"When gods move in silence, nations tremble; when mortals rise to meet them, the world holds its breath."
Subic Myth-Tech Aerial & Naval Base - Midnight
The Adarna Airship descended through the storm-threaded sky, its engines emitting a low harmonic hum that rippled across Subic Bay. Dock cranes bowed beneath the downwash as the vessel aligned itself with the main hangar's landing rails. Below, a pair of naval battalions and a squadron of myth-tech specialists awaited its arrival, their armor lit by the orange glow of distant fires.
The Mandirigma Warship—scarred, smoking, and listing slightly—dominated the bay behind them. Its hull still steamed from the earlier attack, patches of plating half-melted where crimson glyph-fire had carved through reinforced myth-steel. Support crews swarmed over its decks, extinguishing flare-ups and stabilizing breached sections.
As the Adarna's landing struts made contact with the tarmac, the bay doors slid open. Marian Dela Fuente stepped out first, coat torn, blood dried at her ear, mist still subtly drifting from her shoulders. Yoo Min-Jun followed, limping slightly, sword sheathed, uniform scorched along one sleeve.
Joaquin Santillan emerged last—silent, steady, gloves dimly pulsing violet. He bore no wounds yet radiated the exhaustion of a man who had just fought a High Council member with his bare hands.
President Esperanza Sinukuan approached with Chief of Staff Emilio Valdez at her side. Both stopped short upon seeing the trio's condition.
Sinukuan's eyes sharpened. "Report."
Marian stepped forward, her tone steady despite the strain in her voice. "Min-Jun and I engaged Lakambini to prevent her from taking the Codex. We defended it until the activation surge pulled all three of us into the rift."
She continued, "Inside the mist dimension, we neutralized the Echoe Guardians, reached the Codex, and shut the dimension down before it expanded across the highway. When we were thrown back to the road, we moved to secure the Codex again."
Joaquin took over, his voice low and direct. "A PNP Myth-Tech Patrol issued a code black distress alert. I moved immediately. By the time I arrived, Lakambini had already taken hold of the Codex and attempted to eliminate both Marian and Min-Jun. I intercepted her and forced her back, but she escaped with the Codex before recovery was possible."
General Valdez motioned toward the burning warship behind him. "Simultaneously, the Mandirigma was infiltrated. General Ramon Dimagiba led the attack with engineered Anino relic wielders. They breached deck two and retrieved the other half of the Makiling Codex before our perimeter teams could reestablish control."
Sinukuan's jaw tightened. The storm above seemed to still.
"Inside," she ordered. "All of you."
The Hangar Briefing
The interior of Hangar A-01 thrummed with activity—tactical holotables, myth-tech engineers, wounded infantry, and MID-Zeta personnel moving in disciplined lines. The Sandata insignia glowed above the central dais.
Gregorio Aguilar entered with quiet purpose, the Kamay ni Bathala along his forearms resting in a faint violet glow.
Renato Ramirez followed beside him, the Kalasag ni Bernardo Carpio fixed against his chest in its ancient badge form.
Gregorio approached with controlled urgency. "President. General. What happened?"
Renato's gaze shifted to Marian and Min-Jun. "Where's Agosto?"
Joaquin answered, "Already deployed to Thailand. He's partnering with Prasert Rattanachai to secure the Crown of the Naga."
Sinukuan turned to Marian. "Magdalena Ramos entrusted vital intelligence to you. I need confirmation—does it align with what we're seeing tonight?"
Marian nodded. "It does."
Joaquin stepped forward. "The Anino ng mga Anito are retrieving the components required for the ritual known as the Heart that Commands Creation. Their targets are: the Makiling Codex which the Anito has already acquired, the Crown of the Naga, the Garuda Wings, the Kusanagi, and the Dragon Seal."
He added, "And yes—the ritual is capable of binding Bathala's essences into the Heart."
Gregorio remained silent, but something cold flickered behind his eyes.
Sinukuan shifted her attention fully to him. "Sending you out again is not a decision I take lightly. You hold the Kamay. You carry the Eyes. That makes you a target."
Gregorio responded without hesitation. "Wielding these has always made me a target."
Joaquin backed him. "There is no one else capable of standing against a High Council member."
Before Sinukuan could respond, her eyes narrowed slightly. "One question, Joaquin. How did the Anino know Min-Jun had the other half of the Codex?"
"The Crow Familiars," he replied. "Their spies."
Sinukuan studied him. "You seem familiar with their methods."
Joaquin met her gaze. "I encountered and eliminated a few High Council members during the Marawi Rebellion."
Valdez stepped in quickly. "Madam President, their identities and affiliations were never confirmed. Intelligence had no verifiable proof as the prime instigators during Marawi Rebellion wiped out all traces of evidences leading to the Anino ng mga Anito.
Sinukuan held his gaze, then nodded once. "Noted."
She turned back to the holotable. "Coordination with allied states is active. Their militaries and Sandata wielders are securing the relic components within their borders."
A chime pierced the room.
General Valdez lifted his comms. His expression shifted.
"Madam President… The Senate Committee reports the Vice President is missing. He was not in Bulakan during the attack and has not responded since."
A heavy silence settled across the hangar.
Sinukuan inhaled slowly. "Assign MID-Zeta to track his last movements."
Joaquin nodded. "Ricardo Magno and Sybill Lucero will handle it."
Valdez approved. "Deploy them immediately."
Assignments
The President returned her attention to the four relic wielders before her.
"Gregorio Aguilar, Renato Ramirez—you will reinforce Agosto in Thailand. Secure the Crown of the Naga and support Prasert Rattanachai's defensive grid."
Gregorio nodded once. "We move at dawn."
Renato touched the Kalasag badge—a silent promise. "We'll hold it."
Sinukuan looked to Marian and Min-Jun next, softer now. "You two recover. That is an order."
Their silence was agreement.
The President exhaled, the weight of the moment etched into her voice.
"Then go. All of you. The world is already shifting around us."
Thunder murmured outside the hangar.
The Heart of the storm was moving.
And now, so were they.
The Door Beneath the City
Manila — 3:00 AM
Manila no longer slept.
Not truly.
The city is currently under Ahas ng mga Lakan control.
Checkpoint lights glittered across intersections like artificial constellations, drones traced predictable arcs overhead, and armored patrols marked the edges of every major avenue. Banners bearing the Lakan crest hung from overpasses—territory claimed without a word spoken.
Ricardo and Sybill moved through it unseen.
Not by absence.
By precision.
The Vice President of the Republic was missing—and somewhere behind the silence of government channels, something old and cold was pulling at the edges of the truth.
Their task was simple only on paper:
Retrace where VP Crisostomo Andres went the night Bulakan fell.
And find out why no one had heard from him since.
The VP's Convoy Trail
Their unmarked vehicle rolled to a stop at the outskirts of an industrial compound in Pasig—one of the Vice President's last confirmed locations before comms went dark.
Ricardo scanned the ground with a portable myth-tech tracer. "Convoy tires. Government pattern. Stopped here and didn't return to EDSA."
Sybill knelt beside a faint track. "No retreads. Vehicle wasn't chased."
"Meaning," Ricardo murmured, "he came here willingly… or was redirected by someone he trusted."
Sybill didn't answer, but her grip on the Kandila ng Dilim tightened.
They moved deeper.
The convoy path wound between warehouses and rusting freight containers before reaching an old road that ended at the river.
A trail of footprints—partially washed by the evening tide—led toward a derelict structure at the water's edge.
A flood control building.
Decades abandoned.
Ricardo and Sybill exchanged a glance.
Then entered.
The Door Beneath the City — Integrated Corrected Section
The old flood control building crouched at the river's edge like a forgotten rib of the city—abandoned, corroded, half-swallowed by vines. The Vice President's footprints led directly to it.
Ricardo lifted his hand, stopping Sybill just short of the entrance.
"The air here… shifts," he murmured.
Not wind.
Pressure.
A faint hum rode the air, like a prayer someone whispered into the wrong world.
Sybill drew a slow breath, fingers brushing the base of her relic. "Residual?"
"Maybe. But not like any Anino trace we've cataloged."
Inside, the building was dark but not silent.
The silence behaved oddly—moving, almost recoiling from their presence.
As if the room remembered something it wasn't supposed to.
Ricardo swept the main hall. Dust coated the floor, but not evenly. Subtle drag patterns broke the layer, as if a piece of furniture—or something heavier—had been shifted recently.
Sybill knelt, eyes narrowing. "Someone was here after the VP."
"Someone who knew how to cover their tracks," Ricardo added.
But one detail stood out:
Near the far wall, a faint discoloration—the type left behind by an object pressed long against stone.
Rectangular.
Shoulder-height.
Sybill whispered, "That's where someone was standing."
Ricardo nodded. "Watching. Or waiting."
But the VP's own tracks ended abruptly—cleanly—several feet before the wall.
No scuff marks.
No turn.
No retreat.
Just… nothing.
As if he simply stopped existing at that point.
Sybill exhaled through her nose. "Ricardo, this makes no sense."
"I know."
She touched the wall where the imprint lay.
It was cold.
Far too cold for a tropical night.
Ricardo checked the floor again. No forced entry. No blood. No sign of struggle. Only the abrupt ending of footsteps that should have continued… somewhere.
But didn't.
"Do we search deeper?" Sybill asked quietly.
Ricardo shook his head. "No. Whatever happened here, we won't find the answer in this room."
They backed out slowly.
Behind them, the empty imprint on the wall lingered like a held breath, untouched and unreadable.
And entirely wrong.
The Phantom Route
Back outside, Sybill activated her myth-tech tablet, scanning the riverbank. "The VP's signal pinged one last time… here."
Ricardo followed her gaze to the dark water.
No boat lights.
No engines.
No signs of crossing.
"Jumping into the river wouldn't erase a GPS trail," Ricardo muttered.
"Unless someone erased it." Sybill's voice lowered. "Cleanly. Deliberately."
They surveyed the area in a widening circle.
At first, nothing.
Then—
Ricardo saw it.
A single strand of black thread caught in a splintered piece of rebar.
He plucked it free.
It shimmered faintly, as though refusing to remain fully in the light.
Sybill swallowed. "That's Anino-grade textile."
Ricardo didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because Anino operatives never left traces.
Not unless they wanted someone to know they'd been there.
The Unmarked Camera
A glint drew Sybill's attention upward.
A security camera.
Not government issue.
Not Ahas.
And not connected to any known grid.
Someone installed it—but the wiring fed into the concrete wall rather than a power source.
Ricardo frowned. "Hidden relay. A signal broadcaster."
"To where?" Sybill asked.
"No idea."
He tried to detach the panel.
Sparks snapped back—rejecting his touch.
Not electrical resistance.
Something else.
Something that didn't want them touching the device.
Ricardo lowered his hand. "We mark it. We don't force it."
Sybill nodded.
And yet, as they stepped away—
The camera pivoted.
Just slightly.
As if watching them leave.
A City That Pretends Nothing Happened
They vanished back into Manila's night, slipping through alleys and empty thoroughfares as the weight of their findings pressed down.
The city looked the same.
But nothing felt the same.
Not the silence of the checkpoints.
Not the watchful eyes in the shadows.
Not the way drones lingered as if expecting something.
And not the cold shape of that imprint on the wall.
Ricardo finally spoke as they reached their vehicle. "Someone took the Vice President."
Sybill added quietly, "And whoever it was… he met them willingly enough to walk into that building alone."
Ricardo didn't respond.
His silence said it all.
Because the clues were pointing somewhere.
Somewhere no one in the Republic wanted to imagine.
Sybill typed the preliminary report with steady fingers as Ricardo drove them back toward the classified MID-Zeta safehouse.
She ended the entry with the only truth they had:
"Subject did not vanish.
Subject was removed."
And somewhere in Manila, in a place neither of them could yet name—
Something watched.
As they turned away from the riverbank, the air changed.
Not with wind or temperature.
It was presence.
Ricardo's steps halted first.
Sybill felt it a second later—a thinning of the world, as though something powerful had exhaled just behind the veil of the city.
Then the river went still.
The lights of Manila—distant, fractured, uneasy—seemed to dim at the edges.
Sybill's hand drifted to the hilt of the Kandila ng Dilim.
Ricardo's fingers curled around Alab ng Tala's grip.
A soft footstep echoed behind them.
One.
Then another.
The shadows near the old flood control building stretched—too long, too deliberate—until they folded into a single silhouette.
A man stepped out, and the night seemed to adjust around him.
It was Senator Datu Alon.
He carried no malice in his expression.
The Dahong Palay rested loosely in his right hand, its jade-like blade coiling with a faint, liquid shimmer—like a serpent tasting the air.
Ricardo spoke first.
"…Alon."
The Senator smiled politely. "Operatives of MID-Zeta. You've wandered very far from the safety of your headquarters."
Sybill's breath steadied, black witchflame beginning to flicker along her blade. "You've wandered very close to a classified investigation, Senator."
"A classified disappearance?" Alon asked softly. "Of a man whose loyalties even you cannot define?"
Ricardo's stance sharpened. "Vice President Andres is a national concern. Step aside."
Alon tilted his head, amused—not dismissive, not hostile.
Almost… sympathetic.
"You seek him," he said, "yet you do not understand the path he chose."
Sybill's eyes narrowed. "We'll understand enough once we find him."
Alon sighed faintly, almost regretfully.
"That is why I'm here."
A single emerald glyph spiraled beneath his feet—quiet, elegant, restrained.
The air thickened with Verdant Dominion, the ground humming as if recognizing an old master.
Ricardo drew Alab ng Tala fully.
Golden light flared along the blade's molten edge, cutting through the mist like a rising sun.
Sybill stepped beside him, Kandila ng Dilim igniting in a pillar of black witchflame that devoured the surrounding shadows whole.
Alon lifted the Dahong Palay, its blade elongating slightly—uncoiling like green silk stirred by an unseen wind.
"No need for death tonight," he murmured. "But I must know how much you have discovered."
Ricardo's eyes hardened. "Enough."
Alon's smile sharpened.
"Then show me."
The jade blade flexed—gently, as though waking.
The confrontation began without a signal.
Sybill struck first.
Black tendrils of witchflame lashed outward, seeking to bind Alon's footing, searing through concrete. The flame branded the ground with burning sigils—each one pulsing with destabilizing force.
Alon stepped through them as though walking through tall grass.
His blade swept once, and a wave of emerald light dispersed the tendrils mid-lash, fracturing them into drifting shards of dark fire that evaporated into mist.
Ricardo was already moving.
Three Stars
Three molten arcs crossed paths in a tight pattern—one high, one center, one low—forcing Alon to commit his defense.
The Senator barely lifted the Dahong Palay.
A single angled stroke cleaved through all three arcs, scattering golden flame into harmless sparks.
Alon whispered, "Radiant. But predictable."
Ricardo narrowed his eyes. Alab ng Tala roared with renewed heat.
Sybill surged in again, black fire folding into a dome—sealing off the riverbank, muffling the world beyond it. Witchflame tendrils erupted from the dome's interior, each one aimed to constrict, scorch, or destabilize the emerald glyphs forming at Alon's feet.
For the first time, Alon's stance shifted.
He exhaled.
Emerald spirals unfurled beneath him, rising in layered concentric arcs—script woven directly from the sky's memory.
Dahong Palay extended, its blade uncoiling into a long, flowing scimitar of green light.
He cleaved the air once—
—and the inside of Sybill's flame-dome erupted in a cross-current of emerald slashes, each one cutting through tendrils without touching her body.
Ricardo slid in behind the distraction—
Solar Spiral
Alab's light coiled downward in a tightening spiral, aiming for Alon's flank.
This time, the Senator stepped back—not from fear, but from respect.
The spiral crashed into the riverbank, sending a column of steam skyward.
Alon raised the Dahong Palay parallel to his face.
"Enough probing," he said.
Sybill and Ricardo tightened their guard.
The emerald blade shimmered—hundreds of projected rice-leaf blades forming a whispering halo above him.
"If you continue your search," he said quietly, "the truths you find will devour you long before I must lift this relic again."
Ricardo held his stance. "We're not stopping."
Sybill's witchflame blazed brighter. "Not until we bring him back."
The Senator's expression softened into something unreadable.
He lowered the Dahong Palay—only slightly.
"Then remember this moment," he whispered. "It is the last time the path ahead will give you a chance to turn back."
The emerald glyph beneath his feet flared—
—and he vanished in a surge of jade light, the river mist collapsing into silence around the two MID-Zeta operatives.
Ricardo and Sybill remained poised for several seconds after he disappeared, blades still burning, senses still sharp.
Only when the wind resumed its natural rhythm did they breathe again.
Sybill extinguished the Kandila ng Dilim slowly, its black flame receding into the hilt like a living shadow obeying its master.
Ricardo sheathed Alab ng Tala, golden embers fading along the metal.
He exhaled.
Sybill didn't smile.
And the night swallowed the riverbank once more.
In the Wake of Unseen Powers
A myth-tech limousine glided through the empty avenues of Manila, its windows tinted with reactive glyph-film that swallowed streetlight and reflection alike. Inside, the cabin hummed with a soft, low-frequency resonance—soundproofing woven from both circuitry and old magic.
Datu Alon sat in the rear, Dahong Palay resting beside him in its dormant, jade-threaded form. The relic slept, but the air still bent subtly around it.
Across from him, Vice President Crisostomo Andres watched the city drift past—silent checkpoints, Lakan insignias on overpasses, drones tracing the sky like patient birds of prey. His hands were folded neatly, posture immaculate, expression unreadable.
"Were they able to identify me?" he asked at last, voice steady, neither anxious nor eager—merely confirming.
Alon turned his gaze from the window to the man before him, eyes calm, impenetrable.
"Not yet," he answered.
A quiet hum filled the space—the limousine's engine, or the weight of the truth.
Crisostomo leaned back slightly. "And when they do?"
Alon regarded him for a long moment, the faint emerald glow of Dahong Palay reflecting in his eyes.
"When they do," he said evenly, "Reality is already under our command"
Outside, the limousine slipped deeper into Manila's shadowed arteries—
a ghost within a city pretending to sleep.
End of Act 2