Volume 1: From Ashes and Ink
Chapter 3: The Council of the Scarred
Part 1: The Grief of Stone (Kael's POV)
The scent of blood and disrespect hung thick in the clearing. Kael, the Tikbalang chieftain, stood like a statue of wrath over the body of the young stallion. Its neck was snapped, its body a discarded toy. This was no hunter's kill; it was a message of contempt from the pale men.
A low, seismic rumble built in Kael's chest, a sound that made the ferns shiver. This was not just a simple expedition. This was a war of flesh and blood. They were not just exploring the land; they were butchering his people.
His second, the fierce and impatient Kalak, stamped his hoof, cracking the earth. "We mourn later, Kael! Now, we hunt! Let them feel our hooves! Let their bones crackle under our charge!"
"The not-boy spoke of patience," Kael growled, his voice like grinding boulders. "Of a war fought from the shadows."
"The not-boy is a child who hides in shadows while our herd bleeds!" Kalak shot back, his nostrils flaring. "His 'shadow war' is a game for humans who fear the sun! Our way is strength! We are the storm from the mountains! We crush the threat!"
Kael's gaze swept over the assembled members of his herd gathered at the edge of the sacred stamping grounds. The air was thick with the smell of agitated horse and earth. The elders, their hides etched with the scars of a hundred territorial disputes, stood stoically, but their tails lashed with rare anxiety. The younger warriors, their forms still learning the perfect balance between man and stallion, pawed at the ground, their eyes burning with a need for vengeance they didn't yet know how to wield. A direct assault on the Spanish camp would be a slaughter. But to do nothing was a slow, shameful death for their spirit.
He was trapped between a cliff and a spear.
He turned from the body of his kin. "Kalak. Gather the Stormcallers and the Earth-Shapers. We will not charge their camp. Not yet. But we will remind them that these mountains have a voice."
It was not the all-consuming war Kalak wanted, but it was a start. It was the land fighting back.
Part 2: The Scarred Matriarch (Lilim's POV)
By day, she was Lira. A young woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and hair as black as a moonless night, known in the village for her skill at mending nets. This human guise was her cloak, a form she wore as easily as others wore clothes. It was a necessity of the Pact, a way to walk among the other children of the Loom without causing fear.
But by night, or in the heart of her power, she was Lilim, the Aswang Matriarch. The two were not separate people, but two faces of the same ancient soul—the serene mask and the terrifying truth.
The scout approached her while mending the nets. He was a Tikbalang youth in his humanoid form, his connection to the earth evident in the sturdy grace of his movements. He knelt beside her, his expression grim. There was no pretense between them; the Pact made them neighbors, and the new enemy made them allies.
"Sister Lira," he said, his voice low and urgent. "The Matriarch, Lilim, is needed. The pale men's wooden structure bleeds a poison into the land. The life-force is turning to ash. It weakens all of us."
Lira's hands stilled. But it was Lilim's rage that flashed behind her eyes. The bone needle in her grip threatened to snap. The Spaniards were not just breaking their peace; they were breaking the world itself.
"The not-boy," the Tikbalang scout added. "He calls a council. He seeks all who are scarred by this new poison."
The decision was made. That night, deep within their lightless cavern, Lira let her human skin fall away. Her form twisted, elongating, until Lilim, the Matriarch, stood in her full, terrible power—a figure of shadow and sharp angles, claws scraping against stone. Her clan gathered around her, a mix of wispy, half-formed youths and hulking, ancient predators.
"The poisoners shatter the Pact and the world with it," Lilim announced, her voice now a chorus of whispers and rasps. "They seek to make a desert of our home. We cannot feed on a desert." She looked at the faces of her remaining children. "The human child gathers the others. I will go to this council. We will stand with the Tikbalang, the Diwata, and all who hold the Loom together."
Part 3: The Song of the Coral Gates (Dayang's POV)
Far from the jungle, in the turquoise waters of the channel, the Sirena Dayang, her scales shimmering like a spilled opal, felt the wrongness long before the messenger arrived. The fish were nervous, their songs discordant. The coral polyps, usually vibrant and open, were clenched tight. A Sirena scout surfaced beside her, her gills flaring in distress.
"Dayang," the scout bubbled, "the great wooden canoes of the pale men... they drop stones into the water that scar the nursery grounds. Their waste turns the water cloudy and foul. They have nets of a strange, hard thread that do not break, and they have taken some of our younger sisters who ventured too close to shore."
Dayang's tail fin slapped the water, a sharp crack of anger. The land-dwellers' war was now spilling into her realm. They were not just conquerors; they were a plague that poisoned everything they touched. She had heard the whispers on the currents—of a gathering, of a "not-boy" who challenged the invaders.
"Summon the Tide-Singers," Dayang commanded, her voice a melody that could calm a storm or summon one. "We will attend the council. Let's see if this 'not-boy' is worthy to be our ally".
Part 4: The Wound in the World (Sari's POV)
Sari, the Diwata of the central grove, felt the new wound the moment the first foundation post of the church was driven into the earth. It was a spike of nullification, a void that drank the light and song of her domain. Flowers at the edge of her grove withered in moments, their colors fading to grey. The gentle hum of insect life, the whispered conversations of the leaves—all fell silent.
This was an act of spiritual violence far beyond cutting trees. They were imposing a dead zone, a place where her power could not reach. Where no anito could live.
She could no longer remain a passive observer, a guardian of a single grove. Her own existence was under direct assault. She reached out, her consciousness flowing through the roots and rivers, listening to the gossip of the wind. The whispers spoke of a meeting, of the not-boy who had shielded a grove with his own will. He was a potential weapon. A catalyst.
She appeared in a glade where lesser Diwata and nature spirits gathered, their forms flickering with anxiety. "The blight spreads," she told them, her voice the sound of a clear stream. "It does not simply burn; it erases. We cannot tend our groves if the world around them is made silent."
A tree-spirit, ancient and slow, rumbled, "What would you have us do, River-Sister? We are not warriors."
"We are the land," Sari replied, her light intensifying. "And the land must defend itself." She would offer herself and her kin as the shield for this human weapon, if he would be their spear.
Part 5: The War Council (Luiso's POV)
Luiso stood in the hidden clearing, the weight of the last few days a physical pressure on his small shoulders. Anya was a steady presence beside him.
When Kael arrived with Kalak and his elders, the air grew heavy. Then, the air chilled. Shadows deepened, and from them emerged Lilim in her full, terrifying glory. The Tikbalangs tensed, a centuries-old instinct to fight flashing in their eyes.
Before the tension could snap, a soft light filled the clearing as Sari appeared. And then, a new sound—the gentle lap of water and the scent of salt and plumeria. From a mist rising from a small spring at the clearing's edge emerged Dayang the Sirena, her upper body glistening, her eyes holding the deep, ancient cold of the abyss.
The clearing was now a conclave of myths, a powder keg of ancient powers.
Kalak stepped forward, pointing a hoof at Luiso. "Now what, child? My kin are dead. Your 'shadows' did not protect them. What is your plan?"
Luiso met the challenging gaze. "My mother is broken. My sibling is dead," he said, his voice shaking with a fury that was anything but childlike. "They were desecrated. Just like Kael's herd. Just like Lilim's children. Just like Sari's grove. Just like Dayang's waters."
He looked at each of them, making them feel seen in their specific, unique pain.
"They are building a fortress for their power. A source of their poison. I don't care about their story right now. I care about making them bleed. I want to burn their church to the ground before it is finished."
A heavy, skeptical silence met his declaration.
Kalak was the first to break it. He took a thundering step forward, his hoof cracking the earth. "Fine words, child. But this is not a game of words. It is a war of blood and power. How do we know you are not just a loud cricket, soon to be crushed underfoot?" His gaze was a physical challenge.
From the shadows, Lilim's voice slithered out, cold and sharp. "You ask us to risk the extinction of our clans on the plan of a human whelp who has not yet seen ten summers. My children are not pawns for a child's ambition. Show us you are more than just a ghost in a boy's skin."
Dayang, from her misty spring, added her voice, melodic yet unyielding. "The deep currents do not follow the ripples made by a falling leaf. They follow the moon. Why should we follow you?"
The pressure mounted. Luiso did not look at them. Instead, he turned to Anya. His eyes were not pleading, but asking—a silent question. Is it time?
Anya closed her eyes for a long moment. A subtle, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips, a look that said, Oh, okay. We are doing this right now, huh? Very well. She gave a single, slow nod.
That was all the permission he needed.
Luiso walked to the center of the clearing. He did not speak. He did not posture. He simply stood there, closed his eyes, and breathed.
At first, nothing. Then, a soft, green-gold light began to glow from the center of his chest, a sphere of pure energy that pulsed in time with the heartbeat of the jungle. The light grew, brighter and brighter, until the coalition had to shield their eyes. The very air began to hum, surging with power. The trees trembled, their leaves shaking as if in a hurricane wind. The light became blinding, a miniature sun in the heart of the jungle.
And then—nothing.
Total, absolute darkness. A silence so profound it felt like the world had been unmade. The cacophony of the jungle—the crickets, the frogs, the rustling leaves—vanished. For Kalak, for Kael, for Lilim whose domain was the night, and for Dayang who saw by the ocean's deep light, it was a blindness they had never known. They could not see their own hands in front of their faces. It was the void.
In that perfect black silence, they saw it: a smile. Luiso's smile, hovering in the center of the clearing, visible not by light, but as a cutout of pure, knowing darkness against the nothingness.
And then the EARTH SHOOK!
It was not a tremor. It was a wave of pure force that erupted from Luiso's small body. It was not a physical blow, but an immense, crushing aura—the weight of ages, the gravity of history itself. It slammed into them, not seeking to harm, but to humble. Kalak's powerful legs buckled. Kael grunted, his immense strength straining just to keep his head raised. Lilim felt her shadow-form being pressed flat against the earth. Dayang was forced down from her mist, her tail slapping against the ground. It was as if the sky itself had fallen upon their shoulders, forcing them to their knees, demanding acknowledgment of the titanic power housed within the small, silent boy.
As suddenly as it began, it ceased.
The jungle sounds rushed back. The darkness lifted. The crushing weight vanished. Luiso stood exactly where he had been, the glowing sphere gone, his expression calm. But the air still crackled with the aftershock of his power.
The silence that followed was no longer skeptical. It was awed.
Only then did he lay out his plan, his voice now carrying an unquestionable authority.
"Kael and Kalak: Your strength is the earth. Create landslides. Block their supply trails from the shore. Isolate them. The game trails they use to scout our lands... reshape them. Guide their feet into the soft marshes. Let the landslides they blame on rain, block the paths to the quarry where they steal our stone. We will make the land itself their enemy. Let their scouts return to their camp with mud on their boots and frustration in their hearts."
"Lilim: Your people are shadows and fear. Use your forms to walk unseen among them. Spoil their food stores with the blights of the deep caves. Taint their water so it brings fever and dreams of drowning. Visit their soldiers in the night not with claws, but with whispers—let them hear the voices of their own doubts and regrets. Make their own camp a place of sickness and dread. Let them fear the dark more than they fear our blades."
"Sari: When we strike, I need a storm. A downpour to douse their torches. Roots to shatter their foundations. Make the land itself their enemy. When the time comes, I will ask for your strength. To guide the rains against their fires. To urge the roots to break their foundations. To make every step they take outside their wooden walls a struggle."
"Dayang: The sea is your domain. Tangle their ships. Lure their guards to sleep with your songs. Ensure no reinforcements and no retreat. The pale men rely on their wooden islands. Remind them that the sea is not theirs to command. Tangle their anchor ropes with kelp. Guide their smaller boats onto the sharp, hidden reefs. When the time is right, use your songs to fog their minds and lure their night watchmen into a deep, forgetful sleep. We will isolate them from the sea."
"Anya and I," Luiso said, his voice dropping into a terrible, cold calm that silenced the clearing more effectively than any shout. "We will walk into the belly of their poison. We will find the heart of their false god—the cold, golden knot of magic they are planting in our soil to strangle the life from this land. And we will not just break it."
He took a step forward, his small form seeming to cast a long shadow.
"We will reach into its core, feel its blasphemous pulse, and unravel it thread by thread. We will turn their own sanctified power against itself until it screams and dies. We will scorch the earth where it festered, so that nothing of their false light will ever grow here again."
"We go to perform a surgery," he finished, his eyes burning with a historian's wrath and a son's vengeance. "To cut the cancer out of our world's soul."
It was a declaration of total war.
Kalak stared, then gave a slow, approving nod.
Lilim's lips peeled back from her fangs. "Yes."
Sari bowed her head, the air crackling. "The land will answer."
Dayang smiled, a sharp, beautiful, dangerous thing. "The sea has been waiting to swallow their arrogance."
Kael, the last holdout, looked at the united front—earth, shadow, forest, and sea. He raised his head to the sky and let out a short, sharp cry—the Tikbalang call to war.
The council of the scarred was over. The war for the Philippines had truly begun.
End of Chapter 3