Aslon charged down the corridor, each step thundering like a war drum. His face was red with fury, and his nostrils flared wildly, like a bull ready to charge. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. As he neared the room where Nemo lay wounded, his rage seemed to grow with each stride. He could barely keep himself from growling out loud, his body practically vibrating with frustration.

  When he reached the door, he didn't even bother to knock. Instead, he shoved it open with a force that made it bang against the wall, filling the room with an echo that radiated his wrath. His loyal maharlika, Marahuyo, followed close behind, her gaze steady but wary as she felt the waves of his anger.

  Aslon's eyes locked immediately on the bed, where Nemo lay in peace, asleep. That sight, the indifference, the calmness of the man lying there ignited something even hotter inside him.

  “Ha! You arrogant bastard.” he muttered with disdain.

  He moved closer to Nemo's bedside, reaching out to shake him awake. But before his hand could touch Nemo, the mercenary spoke up, “Do you bring apples?”

  Aslon staggered back, startled. “You're awake?”

  “Yeah, since this morning,” Nemo replied, opening his eyes.

  Aslon raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated. “What the hell happened? Was this the work of Mayari's maharlika?”

  “Yes,” Nemo answered, wincing as he tried to sit up, the pain evident in his eyes. “The little runt's got some skill, I'll give her that.”

  "Then where are they?!" Aslon demanded, anger heating his voice.

  Nemo looked at him with indifferent eyes. "No idea."

  "No idea?!" Aslon's face turned crimson with fury. "NO IDEA?!"

  "Yeah,” Nemo replied casually, gazing up at the ceiling. “but they're probably outside the forest by now.”

  Aslon clenched his fist tightly. “USELESS!”

  He prepared to punch Nemo in the face, but he froze when Nemo stared at him with a sharp gaze. Marahuyo, upon seeing his gaze moves like a loyal guard dog. She quickly drew her blade and pressed it to Nemo's throat. “I won't allow such disrespect to my lord!” Nemo smirked and began to whistle, his breath sending thin, sharp drafts of wind swirling around the room. Alarmed, Aslon ducked behind Marahuyo. “Be careful, my lord,” she warned him.

  Nemo laughed sarcastically. “You maharlikas are facinating. So eager to jump on blades edge just to protect your lords.”

  “YOU WRETCHED BASTARD!” Marahuyo raised her blade, poised to strike Nemo down, but a woman's voice stopped her.

  “Are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions?”

  A woman entered the room, her hair cascading in soft waves. She gently lowered Marahuyo's sword, pushing it down gently. Turning to Aslon, she bowed with respect. “Good morning, Lord Aslon Amanisula. I am Nieves, sir Nemo's attendant.” She poured two glasses of water, offering one to each of them. "Take a seat and calm down."

  Her voice was calm yet cold. “This man isn’t just a mercenary; he’s the only son of our master, Lemuel Pangan, the leader of the Juru Pakal. Trust me, if anything happens to Sir Nemo, you’ll be spending the rest of your life watching your back.”

  Aslon swallowed hard. He knew the infamous reputation of the Juru Pakal; it is the very reason why he hired one of their mercenaries in the first place. “Fine. Marahuyo, let's go. We're wasting time here!” he snapped, visibly annoyed. Before leaving, Aslon informed Nemo that he is canceling their contract. Nemo only grinned, bidding the elder farewell with a taunting smile.

  Finally alone, Nemo exhaled deeply. “Ah, gone at last... But did you really have to scare off our noble friend that much?” he teased Nieves.

  “‘Scared’ off too much?" Nieves replied, her irritation showing. “I know you inside and out, Nemo. If I hadn’t stepped in, I’d probably be cleaning up their corpses by now.”

  Nieves let out a heavy sigh, sinking down onto the edge of Nemo's bed, frustration clouding her expression. “By the way, why didn't you tell them what actually happened?” Her voice was filled with frustration, but Nemo merely gave her a lazy smile, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint.

  “Do you have any idea what they'll think of you now?” she pressed, her patience fraying.

  Nemo shrugged, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Do you really think I care what they think or say about me?”

  Nieves clenched her jaw, biting back a sharper retort, forcing herself to rein in her irritation. “Typical Nemo”, she thought, this reckless indifference of his, this infuriating calmness.

  “Hahaha,” he laughed lightly, unbothered. “Besides... I don't want them getting in my way while I track down that man.” His eyes gleamed with a strange thrill, a fierce eagerness that only fueled her irritation.

  Nieves sighed again, deeper this time, feeling almost defeated. “You're hopeless,” she muttered under her breath, her voice carrying a mixture of resignation and irritation.

  “I know.”

  “And crazy.” Hiraya added.

  “Hahahaha, I'm well aware about that too.” Nemo only grinned wider, that maddening glint still in his eyes. "And besides, did I ever claim to be sane?" he replied, a spark of humor dancing in his gaze.

  Meanwhile, deep within the Banahaw forest, the midday sun hung high, but the thick canopy of trees cast deep shadows over the clearing where Mayari's temporary camp lay hidden in the forest. Even with the sun at its peak, the forest air was cool, wrapping the clearing in a chill that clung to the skin. Not far from her tent, the waters of Lake Atal sparkled under the rays of sunlight, its vast surface glimmering as if scattered with diamonds. It was the second-largest lake in all of Ma-i, a glistening jewel amidst the towering trees.

  Mayari emerged from the tent, having just finished her meal, only to pause in surprise as her gaze landed on Wan chopping firewood nearby. Her eyes widened, and without thinking, she hurried over, studying him closely. Wan, noticing her scrutinizing stare, shifted uncomfortably, clearly unsure of her intentions. Her face was mere inches from his torso, her eyes darting over every detail.

  “Oi, oi, what you think you're doing?” Wan asked, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and unease.

  “H-Huh?” Mayari stammered, suddenly realizing how strange her behavior must seem. “Oh, sorry about that,” she muttered, but her gaze lingered on his body as embarrassment washes over her. Bandages still wrapped around his chest and stomach, but the wounds on his arms and legs seemed nearly healed. Save for a large scar on his back, and those bandages, one wouldn't guess that just last night, he had been drenched in blood from his injuries with lacerated wounds covering his body. Her eyes settled on the scar on his back. She could tell, it wasn't from last night's battle. This looked like an old burn.

  Wan continued chopping wood, but Mayari couldn't pull her gaze away, curiosity etched deeply on her face. Her thoughts were interrupted by Hiraya, who had come out to discard used bandages. She caught sight of Mayari's intense stare and chuckled, a thin wisp of smoke trailing from the tobacco in her hand.

  “Abiakak on?” Hiraya asked with a teasing grin.

  “A – abi… what?” Mayari echoed with confusion

  “Abiakak... weird, strange... different.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose,” Mayari replied, before glancing curiously at Hiraya. “What is that language? Where are you guys from?”

  “Hmmm... that's a secret,” Hiraya teased, throwing away the bandages and disappearing back into the tent, leaving Mayari standing there, perplexed.

  After a moment, Mayari followed her inside, determined. "Sorry for being pushy, but where are you really from? And what exactly are you planning to do here in Tundun?"

  “Sorry, Mayari,” Hiraya replied calmly, “but I can't answer that.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “How about your student?” Mayari said, her tone filled with curiosity, “is his power really that immense that even a pira cuffs fail to properly neutralize it?”

  “You’re sharp…” Hiraya noted. “You noticed that?”

  Mayari looked down, trying to remember what happened just hours ago, “After that mercenaries attack, his cuffs are intact… but then, those shadows seeped out like water…”

  “The mercenary’s attack has nothing to do with the cuffs breaking…” She then turned to Hiraya, “It is his own power that broke the cuffs.”

  Before Mayari could speak further, Alita stirred, her voice soft and weak as she whispered, “M-my lady?” Her words were faint, but Mayari heard and rushed to her bedside.

  “Alita!” Relief surged through Mayari, her face lighting up. “You're awake!”

  “Lady... th-thank Kaptan you're safe…” Alita whispered.

  “Yes, I'm safe, but...” Mayari's did her best to hide tears in her eyes. “Don't worry about me. I'm just happy you're alright.”

  Hiraya reached out, handing Mayari a familiar tablet she had crushed earlier to give Alita. “Mayari.” Hiraya's gaze was steady, sincere. “Trust me. I won't answer your questions, but know that we're not your enemies.” Mayari nodded, accepting the tablet. She crushed it, mixed it into water, and gave it to Alita, who soon drifted back to sleep.

  “I understand if you're finding it hard to trust,” Hiraya said, her back to Mayari as she tidied the scattered books on the floor. Her tone was somber, her eyes tinged with a sadness that even her steady voice couldn't hide. “But as I said before, I can't tell you why we're here. This journey... it's personal.”

  Mayari didn't reply. She simply sat down and picked up a red book with the title “Penibatan na ning Teya” embossed in ancient Ma-i script.

  “The Origins of Teya,” Mayari murmured, tracing her fingers over the letters.

  Hiraya glanced over, surprised. “Oh? You can read Kulitan scripts?”

  "Huh? Oh, yes. It was part of my studies with one of my tutors at the palace when I was younger."

  Mayari opened the book, her eyes settling on familiar words that recounted the creation of Teya according to the Ma-i religion, the “Ma-ite myths” as the Iberians called it. According to their beliefs, in the beginning, there was only nothingness, and from this void, the goddess Kan-laon emerged. The story continued, describing how Kan-laon, overwhelmed by loneliness, shed tears that became the stars scattered across the heavens. Yet, the stars remained silent, unable to fill the loneliness in her heart. So, she created the world of Teya and the two deities Kaptan and Magwayen to keep her company.

  Mayari closed the book, a sense of nostalgia washing over her. It wasn't the first time she had read this story. The tale had often been told to her by the late datu, a treasured part of their history and culture. The people of Ma-i believed that their first king, or Lakan, was a Dambana, the incarnation of the goddess Kan-laon herself.

  Back at the capital city of Tundun, three men ascended the platform one by one, under the scorching midday sun. Compare to the forest of Banahaw, there’s no tree tops that will shield them against the raging sun. Their hands and feet were bound in iron chains, and they wore tattered tunics, painted with the word “TRAITOR”. Thick ropes encircled their necks. Below the platform stood rows of Iberian soldiers, forming a barrier and guard in case anyone dared disrupt the proceedings.

  A roaring crowd filled the plaza of Tundun's capital, their shouts and jeers echoing across the square. This spacious plaza, known as “Plaza Nuevo,” also served as a park adorned with colorful, blooming flowers and towering coconut trees. Surrounding the plaza were buildings, typically no more than three stories high, mostly made of wood and adobe. The crowd, undeterred by the blistering heat, stood drenched in sweat but captivated, watching the events unfold with unwavering attention.

  “My beloved people of Tundun!” shouted Governor-General Yizmael as he stood at the top of the platform. Behind him stood the three bound men. “Like you, my heart bleeds.” All eyes turned to him and then to the three condemned men.

  “My heart bleeds,” he repeated, placing his hand on his chest, “because despite the treachery committed by these priest standing here now, they are still citizens Tunduvans. People I consider children...” He began to shed a tear. “Therefore, it is with a heavy heart that I lead this execution.”

  The crowd hurled curses at the three criminals on stage, chanting scorn and casting hexes upon them. But here and there, some knelt in prayer, desperately hoping for a miracle to spare the condemned.

  “I want you all to know,” Yizmael continued, “that this execution is not an act of cruelty. It is an act born of love from Iberia our motherland...”

  “Love? You liar...” some in the crowd muttered.

  “Shhh... watch your tongue. If they hear you, they might imprison you and your whole family,” others warned.

  The Governor-General moved to the center of the platform and extended his hand. “My beloved citizens of Tundun! Ever since your beloved Datu passed, I swore on his tomb to do everything in my power to protect Tundun from terrorists and any subversive ideas that seek to destroy the peace that we fought for!”

  Turning to the three men behind him, he laid a hand on the shoulder of the man in the middle. “And so...” he said, “it is with a heavy heart... that I sentence these three priests of your god Kaptan, standing before you now, to death!”

  “WE ARE NOT TERROR–.” One of the men tried to shout but was silenced as Yizmael drew close and whispered into his ear. “After this, I will hunt down every member of your family, and like you, I will enjoy killing them one by one.” The priest's eyes widened, and he screamed with a mixture of terror and fury, “FOR GOD'S SAKE! PLEASE DON'T!!”

  “The temple priests Arturo Manuel, Rikardo Jonil, and Sebio Haldena,” Yizmael announced, “All of you have been found guilty of participating in terrorist acts under the group Penumbra!” Yizmael declared, pausing as he stepped at the edge of the platform, “Because of the chaos you incited… thirty-two Tunduvan soldiers, two Iberian soldiers, nine Iberian civilians, and seventy-four Tunduvan civilians lost their lives!” He stepped forward, pointing at the accused with a sympathetic glare. “And let’s not forget, books written by the murderer Simon Lariz were found in your rooms!” Yizmael turned to the executioner standing beside him. “As Governor-General of Tundun, I sentence you to death by hanging!” He signaled to the executioner.

  The executioner pulled the lever, and the trapdoor beneath the three men dropped. As their bodies fell, the man in the middle, Rikardo, was killed instantly, his neck breaking with the sheer force of the fall. The other two men hung desperately, gasping and writhing like fish pulled from water, their legs flailing in vain. In a few seconds, their struggles ceased. Their faces turned a deep shade of purple, and after three minutes, a doctor approached and checked their pulses. He nodded to Yizmael to confirm that all three were dead.

  A priest ascended the stage, carrying a thick book. He was a obese man with a double chin, fair white skin, and a crooked nose that gave him a birdlike appearance, paired with unusually thick lips. He faced the three corpses and began to chant a prayer. “Oh, almighty Lord Barria! Grant peace to the souls of these departed men!” He anointed the bodies with oil and continued to pray.

  An eerie silence enveloped the plaza after the priest's prayer. Suddenly, one voice broke the stillness, cheering, and soon the entire crowd erupted in praise for Governor-General Yizmael. Those not from the capital wept openly, for them, the once-powerful Ma-i was now little more than a tragic memory. Ma-i had become like a helpless child, forced to watch as it was torn apart by a mightier nation.

  Among the spectators were Elder Aslon and Kuyo, their eyes darkened with a mixture of rage and sorrow. Yet they hid their emotions quickly when Yizmael descended from the platform and greeted them with a cordial “Good afternoon, my dear elders,” Yizmael greeted with a smile.

  “Ah, Governor-General, allow me to introduce my eldest son, Sula,” Aslon said warmly.

  “Good day, Governor-General,” Sula said with a respectful bow.

  “Good day to you as well young man.” Yizmael replied, nodding.

  “Governor-General, I’d like to invite you to a meal at my home,” Aslon offered.

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t turn down such an invitation,” Yizmael said with a chuckle.

  “Hahaha, excellent! My staff is already preparing for your visit,” Aslon replied, his tone brimming with pride.

  “It sounds like you’ve arranged quite the feast,” Yizmael said, smiling.

  “Of course... We must celebrate the execution of those three traitors," Aslon said, his voice tinged with thinly veiled resentment.

  After a few brief pleasantries, they began walking toward Aslon's home. Along with Yizmael were three of his guards: an Ikugan, a Baylan from Iberia, and an Agta.

  Kuyo stayed behind at the platform with Masala. Once again, Masala had been left out by his father. He managed a smile, as he always did whenever his father overlooked him. Kuyo placed a comforting hand on Masala's shoulder and whispered, “Don't hold it against your father. He only thinks of Tundun's welfare and your family's well-being.” Masala smiled again, bowing as he wiped away a tear that had started to escape his sharp but sad eyes, trying to hide his emotions from the elder.

  “Oh, come now. Why don't you join me for a meal?” Kuyo offered cheerfully.

  “Hehe, that's fine with me Elder Kuyo.”

  The two climbed into a carriage and headed to one of Maktan's famous noodle houses. Kuyo was a regular patron, and upon seeing him, the owner came forward to greet them warmly.

  “Good afternoon, Elder Kuyo!” the owner, greeted.

  “Good afternoon to you as well, Tayag,” Kuyo responded. “By the way this here is Masala, the youngest son of elder Aslon.”

  Masala bowed to greet him. “Good afternoon.”

  Tayag bowed lower and said, “Good afternoon to you too Ginoo.”

  They sat down and ordered bihon and lechong kawali. While waiting for their meal, Kuyo asked Masala about his work as an “Arbikiser de Tundun”. Many said that, unlike his older brother, Masala was quiet and humble. This was partly why he remained in his brother's shadow, though Masala was genuinely happy about his brother's recognition as a captain in the Iberian army. After a few minutes, their food arrived.

  “By the way, how’s the pursuit of Penumbra going?” Kuyo asked, sipping his tea.

  “It’s progressing, Elder Kuyo. Right now, we’re focused on capturing Sakay.”

  “Sakay?”

  “Yes. His name will be in tomorrow’s newspapers. He’s the leader of Penumbra, we found his name in documents left behind at one of their hideouts.” Masala paused. “He was a famous lawyer once… but after Lariz’s death, he vanished.”

  Kuyo nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Still, it’s significant that you’ve identified their leader.”

  “Yes, at least it gives us a target to focus on,” Masala replied, taking a bite of lechong kawali. “The members we’ve captured refuse to talk. Not one of them has broken their silence.”

  “Fanatics?” Kuyo asked.

  “Possibly…” Masala admitted, his eyes darkening. “In truth, I admire their loyalty and resolve… but…”

  “But what?” Kuyo pressed.

  “There’s talk that an Iberian soldier will lead the next interrogation,” Masala said quietly. “Even his own men seem to fear him.”

  “Are you worried about the terrorists?” Kuyo asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Heh, actually, yes. I don’t even like the term ‘terrorists,’” Masala replied, his voice rising slightly.

  “Shhh…” Kuyo placed a finger to his lips. “Lower your voice, son.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Masala murmured.

  “It wouldn’t be good for you—or your father—if anyone overheard you sympathizing with Penumbra,” Kuyo warned. “Anyway. Enough about work,” Kuyo said with a chuckle. “Let’s focus on enjoying our meal.”