The small town of Nebo slumbered in the storm’s embrace, its cobblestone streets slick with rain and reflecting the faint, flickering glow of the street lamps. She scanned for any signs of life in this late hour. The shops on the left huddled together against the wall, with their signs reading “Closed.” The right side mirrors the scene, save for the warm glow emanating from the local tavern.

Despite the late hour, the sounds of laughter, cheers, and raucous songs spilled out into the rain-soaked night.

"Praise to the gods," she whispers gaily, drawn by the promise of warmth and moments of respite from the cold storm. She went towards the tavern, arrived, and hesitated at the entrance, a wave of doubt washing over her.

"Is it safe to enter?” she wondered.

Wandering out in the cold, wet streets with a newborn inside the wicker basket was unthinkable, and with no knowledge as to where the church was located. She gathered up her courage and pushed the wooden door. A wave of boisterous laughter, songs, music, warmth, the smell of ale, roast meat, and sweat washed over her as she cautiously stepped inside. She raised the hood of her cloak and covered half her face so that only her mouth and chin were seen. She stood for a while enjoying the warmth of the tavern for as long as she liked. She traveled far from her homeland just to arrive at Nebo.

The tavern’s base and floor are made with cobblestone that is put together with mortar. The walls of the first floor up to the ceiling are made of oak wood. The walls were decorated with heads of hunt trophies of deer, bears, and mountain lions. Three lead candle chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The fire in the hearth casted dancing shadows on the cobbled floor and onto the oak walls. Men and women, their faces flushed with drink and merriment, crowded around multiple tables with tankards and platters of food.

The young woman, with her damp cloak dripping on the floor, paused, unsure where to turn. Until she caught a lone young barmaid, the same age as hers, cleaning an empty dirty table.

Mustering up her courage, she walked past the labyrinth of lustful eyes and women with their curious gazes. Just as she thought she made it through, a man stepped in front of her and spoke.

“Hello, Gal. you look weary and that basket you’re carrying looks heavy. Why not sit with us for a moment? I’ll treat you with food and a drink.” He gestured with his hands towards a table with drunk rowdy men.

Before his fingers could make contact with the waist of the young woman, the barmaid’s voice rang out, sharp and clear.

“News reaches your wife from this tavern if you flirt with other women and bring to your table again Fergus!”

“If you weren’t the owner’s daughter, Emily, I would’ve ripped that tongue out of your mouth a long time ago,” Fergus shouted back at Emily, who was wearing a long green dress and a long cream-colored apron. Her black hair was tied to a bun, and her grey eyes shot back at Fergus when she heard the words.

Seizing the opportunity, the young woman slips silently toward Emily. Fergus, an experienced adventurer of iron rank, never anticipated her move while she concealed her presence. He grabbed onto her left arm, and she almost lost her grip on the wicker basket.

“Where are you going gal, we’re not done tal—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the young woman turned her head and fixed her gaze on the drunkard. The man was startled by her intense aura of bloodlust. He also looked above, where he saw a dragon glaring at him as if ready to devour him whole. He released his grip on her and stumbled back, pissing his pants. The woman turned and lowered her head to conceal her face, and continued on towards the barmaid, and asked politely.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Thank you for stepping up for me earlier. May I take a moment of your time to ask for directions to the local church? I am in dire need of directions.” Emily looked at the disheveled appearance of the woman in front of her. She could tell that they were of the same age. Emily noticed an amulet under her cloak, but the young woman covered it hastily.

“Just follow the main road and you’ll arrive at the town square. Turn left, and the church can be seen up above a small mound. But… can I get you something? Warm sheep stew, bread, and milk? Don’t worry. It's on the house.”

The young woman placed her lantern on the table Emily was cleaning and slipped her right hand beneath her cloak. Emily caught a glimpse of the amulet.

“A Dragon...” she thought, and immediately, she knew who the young woman was.

“Thank you for your kindness, Emily, but I don’t have time for a moment’s respite. I have a few coins to give for the information. Think of it as a gesture of your kindness.”

“Oh no need, to my la…” She paused, afraid to expose her background.

“No need to, Ma’am,” Emily said respectfully. “You need that for your baby to—”

Emily didn’t get to finish her sentence for the young woman grabbed her right hand and pressed something into it. When Emily opened her palm, she was shocked to see ten libo coins. But there was a folded note. She opened it.

If you say a word about our meeting, I'll reveal the location of the bastard to her father.

F.V.

Suddenly she felt a weird sensation as if her movement paused for a while…

CRASH.

A drunken man lay unconscious on the broken table, surrounded by spilled tankards of ale, overturned platters of food, and broken chairs scattered on the floor. The entire tavern was too stunned to speak. Among them, a silver-ranked adventurer stood.

“Have any of you felt something weird for a brief moment? As if time had stopped?”

“Yeah, I felt something weird for a brief moment.” One of his friends stood.

“Gregory, use mangita. Search for any traces of magic so we can track down whoever conjured the rare spell. There is only one person that I know who could manipulate time.”

“Call the town guards to be on high alert. There is a dangerous wanted person inside our town.”

Prior to the incident above…

Fergus sat trembling on his chair in a table that he shared with his friends. One of his friends asked hysterically.

"Yow Fergus! Why are you trembling like you're going to piss on your pants!? HAHA!''

One of Fergus's friends who sat beside him put his arm around Fergus's shoulders and gave a tankard of ale to him and spoke. "What did you see when you looked into her face? Is she that terrifying for you to tremble like that and become sober? Or is she worth something for fun—that you're just acting shit for us to think that she’s ugly and while you enjoy the bosom of hers in bed?"

Fergus took a sip and said, "Never have I ever seen someone with so much bloodlust. As if she would suck every drop of my blood and scatter my entrails. Those eyes... they're familiar.”

Fergus's friends burst into laughter, and one of them named Taylor stood up, grinning as he added, "I'll let her suck every drop of my huge nuts instead, Fergus!"

"Watch and learn," Taylor told his friends, their boisterous laughter and cheers echoing behind him.

As he turned, he froze mid-step. Standing before him was a young woman. His grin widened.

"Bingo," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with confidence.

"Where are you going, miss? Can I get you something?”

He infused a hint of magic into his words, his tone silky and persuasive. Reaching out to touch her cloak, he smirked.

Suddenly, the world around him stopped. The fire in the hearth froze mid-dance. Laughter and song choked into silence. The clink of mugs halted mid-air. The cat chasing a rat above the beams hung still, paws outstretched. Everything in the tavern was frozen. Taylor blinked, his hand still hovering near the young woman's cloak.

"What the?" The thought barely formed in Taylor's mind, his voice trailing off as an icy chill ran down his spine. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the young woman, and terror struck him like a hammer. Her hood had slipped just enough to reveal her eyes—red, with pupils slit like a dragon. They burned with hunger so primal it felt as though they could devour him whole. Her arms glowed with red runes of Baybayin characters of "Dakilang Mandirigma" (Great Warrior).

(Author note: Baybayin is an ancient writing system used in the Philippines before the arrival of the Spanish colonizers. The word “Baybayin” comes from the Tagalog word “Baybay”, meaning “to spell” or “to write”.)

He tried to back away, but his legs refused to obey his will. Panic seized him, and a warm wet stain spread down his trousers. His voice trembled as he stammered.

"Wh-who... what are you? P-please... d-don't kill me! I-I have a wife and... and a newborn! Spare me! In the name of the Seven Gods!" screaming on the edge of his lungs.

The young woman said nothing. She set her lantern and wicker basket, both floating effortlessly in the air. Before Taylor could utter another plea, her hand shot out, clamping around his throat. Taylor gasped, his hands clawing helplessly at her grip. She lifted him into the air as if he weighed no more than a doll. He struggled to breathe and was pitiful against her unnatural strength. With a single heave, she slammed Taylor onto the wooden table where his friends were gathered, frozen along with the tankards and food on their hands. The impact was devastating that the table exploded, sending splinters of wood flying like shards of glass before stopping mid-flight. Tankards of ale flew up and became motionless in mid-air; their contents suspended like shimmering droplets. Food was sent flying, some splattering across the faces of his friends.

The young woman stood, her figure towering over the unconscious perverted man, who crumpled in the wreckage of the shattered table.

“Peasant,” she muttered and spat at his face.

She turned and picked up her lantern and gently picked up the wicker basket. Then went straight to the door, and snapped her fingers. The world around her began to shift. The suspended tankards of ale resumed their fall, splashing onto the floor in a chaotic burst. Some hit nearby people. Taylor’s friends flew backwards due to the force that the chairs crumbled, with splinters flying towards them, some hitting at their eyeballs and some their necks, who were bleeding profusely.

Pushing open the door, the young woman stepped out into the night. A cold breeze swept over her, carrying the sharp scent of rain, which is quite the opposite to the comforting warmth inside the tavern. Suddenly, she lost her balance and the lantern slipped from her grip. It shattered on the cobblestone floor, its warm glow extinguished in an instant. Darkness enveloped her vision. She blinked hard—disoriented—before a sharp pain lanced through her right eye. She gasped, instinctively dropping to one knee, clutching on to the right side of her face.

“I must’ve overused them,” she muttered with a strained voice. Pressing the heel of her hand against her right eye, she wiped away the blood that streamed down. Her vision swam; the rain slicked the street before her. A groan escaped her lips, as she clutched her left side, the pain flaring as her wound tore open. She had just given birth to her newborn son, the same night she escaped. Memories surged unbidden, visions of fire and smoke of a burning castle, which was engulfed in chaos. Soldiers poured through its halls, merciless and unstoppable, their swords drenched in blood. The screams of the fallen still rang in her ears.

She heard her newborn cry, and she unwrapped the wicker basket and took the baby into her arms, rocking him back to sleep. She gently pressed a kiss on her child’s forehead and hummed a lullaby. His small face was peaceful, his eyes still closed as he returned to sleep, unaware of the horrors around him. She returned him to the wicker basket wrapped in Adarna fabric. For a moment, she knelt there, struggling to catch her breath due to the pain. With visible effort, she pushed herself up to her feet; though her steps were unsteady. Then she heard voices from the tavern. She picked up the wicker basket and left the shattered lantern behind.

Navigating the street to the town square, she made a left turn and saw the church perched atop the mound, a sturdy structure that seemed old as the town itself stood. Its weathered facade witnessed countless seasons and the passage of time. A single bell tower rose above the nave. The windows hinted at a colorful stained glass, depicting the Seven Gods with their hands raised high as if reaching for something above them. Finally at the foot of the mound, she stooped, exhaled a shuddering breath and began her ascent toward the church.