Libum jolted awake, his eyes heavy with drowsiness. The woman’s voice behind the door began speaking, but Libum dunked his head into the water, willing himself to block out the sounds of responsibility. He opened his mouth and let out a silent scream, one just for himself in that liminal space. With his lungs filling with perfumed water, he broke to the surface. The woman’s voice was pinched and tight. It was a replacement Anito, one who clearly held more respect for Libum than the previous. Her voice grew more erratic, and her hand pounded against the door, as if she didn’t know whether or not to begin breaking it down. 

“Lord Libum, answer me! Lady Kolupati demands your attendance and counsel at the Buhay immediately.”

“Oy,” he groaned. “I requested an hour.”

“She says it’s urgent,” she pleaded. “Lady Kolupati has given you permission to use the bath after hours, and granted access to all the hot water you want. We’ve even replaced your clothing, you’ll be pleased, these fibers are the softest in the realm right now. They’re imported from the birthplace of the Textile Goddess.”

Libum stood up and let the water cascade down. He took his time drying himself, his hair thick and wet. He wrapped himself in a fresh white tapis and black bottoms and took the clothing from the woman. The Goddess of Textiles’ insignia were found on the tags, indicating its quality.

The pants were light and durable and the top covered his entire upper half and his back, hiding his lack of tattoos. Humidity and heat were making themselves known, but Libum was used to wearing such things to hide himself. Sweat would pool underneath his top once he made it to the Buhay, but it wouldn't matter. He would rather deal with the heat than any more stupid comments made at his expense. Disregarding Libum’s insistence that he was not going to brand himself for Kolupati’s sake, the Tagkawal still made jabs at the man’s status. This was the only effective way to avoid reminding the four that he was not committed to Kolupati the same way they were.

The Village of Grief was relatively small compared to other realms, but Libum still took his time getting to the Buhay. Kolupati was by no means a woman of a humble start, and this was not her reasoning behind having such a small domain. Though he never knew the details, she'd been punished by Batala back before he'd come to the Village, and that's why she'd been left a dismal world to run. The only thing of any merit in the world of the dead was the Buhay. Its spider-like branches spread out, thinning until he got closer to the heart of the tree, where the roots and branches thickened and knotted together in one mass. Libum likened the shape, somehow, to a man reaching out a hand towards the sky. 

It made Libum’s heart clench without fail when he looked at it for too long.

The same hummingbird from before, vibrant purple decorating its breast in small specks, flitted above Kolupati’s shoulder. It flew past Libum and looked back to the God, and he pondered reaching out his hand and trying to swat it away, or throwing it as far as he could. As if it read the man’s impure thoughts, the bird joined the others and left Libum to approach Kolupati from behind. 

She’d fastened her mask, which concealed her face besides her mouth and eyes, onto herself more securely. It was adorned with polished jewels and intertwined with gold thread. The beak, all black with a shiny golden tip, extended about less than half a meter out.

The smell of blood assaulted his nose, thick and muggy. Kolupati’s feet were stained. Her mouth was twisted, not in disgust, but uncertainty. Libum put a hand to her shoulder, pushing down that impulsive urge to crush her throat. He would have to scrub his hands raw for touching her, if he ever wanted to cleanse himself properly.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded. “The tree—is it bleeding?”

“No,” she said, grimacing. “It’s them.”

Libum peered over her shoulder, the blind spot apparent as he saw what he thought was the tree bleeding was actually a man—or was it a woman? The physical form of the soul floated, face up, dyeing the water of the Buhay a dark, violent red. Libum moved before Kolupati could say anything more and pulled the unconscious body from the water. The soul was cold to the touch.

No external wounds that would cause bleeding, Libum thought. 

He looked for signs of trauma, a source to the red that seemed to wash away when he tried to touch it. “They’re dead,” he confirmed. “So why the blood?”

“I’ve never seen this before,” the God shook her head. “My souls have never come this way.” She held the soul by the face and looked closer, before her own face contorted in disgust. “There’s something wrong. Look at their eyes!”

Libum’s stomach churned, grimacing at the sight. 

Black, empty eye sockets stared back at him. When Libum looked too closely at the soul’s face, it was a blur. Their skin had a blue-gray tint, like their body was drained of color. Libum didn’t want to look directly at them, but found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Kolupati wouldn’t allow Libum to dispose of the body, even though he thought it held no intention of gaining consciousness. 

It was not meant to be here. 

The Buhay’s roots were staining red, and Kolupati was more determined on purifying the water so that the tree wouldn’t succumb to illness. She summoned the Tagkawal, but ordered Libum to stay and monitor the soul. He could only watch as the four began a purifying ritual. After the water returned to its former state, the group blessed the Buhay tree with a prayer. Libum remained with his back turned from them as he pressed his hands together and muttered a simple prayer for the soul in front of him. 

Whatever it was, whatever its purpose was upon washing up to the Village of Grief, he did not want the eyeless ghost to make an appearance in his dreams. 

A member of the Tagkawal, a man with short, black hair that barely reached his ears and eyes the color of coal stared at him expectantly. Libum dug up his notes of his last two assignments and shoved them into Silat’s hands. “It’s like I’m doing your job for you,” the human said dryly. 

“It’s because you’re just so good at it, kid.” Silat took the notes and squinted as he put them closer to his face. “You shouldn’t take writing lessons from Kolupati. Your script is all wrong.” 

Libum glared, but his second in command only continued. 

“It’s like our kids seek you out.” He waved with his hand. “Water-based attribute…” His eyes flickered to the other Tagkawal still surrounding Kolupati. “Things aren’t looking too good for me. And here I thought Mutya would win. You should have seen her back in her prime, she cursed anyone who stared in her direction a little too long.”

He waved Mutya over. "Oy! You remember the cock curse? I thought that one was impressive!"

"Because he had a tiny one or he was a giant cock?" she laughed. "How could I forget?"

Libum shuddered and tried not to think about the man with the unfortunate chicken placement—often a bedtime story used by Mutya to tell him about the curses. He'd turned into exactly what he was! And eventually, he became a tiny little chicken that I keep in one of these vials...The human ended up not eating chicken for months in fear she'd feed it to him.

“Is everything a gamble to you freaks?”

“No. Just most things.” Silat’s curiosity getting the best of him, he leaned forward and examined the soul that was still unconscious. “Looks like you finally found yourself a girlfriend to match you, huh? They don’t have eyes to see that face of yours!”

Libum’s fist connected to the Tagkawal’s jaw with a Thwack! Silat only rubbed at the spot and grinned, exposing a row of sharp teeth. The soul stirred, but Libum blamed it on the fact that he’d been sitting there bored out of his mind for the last hour. 

“No,” said the man. “She intends to give them to me, and who knows? A promotion might be in order. If that's the case, we just found your replacement.”

The Tagkawal paled, and ran over to the other group, bowing to Kolupati as he did so, pressing her hand against his forehead in the gesture meant for respect. The soul stirred again, and his eyes traced the soul’s. He was directly above them, urging them to move. This time Libum knew it was real. 

Because the soul shot straight up and screamed. 

The face they wore rippled like stones thrown in puddles of water. Their hands went to Libum’s throat, causing the back of his necklace to pinch his skin. He audibly swallowed. The breath left him, and the soul continued to squeeze, until Libum jerked his head away. He pressed his hands to the soul’s arms, fighting to release himself. They clawed dark red marks into his neck. Libum dug his nails into the flesh of their forearms and forced them down, using his weight to kneel on their chest. 

The soul began to convulse. They coughed up the water they’d ingested while floating around the Buhay, blood red staining their lips.