Yizmael, Aslon, and Sula sat in the grand patio of Aslon’s mansion, surrounded by an atmosphere that tried to force warmth and amidst an underlying tension. The garden stretched wide, reminiscent of the royal palace’s vast grounds, boasting meticulously arranged rows of roses lining the stone pathway that led to the patio. The late afternoon brought a refreshing coolness to the air, the breeze carrying with it the sweet fragrance of the blooming flowers. In the center of this serene paradise, is a small stream meandered gracefully, its surface dappled with colorful fish darting back and forth.

  Aslon broke the silence with a broad smile. “Have you enjoyed the meal, Governor-General?” he asked.

  “Yes, hahaha. You certainly prepared well for this occasion,” Yizmael replied, taking another bite of the succulent chicken afritada. His sharp almond shaped eyes, turned to Aslon and then to Sula. “Now, would you both like some real entertainment?”

  Aslon forced a chuckle, a thin veneer of politeness. “Hahaha, and what kind of entertainment would that be, Governor-General?”

  Without wasting time, Yizmael stood and signaled to one of his guards, a muscular Ikugan named Ari. The Ikugan leaned in as Yizmael whispered instructions, then nodded and departed swiftly.

  “We’ll wait for Ari. He’s fetching them from the Palacio,” Yizmael declared, his eyes glimmered.

  Sula shifted in his seat, his brows furrowed as he whispered under his breath, “Them?”

  “Yes, them my dear boy. Just wait for a moment and you’ll see what I mean.” Yizmael lights a cigarette.

  A tense silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Aslon shifted in his chair, the weight of the moment pressing on him like a physical thing. He glanced at Sula, who was clearly on edge. To break the tension, Yizmael casually shifted the topic. "So, Aslon, about Dagohoy."

  Aslon stiffened slightly. "Yes, I've heard about him, too. The rebel from Bool."

  Yizmael's eyes darkened. "Yes. That fucking insurrectionist gives Iberia a bad name. My hands are full between Penumbra and that fucking monkey." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his voice lowering. "Miguel's been pulling his hair out over it."

  "Binuangan's Governor-general?" Aslon asked,

  "Yes, reports says that Dagohoy, that Ikugan monkey’s group is close, right along the mountains between Binuangan and Tundun." Yizmael explained.

  "Is he really that good?" Aslon asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

  Yizmael's expression tightened. "I don't know yet, but rumor says he's a skilled baylan." He spat the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  The conversation dropped off as time dragged on. The silence grew heavier with each passing minute. The breeze had stopped, and the garden's serenity felt forced, almost too perfect in contrast to the tension that was built beneath their polite fa?ades. Half an hour passed before Ari returned, flanked by two guards and dragging with him two men. The prisoners were shirtless, their sun-scorched skin marred with bruises and rashes. Heavy iron shackles bound their wrists, and rough ropes lashed their feet together, forcing them into a shuffle as they were led to the patio.

  Aslon saw Sula’s teeth gritting, his shoulder and fists shaking as he clenches. The elderly man knows his son too well. He cautioned his son for so many times that it is not wrong to be compassionate, but to be a leader, one must know how to use his mask.

  “Sula, my son,” Aslon whispered. “Politics is a cruel dance. Sometimes, to safeguard what we hold dear, we must sit and share bread with animals.”

  Sula swallowed his anger as his father’s words sank in like stones in water. But despite his efforts to steady himself, resentment gnawed at him, anger at being forced to dine with the man responsible for the pain of so many of his people. He exhaled deeply, his heart heavy with a growing dread. He knew in his gut that fate had marked their family for a significant role in the shifting powers of Tundun.

  “Governor-General, we have arrived,” Ari announced, stepping aside to reveal the captives more fully.

  “Excellent, remove those chain on their legs.” Yizmael ordered, a cruel excitement evident in his voice.

  Ari complied, unlocking the chains that held the men’s feet. The metal wristbands around their wrists gleamed, cold and unyielding, as they stood trembling under the scrutiny of their captor. Their expressions were a mixture of defiance and confusion, knowing full well the whispered tales of Yizmael’s "entertainments."

  Yizmael turned his attention to Aslon, his gaze piercing and expectant. He rested his hands on the older man’s shoulders, feeling Aslon stiffen under his touch. “Sit, good Aslon. You too, boy,” he instructed.

  Reluctantly, Aslon lowered himself into his chair, his smile faltering and sweat forming along his temples. Sula obeyed, his pulse thundering in his ears.

  “These two men,” Yizmael began, pacing theatrically before them, “are brothers. They were apprehended just last week for conspiring with the insurgent group, Penumbra.” His voice dropped, savoring the revelation. “Despite… being tortured 24/7, they refused to betray their comrades.”

  A twisted grin stretched across Yizmael’s face as he nodded to one of his guards, an imposing Agta. “Arde, hand them each a sword.”

  The Agta guard placed a sword in each brother’s hands. They exchanged a brief, agonized look, the realization dawning on them like a death sentence. The stories whispered among prisoners—the tales of Yizmael’s twisted “pastimes” came crashing down in full, horrifying clarity.

  Yizmael clapped his hands once, the sharp sound echoing in the tense silence. “Aslon, for the gracious hospitality you have shown me, I present a spectacle that will surely captivate you.” He paused, savoring the moment.

  Aslon is filled with discomfort his tightened jaw and widened eyes tells everything about his feeling, yet he managed to crack a weak, strained smile. He then reply. “Ah… thank you, Governor-General.”

  Yizmael laughed, the sound devoid of warmth, and addressed everyone present. “Behold, a display befitting the home of the honorable Elder Aslon.” The garden seemed to darken as a cruel anticipation settled in the air.

  “Give them a good show!” Yizmael commanded, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with a perverse excitement. “Out of my mercy, only one of you needs to die today.”

  “W-wait, please, th—” Sula was about to say something, but Aslon held his hand.

  “Sula, my child…” Aslon shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head as if to signal to his son that resistance was futile. It was clear they had no choice but to endure what was about to unfold.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” Yizmael’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “BEGIN!”

  The brothers exchanged a final glance, understanding passing between them without words. Resolute, they charged towards each other, their swords raised as they are about to clash and kill each other. Yizmael leaned forward on his chair with maniacal grin on his face which made him look unhinged, like an addict about to taste his poison. Meanwhile, Aslon and Sula sat rigid, their bodies thrumming with anger, fear, and sorrow.

  “HAHAHAHA! YES, JUST LIKE THAT!” Yizmael shouted, reveling in the chaos.

  But at the last second, the brothers pivoted in perfect synchronization, redirecting their charge towards the Governor-General. Their eyes burned with a desperate hope for vengeance, an unspoken promise to make Yizmael pay for the relentless cruelty he inflicted upon them and their people. But Yizmael didn’t flinch; a sinister smirk remained etched on his face. Why would he worry?

  A tall Iberian, Baylan Aden, stepped between the brothers and their target. “Fools!” he bellowed. In an instant, flames erupted from his outstretched palms, engulfing one of the brothers in a sudden, searing blaze.

  “No! brother!” The younger brother screamed, watching in helpless horror as his elder sibling writhed, engulfed in fire, the sounds of his agony tearing through the garden. Smell of burnt flesh engulfs the Patio, while the scream of the burning prisoner haunts Aslon and Sula’s ears.

  Sula clenched his fists tighter, his teeth grinding together as he is slowly consumed with barely contained rage. But before he could act, Aslon’s hand clamped down on his arm, his eyes a silent plea for him to stay still. Both father and son were marked by a deep, smoldering hatred.

  Before the charred body of the elder brother had even stilled, Ari, the Ikugan guard, stepped forward. With a swift punch to the side, he sent the younger brother flying several meters, his body crashing to the ground and rolling. The impact shattered his arms, and one of his ribs punctured his lungs, visibly straining his breathing as blood trickled from his mouth. He struggled, shaking, to push himself up before collapsing again.

  “Haaahh…” Yizmael let out an exaggerated sigh. “Arde, finish this.”

  The giant Agta stepped forward, towering over the battered prisoner. A smile spread across Arde’s face as he gripped the man’s head between his massive hands. The prisoner’s eyes widened in terror as the grip tightened. A sickening series of cracks echoed through the garden as Arde’s fingers crushed bone and cartilage, the sound like glass being ground underfoot. Blood began to seep from the prisoner’s nose and mouth, and one of his eyes bulged grotesquely before bursting. With a final shout, Arde gave a sharp twist, and fragments of skull and brain matter splattered onto the stone floor of the patio. The prisoner’s lifeless, headless body crumpled to the ground.

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

  Aslon turned pale, swallowing hard as bile threatened to rise in his throat. Sula’s fury finally burst free. A powerful wave of Nu, raw and electric, surged through the air. The sensation was immediate and suffocating, causing Yizmael and his guards to freeze momentarily, eyes wide with shock at the sheer power emanating from the young man. Aslon’s heart raced, knowing that if Sula lost control now, their entire family would pay the price.

  “Wretc—” Sula’s voice was cut off as his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.

  Into the ensuing silence strode Masala, his younger brother, who had felt the surge of power even from outside the mansion. Rushed to the patio, arriving just in time to see Sula before he can do something dangerous. Without hesitation, he struck his neck with his palm, ensuring he remained unconscious.

  “I apologize deeply for my brother’s insolence, Governor-General,” Masala said, bowing low.

  A thin smile returned to Yizmael’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He hid the tremor in his voice as he replied, “Ahh… hahaha, no harm done.” He glanced at the young man, noting the steady control in his voice. “And what’s your name again, boy?”

  “Masala, Governor-General,” he replied, still bowed.

  “And how old are you?”

  "Twenty-one, Governor-General… just two years younger than my brother."

  “And you’re part of the Arbikizers right? A sergeant based on your uniform and mark…” Yizmael mused aloud, the calculating gleam in his eyes returning.

  “Yes Governor-general.”

  Yizmael responded with a thin smile. He turned to Aslon, whose face was still shadowed by worry. “Well then, Aslon, I appreciate the meal. You can take care of these bodies as payment for the insolence of your eldest son.”

  Aslon hastily bowed, swallowing his pride. “Thank you for your kindness, Governor-General.”

  The Governor-General turned and began to walk away with his guards. Aden, the baylan, cast one last lingering glance at Sula’s unconscious body. This was the second time he had felt such a powerful surge of Nu in Ma-i; the first was just the previous night.

  As soon as Yizmael and his guards were gone, Aslon ordered his slaves to carry Sula to his room. His gaze lingered on him, burdened with silent apologies, as he followed closely behind the slaves carrying his son’s limp form. Masala stood by, trying to lighten the grim atmosphere with a forced smile, echoing his father’s tone. “Masala, son, thank you for stopping your brother.”

  The next morning, Sula stirred from his unconscious state. His nape ached from where Masala had struck him. At his bedside, his brother dozed off, his head resting on folded arms. Smiling softly, Sula reached out, brushing his fingers through his brother’s hair. Masala’s eyes fluttered open, met with the gentle smile of his older brother.

  “B – brother…” Masala said, his voice cracking. Masala immediately sat up his face lit with relief. “Brother…”

  “Thank you for what you did last night.”

  “I’m sorry I struck you,” he replied, guilt flashing across his face.

  “Nah, it’s fine.” Sula said, the corners of his lips lifting into a reassuring smile. “If you hadn’t, we might all be in chains now.”

  He carefully pushed himself up from the bed and stretched, feeling the soreness in his body. Slowly, he walked to the wide window and drew back the curtains. A fresh breeze rolled in, carrying with it the scent of morning dew. The sky was bright and clear, and the cool touch of the wind kissed his cheeks.

  “That fucking monster…” Sula muttered.

  “You must be more careful with your actions brother.”

  “I know… but did you see those two siblings yesterday?" Sula asked. "Those Pira cuffs on their wrists, though chainless, they’re still a reminder of Iberia’s cruelty. They don’t just shackle us; they take away our people’s powers too.”

  Back at the forest, the memory of those cuffs on Wan’s wrist lingered in Mayari's mind as she sat in the quiet confines of the tent. Two days had passed since the accusations against her, and she hadn’t dared to leave the safety of their shelter. Hiraya’s voice filled the air, weaving an enchanting melody that kept them hidden from prying eyes. Outside, the forest remained still, a silent guardian to their secrecy. Meanwhile, Wan was in the capital, scavenging for food and medicine to tend to Alita’s wounds.

  Mayari sat cross-legged. She turned her attention to the thick, weathered book that chronicled the rich and complex history of Teya. Its pages whispered secrets unknown to her, stories that the palace scholars had never taught her. Her brows furrowed as she read, confusion and intrigue flitting across her face.

  “Minokawa?” she muttered, eyes scanning the elaborate illustrations of a massive, flaming bird devouring moons.

  Hiraya, glanced over and grinned. “Fascinating, isn’t it? Minokawa a blazing winged beast hungry enough to swallow the sun and moon.”

  “Yes,” Mayari replied, voice tinged with surprise. “But I never knew it had encounters with the goddess Haliya.”

  “Oh, really?” Hiraya stood and moved gracefully across the room to sit across from Mayari, she crosses her legs.

  “Your land’s history is far deeper than many realize. The Minokawa is just one of many legendary beast. There are the Arimaonga, Lawu, and others, creatures with power that could match even some of the lower gods.” She paused, taking in Mayari’s intrigued expression. “But do you know which one is the most unique?”

  “The Bakunawa,” Mayari whispered, realization dawning in her eyes.

  A knowing smile spread across Hiraya’s lips as she lit a tobacco, the sharp scent mixing with the damp air of the tent.

  “Yes, the Bakunawa,” Hiraya confirmed. “A serpentine dragon from the deepest depths of the sea, relentless and driven by a singular purpose, to slay Lord Bulan.” Mayari explained. The young noble shivered as the weight of the stories settled over her, a chilling reminder of the power and peril that lurked beyond the edges of what she knew.

  “Well, technically, they all wanted to “kill” or ninumal is Bulan,” Hiraya countered, slipping into her usual odd language. “But what makes the Bakunawa different is that, out of all the monsters created by Kan-laon, the Bakunawa is the only one that tried to challenge Kaptan.”

  Mayari's eyes narrowed with suspicion, her lips curling into a sneer. “Kaptan, the Lord of the gods? The firstborn of Lord Kan-laon?” she asked, seeking clarification.

  “Yeah, didn’t they teach you that?” Hiraya asked, her tone casual as if it were an obvious fact.

  Mayari only shook her head in response.

  “Hmm, weird…” Hiraya muttered, to herself.

  “What happened to the Bakunawa when it fought Kaptan?” Mayari’s voice was tight with curiosity.

  “Hhhhmmm, the Bakun –” Before Hiraya could finish her answer, Wan entered the tent, carrying three kilos of chicken meat, vegetables, and a bag of medical supplies. He dropped the items onto the table with a dull thud. The two pointed their attention at Wan.

  “Did anyone follow you or seen you?” Hiraya asked sharply, eyeing the entrance.

  “Nope, tho there are still a lot of Tunduvan soldiers and Iberian troops around,” Wan replied, collapsing onto the floor like a child who just finished playing.

  “Why don’t we just kill them all? I mean, we could easily do it—” Wan began, but stopped abruptly when he saw the murderous glint in Hiraya’s eyes.

  “Hehehehe… Joke ngal.” Wan let out a nervous laugh, trying to defuse the situation. “By the way, I heard something interesting.” He picked his nose casually, then continued, “It’s all over the Capitol now… those three priests they caught last month, they were executed yesterday.”

  The sadness in Mayari’s eyes was immediate, her face dropping. She looked at Wan, her voice tight, “Wan… did they suffer?”

  “Hmmm, well, the word is that one of them died instantly when his neck broke upon falling. The other two, though, it took a few minutes for them to die.”

  “Is that so?” Mayari’s voice quivered as she fought to hold back her tears.

  Those three priests who were executed had been passionately defended by Mayari’s father. The late Datu Rakta had believed there was no sufficient evidence to justify their execution. But mere days after his death, Yizmael had swiftly moved to have them killed.

  “You know what’s strange?” Wan said, trying to lighten the mood. “The gossip in the Capitol says there were only about thirty Iberian soldiers and maybe ten Tundun guards in the plaza. If they were really part of the terrorists… shouldn’t their comrades have tried to save them?”

  “Because they weren’t actually part of the Penumbra.” Mayari’s sorrow turned into fury, her hands clenched into fists. “That fucking Yizmael…” Mayari hissed, her face now flushed red, her features contorted in fury. “That son of the grandest fucking bitch wants to show off to the other three Governors-General here in Ma-i that he’s the strongest and most powerful.”

  Both Wan and Hiraya froze, surprised at the venom in Mayari’s words. “Oi oi, are you okay?” Wan asked, clearly worried.

  “That bastard…” Mayari ignored him, her voice trembling with fury. “When my father was alive, his power was at least somewhat checked. They often clashed over how Tundun should be ruled—” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Wait…”

  “Oi, what’s next?” Wan asked, clearly on edge.

  “THAT FUCKING BASTARD!” Mayari screamed, her rage now fully unleashed.

  “Oi oi, you know, for someone who’s supposed to be a maginoo, your swears are worse than mine.” Wan’s comment hung in the air, but before he could say more, a knife suddenly flew toward him. He barely dodged it, his hair grazing the blade.

  “I – I won’t allow you to speak l – like that a-gainst my lor—!” Alita’s weak voice cut through the air before she collapsed once more, unconscious. The three paused, but Hiraya couldn’t help but giggle, clearly amused by the maharlika’s action.

  “Oi, that was close! I almost died there!” Wan complained, shaking his head.

  Few minutes more, Mayari stood and walked over to Hiraya. She bowed her head slightly, her tone more serious than before. “Lady Hiraya, could you please accompany me at the capitol?” she asked, her voice calm but firm.

  “I don’t want to,” Hiraya answered quickly, “You know how dangerous this is, right?”

  “I know,” Mayari said, but her eyes burned with determination. “But don’t worry. They won’t recognize me.”

  “Hhhmm… regardless,” Hiraya sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve got more important things to do. If you really want to go, ask that idiot over there to go with you.” He gestured at Wan.

  “Oi, wait a minute! I just came here, and you want me to go back there?” Wan protested.

  Both Hiraya and Wan were taken aback when Mayari suddenly knelt before them. It was the first time they’d ever seen a noblewoman lower herself like this in front of people of their rank.

  “I’m begging you. I need your help again,” she said, her voice soft but desperate.

  Wan sighed, rubbing his head in frustration. He stood up, grabbing his arnis. “Alright - alright… Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

  “THANK YOU!” Mayari’s voice wavered with emotion. Her eyes were red, but the bright, radiant smile she gave them caught Wan off guard. He paused, struck by the sheer intensity of her smile.

  “Before anything else, I need to do something first.” Mayari stood and asked Hiraya for a few items. Once she handed them over, she stepped out of the tent.

  Half an hour later, an old man entered the tent. His nose was flat, his eyes round, and his hair was a faded gray. “Good afternoon,” he greeted, his voice raspy but cheerful. Wan immediately tensed, ready to attack, while Hiraya appeared rather entertained by the situation.

  “Who the hell are you, old man?” Wan snapped, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. Based on their hidden tent, he assumed this old man was likely a powerful Baylan.

  “Hahahahahaha…” The old man suddenly burst into laughter, but it wasn’t the laugh of an ordinary old man. It was the voice of a woman. A very familiar one.

  “Mayari?” Wan asked, his voice full of surprise.

  “I told you, they won’t recognize me,” Mayari’s voice answered from behind, now standing in front of them.

  “Amazing!” Wan said in disbelief.

  “You still have a lot to learn,” Hiraya muttered irritably as she kicked the back of Wan’s legs. “Didn’t you feel her Nu?!” she scolded.

  “Ayyy, it slipped my mind. Sorry, sorry…” Wan mumbled, embarrassed.

  “Wan, you can’t just rely on your eyes all the time,” Hiraya reminded him, her tone firm. Her words hung in the air, a lesson she seemed to repeat often but with little effect. Wan gave a small, begrudging nod, as he glanced toward the forest ahead.

  Inside the tent, Mayari knelt beside Alita, her hand gently brushing against her unconscious friend’s arm. “I’ll be back soon.” she murmured, her voice soft but resolute. “I need to return to the Capitol for something important. Stay strong until I return.” She lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on Alita’s face before she rose and stepped outside, her resolve hardening.

  Wan stood waiting at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed. Without a word, he gestured toward the path ahead. Together, the two of them began the long journey to the Capitol, the weight of their task pressing heavily on Mayari’s shoulders. As they moved deeper into the forest, the towering trees seemed to close in around them, their branches casting shifting shadows across the ground. Every sound, a rustle of leaves, the crack of a twig felt amplified in the stillness, a reminder of the dangers that lurked unseen. Mayari stole a glance at Wan, he’s probably the same age as her. And as they disappeared into the shadows of the forest, Mayari couldn’t shake the feeling that the path ahead would demand more from her than she was ready to give.