The first light of morning filtered through the ruined cathedral's broken arches, painting the cracked tiles in shades of blood and gold. Lira stood motionless at the center of the undercroft, her bare feet planted on the ancient baybayin inscriptions. The silver nail - now fused with her flesh - pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath her collarbone.

Elias staggered back, his corrupted arm smoking where the ritual's light had scorched away the gold veins. "Lira?" His voice cracked. "Can you hear me?"

When she turned, her eyes were no longer human. The pupils had elongated into vertical slits, reflecting the faint glow of her scars. But her voice, when she spoke, was unmistakably hers - though it carried the weight of centuries.

"They never told you the whole truth about the box, Elias." She raised her hand, and the shattered remnants of the Vessel rose from the ground, reassembling midair. "It wasn't made to contain the Hollow King. It was made to remember him."

The reconstructed box floated toward Elias. As it neared, the carvings on its surface shifted, rearranging into a story:

Dumalaki walking into the sea. The twelve guardians watching from shore. The moment the first nail pierced flesh, and how the waves turned black with his betrayal.

Father Mateo crawled forward, his robes torn. "What have you done, girl?"

Lira's glowing gaze fell upon him. "Finished what your Church began." She pressed her palm to the box, and its seams burst open with a sound like a sigh.

Instead of darkness, light poured forth - the pure, clear light of that long-ago morning on the black sand shore. And within it, a figure took shape:

A man.

Not the Hollow King of nightmares, but Dumalaki as he'd been before the ritual - young, weary, his eyes kind despite the sorrow in them.

The undercroft trembled as he stepped forward. His bare feet left no prints on the dusty tiles. When he spoke, his voice was the whisper of reeds in the wind.

"You broke the circle," he said to Lira. "After all these years."

Outside, the city's screams had ceased. An unnatural hush had fallen over Manila, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Dumalaki turned to Elias. "The First Hunger thrives on fear. On lies. It made you see monsters where there were only broken promises." He reached out, and for the first time in centuries, the Hollow King touched a living human without pain.

Elias's corrupted arm flaked away like ash, revealing unmarked skin beneath. "Then how do we stop it?"

Dumalaki smiled. It was the saddest smile Lira had ever seen.

"You already have."

The light intensified. The undercroft's walls dissolved. And in that blinding moment, Elias understood:

Some battles aren't won with blades or bullets, but with remembrance.

The First Hunger had fed on their forgotten history. On the guilt buried beneath centuries of lies.

Lira had broken its hold simply by bearing witness.

As the light faded, Dumalaki began to fade with it - his form unraveling like mist at dawn. But his voice lingered:

"Tell them our names."

Then he was gone.

The box lay empty at Lira's feet, its carvings still. The silver nail in her chest cooled to the touch.

Somewhere in the city, a child laughed.

Dawn had come.

The reckoning was over.

The remembering had just begun.