Reunite
The shrine's glow faded behind them as Marko, Ara, her father, Manuel, and the rest stepped carefully across the slick stone bridge. The lake beneath shimmered under the mid-morning sun like liquid glass, ripples tracing quiet paths as if the water itself remembered the shrine's sudden emergence.
Manuel's eyes never left the structure. "Whatever's in there... it's beyond us. We leave it behind." His voice was low and tense, carrying the weight of a man who had faced monsters before—but never this.
Ara's gaze lingered on the half-submerged shrine, awe and unease mixing in her expression. "It's incredible... and terrifying." She shivered—not from the cold, but from the memory of something ancient, alive, brushing against her soul.
Behind them, Marko and the others followed silently, their eyes shifting between the lake and the fading glow of the shrine. They carried weapons and cautious curiosity—men who had seen strange things before, but never a place that felt as if it breathed.
By mid-morning, they returned to the school—the battered temporary fortress where survivors had taken shelter. Smoke from cooking fires drifted lazily into the air, mingling with the faint acrid stench of the previous night's attacks. Broken barricades and scattered supplies painted a fragile, chaotic calm, punctuated by the exhausted figures of men and women struggling to recover.
Then Ara saw them—her mother and younger sister, Lira—standing among the survivors. Relief surged in her chest, almost enough to knock the fear away. She ran forward, tears in her eyes.
"Mama! Lira!"
Her mother fell to her knees, clutching her daughter. "Ara! You're safe! Thank the gods!"
Lira buried her face against Ara's shoulder, whispering, "I was so scared... "I was afraid I would never see you again," she whispered.
Manuel lowered his rifle, watching the reunion with a mix of pride and relief. He placed a firm hand on Ara's shoulder, squeezing gently. "You're here. That's what matters."
For a fleeting moment, Ara allowed herself to breathe, to be just a daughter again, embraced in the warmth of family. Around them, the survivors paused in quiet observation, their eyes reflecting hope and exhaustion alike.
But the pulse of the shrine—the lingering glow of Marko's amulet—pulled at her thoughts. The images of shrines across the archipelago, of fire and wind, of looming shadows, tugged at the edges of her mind. Something was coming, something relentless, and it would not wait, no matter how safe her home seemed.
Marko's voice cut gently through her reverie. "We can't linger too long. The shrine... it has shown me things. The danger is rising."
His men shifted, unease threading through their quiet confidence. One of them muttered under his breath, "We've seen enough for one day..."
Her eyes darted from her mother to Lira, then to the lake glinting through the shattered windows. The weight of her responsibility pressed down on her, mingling with the joy of reunion. She drew a deep breath, steadying herself, knowing the world outside the fortress would not pause for their relief.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, the first whispers of a new threat were stirring. And soon, they would have to face it—together.
Rising Threat
As survivors tended to the wounded and repaired barricades, Marko stepped slightly apart, his amulet glowing faintly against his chest. Ara followed, her expression caught between relief of reunion, worry for her family, and a quiet curiosity about Marko's words.
"The shrine... it didn't just show me the past," Marko said, voice low but urgent. "It's a warning. The pulse is growing stronger—especially in Laoag. Monsters are gathering there. Something big is about to happen."
Ara frowned, her heart tightening. "Laoag? It's not that far, but my family... I just got them back, Marko. I can't leave them now."
Marko's eyes softened, but his tone stayed firm. "I understand. But if we do nothing, the threat will spread. What's happening in Laoag won't stay there—it will reach here, maybe sooner than you think. You awakened for a reason, Ara. Maybe it wasn't just to protect your family but to stand for those who can't fight at all."
His words struck her, tugging at the unease already growing in her chest. She thought of the helpless trapped in homes, of children crying in dark corners with no one to shield them. She looked at Marko, recalling his determination to head south and his willingness to carry a burden that wasn't his alone.
"But..." Ara's voice trembled, almost pleading. "Why me?"
"Because you can," Marko said simply. "You've been given strength—maybe by God, maybe by fate. But you're not powerless anymore. If we turn away, this invasion will consume more than just Laoag. It could swallow your family too."
Silence was thick until Manuel finally spoke. He had been listening quietly, his arms crossed, gaze firm yet troubled. "Ara... I don't want you to go. You're my daughter. I've always treasured you like a princess. But tonight, watching you fight—I realized you've grown. You're strong enough to choose your own path. And if that path means facing this... then I won't hold you back."
Ara turned to him, stunned. "Papa..."
Manuel placed a steady hand on her shoulder. "It terrifies me. But I trust you. And I see what Marko sees—you were awakened for a reason."
Ara's throat tightened, tears brimming but not falling. She looked back at Marko, then at her family gathered nearby—her mother's calm strength, her sister's innocent smile. Slowly, her fear gave way to resolve.
"I'll go," she whispered at first, then steadier. "I'll help. Not just for you, Papa, or for Mama and Lira. But for those who don't have anyone to fight for them. If I were given this power... then I'd use it."
Marko exhaled, relief softening his features. "Thank you. We'll stay tonight. Rest, prepare, and tomorrow... we leave together."
Manuel gave Ara's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Spend tonight with us. Make it count. When morning comes, you'll go—but you won't go alone."
Ara smiled faintly, a fragile but growing flame of courage in her chest. "Tomorrow, then. Tonight... I stay with them."
The day passed slowly, filled with quiet, precious moments. Ara cooked with her mother, laughed softly with Lira, and walked the school's perimeter with Manuel, checking the makeshift defenses. Marko gave her space, watching from a distance, offering help when needed. The amulet at his chest pulsed faintly, a reminder of the storm that drew nearer.
By evening, the sun dipped behind the hills, painting the sky gold. Ara sat on the porch steps with her family, soaking in their warmth, while Marko leaned against the railing, eyes on the horizon.
"We leave at first light," Marko said softly, as if confirming it to himself.
Ara rested a hand on Lira's hair and nodded. "Tomorrow... we face it together."
And for tonight, they stayed. A brief moment of peace, borrowed against the storm.
Awakeners in the City
Hours earlier, in the city of Laoag... While Marko's group entered the shrine in Paoay, the streets of Laoag told a different story. Five days after the first wave of monsters, the city no longer felt alive, and the government had already fallen. Windows lay shattered, cars were abandoned in the middle of roads, and doors hung ajar as if families had fled mid-step. What had once been a bustling capital now stood frozen in fear, every alley whispering with unseen eyes.
Inside the eastern heart of the city, at a big supermarket, a ragtag militia worked to hold the line. Among them was Kael, a former weightlifter, tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar etched across his cheek. His voice cut through the air as he barked orders, steady and commanding. Beside him moved Dara, gun store owner, sharp-eyed, moving like a shadow, marking safe zones and guiding civilians toward reinforced shelters.
Kael led the patrol first. His frame wrapped in scavenged armor, a battered shield strapped firmly to his arm, each step echoing against the hollow streets. Behind him, a dozen militia followed—students, workers, and vendors, gripping mismatched weapons, trying to look braver than they felt.
Dara lingered at the rear, her rifle slung but ready, eyes half-lidded. Her focus was elsewhere, attuned to something the others could not sense. Breaths slowed, heartbeat syncing with unseen rhythms.
Then she froze.
Her head tilted slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. "Five... no, six heartbeats. Close. Moving in the alleys."
The militia stiffened. Kael glanced back and nodded. They had learned quickly—if Dara said there was something, there was.
A young man whispered, "I don't hear anything."
"You won't," Dara replied flatly. Her eyes scanned the empty windows of a nearby building. "They're circling... like they know we're here."
Kael raised his shield. "Form up. No one breaks."
The militia moved tighter, weapons and shields ready. The metallic scent of blood and dust thickened the air. A dog barked somewhere, then fell silent.
Dara exhaled slowly, focusing. "South wall... three... two..."
A shriek split the silence as a monster lunged from the shadows. Its twisted claws and fangs glinted, but Dara's bullet struck first, dropping it cleanly.
Kael slammed his shield into place as another lunged from an alley. The militia surged forward, stabbing with spears and blades. The fight was brief, brutal, and deadly. Silence reclaimed the street.
Dara lowered her rifle, pale but composed. A thin trickle of blood ran from her nose, wiped away without hesitation. Kael steadied her shoulder.
"You're pushing too far," he warned.
"I had to," Dara said, scanning the cityscape. "They move like hunters now. And this... was only a taste."
Above them, the sky darkened slightly, clouds twisting as if something vast and hungry stirred beyond sight.
Pulse above the Capitol
At the eastern districts, near the Ilocos Norte Police Provincial Office, Maki's team moved like shadows through the broken streets. The provincial office had become their stronghold, and every night they patrolled its surroundings—keeping the heart of the fortress from slipping into chaos.
Maki, a lean police sergeant and swordsman with reflexes as sharp as his blade, led the way. His uniform was worn and dusty, but his stance was steady, every movement deliberate, as though he could sense the rhythm of the city itself.
Beside him, Toma, a burly former blacksmith, adjusted the makeshift armor strapped across his chest. The hammer on his back rattled faintly with each step. "Too quiet," he muttered, eyes narrowing as he scanned the deserted road. "Quiet means something's hiding. And hiding means waiting."
At the rear walked Jaro—the youngest of the group, a rookie police officer who had only just graduated from the academy before the world collapsed. His regulation pistol trembled faintly in his grip as he mimicked Maki's hand signals with exaggerated care. A nervous grin tugged at his lips. "If anything jumps us, I'll... I'll put it down," he whispered, though the quaver in his voice betrayed the weight of fear behind the bravado.
Their route took them past barricaded streets where survivors huddled behind shuttered windows. At one checkpoint, they paused, knocking on a rusted gate. A gaunt man peeked out, clutching a kitchen knife. Maki lowered his weapon and spoke with firm calm. "Stay inside. We've cleared this street for now. If you hear the siren, head to the provincial office—the safe zone's still holding." The man nodded quickly, eyes shining with desperate gratitude, before bolting the gate shut again.
Maki gave the signal to move. The city's pulse thrummed beneath their boots, faint at first, then sharper—like something breathing just below the surface.
They turned down a side street near a row of collapsed houses. The air shifted. Paper scraps lifted off the ground, and metal clattered in the distance.
"Eyes open," Maki whispered, lowering into a crouch. "Listen. The city talks—pay attention."
The ground trembled lightly. Toma's grip tightened on his hammer, and Jaro raised his pistol with both hands, knuckles white.
From the darkness between two ruined walls, a shadow stirred. Too large. Too jagged. Not human.
"Positions!" Maki hissed. His team fanned out, movements sharp but silent, blades and weapons poised.
The first monster lunged—a twisted canine-like beast, its limbs bent wrong, eyes glowing faintly. Toma's hammer swung down, shattering its skull in a burst of bone and dust. A second creature leapt from the rubble, but Jaro's arrow caught it mid-air, pinning it to a cracked wall.
The fight was brief and efficient—minor skirmishes compared to the horrors they'd already faced, but reminders all the same.
Further north, Lyra's team moved carefully through the ruins of INCAT. Lyra, a graduating college student and newly awakened summoner, traced faint energy patterns in the air. A small stone golem lumbered beside her, its heavy steps echoing softly against broken walls—a living extension of her power and the reason she had been chosen to lead this ragtag group of students, teachers, and civilians.
The team spread out across rooftops, alleys, and barricades. Some clutched makeshift weapons: pipes, knives, bats, and a few old rifles salvaged from abandoned offices. Others had abilities just beginning to awaken, sparks of magic or subtle strength that they were still learning to control.
Fara, her second-in-command and a genius fencer, swung her blade experimentally as she scanned the crumbling rooftops. "Feels… weird," she said, eyebrows furrowed. "Like the air itself is watching us."
Lyra glanced at her, lips tight. "It's a pulse. Not sure what it's building, but it's growing. We can't make a move until we know more."
Kito, the former baseball player, twirled his bat nervously. "Pulse, huh? Sounds like one of those cheesy horror games." He tried to smirk, but his eyes betrayed unease. "So… we just wait? Watch it like it's a science experiment?"
Lyra kept her gaze on the distant provincial capitol. "Observe first. Prepare second. One wrong move... and this city dies before the gate even opens."
Behind them, a group of students shuffled uneasily. One boy, barely sixteen, fidgeted with a pipe. "Uh... what if something jumps us? I mean, we're not really... soldiers," he whispered.
"Then don't panic," Lyra said firmly. "Follow instructions, stick with someone stronger, and you'll be fine."
A teacher, clutching a steel pipe with shaking hands, glanced at the golem and whispered, "I didn't sign up for this..."
"You signed up by surviving, teacher," Fara muttered, rolling her eyes. "Titles don't matter now. Strength, speed, and brains—that's all that counts."
The golem shifted its weight, scanning the streets below. A small bird fluttered past, and Kito jumped back, almost dropping his bat.
"Relax, it's just a bird," Fara muttered, rolling her eyes.
Lyra flicked a finger, and the bird flew upward again—a silent signal to stay alert.
As they moved along the rooftops, Lyra noticed a faint flicker of movement in a narrow alley below. "Wait," she whispered. "Something's down there."
The team crouched, hearts racing. From the shadows, two small, malformed creatures crawled over the debris, snarling and snapping. They were clearly minor but dangerous if ignored.
"Um… I think that's our cue," Kito said, raising his bat. "First fight of the day… anyone nervous?"
Fara smirked, spinning her sword. "I'm nervous every day. Doesn't mean I'm not swinging."
Lyra nodded at the golem. "I'll hold the street. The rest of you should flank them on each side. Don't overthink it."
Kito took a shaky step forward, swinging the bat. One creature lunged, and he managed a solid hit, sending it tumbling into a pile of rubble. Fara moved like water, her sword flashing as she dispatched the second creature with precise, practiced strikes—though her shoulders tensed with adrenaline, betraying her calm demeanor.
"Okay, not bad," Lyra said, exhaling. "But stay sharp. This is just the beginning."
They checked the alley, finding two terrified survivors—a mother and her child—huddled behind a broken cart. Lyra knelt beside them. "You're safe for now. Come with us to the safe zone."
The mother's hands shook. "Thank you… I thought no one would come."
Fara put a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder. "We've got you. Don't let go of each other."
Kito muttered under his breath, "Feels… too much like the real thing now."
Lyra let the words hang in the air. "It is real. We can't pretend anymore. Everything we do counts. Every step, every fight."
The golem stomped again, signaling it was time to move. The group advanced carefully through the ruined streets, each student, teacher, and civilian acutely aware that safety was temporary—and every shadow could be the next test.