He kept his head low, shoulders drawn inward, trying to take up as little space as possible. If there was one thing he had learned in life, it was that standing out rarely did him any favors. He followed the woman, Punay, they had called her, without question. What else could he do?
They walked through the village, past houses built from bamboo and palm leaves, their steep thatched roofs designed to keep out the rains.
Evan could feel the weight of their stares. Women weaving cloth paused in their work, warriors sharpening blades glanced up, eyes keen with curiosity. Whispers rippled through them like the rustling of leaves. He didn't need to hear the words to know what they were saying. A stranger had washed up on their shores, and strangers were rarely good news.
Punay passed by a hut, shouted and not long after, had a bundle of fabric in her arms. She tossed it at Evan without ceremony, the rough weave landing in his lap.
"Wear that," she said.
Evan picked it up, turning the cloth over in his hands. It was simple, just a length of woven fabric, likely meant to be wrapped around his waist like the men in the village wore. No seams, no buttons, no elastic waistband. He glanced at Punay and the rest of the villages, who were watching from afar.
"You're just gonna stand there?" he asked.
Punay raised an eyebrow. "You have hands, don't you?"
"Yeah, but" Evan sighed. Privacy was apparently a modern luxury. Resigning himself, he fumbled with the fabric, trying to wrap it the way he had seen the other men do. The material was coarse but sturdy, and after some awkward adjustments, he managed to tie it securely. It felt weird, loose in some places, snug in others, but at least he wasn't naked anymore.
Punay gave him a once-over, then shrugged. "Good enough. Try not to lose it."
Punay then led him to a small hut near what looked like a granary. She pushed aside the woven mat covering the entrance and gestured inside.
"You will sleep here."
Evan stepped inside cautiously, his gaze sweeping across the dimly lit space. The air was surprisingly cool, and through the narrow gaps in the bamboo slats beneath his feet, he caught glimpses of the earth below. He crouched, pressing his palm against the smooth, woven floor, sturdy yet light, unlike the cold, unyielding surfaces he was used to.
His eyes followed the wooden beams overhead, the tightly woven palm walls, searching for… something. He wasn't sure what. Unlike the towering concrete structures of his world, these homes stood elevated on wooden posts, allowing air to flow freely beneath them. Smart. Practical.
At least it didn't feel like the house of a slave. Did slaves even have houses back then? Or, now. This was his present now. But maybe he'd misunderstood. He wasn't being treated like a slave, not exactly. More like a prisoner… or a guest.
He heard Punay leave but didn't move. Hands resting loosely on his knees, he sat there, staring at the woven walls, trying to make sense of his situation.
First, where was he? He wasn't exactly a geographer, but he knew Luzon had its fair share of waterfalls. That didn't narrow things down much. Second, and far more alarmingly, when was he? Had the Spaniards already reached Cebu? Were they in the middle of their veni, vidi, vici routine, turning island chiefs into vassals and villagers into slaves?
Now that was slavery on a whole different level. As far as he knew, pre-colonial slavery wasn't as brutal, no whips, no chains, no plantation fields baking under the sun. And these people… they didn't seem to hate him. Not in the way history books described colonial masters sneering down at their subjects. They looked down on him, sure, he could feel it. But it wasn't because of his skin. It was something else. His awkwardness? His hesitation? His lack of fire?
Still, the thought of real slavery, of conquistadors and crosses, of men in armor and ships on the horizon, sent a chill down his spine. Or maybe he can escape the real slavery? He can count in spanish, uno dos tres quatro. They valued translators very much right? Maybe when the spaniards came for this lovely little village, he can be like 'Como esta?' and that should keep him safe right?
Still, the thought of real slavery, of conquistadors and galleons, of brainwashed armored men wielding steel and gunpowder in the name of greedy little friars, sent a chill down his spine. But maybe he could avoid that fate? He could count in Spanish, uno, dos, tres, cuatro. That had to be worth something. They valued translators, didn't they? Maybe when the Spaniards came for this idyllic little village, he could just throw out a casual "¿Cómo está?" and that would be enough to keep him safe… right?
Punay interrupted his thoughts with a bowl of rice and dried fish. She placed it beside him with a single word: "Eat."
"Thank you," he muttered without thinking, his stomach already growling. He scooped up a few fingerfuls, the warmth grounding him, before reaching for the fish. He picked at it carefully, getting a fishbone stuck in his mouth might be a death sentence here. Maybe.
Punay raised a brow but said nothing. Maybe "thank you" wasn't common here. Or maybe it was the way he said it, his accent, his tone. Too foreign. Too strange.
Evan ate slowly, peeling small pieces of fish and bringing them to his mouth, stretching the moment to gather his thoughts. He needed answers. When was he? Where was he? Was this even the past? Was this even Earth? Was this even his universe? His reality?
Well, that last one was a little above his pay grade. He'd need to know quantum physics, have a hadron collider, and perform whatever arcane rituals they did at CERN. He was pretty sure he had none of those.
So, start small.
The sun looked like the same one he knew, though, to be fair, all suns probably looked the same. At least there was just one. And as he can feel the air cooling signalling dusk, no second sun seems to be rising to take its place. A good sign.
The moon, he could check that later, once this woman left. But for now, there was something more immediate he could confirm.
Swallowing a mouthful of rice, he finally spoke. "Are the Spaniards here already?"
Punay frowned. "The what?"
"The Spaniards," he repeated. "White men. Conquerors."
She narrowed her eyes, suspicion flashing across her face. Conquerors? Does she think I'm one of them?
"I do not know this name," she said slowly. "Are they people from across the sea?"
Evan hesitated. "Yes… I think."
She studied him closely. He could feel her weighing his words, his posture, his very existence. If she thought he was a scout for an invading force, she wasn't entirely wrong, but not in the way she assumed.
"None by that name have come here," she said finally. "The sea brings many, but not all are welcome."
Evan chewed on that information, his brows knitting together. If the Spaniards weren't here yet… How early was he? A hundred years before Magellan? More? Less? There was no concrete history book to flip through, no calendar to ground him.
And worse, he had just revealed knowledge he shouldn't have. Now this woman would report to the datu that the strange foreigner spoke of unknown conquerors. He didn't want to find out how they dealt with possible enemies, but he was sure it involved sharp things.
I need to keep my mouth shut. One wrong word and I might end up gutted before I can even figure out what the hell is going on.
She was still watching him. Calculating. If I was in her place, I wouldn't trust me either.
Evan slumped slightly. "Right… well, that's good," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
He stared into the doorway just past where Punay was standing, his mind drifting. No Spaniards. That was something, at least. A rough anchor in time.
Somewhere between 200 BC and given his luck, maybe just right before the Spaniards arrive.
"You ask strange questions," Punay remarked, still watching him with thinly veiled suspicion.
Evan let out a short, humorless chuckle. "You have no idea."
Punay finally turned and stepped outside, her footsteps light against the bamboo floor. Evan waited a beat, listening to the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the village before shifting, tilting his head to peer out the open doorway.
The night stretched vast and endless, stars scattered across its depths like shards of crushed glass. And there, above the dark silhouette of the trees, hung the moon.
His gaze flicked around, searching for another light source, half-expecting something alien, another moon, a second blue sun frozen in the sky, but there was only the one. The same pale, familiar moon he had always known.
Something in his chest loosened. A small, irrational relief.
Then came the reminder.
It was a full moon tonight, bright, round, still as beautiful as ever, yet utterly useless to help him now.
Punay returned before he could dwell on it, carrying a small clay jar in one hand and a ripe mango in the other. She set them down beside him without a word. The jar was smooth, cool to the touch, with a narrow spout sealed with a simple woven stopper. He pulled it free and took a tentative sip, the water was clean, fresh, slightly earthy from the clay.
Punay lingered by the entrance, arms crossed, still studying him as if trying to pin down what, exactly, he was.
Fatigue pulled at his limbs, settling deep now that his stomach was full. He barely had the energy to think anymore.
Eventually, Punay stepped away, disappearing into the night.
His body sagged into the bamboo floor, and the last thing he saw was the flickering fire outside, the shifting silhouettes of villagers moving against its glow.
He slept deeply, too exhausted even to dream.
Alunay
Alunay stepped into the hut where the foreigner was being kept, her heart pounding with anticipation. The rumors had painted a picture of a man both strange and powerful, perhaps a warrior from a distant land, or even a lost prince.
But as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, her excitement wavered.
The man was still asleep. The morning light filtered through the woven walls, casting soft patterns across his face, but he remained utterly still, sprawled on the bamboo floor. His breaths were deep and steady, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of someone far too exhausted to wake. He lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other draped loosely over his stomach. Not exactly the image of a conqueror. He looked more like a worn-out traveler, or worse, a lost fool who had no idea where he was.
Her father, seeing her curiosity about the stranger, had granted her this meeting with the additional task of probing him, subtly, he had said. She was to watch his words, his manner, and determine whether he was what Punay suspected based on his strange questions the night before, a scout sent ahead of a larger, more dangerous force.
Their people had repelled raiders before. Pirates came and went, testing their defenses, underestimating their strength. They were no strangers to outsiders arriving from the sea, whether as traders, warriors, or castaways. But not all who came were welcome.
She pressed her lips together. If this foreigner was a scout, he wasn't a very convincing one. His size was notable, broad-shouldered and strong, even sprawled carelessly on the floor, but that was all he had going for him. There was no commanding presence, no quiet confidence that marked a seasoned warrior. Just a boy with light brown skin, unwashed hair, and a face slack with deep, unguarded sleep. He looked more like an exhausted traveler than a threat. Nothing about him spoke of danger. Nothing about him matched the warriors she had known.
This… was the great foreigner?
Alunay frowned. If he was dangerous, he certainly didn't look it. But looks could deceive.
She stepped closer. "You," she said, nudging his foot with her own. "Wake up."
The man stirred with a groggy groan, shifting slightly before his eyes fluttered open. Alunay watched as confusion flickered across his face, disoriented, lost, like someone waking up in a place they did not belong. Then, realization set in… and he yawned. A deep, lengthy yawn, stretching his jaw as if he had all the time in the world. He made an attempt to cover his mouth with his fingers, but the gesture did little to hide what it was, a kind of exhaustion that demands rest.
Not the reaction of a captive. Not the reaction of someone sensing danger.
It was the kind of yawn that spoke of comfort, of ease, of a man who did not see her as a threat at all.
Alunay's irritation flared.
She folded her arms. "Stand up."
He hesitated. Too long.
Her patience thinned further. Did he think he had a choice? Did he not understand the position he was in?
With a sharp huff, Alunay stepped forward and grabbed his arm, yanking him up before he could stall any longer. He staggered, unsteady on his feet, clearly caught off guard.
No grace. No warrior's poise. He moved like a man shaken from sleep.
Alunay circled him, sharp gaze dragging over his features.
"You are not what I expected," she finally said.
She had imagined someone formidable, someone who carried themselves with quiet authority. A leader. A warrior. Instead, she was met with this, an awkward, tired-looking man with slumped shoulders and uncertain eyes.
He blinked at her. "Sorry?"
She scoffed. "Sorry?" Her arms tightened over her chest. "Are you a warrior?"
"Uh. No."
"A sailor?"
"Nope."
"A trader, then?"
A hesitation. Then, "I… guess not?"
Alunay exhaled sharply through her nose, barely restraining her frustration. "Then what are you?"
He shifted under her scrutiny, uncertainty creeping into his posture. It was clear he had no idea what answer she was looking for.
"Just… a guy?"
She narrowed her eyes. "A guy."
"Yeah. Just… a guy."
Alunay inhaled slowly through her nose, forcing herself to stay patient. If he was lying, he was insultingly bad at it. And yet, the village whispered about him as if he were something more.
"You were found in the forest with no weapons, no clothes, and no markings," she said, keeping her voice level. "And yet, people are already speaking of you as if you are something special."
He frowned, as if only now realizing the weight of her words. "I mean… yeah. People are always curious about the unknown."
Alunay studied him. He just looked… lost. But words had power, and he had already said too many strange ones.
Ignoring her father's warning to be subtle, she asked bluntly, "Are you a scout? Are these Spaniards coming to attack us?"
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, his whole body tensing. "What? Oh, no, no, that's not" He let out a short, nervous laugh. "Haha, not for a few centuries, hopefully."
Alunay echoed his words, mimicking his words best she can. "Not for a few centuries." Her brow furrowed. "What's that?"
Evan forced a chuckle. "Oh sorry, I just mean that it will take a lot of years." He waved a hand as if brushing it off, trying to pass it off as a simple mistake.
Alunay's eyes narrowed. A lot of years? Is he trying to say he can see the future?
He gestured vaguely, like he could wave away the weight of his words. "I don't know any Spaniards. I mean, I know of them, but not personally. And they're not coming, at least, not now. Not for a long time. You don't have to worry about that."
Then, as if realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down his face. "Look, I misspoke, alright? I was just talking last night, I didn't mean anything by it. My brain was so tired, I must've just… dreamt up some stuff."
Dreamt?
He was claiming to be a babaylan.
Alunay had heard of male babaylan before, though they were rare. But male or female, she had never known one who could see beyond a day into the future. If he truly had a connection to the spirits, her aunt, would have sensed something. Would have said something. And yet, she had been just as clueless about this man as the rest of them.
Alunay's fingers curled slightly at her sides. If he was one, he was unlike any she had ever seen.
Her voice was sharp when she asked, "Are you a babaylan?"
His eyes widened slightly. "No, no! I'm not a babaylan. Like I said, just a guy."
She studied him, weighing his words. He didn't speak like someone who wielded power, nor did he have the bearing of a man who knew something others didn't.
Her questioning had only led to more questions. But in the end, there was only one that truly mattered.
"Do you intend to harm our village?"
The boy blinked, caught off guard. His confusion was immediate, his response quick. "No! No, ma'am. I have no bad intentions toward your village, your datu, or anyone, actually."
She watched him carefully. The sincerity in his voice. He was telling the truth. Good enough.
Without further hesitation, she turned away. "Punay, take him to the river. Let him wash up, he stinks."
And with that, she strode out of the hut, not bothering to wait for her orders to be carried out. Her mind was already elsewhere, her steps leading her toward her father's hut.
An interesting man. A boy in the body of a man. A seer who did not seem to be connected to the spirits. Completely different from what she had expected.
She had expected this morning's meeting to satisfy her curiosity. Instead, she left with more questions than answers, with no clear path to find them.