March 6, 2020
Mount Arayat, Pampanga – Forest Region
The wind ran quiet between the trees.
They had been there for days, tucked away in a forgotten stretch of forest along Mount Arayat's spine. The cabin, more a skeleton of wood and tin than a proper home, sat beneath the shade of balete trees, twisted things with limbs like frozen serpents. They didn't ask who built it. Geneva simply found it, already there, as if it had been waiting for them.
Inside, the air was thick with woodsmoke, faint humidity, and the musk of animals. Dana paced near the window, tail twitching. Mavian perched just outside, wings half-spread, watching.
Eloisa poured warm water into three cups. Tala sat near the window, sharpening a stick with a small knife. Marco was outside again, pacing the treeline. The mountain air smelled different, cleaner, maybe, or older. The kind of scent that clung to bark and bone.
Geneva leaned over the radio. Static crackled. Then voices.
"…overrun checkpoints in Kaliningrad and New Mexico... casualties reported in dozens. Southern Brazil's capital sealed off after a levitating girl shattered five city blocks..."
"…in the outskirts of Nairobi, two individuals believed to possess identical telekinetic abilities were seen fighting midair. One left the other in pieces. Both are unidentified…"
"…Philippines expanding Martial Law. Last week, over a hundred vanished in Cebu. Survivors speak of a child wrapped in smoke who passes through walls..."
The broadcast dipped into static again, then returned faintly.
"...There is no stable protocol. No scientific framework. No cure. Seven hundred plus cases confirmed. Thirty-eight monitored. The rest, unknown."
Geneva shut the radio off. The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It pressed against the walls like fog.
Eloisa stared down at her hands.
"We're not like them," she whispered.
Geneva didn't answer. Her eyes remained on the radio, like it might speak again.
Later that day, Tala and Marco trained just beyond the cabin's edge, between moss-covered rocks and damp soil. The forest made no sound but the occasional rustle of leaves. Even the birds seemed to keep their distance.
Marco exhaled slowly. Sparks danced in his palm, weak but visible. He grinned.
"You saw that, right?"
Tala nodded. "Again."
They practiced in silence. Marco summoned flame. Tala whispered to the earth. Pebbles vibrated, shifted, lifted. Then a crack, too hard, too fast. The earth split beneath his boot.
"Slow it down," Geneva said. "Don't pull, feel."
Tala knelt again, breathing slower. He placed his palm flat on the ground. The soil trembled. A ring of small stones began to revolve gently around him.
Far in the tree line, nothing stirred, but Tala felt something familiar watching, quiet and low to the earth. He didn't look back. A shadow flickered through the brush, gone before he could name it.
Marco ignited a flame in his right hand and focused. It wavered. He steadied it, adjusting his breath. Geneva's voice carried softly:
"Control isn't about strength. It's about conversation. You push, it resists. You listen, it yields."
Tala looked up at the silhouette of Mount Arayat, its peak veiled in slow-moving clouds.
"My lola used to say Apung Sinukuan lives there," he said. "Goddess of the mountain. Of strength. Keeper of balance, they say."
"Sounds like she couldn't decide," Marco muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
"She was said to teach warfare and wisdom, and to guard the mountain from greed and pride."
Geneva's eyes lingered on the ridges above them.
"She's not watching," she said. "But the mountain might be."
The collapse happened fast.
Eloisa didn't scream. One moment she stood with Dana curled at her feet, folding a blanket. The next, she was crumpled on the floor.
Dana yowled. Geneva turned first.
"Marco!"
He was already moving. Tala followed.
No pulse. No breath.
Geneva pressed her fingers to Eloisa's neck. "Start compressions."
Marco dropped beside her, fumbling, desperate. "I—okay. Okay—"
Hands to her chest. Thirty pumps. Breathe. Again.
The cabin air grew dense. The floor creaked.
Then, floating. First the mug. Then the spoon. The chair lifted, then the lantern.
Dana hissed. Mavian screamed.
Eloisa lay still.
The air shuddered. Everything hovered, spinning, weightless. Dust circled her like wind in a bottle.
Then she gasped. A violent inhale.
A pulse of invisible force burst outward. Objects crashed. Marco stumbled back.
Eloisa's eyes opened.
"I was… somewhere," she whispered.
Geneva didn't speak. She watched the air, as if it might rise again.
The others backed away slowly. Marco sat with his hands still trembling. Tala reached for Dana, who refused to be touched.
"What did she do?" Tala whispered.
Geneva didn't reply. She stood, wordless, walked to her pack, and pulled out her notebook.
That night, no one slept. Geneva wrote alone in candlelight.
"Subject: Eloisa Santos.
Manifestation: Psychokinesis. Triggered by cardiac failure. Duration: ~20 seconds.
Conscious control: Absent. Risk factor: High."
She paused. Then added:
"Something woke up."
Eloisa lay curled in her blanket, her eyes open, staring at the wooden slats above her. Marco had built up the fire. Tala sat near the door, knife still in hand. No one spoke of what had happened. The silence was not avoidance. It was reverence. And fear.
In the forest beyond, the wind picked up. The trees whispered, their voices old and cracked.
In his dreams, Tala heard the heartbeat of the mountain.
He was a child again, standing barefoot on the river stones, a monkey crouched beside him, mimicking his every movement. The creature's eyes had been gold. Watching. Waiting.
When he woke, his hands were covered in dust.
The trees outside didn't move. But they watched.
In the shadows beyond the treeline, something familiar shifted, small, agile, unseen.
It didn't speak. It didn't need to. It was his.
And it had never left.