The sensation of drowning didn't end; it simply transformed. The crushing weight of the Agno River was replaced by a pressurized stillness, as if Leon were suspended in a vacuum of warm ink. His lungs, which moments ago had been screaming for oxygen, now felt hollow—not empty, but unnecessary.
He opened his eyes. There was no silt, no debris, and no storm. Instead, Leon found himself standing on a floor of shimmering, obsidian glass that stretched infinitely in every direction. Above him, the sky was a tapestry of constellations he didn't recognize—stars that pulsed with a rhythmic, golden light, weaving together like the threads of a giant Habulanloom.
"Am I... dead?" Leon's voice sounded strange to his own ears. It didn't ripple through the air; it resonated within his bones.
"Dead is a heavy word for a soul that still carries the weight of others," a voice answered.
It wasn't a human voice. It sounded like the rustle of dry palm leaves mixed with the deep, tectonic groan of a mountain.
Leon turned. Standing before him was a figure that defied the logic of the world he knew. The entity was immense, draped in robes that looked like woven clouds and sunset. His skin was the color of polished narra wood, etched with glowing tattoos—batok—that moved and shifted like living creatures across his chest and arms. He wore a crown of jagged gold that resembled the rays of a tropical sun.
"Who are you?" Leon asked, his first responder instincts forcing him into a defensive stance despite the sheer awe of the moment. "Where is the girl? Is she safe?"
The giant entity leaned forward, his eyes two burning embers of wisdom. A slow, ancient smile spread across his face. "Typical of your bloodline. Even in the presence of a god, you ask after the small ones. She lives, Leon Montoya. She is on the muddy banks of your home, breathing the air you traded for her."
Leon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The tension in his shoulders collapsed. "Good. Then... whatever this is, I'm ready."
"You think this is judgment?" The deity chuckled, a sound like distant thunder. "I am Bathala, the Weaver of Beginnings. And I am not finished with you. My creation is bleeding, Leon. A shadow I cast out long ago—a brother who chose the void over the light—has found a way back. He is unmaking the tapestry of a world not unlike yours, but one where the spirits you call myths are very, very real."
A translucent screen flickered into existence between them, glowing with a soft, blue hue.
[ SYSTEM INTERFACE: BATHALA'S GRACE ][ USER: LEON MONTOYA ][ STATUS: REINCARNATION CANDIDATE ][ CLASS: UNASSIGNED (POTENTIAL: ANITO VANGUARD) ]
"A system?" Leon blinked, his brow furrowing. "Like a video game? I don't have time for games, Chief. I'm a medic, not a soldier."
"It is not a game," Bathala's expression darkened. "It is a bridge. Your world has forgotten the old ways, but in the realm of Kalupaan, the spirits are starving. The Rogue God, Sidapa's Shadow, is turning them into monsters. If he succeeds there, the infection will eventually find its way back to your Pangasinan. To your mother. To the girl you just saved."
Leon looked at his hands. They were translucent, flickering like a dying candle. He thought of the floods, the helplessness of seeing his town underwater, and the realization that there were storms no human could stop.
"You're saying I can stop him?"
"I am saying you are the only one with the 'Dangal'—the honor—to try. You died as a shield. I offer you the chance to become a sword."
Bathala extended a massive hand. In his palm rested a small, glowing seed of light.
"Accept the System, Leon Montoya. Become the Last Anito. Walk the path of the spirit, and perhaps you will find a way to weave your own destiny back to the life you lost."
Leon looked at the flickering blue screen, then back at the god. He thought of the girl in the pink raincoat. He thought of the duty he had never walked away from.
"Give me the light," Leon said firmly.
As his fingers touched the seed, the obsidian floor shattered.
[ SOUL BINDING COMPLETE. ][ WORLD TRANSIT INITIATED: TARGET COORDINATES - THE WHISPERING JUNGLES. ][ GOOD LUCK, PROTECTOR. ]
The stars rushed toward him, and Leon Montoya plummeted back into the screaming light of life.