The last echo of the bells dissolved into silence. The undercroft's ancient stones exhaled centuries of held breath, their baybayin carvings pulsing like veins in the dim light. The twelfth skeleton stood motionless, its outstretched hand offering the silver nail - not as a weapon, but as a key.

Lira's fingers trembled as she reached for it. The moment her skin touched the tarnished metal, the visions came:

Her grandmother's calloused hands grinding herbs at dawn, humming the lullaby under her breath. The way she'd pause sometimes, eyes distant, as if listening to something beneath the floorboards. The single tear she'd wipe away before returning to her work.

Her mother burning the old woman's journals after the funeral, whispering "Forgive me" to the flames.

Herself as a child, waking from nightmares of drowning in black water, only to find her sheets damp with seawater.

The memories aligned like puzzle pieces. Every warning had been there, passed down in the spaces between words. The lullaby wasn't just a song - it was a map. The wound on her collarbone wasn't a curse - it was a compass.

Elias's voice cut through the visions. "You don't have to do this." His corrupted arm twitched, the gold veins recoiling from the nail's proximity. "There's another way."

The twelfth skeleton turned its hollow gaze on him. "There always is. The First Hunger makes certain of that." Its bony fingers traced the air, leaving glowing baybayin script hanging in the darkness: "The easiest path is often the one you'll regret."

A tremor ran through the undercroft. Dust rained from the ceiling as the five bells began tolling again, their rhythm accelerating into a panicked staccato. The remaining suspended skeletons thrashed against their invisible bonds, their bones rattling like wind chimes in a storm.

Lira pressed the nail to her glowing wound. The metal seared her skin, fusing with the baybayin markings. New understanding flooded her:

The original ritual had required twelve participants not just as witnesses, but as anchors - living representations of the virtues needed to maintain the seal. Compassion. Courage. Sacrifice. Over centuries, the Church had twisted their memory into faceless guardians, but they'd been people. People who'd failed.

The twelfth skeleton leaned close, its whisper like dry leaves scraping stone: "The Hollow King was never the enemy. Just the first casualty."

Outside, the city's screams crescendoed. The First Hunger was testing its bonds, sending tendrils of darkness through Manila's streets. Soon it would find the cracks in the undercroft. Soon it would be free.

Lira met Elias's eyes. "I'm not choosing to die," she said. "I'm choosing to remember."

She drove the nail into her chest.

Light erupted from the wound, brighter than dawn, purer than flame. It raced along the undercroft's carvings, igniting symbols unseen for centuries. The suspended skeletons dissolved into motes of gold, their long vigil ended. Somewhere deep below, something vast and ancient shrieked as new chains snapped into place.

The ground stilled. The bells fell silent.

When the light faded, Lira stood transformed. Her skin gleamed with faintly luminous baybayin, her braid unraveled into a cascade of silver. The wound on her collarbone had become a intricate knotwork of scars - the same pattern that now adorned the undercroft's walls.

The twelfth skeleton crumbled to dust, its final whisper lingering:

"Tell them we were sorry."

Then the real work began.