda whispered. "Not hatred either. When I see you, Marian, I see her. You carry her light — her calm. And I remember the hands I used to bind that light. That isn't envy. It's guilt. The kind that never lets you sleep."
Marian lowered her eyes, her grip loosening on the Sundang ni Makiling. "You sealed her to save your family."
"Yes," Magda said. "I thought it was the only way I could save my family. "
Marian looked up again, searching Magda's face. "Then why tell me all this now?"
Magda's eyes softened, a faint sadness drifting into her tone. "Because my time may be coming soon. I don't want to leave for Kasanaan with regrets."
The Five Components
Magda rose, and as she lifted her hand, glowing symbols spiraled through the mist.
"The Makiling Codex — the pattern of creation.
The Crown of the Naga — vessel of divine thought.
The Garuda Wings — bridge between planes.
The Kusanagi — blade that severs being from soul.
The Dragon Seal — limiter against collapse."
"These five relics are the keys that can perform the ritual known as the Heart that Commands Creation."
It is a rite designed to channel or imprison divine essence. My ancestors — the Babaylans of Biringan — created it to bind even the most sacred forces: the Kamay and the Left and Right Eyes of Bathala.
Marian's jaw clenched. "Then Lakambini needed your bloodline."
"She needed my art," Magda said bitterly. "Makiling was too powerful even for her. But my seal — my curse — could cage even a deity."
The Truth Revealed
Marian stepped forward, realization settling like iron. "Lakambini Reyes… she was never just a governor."
Magda's voice darkened. "No. She was one of them all along. I thought I served the Republic. I served the shadow beneath it."
The mist thickened, shimmering faintly around the circle. "When I finished the seal, Lakambini turned away without a word.
Parting
Magda pressed her palm to the center of the sealing circle. The glyphs flared, faint yet defiant.
Marian's voice softened. "What will you do now?"
Magda's answer came with conviction this time. "I've already accepted what I am — a Babaylan Saint. The rites in my blood no longer belong to secrecy. If the Anino ng mga Anito moves again, I will stand against them. Hermano Lopez, Juan Luciano, Mia Torre, and Crispulo Toledo lend their faith and their power where mine falters. Together, we can face the shadows that once commanded us."
The mist curled around her as she continued, quieter now. "Maybe that's the only redemption left to me"
A faint glow began to climb around her feet — the forming of an escape glyph. The Tanikala shimmered, bending light across her figure.
"Marian," she said, her voice trembling, "tell her — if she ever wakes — that I never hated her. I only wanted her forgiveness."
"Magda—"
But the older woman smiled faintly, her outline fading into silver reflection. "You even stand like her when you defy the storm," she murmured. Then she was gone — a glint of light dissolving into mist.
The Mountain's Voice
Silence returned, vast and breathing.
Marian knelt beside the seal and rested her palm upon the stone. The Sundang ni Makiling pulsed softly, its mist curling upward like an exhale.
A whisper answered her touch — soft, ancient, and maternal. Anak.
Marian closed her eyes. "You bore the weight for all of us. And still they made you suffer."
The mist gathered, faintly shaping into a woman's silhouette. "Guard the Heart, the voice murmured. When it beats again, the heavens will forget their order."
Marian bowed her head. "I will... the Sandata Unit will. "
The voice faded, and the seal dimmed back into quiet light.
Marian stood alone beneath the canopy, her blade resting at her side, her breath steady despite the ache in her chest. Far below, thunder rolled — distant, patient, deliberate.
The mountain listened.
And for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath again.
Back to the Mandirigma Warship
The Mandirigma drifted over Subic Bay, engines thrumming in a steady, low heartbeat. The ship's hull still bore scars from the Capital Reclamation—burnt grooves like reminders carved into iron.
Yoo Min-Jun stood by the viewing deck, watching the horizon blur where steel met sky. His reflection looked calm, but his pulse betrayed him. He had rehearsed the words too many times.
"It's just dinner. Not a mission."
The comm unit blinked.
"Marian Dela Fuente is en route to Deck Two."
He drew a breath, squared his shoulders, and whispered, "Now or never."
Inviting a Goddess to Dinner
The elevator opened. Marian stepped out, silent and poised, the faint trace of mountain mist still clinging to her coat.
"Yoo," she greeted softly.
He nodded. "Marian… dinner? Just dinner."
Her brow arched slightly. "Dinner?"
"There's a place in Clark—Korean district. Quiet."
Marian studied him for a beat, then smiled faintly. "You've practiced that line."
"Maybe a few times," he admitted.
She gave a small nod. "Then it would be cruel to refuse."
Korea Town, Angeles
Angeles, Korean district glowed in warm neon and rising steam. Lanterns swayed above the narrow streets, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and rain-soaked pavement.
They found a quiet restaurant tucked between two tea shops—paper lanterns, low light, and the hum of an old gayageum melody.
Across the grill, the fire painted soft gold along Marian's face. "It feels strange," she murmured. "To sit somewhere ordinary."
"Ordinary reminds me I'm still alive," Yoo said.
She smiled. "You sound like someone who keeps proving it."
He shrugged. "Maybe I just need reminding."
They spoke lightly—fleet gossip, relic tech upgrades, the absurdity of mid-battle commendations. Marian laughed once, brief and unguarded. The sound pulled a genuine smile from him.
When he asked about her family, she fell quiet. "Peace doesn't run in my blood," she said at last. "But I'm learning to hold it, even for a while."
The Gift
When the meal ended, Yoo reached into his jacket and set a sealed containment case on the table. The myth-tech glyphs pulsed faintly through the glass.
Marian's eyes flicked toward it. "What is that?"
"The other half of the Makiling Codex."
Her expression tightened, but she said nothing.
"It belongs with you," he continued. "Not with generals or councils. You know what it is. What it could become."
She stared at the case, the glow tracing her reflection in the window. "You're marking yourself, and me, by doing this."
"I know," he said. "But if something darker is coming, I trust you more than those chasing power they don't understand."
Her gaze softened. "The Goddess Makiling sacrificed her freedom to protect this."
The silence between them settled like calm water. Outside, neon rain streaked across the glass, blurring the city into color.
Marian finally placed her hand over the case. "Then I'll keep it safe."
Yoo nodded once. "I can feel that the High Council of the Anino ng mga Anito will hunt for this in the future."
"Then those god pretenders will answer for what they started."
He smiled faintly. "That sounds like you."
They left together. The street shimmered under lantern light, the scent of smoke and rain clinging to the night.
At the vehicle, Marian paused. "You're a good man, Yoo. I won't forget this."
He chuckled softly. "Just don't die before dinner next time."
She almost smiled—and that was enough.
As the car pulled away, Yoo lingered at the curb, the glow of the city catching in his eyes. Somewhere above the storm, gods were moving again. But for one quiet evening, humanity had stolen back a heartbeat of its own.
And on the seat beside Marian, the Makiling Codex pulsed faintly—alive once more, as if recognizing it had finally come home.
Clark–Subic Highway
Nightfall
The highway to Subic stretched like a black ribbon through the mountains, its lanes washed clean by recent rain. Neon from distant trucks shimmered faintly across the wet asphalt. The hum of the MID Zeta escort vehicles ahead faded, leaving only the quiet purr of the car's engine and the faint vibration of myth-tech stabilizers.
Marian sat in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the faintly glowing case resting between them — the Makiling Codex. Its glyphs pulsed in slow, deliberate rhythm, like the breathing of something alive and waiting.
Beside her, Yoo Min-Jun drove in steady silence. His knuckles were pale on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the dark horizon. "We'll reach the Subic hangar in twenty," he said. "Then the Codex goes under triple lock."
Marian nodded, though unease lingered in her chest. "The Codex feels… restless," she murmured. "Almost aware."
"Maybe it knows it's home," Min-Jun replied with a faint smirk. "Or maybe it knows someone's looking for it."
The words had barely left his mouth when the lights ahead flickered.
A pulse — brief but blinding — rippled across the highway. Street lamps shattered one by one, plunging the world into darkness.
Then something hit the hood.
Metal screamed.
The windshield caved inward as a figure landed with impossible force — a blur of red and white caught in the dying light.
The car fishtailed violently.
Min-Jun cursed under his breath, spinning the wheel to keep control. The tires shrieked, rubber tearing against concrete. Sparks flared as the rear bumper scraped the guardrail. The world tilted—
and then righted itself, just enough for Marian to see what stood atop their hood.
Lakambini Reyes.
Her heels dug through reinforced metal like it was silk. Her Abaniko ni Urduha unfolded in her hand, each segment glowing with wind glyphs that shimmered like captured lightning. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, met Marian's through the fractured glass.
"Give me the Codex," she said, voice calm, almost kind. "And you may keep your lives."
Marian's hand went instinctively to her Sundang. "You—" she breathed, realization cutting through the shock. "You were the one who ordered it. The sealing."
Lakambini tilted her head slightly. "Makiling was in the way of history. I merely corrected its course."
Before Min-Jun could react, Lakambini flicked her fan.
The air exploded.
The windshield shattered completely, the shockwave flipping the car end-over-end. The world became a blur of light and sound — glass, fire, spinning night.
Impact.
Metal folded. Flames bloomed.
The wreckage tumbled off the shoulder and came to rest in a shallow ravine.
For a long second, there was silence — only the ticking of twisted metal.
Then, a hiss.
Mist.
Marian emerged first, dissolving through the vapor, her hair tangled, blood tracing a thin line down her cheek. The Sundang shimmered at her side, already awake.
Behind her, Min-Jun crawled free from the wreck, coughing through smoke. His coat was torn, his blade drawn.
The wrecked car convulsed once — then erupted into a column of flame.
Lakambini descended through the fire.
Each step left ripples of pressure on the air. The wind curved around her like it feared to touch her form. The Abaniko folded and snapped open again with a whisper that sounded like silk being torn. Her expression was serene, her voice still unhurried.
"You've done well keeping the Codex from the wrong hands," she said, her tone almost approving. "But you misunderstand what *wrong* means."
Marian stood firm, her mist coiling at her feet. "The Codex isn't yours to command."
Lakambini smiled faintly. "It was never Makiling's either. The Heart that Commands Creation belongs to the Anito. You've merely delayed the inevitable."
Wind gathered around her—circling, condensing, forming cutting spirals that lifted debris into orbit. The air pressure dropped, the storm ready to be born.
Marian tightened her grip on the Sundang, its edge gleaming with mist-light. "You'll have to take it from me."
Min-Jun stepped beside her, sword raised. "You're not leaving with it."
Lakambini regarded them both for a heartbeat, her gaze unreadable. "Then you've chosen the storm."
She vanished.
The fan's glyphs flared behind them—slicing through air, stone, and steel in perfect arcs. Min-Jun's blade met one strike mid-spin, deflecting it into the wreck. The explosion painted the ravine white.
Marian lunged through the smoke, the Sundang transforming into mist that coiled toward Lakambini's silhouette. But each tendril was blown apart before reaching her—torn by invisible currents.
Lakambini appeared behind them, fan raised. "Your devotion is admirable," she said softly. "Misplaced, but admirable."
The wind screamed.
A shockwave hurled both relic wielders backward, slamming them into fractured earth. Marian's vision blurred; she forced herself upright, teeth clenched. Min-Jun staggered beside her, his blade flickering with resonance light.
She whispered through grit, "She's not fighting to kill."
Min-Jun glanced at her. "She's fighting to take."
Lakambini stepped closer through the storm, unhurried, unstoppable. "The Codex," she repeated. "Hand it over, and I may yet let the mountain's heir breathe another day."
The containment case lay amid the wreckage — its faint glow pulsing faster now, as if sensing the tension in the air.
Lakambini's eyes flicked toward it.
So did Marian's.
So did Min-Jun's.
And then — silence.
Lightning forked behind Lakambini, turning the night into white fire.
The Codex's glyphs flared, flooding the ravine with radiant light — patterns spiraling across the walls, weaving into the storm, answering a call no mortal made.
Marian's voice cut through the chaos, low and fierce.
"You'll have to earn it."
Lakambini's fan opened fully, its runes blinding.
"Then let's see if Makiling chose well."
The wind screamed again —
and the world disappeared into light.