Chapter 8: The Forest Says Come In

Night had fallen. Hiraya was about to leave the main residence when, passing by the altar room, her steps slowed. There, still bowed low before the wooden idols, was Lirika.

Who knew how long she’d been kneeling there?

Hiraya clenched her jaw and strode in. Without hesitation, she pulled her niece away from the cold floor and whispered harshly, “That’s enough.”

Lirika’s face was a mess of dried tears and swollen eyes. She groaned, pushing against Hiraya’s arms as if the pain itself was something she venerated. 

“I said that’s enough!” Hiraya repeated, voice cracking as she dragged the child closer. “Your knees are bruised for nothing!”

“You...” Lirika muttered, hollow-eyed. “You don’t believe me either. So why stop me from asking forgiveness? Granny believes me, she got angry because… maybe it wasn’t from the gods. Maybe it was just a trick… a spirit pretending…”

Hiraya’s expression softened. She reached out and gently touched the blotchy welt on Lirika’s cheek before pulling her tightly into her arms.

“Stop this. Please. Don’t punish yourself anymore.” Her voice shook. “Don’t listen to my mother.”

She stroked Lirika’s hair, her embrace, a barrier against the world outside. “I might not see what you see. I might never believe the way you do… but no child deserves to be hit for what they believe.”

If only she had enough to keep Lirika with her in Manila. Far from this household, far from all of this.

Hiraya rested her chin gently atop her niece’s head.

“You do see them,” Lirika whispered. She slipped out of Hiraya’s arms, her gaze glassy but unwavering. “You’ve spoken to him, too.”

Hiraya froze, a chill crawling up her spine.

“Suliyao Lipol… he isn’t human.”

Hiraya looked away.

But maybe it wasn’t just money that kept her from taking Lirika.

Maybe she was afraid.

Horrified of Lirika.

* * *

Silay stepped into the dimly lit parking lot. Suliyao was already waiting by the car, leaning against it. He wasn’t moving—just staring off, eyes distant, as if trying to remember a dream before it vanished.

“How’d you know which one’s mine?” Silay asked, unlocking the car with a soft beep. “You were unconscious when I picked you up, remember?”

His smile wasn’t the polite kind he wore at the hospital. It was lighter now. Unfiltered. Here, he wasn’t Dr. Manawari. Just Silay.

Suliyao turned to him slowly, then signed with a calm, practiced motion: [Your scent is easy to remember.]

Silay groaned, rubbing his face with a laugh. He did not understand any of that. “Okay, I still haven’t enrolled in a sign language course, so I’ll allow your little mind-magic for now.”

“The scent,” Suliyao echoed in his thoughts.

Silay sniffed the cuff of his lavender-colored sleeve, frowning. “I don’t even wear perfume. And even if I did, it wouldn’t cling to the car. What? Do you think I scent-marked my ride?”

Suliyao gave a faint tilt of his lips. “I was kidding. I saw the plate number.”

Silay squinted, he didn’t sound like joking at all. “You were unconscious.”

The other just shrugged, completely unapologetic.

He gave up and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

Suliyao nodded, stepping inside without a word. As he buckled in, his voice brushed Silay’s mind again, quiet but confident: “No need to enroll. I can teach you. I’ve got time, and a flexible schedule.”

Silay teased as he rounded to the driver’s seat. “Sure. But don’t blame me if I cheat and self-study just to impress you.”

As the doctor eased the car into Manila’s late-night traffic, the skyline unfurled before them, glittering towers looming above crawling red lights. Predictably, they hit a standstill.

“Where should I drop you off?” Silay asked, tapping the wheel.

“Cavite,” Suliyao answered, eyes fixed on the window.

Silay snapped his head toward him. “Wait, don’t tell me… You were going back and forth from Cavite every time you visited me?”

No response.

“You don’t have… a place here? Condo? Apartment? Even a cheap hotel? How about relatives?”

Suliyao remained still. No signs. No words echoing in Silay’s mind this time.

Silay let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. He glanced at his phone for the time, almost eight. If he dropped Suliyao off all the way in Cavite and came back before his early shift, he’d barely have time to sleep.

Traffic edged forward. The red lights blinked slowly like tired eyes.

“Then,” Silay offered, “just crash at my place tonight.”

Silence.

“…I mean, it’s cleaner than the on-call room at the hospital.”

Finally, a quiet voice brushed the edge of thought.

“I’m basically a stranger. You don’t have survival instincts at all.”

Silay snorted. “I think I’ve already lost most of those working night shifts. Besides,” he glanced sideways, “if you were gonna kill me, you would’ve done it when I was unconscious in my own bed.”

The corner of Suliyao’s mouth twitched.

The other man turned back to the road, voice softened. “So? Is that a yes or a no?”

Suliyao leaned back against the seat, eyes distant.

Silay took the silence as consent, until the younger man turned to him, [No.]

The doctor blinked, caught off guard.

“I need you to see something,” Suliyao added calmly, fighting his urges to not use his hands to communicate instead.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Silay sighed, exasperated. “You might have time to waste, but I don’t.”

“Then let me make it worth it.” Suliyao met his eyes, gaze steady. “You won’t be late for your shift. You won’t be tired. I’ll take care of everything.”

Silay frowned and gave him a light shove on the forehead. “You think you can buy me with empty words, Suliyao Laya?”

Suliyao raised his hands slowly, deliberately, as if sculpting meaning from air.

He tapped his chest with an open palm, grounding the words in himself: [my.] Then, with two fingers, he brushed outward from his lips — [words] — releasing them silently into the space between them. His hands formed a hollow circle, cupping invisible emptiness… then flattened it with decisive pressure, breaking it. [Not hollow.]

There was no need for sound. The message landed.

“You already lied to me once.”

That struck. Suliyao stilled.

He knew exactly what Silay meant: the surname—Lipol, that he exchanged with Laya.

Suliyao’s hands moved again, weaving the silent words between them. First, he traced the sign for [lie], eyes locking with Silay’s to emphasize the weight of his confession. 

Then, with a sharp, singular motion, he signed [once], followed by a slow, decisive gesture toward Silay, meaning [you.] His fingers curled firmly as he promised [never again.]

Finally, he pressed his palm to his chest, signing [swear] and [life,] the solemn vow anchoring every motion. His expression was steady, a quiet but fierce truth shining in his gaze.

I swear by my life I only lied to you once. And never again.

As if in silent witness, the faint shimmer of Tanikala curled around him, its delicate chain materializing briefly, drawn to the weight of his promise. Silay caught the movement, his eyes following the flicker of light before looking away.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Suliyao jolted upright in his seat, voice rising sharply inside Silay’s head. “You saw that?”

Silay kept his eyes on the road, the traffic finally starting to crawl forward. “Saw what?”

The man stared at him, unsure. He was certain that Silay’s gaze had followed the glint of Tanikala. That flicker. That shimmer. But now…

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe only he saw it.

Maybe it was never really there.

* * *

Around the tenth hour of the night, Silay followed the directions Suliyao had given. Somehow, they had ended up in the mountains this late, the road winding into unfamiliar terrain. The darkness felt heavier here. Ominous, even. The kind that clung to the skin.

Still, Suliyao didn’t seem the least bit unnerved. Maybe this was normal for him, maybe the road ahead led to a quiet town, and this desolate stretch was just the outskirts. Silay tried to convince himself. Perhaps Suliyao was simply used to nightlife, where the world truly woke when others slept.

Eventually, Silay broke the silence. The car radio wasn’t working anyway.

“What job do you do?” he asked.

Suliyao’s voice came into his mind, as if bypassing the air between them: “You won’t believe it even if I tell you.”

“You judge me too quickly.”

“It’s exorcism.”

Silence.

Silay blinked, stared ahead at the empty road. Then:

“Well... as long as it pays your bills,” he muttered. “Just don’t get caught scamming people, alright? I won’t report you, but don’t drag me into it if you get arrested someday-”

“Stop.”

Silay hit the brakes, startled by the sudden command.

Suliyao calmly pointed out the window. “We’re here.”

The doctor glanced around. The headlights cast long shadows across an empty stretch of road. Trees loomed nearby — tall, dark, and far too quiet.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Right beside a forest.

Oh no, Silay thought grimly. He’s really going to murder me tonight.

Suliyao unhesitatingly opened the door and circled around. He knocked on Silay’s window. The older man rolled it down, wearing a tense smile. “You sure this is your drop-off point… haha…?”

“Come out,” Suliyao said calmly.

Silay stayed firmly in his seat.

Suliyao watched his wary expression, then glanced out toward the horizon. He finally understood: in Silay’s eyes, the surroundings were nothing more than a dark, ordinary forest. The mountain loomed quietly in the distance, and this place, so far from street lights or noise, looked utterly desolate at this hour.

“Do you have reading glasses?” Suliyao spoke again through that same silent method, telepathy, even though it was starting to wear him out. After all, Silay still couldn’t follow his signing.

“Reading glasses?” Silay repeated, baffled. This whole thing was getting stranger and stranger. His foot hovered, just one twitch away from hitting the gas and speeding off.

The doctor, despite every nerve screaming against it, opened the glove compartment and handed over his glasses. Why am I doing everything this man says?

As the other was debating by himself, Suliyao had a new idea. Since Silay couldn’t wield or contain spiritual energy directly, maybe he could channel it through something else—something that could hold it for him. He never thought he’d see the day when an object could manage energy better than a living soul.

Suliyao took the pair wordlessly. Turning away, he bit his thumb until blood surfaced, then smeared it across the lenses. A moment later, the blood dissolved, absorbed by the glass as Suliyao channeled his energy into it.

An object could only take so much. Unlike the human body, it couldn’t adapt. It would crack or explode if overfilled, he had to be precise. When it was done, he wiped the lenses clean and gently placed them on Silay’s face.

Silay blinked, startled.

His eyes tingled. Not painfully, more like an echo of that strange moment when he’d touched Lirika and nearly fainted. A current of something brushed across his senses.

Suliyao’s expression was unreadable. Expectant. Focused.

What was he expecting?

Before Silay could ask, his gaze shifted, and his breath caught. Behind Suliyao, the once-empty path had changed.

Something was there now.

Silay’s eyes widened.

The forest had not changed but something had been unveiled.

A narrow footpath stretched ahead, lined on either side with tall anito pillars carved from dark wood, each one etched with the distinct faces of forgotten deities and guardians. Atop every pillar, a soft amber flame flickered within capiz lanterns, casting warm halos of light in the mist. They looked like glowing fireflies caught in jars, swaying gently in the night breeze.

The path was paved in flat stone, moss growing in its cracks. It sloped upward in shallow steps, winding between thick balete trees whose roots twisted like the veins of the earth. Their presence made the air feel watchful.

Far beyond the arching trees, a structure shimmered faintly in the distance—part dambana, part house, part something else entirely. Its silhouette was unmistakable: steep roof, broad beams, woven sawali walls, and layered tiers like a forgotten palace. But lights glowed from within, humming faintly with energy. 

Silay could hardly believe it. Just seconds ago, this path didn’t exist.

Now, it was as though it had always been here, waiting for someone to notice.

Suliyao smiled.

Silay opened the car door, mouth opened in awe. 

“Don’t take off the glasses,” the younger man warned, reaching out his hand. “It’s easy to get lost here.”

At that moment, Silay forgot that he never believed in things that are unscientific.

He no longer cared if he was walking into a trap, or if this was all a fever dream pulled from exhaustion and silence.

He took Suliyao’s hand.

No, he pulled him forward.

There was only one thing Silay had never been able to resist.

Curiosity.

But today, maybe, Suliyao’s promises are added to that list. 

Author’s Note:

Dambana -  a Tagalog word that translates to "shrine" or "altar" in English. It refers to a place of reverence or worship, often associated with spiritual significance.