The body went still, and Libum was almost giddy with relief. The worst of it had to be over. Prying their fingers off of him, his hands immediately went to the pearl around his neck. He did not have time for anger. As long as the pearl necklace was fine, he wouldn’t even be bothered by such a thing. A soul that reacted in such a way was only what they last knew. 

Reflexes like that only came because the person was forced into a decision—to fight and survive. It was something innate, something one couldn’t control. 

After what seemed like hours, the Tagkawal and Kolupati ran towards them both. The Lady Death pulled the man up, shoving him and dropping to the soul’s side. Each person waited for the soul to make another move as Libum traced his fingers over the prints on his neck. The man walked and hovered above their face, wondering if the soul even knew what was going on. An empty abyss stared back at him.

His hair is glowing, he’s so pretty…

Libum froze just as he was about to touch the soul with his free hand, an unknown voice echoing in his mind. The voice stopped, but he was sure he’d heard it. He turned to Kolupati, who was hiding behind a laugh. Libum waited for the soul to say something else. Though he was so close to death at that moment, the faint thrumming of his heart while he fought back brought something alive within him. The Tagkawal members jeered. 

“Did you hear that?”

“He really did get himself a life-partner!”

“A match made in hell!”

Kolupati hurried over to the body and touched the soul’s blue lips tentatively. 

You heard that? The voice said again. My throat is burning. Libum stopped himself from saying that his throat was, too.

“I am Kolupati,” said the God. “I am the Hummingbird God who resides in the Village of Grief and Loss. Do you know who you are?” She uttered a prayer, and the soul’s lips began moving. Color filled them. Libum pressed his hand to the soul, expecting to feel that familiar pull, but their life was as if a blurry filter had been placed over it. The faint sight of red welcomed him, and he pulled back.

“I…don’t. Does this mean I’m lost?” The soul hesitated. The way the soul spoke was clunky, and awkward. Libum guessed they’d gone quite some time without being able to use their mouth. At least Libum no longer had to listen to the voice echo in the back of his mind.

“You are dead,” she confirmed ruefully. To the Tagkawal, she dismissed the howling group, all except Libum. His back was turned, trying to avoid her eyes, but she put a hand on his head and stared at him until he complied. He longed for a bath, one he could imagine drowning Kolupati in. 

“Would you follow us to my Spirit House, then? There’s a few things we need to discuss with your unconventional arrival.”

The group of three traversed from the Buhay to Kolupati’s House. This strange soul only shrugged and nodded at her question, but their eyes lingered on Libum’s face and the dark red fingerprints surrounding his throat. 

The close examination of his face was to be expected, but other souls had more tact. He held back the urge to jab the form in the ribs, even if they couldn’t feel it. The soul had only been here for a few minutes, and yet they made Libum so uncomfortable. His heart felt ready to escape from his mouth if he spoke.

“I must be in the wrong place, right?” the soul asked. “Surrounded by gorgeous women and handsome men, things can’t be that bad.”

Libum only glared at the soul behind their back, bile rising to their throat like rancid vinegar, while Kolupati laughed. “Oh, stop it—” she said, her eyes twinkling from the compliment. “You can’t even see my face.” Whether it was from the lack of eyes on the soul’s part, or the fact that Kolupati still wore her mask, it was impossible for them to see her face. 

He was getting tired of useless words, and thought the soul was only trying to get their way. The only thing about them is their sweetened tongue. If that pompous other God and this soul met, their personalities would only be heightened. He already had one person in his life that acted this way, he didn't need another. 

“I can tell,” the soul insisted. “All I need in order to see how beautiful you are…Well, it’s in the eyes.” With this comment, they stared at Libum with their nonexistent eyes and did what he thought could only be an attempted, half-assed wink. It’s hard to wink without any eyes at all, he thought. Who the fuck would start flirting under these conditions? Libum could feel his breakfast returning, and he swallowed hard before shoving the soul forward.

"Such a shame we can't see if you're beautiful or not," he replied flatly. The soul showed no sign of having been offended. 

“Sounds like you’re able to see just fine,” said Kolupati, a blush creeping up her neck.

Kolupati’s Spirit House balanced on log stilts and steps enclosed by dead trees. A ladder led up to the door. They each had to climb up the bamboo ladder separately, in order to reach the porch entrance. The entrance was decorated with a hummingbird painting that was cut in half when both doors were opened. One of the bird’s beady eyes remained open to examine whoever entered or left the Spirit House, an all-seeing eye. Six tubular flowers of different, vibrant colors burst from behind the bird, its beak dipping into one as if drinking the nectar, and the soul only examined it. 

“Hummingbird God?” The soul, now next to Libum, questioned. 

“Doves, hummingbirds, cranes. There’s a hundred birds out there, but she prefers making hummingbirds because they’re fast and easy.”

Kolupati ushered the other two inside, past the steps of the House. The cold air assaulted Libum’s skin. Goosebumps rose to his arms. He watched the soul take in the House made specifically for Kolupati, which despite its small outside had a spacious, comically large inside. She often kept it at freezing temperatures inside her House, which was why Libum found himself frequenting the hot baths so often. 

The Spirit House, though, was as dark and dreary as its owner, the God of Death. Beyond the doors, two hallways on either side of them opened up, exposing a row of multiple doors. Every color was hidden by dark purple curtains. Walking past the doors, shelved high above heads, were stone statues. The room opened into a common room—one filled with hammocks and lounging chairs from different eras. From there, one could see a kitchen and room meant for eating, sharing one space.

“Do you feel at home?” asked Kolupati. They passed a small stone statue that was so old, it blackened and had moss growing from the chest. Libum ripped his eyes away, but the rest of the House wasn’t much to look at. The interior hadn’t changed in the slightest for the last twenty years.

“I don’t feel unsafe here,” the soul replied, and she laughed against them—a light, sweet sound. “Is this where you reside, Kolupati?”

“Both Libum and I live here, yes.” Kolupati gestured towards Libum, who only shrugged in response. A feeling as if he were being watched crept up his backside, and he hardened his gaze towards the culprit. The soul kept stealing glances, and it made Libum want to pull off Kolupati’s mask and wear it himself. She offered to make him one, back when Libum first started working for her.

No one else wore masks. There was a strict rule in the Realm of Gods, where Batala resided, that it was seen as an act of disrespect. Even the Medicine God, who was famous for the mask he wore, had the decency to show his face during meetings. Except Kolupati. She hid herself from the Anito who worked under her, and only her. He didn’t want to be associated with the God in any way, but now he wished he’d taken her up on the offer. 

She cleared a few empty hammocks and chairs of stray scrolls and leaves she’d used to write on, for them to sit in. Libum stood and waited for Kolupati’s word. The Lady God and the eyeless stranger sat together, hammock against hammock. From the way she looked at them, Libum’s chest grew uncomfortably tight. 

“Do you have any clue as to how you died?” 

The soul looked deep in thought, their eyes halfway closed. “I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s alright. Lost souls with no memories aren’t uncommon. There’s a way things work here,” Kolupati began simply. She crossed her legs, and beckoned Libum closer so that he could hear.

“You form a contract with me in order to stay here and regain your memories. If you refuse, you turn into multo. Souls without a name or purpose. A contract prevents a soul from turning into multo, but it’s not guaranteed, especially as you gain back memories. Multo can have the ability to escape my realm—you’ll have to pick them up occasionally— they become ghost stories, souls unable to move on or accept that they’re dead. Others stay here as a shadow of themselves, but at least they stay out of trouble. The choice is yours.”

“What does a contract entail? What do I have to do?” asked the soul. 

Libum bit on his lip until blood came.

“You partner up with Libum here,” she said smoothly. “You pick up souls for me. You get paid, of course, and your money is to do with as you please. You live here, until your soul remembers everything, but you have to work. After that, the life you lived is properly judged, and your soul is sent off to the appropriate afterlife.”

“This isn’t the afterlife?” 

“No,” Kolupati’s lips curled. “This is the Village.”