Amara couldn't sleep that night.
The artifact — the Veil, as the spirit had called it — sat on her bedside table, faintly glowing as if it had its own pulse. Every time she closed her eyes, flashes of the Battle of Mactan filled her mind: the war cries, the clash of steel, the piercing gaze of Lapu-Lapu standing unyielding against foreign invaders.
She sat up, grabbing her notebook and sketching the Baybayin engravings she had seen. Why would a pre-colonial artifact have this kind of advanced technology? The thought was absurd. No record in Philippine history — or anywhere in the world — spoke of a relic like this.
As dawn broke, her phone buzzed. A video call from Lolo Bayani.
"Amara, anak, how was the dig?" the old man asked, his warm voice filling the room.
She hesitated. "We found… something. Something I can't explain."
Her grandfather's eyes sharpened. "Does it have markings? Ancient symbols?"
"Yes. Baybayin."
His face grew pale. "Amara, listen to me. There are relics that are not meant for human hands. Artifacts tied to spirits — guardians of time. Our ancestors called it Ang Lapis ng Panahon, the Writing of Time."
Before she could ask more, a sudden pulse of light filled the room. The Veil trembled, and a familiar voice spoke.
"You're meddling already, Amara."
---
Kailan materialized in front of her, just as he had in the battle. His form wavered like mist but his eyes burned with an unearthly glow.
"Wha—how are you here?" Amara whispered.
"You touched the Veil, and now its thread is tied to you. It calls me where you are."
Her grandfather, seeing nothing on the call, frowned. "Who are you talking to?"
Amara froze. "Nothing, Lolo. Just… thinking out loud."
Kailan tilted his head. "You want answers. But you are not ready for the burden that comes with them."
"Then tell me the rules," Amara challenged. "What is this thing?"
The spirit stepped closer, his voice echoing like distant drums.
"The Veil is not of your world, but it is tied to your history. It allows you to walk the threads of time — past, future, and possibilities. But there are three rules you must never break:
1. You cannot touch or change anything. Even a single word spoken to the wrong person can alter everything.
2. The Veil feeds on your existence. The more you use it, the more you fade from your own timeline.
3. If you break these rules, your reality will collapse — and you will cease to exist."
Amara's throat tightened. "So, I can only watch?"
"Yes. You are an observer. A witness to all that was and all that could be. But even witnesses can be tempted to act… and that is when the thread snaps."
---
As if to prove his words, the Veil flared again, pulling Amara off her feet. The world spun. She landed in a new place — a bustling street with horse-drawn carromatas, Spanish guards in uniforms, and Katipunan members slipping through alleys. The year… she guessed… was around the late 1800s.
She saw a man with a resolute face writing a letter — Jose Rizal, maybe? Her heart leapt.
But this time, a child running past her tripped, almost colliding with Rizal. Amara's reflexes kicked in. She reached out instinctively — but her hand went through the child's shoulder like smoke.
"Do not try to touch," Kailan's voice rang behind her. "If you interfere, this hero may never write his letter. And what would your Philippines look like then?"
Amara stepped back, her hands trembling. The weight of the warning hit her like a tidal wave.
---
When she returned to her apartment, Amara collapsed onto the floor, sweating and shaking. She understood now: the Veil was not a toy, not even a tool. It was a test — one that could destroy everything she knew.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was Jun. "Doc… there's someone asking about the artifact. Some guy named Dr. Elias Cortez. He says he's very interested."
Amara's chest tightened. She knew Elias — a rival archaeologist with a reputation for stealing discoveries and twisting them for fame and money.
And now he knows about the Veil.
to be continued...