Volume 1: From Ashes and Ink
Chapter 1: The Last Book and The First Breath
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Part 1: The Man Who Loved Books More Than People
Dr. Luis Antonio sat in the deep silence of his apartment, a fortress made of paper and ink. The only light came from a single lamp, throwing long shadows from the towers of books that surrounded him.
Another day gone, he thought, his fingers tracing the worn cover of a history text. Another day where the only voices I hear are from these pages. But maybe that's better. The people out there... they don't want to hear about truth. They just want comfortable lies.
He remembered his last date months ago. The woman's name was Lena, and she had smiled so brightly at first.
"So you're a historian?" she had asked. "That sounds fascinating!"
But when he started explaining why the official accounts of the Battle of Mactan didn't make sense, her smile had slowly faded.
"You're really... intense about this, aren't you?" she had said, already looking toward the door.
I am intense, Luis thought now, pushing his glasses up his nose. Because the truth matters. These stories matter. Why can't anyone else see that?
His eyes fell on the termination letter from the university. The words "gross misconduct" and "immediate dismissal" stood out like wounds.
All because of Celia, he thought, the memory still raw. Two coffee meetings. That's all it was. We talked about Bayesian analysis of pre-colonial trade patterns. But her father...
Senator Alvaro's face flashed in his mind—cold, powerful, and utterly ruthless. When he discovered his daughter was meeting with a "common professor," his response had been swift and brutal.
The first warning came as a phone call. "Stay away from my daughter, Dr. Antonio." Luis had tried to explain it was purely academic, but the senator hung up.
Then the photo appeared in the newspapers—a grainy shot of them leaving the café, carefully cropped to look intimate. The headline: "PREDATORY PROFESSOR PREYS ON SENATOR'S DAUGHTER."
The university called him in. "Luis, we have to let you go," the dean said, not meeting his eyes. "The senator's influence... we can't fight this."
They didn't even let me defend myself, Luis thought bitterly. Twenty years of dedicated work, gone in an instant. My reputation destroyed because a powerful man decided I was beneath his daughter.
He picked up a small, unlabeled bottle from his desk, turning it over in his hands.
Maybe it's time to stop fighting, he thought. Maybe the world doesn't want people who care about truth.
But then a different thought came, stubborn and persistent.
One last time. I should say goodbye properly. Among the books. Where I always belonged.
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Part 2: The Last Goodbye
The National Archives stood silent and grand in the moonlight. The night watchman, Mang Benjo, nodded as Luis approached.
"Late night, Dr. Antonio?" the old guard asked, his voice kind.
"Just need to... check something one last time," Luis said, avoiding the man's eyes.
Inside, the air smelled of old paper and wisdom. Luis breathed it in like it was his last breath of clean air.
This is my true home, he thought, running his hand along a shelf of ancient manuscripts. These books have never judged me. Never betrayed me.
He went to the oldest section, where the most fragile documents were kept. His hands, which had trembled in his apartment, were steady now as he pulled a heavy, leather-bound volume from the shelf.
"Pigafetta's journal," he whispered, opening it carefully. "The closest we have to the truth about what really happened here."
He read the familiar words, his finger tracing the description of Magellan's arrival. But something still felt wrong.
"The dates don't match the weather patterns," he muttered to the empty room. "The descriptions of the weapons... it's like reading a story where someone changed the ending."
He placed the poison bottle on the wooden desk, watching it gleam in the dim light.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, though he didn't know who he was apologizing to. "I tried to find the truth. I tried to be the person everyone wanted me to be. But I failed at both."
A single tear escaped, falling onto the open page. It landed right on the name "Lapu-Lapu," making the ink blur.
Even now, you haunt me, he thought, staring at the smudged name. What really happened to you? What truth died with you?
Then—a sharp pop from deep in the stacks.
Then the smell—acrid, chemical, wrong.
Luis's head snapped up. "What in the—"
Orange light flickered between the shelves. Then flames erupted, hungry and fast, devouring everything they touched.
"The books!" Luis cried, jumping to his feet. "No, not the books!"
He forgot about the poison. Forgot about ending his life. The only thing that mattered was saving the truth.
He ran toward the fire, grabbing armfuls of manuscripts and throwing them toward safety. The heat blistered his skin, but he barely felt it.
"Not this one!" he cried, grabbing a codex of pre-colonial laws. "This is the only copy!"
The smoke filled his lungs, making him cough and choke. Through tear-filled eyes, he saw Pigafetta's journal beginning to curl and blacken at the edges.
No... he thought, reaching for it. Not the truth...
The last thing he felt was the searing heat. The last thing he saw was the journal turning to ash. The last thing he thought was: At least I die with the books.
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Part 3: The Boy Who Came Back Wrong
In a village that would one day be famous, a mother wept over her son's still body.
"Please," she begged the old woman kneeling beside him. "Please, Anya, save my boy."
The babaylan, Anya, shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Maya. His spirit has left us. The fever was too strong."
Around them, the other villagers bowed their heads. Luiso had been a good boy—kind to elders, quick to laugh. Now he was gone.
Anya began the prayers for the dead, asking the ancestors to guide Luiso's soul to the afterlife. But as she chanted, she felt something strange—a disturbance in the flow of the world's energy.
What is this? she thought, her chanting faltering. The air... it tastes different.
Then the impossible happened.
The boy's cold body grew warm. Too warm, too fast. His back arched violently, and a sound tore from his throat—a raw, ragged gasp that sounded nothing like a child.
Maya rushed forward. "Luiso! You're alive!" She gathered him in her arms, weeping with joy.
But the boy in her arms didn't hug her back. His eyes—wide and terrified—darted around the hut, taking in the thatched roof, the dirt floor, the oil lamp's flickering light.
Those are not a child's eyes, Anya realized with a start. Those are the eyes of someone who has seen too much.
"Wait, Maya," Anya said gently, pulling the mother back. "Let me... examine him. The spirits may not have fully released him."
When they were alone, Anya knelt before the boy. "Who are you?" she asked directly.
The boy tried to speak, but only a rough croak came out. He gestured frantically toward a water gourd.
Anya helped him drink, her eyes never leaving his face. "Better?" she asked.
"Where..." the boy rasped, his voice strange and rough. "Where am I? What happened?"
"You are in the village of Mactan," Anya said calmly. "In the body of a boy named Luiso, who died of fever moments ago. But you are not Luiso. I can see that plainly."
The boy looked down at his hands—small, smooth, unfamiliar. He touched his face, his expression one of growing horror.
"I was... in a fire," he whispered. "I was reading... then burning..."
"Reading?" Anya asked, her interest sharpening. "What is your name, spirit?"
"Luis," the boy said. "Dr. Luis Antonio. I'm... I was a historian."
Anya tilted her head. "I don't know this word. 'Historian.' Where are you from, Luis-who-was?"
Luis looked around the simple hut, his modern mind struggling to process the primitive surroundings.
"I think..." he said slowly, the truth dawning on him with terrible clarity. "I think I'm from the future."
Anya's breath caught. "The future? Why would Bathala send a soul from the future to us? Why now?"
"I don't know!" Luis said, his voice rising in panic. "I was going to die! I wanted to die! And now... now I'm a child again in... what year is this?"
"We count years by the harvest," Anya said. "But the elders say it is the year the strange ships were promised in prophecies."
Luis buried his face in his hands. "This can't be happening."
Anya studied him for a long time. Finally, she spoke, her voice firm. "Listen to me. To everyone else, you are Luiso. A boy who survived a terrible fever. Only I will know the truth. Do you understand?"
Luis nodded weakly. "Yes."
"Why do you think you are here?" Anya pressed. "A soul does not cross time by accident."
Luis thought of the burning books. The lies that destroyed his life. The history that never added up.
"Maybe..." he said slowly, "maybe I'm here to find the real truth. The one that got lost in my time."
Anya's eyes gleamed in the lamplight. "Then perhaps Bathala has answered our prayers in a way we never expected."
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Part 4: A Month of Wonders and Magic
The weeks that followed were the strangest of Luis's life—in either of his lives. Anya became his guide, his teacher, and his only confidant.
Each morning before dawn, she would lead him to a secluded clearing in the jungle. "Your body may be that of a child, Luiso," she told him, "but your spirit is ancient. And it carries power I have never felt before."
On their first real training day, she had him sit before a small sapling. "Close your eyes," she instructed. "Feel the life within the tree. The anito—the spirit—that dwells there."
Luis tried, but felt nothing. "It's just a tree, Anya."
"Just a tree?" she chuckled. "You see with your eyes, not with your spirit. Try again."
Frustrated, Luis focused harder. This is ridiculous. I'm a historian, not a magician.
But then something shifted. A warmth spread through his chest, and suddenly he could feel it—a gentle, pulsing energy emanating from the tree.
"I... I feel it!" he gasped.
"Good," Anya said, sounding pleased. "Now ask it to grow."
"Ask a tree to grow?" Luis said skeptically.
"Not with words," she explained. "With your will. With the power inside you."
Luis focused again, directing that warm energy toward the sapling. To his astonishment, the tree began to visibly grow, its branches stretching toward the sky, leaves unfurling at an impossible rate.
This can't be real, he thought, staring in disbelief.
But Anya was staring at him with wide eyes. "By the ancestors... I've never seen such raw power. You didn't just ask it to grow—you commanded it."
Over the following weeks, Anya introduced him to the realities of this world.
"Not all creatures are as they seem," she told him one evening as they walked through the jungle. "The Tikbalang are guardians of the forest. Proud, sometimes mischievous, but honorable."
As if on cue, a massive creature with the body of a man and the head of a horse emerged from the trees. Luis froze, his modern mind rejecting what he was seeing.
"Be calm, Kael," Anya said to the creature. "This is Luiso. He is... special."
The Tikbalang studied Luis with intelligent eyes, then nodded and melted back into the shadows.
"The Diwata are spirits of nature," Anya continued. "They can be beautiful and terrible. And the Aswang... they are more complex than stories tell. Some are monsters, yes. But others are simply... different."
She taught him to sense the different types of magic. "The anito magic comes from the land itself—from the trees, the rivers, the stones. It is wild and free. But there is another kind coming... a cold, rigid magic that seeks to control rather than cooperate."
One afternoon, while practicing near a stream, Luis lost control of his power. Frustrated with a particularly stubborn rock that refused to move, he let his anger flare.
The result was catastrophic. The rock didn't just move—it vaporized in a flash of light. The stream momentarily reversed direction. The trees around them shuddered as if in a hurricane.
When the chaos subsided, Anya looked at him with a mixture of awe and fear. "You must learn control, Luiso. Power like yours... it could save this land, or destroy it."
She's right, Luis thought, staring at the devastation he'd caused. This isn't a game. This is real.
As the month drew to a close, Luis found he could now sense the presence of mythical creatures from miles away. He could make plants grow with a thought, call small breezes to cool the air, and even heal minor cuts and bruises.
But the overwhelming power he'd accidentally unleashed that day still frightened him.
"You have been given a great gift," Anya told him on their last day of training. "But remember: true power lies not in destruction, but in understanding. You were a historian—a seeker of truth. That is your greatest strength."
Luis nodded, finally beginning to understand. Maybe my knowledge and this power... maybe they're meant to work together.
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Part 5: The Monsters From the Sea
Then one morning, as the sun rose over the calm waters, everything changed.
A child's voice cut through the morning peace. "Look! Look at the water!"
Then a woman's scream. "Sea monsters! Giant sea monsters!"
Luis turned, his heart suddenly pounding. He knew what he would see before his eyes confirmed it.
There, on the horizon, three massive ships with billowing white sails moved toward the island. They were like nothing the villagers had ever seen—floating mountains, wooden islands moving against the wind.
My God, Luis thought, his blood running cold. It's really them. The Spanish. Magellan. This is really happening.
Around him, panic erupted.
"Demons from the deep!" an old man cried, falling to his knees.
"The prophecies are true!" a woman wailed. "The end times are here!"
"Everyone, calm down!" the village chief shouted, though his own voice trembled.
Luis couldn't move, couldn't speak. He could only stare at the approaching ships, his historian's mind supplying all the terrible things that would follow—conquest, disease, cultural destruction.
Then Anya was beside him, her presence calm and steady amid the chaos.
"You know what those are," she said quietly, not a question.
Luis managed a stiff nod, his eyes still locked on the ships.
"Tell me," Anya commanded, her voice low.
"Those are Spanish ships," Luis whispered, the words feeling both surreal and inevitable. "From a kingdom on the other side of the world. They... they aren't monsters. But what they will do... is monstrous."
"How do you know this?" Anya asked, though he could tell she already knew the answer.
"I read about it," Luis said, his voice trembling. "In the future. In the books that burned. They will try to take this land. Change your ways. Make you forget who you are."
Anya looked from the terrifying ships to the terrified villagers. Then her gaze settled on Luis, seeing not a child, but the ancient soul within.
"Then Bathala did send you for a reason," she said, certainty hardening her voice. "You are the only one who knows what comes next. You must help us."
"But I'm just a boy!" Luis protested, holding up his small hands. "And I'm just a scholar! A reader of books! I've never fought anything more dangerous than a papercut!"
"You are not just a boy," Anya said firmly, gripping his shoulders. "And you are not just a scholar. You are our sage. The one who remembers the future."
She pointed at the panicking villagers. "They see monsters. But you see the truth. That makes you more powerful than any warrior."
Luis looked at the huge ships, then at his small, child's body. The fear was overwhelming.
How can I do this? he thought. I couldn't even protect my own life from one powerful man. How can I protect a whole people from an empire?
But then he remembered—the fire consuming the books, the truth turning to ash, the history that would be lost forever if he didn't do something.
No, he thought, a new determination rising in him. Not again. I won't let the truth be erased again.
He turned to Anya, his child's face set in lines of adult resolve.
"Okay," he said, his voice steady now. "I'll help you. I'll tell you everything I know."
Anya smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Then our true work begins, Sage. Welcome to the war for tomorrow."
As the strange ships drew closer, Luis took a deep breath. His first life had ended in fire and failure. His second life was beginning with monsters on the horizon.
But for the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he had to do.
End of Chapter 1