Chapter 9: In Bloom, In Pain

As they entered the path, Silay’s hand naturally slipped away from Suliyao’s. The older man wandered forward, mesmerized by a wooden pillar carved with countless faces of anitos. He reached out, knocking gently on the wood, touching the details with reverence, even patting some of the carvings like they were old friends. His eyes were drawn upward, captivated by the glow of capiz lanterns swaying gently in the night air.

Behind him, Suliyao kept watch—silent, alert. His movements were nearly imperceptible, but every few steps, he exorcised a lower-level engkanto or lingering spirit attempting to graze Silay. They were curious, and hungry. Some merely passed by, others lingered too long. As they continued along the lantern-lit trail, Suliyao suddenly pointed, and a beam of spiritual force shot forward, piercing the shadows and striking down a malevolent entity perched in a tree above.

Silay jumped at the sound, looking up just in time to catch the afterglow. His eyes then darted to Suliyao, who was quickly hiding the hand still bleeding from earlier. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was about to speak into Silay’s thoughts again, but then stopped, wincing. A sharp pain spiked through him. He had overexerted his spiritual energy.

He couldn't speak through minds anymore. And signing was too complicated for Silay to follow right now.

So, Suliyao pulled out his phone, quickly typing something. He walked over and held the screen up:

(Don’t mind them.)

Silay stared.

He was definitely going to mind them.

He just saw a ghost. He saw something. Back in the hospital, he couldn’t see anything Lirika had mentioned, but now? Now this pair of glasses was showing him an entirely different world.

And that beam from Suliyao? What the hell was that?!

Inside, every instinct told Silay to panic. Alarms rang in his head. But his face, he kept it calm, collected.

Suliyao typed again, as if trying to appease him.

(They’re just curious because of your arrival.)

That was a light way to word things out.

In truth, they were drawn to Silay’s scent. His humanness. They weren’t curious, they were hunting.

(These are going to disappear when we enter the village.)

Silay nodded.

Without a word, he stepped closer and gently took Suliyao’s hand again, the thumb still bleeding faintly. From his pocket, he pulled out a small bottle of alcohol, dabbed it onto the wound, and wrapped it carefully with a band-aid.

The used trash went back into his pocket.

Then, without looking up, he simply said, “Let’s go.”

They walked on.

Silay remained silent the entire way. He didn’t question what he was seeing, nor did he ask Suliyao anything. But as they neared the village’s entrance, he finally halted and turned to the younger man walking behind him.

“There are so many trees with flowers blooming,” he said.

Suliyao gave a small nod.

“It’s still summer, but it’s been raining a lot. I’m glad they survived.” Silay smiled faintly, eyes drifting toward the lively houses just ahead. “I didn’t know you lived in such a hidden place. Nature really is beautiful when people care for it. The air in Manila feels suffocating compared to this.”

Silay pointed in the opposite direction. “My father’s house is a little far from here. You’re on different sides. When I picked you up that day, standing by the road… You came all the way from here to there?”

Before Silay could even hear Suliyao’s answer, a sudden wave of weakness hit him. His legs lost their strength, and he felt a faint trickle—blood, dripping from his nose. Before he could collapse, Suliyao had already caught him, guiding him to sit on the last step of the stairs.

Suliyao frowned.

Was it the overwhelming energy of this place? The spiritual and natural force was too pure—so pure that Silay’s body couldn’t handle it, even if it wasn’t directly entering him?

But unlike before, Silay didn’t faint. He just… weakened. Badly. Leaning against Suliyao for support was the only thing he could manage.

Colors danced at the edge of his vision. He could barely make out Suliyao’s worried face as he tried to speak. “It’s okay, don’t panic. I feel alright.”

He said that but his complexion was turning pale, his heartbeat was slowing, and his body was beginning to chill.

Silay clenched his hand, determined not to let the pain show on his face. He didn’t want to cause more concern. He was the doctor here. Suliyao was just a civilian.

Still…

It hurt. It hurt so much.

Fumbling for his phone, he used a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding from his nose. There was a sinking feeling growing in his chest, they were too far from any hospital, and there was probably no signal here either.

“Close your eyes,” Suliyao’s voice gently echoed in his mind again, calming the chaos, as if his presence alone soothed the pain, physically and perhaps mentally too. “I told you, I’ll take care of everything. So leave it to me.”

As Silay’s eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the weight of his pain, Suliyao turned his gaze upward. The blooming trees rustled, and the forest moved with him, bending to his will like a creature that recognized its master. His eyes shimmered into flecks of molten gold, ancient and divine.

The wind whispered through the branches, and petals began to fall, dancing in the air like drifting stars. One pure and vibrant flower descended slower than the rest. Suliyao caught it gently between his fingers.

He brought it to his lips and exhaled.

With his breath, the flower shrank, its delicate petals folding inward and hardening like crystal under starlight. He unhooked a strand from the Tanikala’s chain, its threads humming with sacred energy, and wove it into a necklace lace around the flower pendant.

Then, he held the pendant against his chest, just above his heart.

A radiant circle bloomed beneath him, symbols flaring to life in glowing gold. The ground pulsed as a colossal sigil rose from the earth, casting a sacred light over the two of them. Suliyao’s expression twisted with strain. His soul quivered.

And then, he split it.

A scream caught in his throat, silent yet piercing through the spiritual plane. Half of his soul, carved in agony and devotion, bled into the pendant. He staggered, gasping as the light dimmed.

He cradled the necklace carefully and placed it around Silay’s neck. The pendant pulsed once—soft, warm. Like a second heart.

Now, wrapped in the veil of Suliyao’s very essence, Silay’s vessel would no longer suffer under the crushing weight of pure energy. That part of Suliyao, his soul, would act as a barrier, a second skin, that filtered what Silay’s body could not bear.

* * *

When Silay woke up, he found himself sitting on a long wooden bench. He adjusted his posture and squinted at his surroundings.

His glasses were missing.

He immediately stood up, eyes darting as he tried to make sense of the place. The house was made almost entirely of polished wood, elegant yet aged with time. Tall capiz windows framed the walls, their panes catching the soft moonlight. It reminded him of those ancestral homes in Vigan: preserved from the past, yet subtly modernized with quiet electricity and newer floorings. It was spacious, quiet, almost sacred in its stillness.

“Suliyao told me not to remove my eyeglasses…”

He moved cautiously, glancing at the antique tables and the dark wooden cabinet nearby. Then, instinctively, he patted his pockets and sighed in relief when he found his phone.

Midnight.

He tried to recall what happened before he lost consciousness—Suliyao’s voice echoing in his head, telling him to leave everything to him. And… he did. Silay sighed and slapped his forehead lightly. What else could a normal person even do in that kind of situation?!

Yet, strangely, he felt fine. Refreshed, even. The pain was gone, as if something had been gently erased from his body.

Still, he needed to catch some sleep. He planned to head back to Manila early tomorrow. But first, he had to find Suliyao, retrieve his glasses, and maybe ask for a guest room.

Wait. Even his handkerchief was gone. Most likely bloodied. Suliyao must’ve taken it while tending to him.

Silay wandered quietly through the silent halls, scanning the carved walls for a light switch. His fingers brushed the antique brass of a wall sconce and then reached toward the intricate chandelier suspended overhead—an old piece retrofitted with electricity, like the house itself: straddling the line between eras-

Someone tapped Silay’s shoulder.

He flinched and turned around quickly, only to squint at the bright screen of a phone shining straight into his eyes.

Suliyao stood there, expression calm as always, holding out the device.

Silay instinctively reached for it and dimmed the screen brightness. “You’re gonna blind me,” he muttered, before reading the message displayed:

(Sorry for leaving you alone. I cleaned the guest room.)

Then Suliyao handed him a neatly folded set of clothes.

(This is newly sewn. Go change. I’ll show you to the bathroom. Your clothes have blood on them from the nosebleed.)

Silay blinked, almost in awe. “Sewn? As in... handmade?” He looked down at the garments. The fabric was soft under his fingertips, hues of lavender and deep purple flowing together like twilight mist. The pants were white; clean, crisp, and tailored exactly to his size.

(I used a sewing machine.)

“But you still made it! That’s amazing!” He looked up again, hesitant. “And uh, is it okay… that I’m not wearing my glasses right now?”

Suliyao typed something, then turned to a nearby cabinet and retrieved a pair of reading glasses.

(When you’re inside my house, it’s okay. You’re just sleeping anyway. But wear them when you’re outside.)

Silay accepted the glasses with a quiet “Thanks,” before raising an eyebrow at himself.

He’s not speaking into my mind anymore… Strange.

Then he shook his head.

No, wait. That’s the normal thing. It’s weirder when he does.

Suliyao gently motioned him down the hall and stopped by a door, pointing to the bathroom. He gave a short nod before typing out:

(Call me if you need help.)

Silay returned the nod, stepped inside, and placed the clean clothes on a nearby rack. He pulled off his shirt, and paused.

Something slipped from beneath the collar and landed gently against his chest.

A necklace. One he didn’t recognize.

The pendant was a crystal flower, soft green fading into purple and whitish hue, like a preserved version of the one from outside the village.

He opened the bathroom door slightly and peeked out. “Suliyao? Did you give this to me?”

Suliyao, sitting on a nearby chair, calmly typed a response and played it through his phone’s AI voice.

“Gift for giving me a ride. Now you owe me again.”

Silay gawked. “What? You said it’s a gift!”

Suliyao raised an eyebrow, then typed again. His phone responded:

“Throw it away if you don’t want to owe me.”

Silay let out a sigh, holding the door as if betrayed. “Wow. Okay. Fine. I won’t throw it.”

He closed the door, and soon after, the sound of running water echoed softly behind it.

Suliyao’s relaxed expression slowly contorted with pain. He clutched his chest. It felt as though half of his body had been carved away, leaving a gaping hollow in its place.

He suppressed a groan, jaw tight, waiting for Silay to finish.

Two hours earlier, when Silay had fully lost consciousness, Suliyao had forged the pendant in haste, without knowing whether it would work as intended. He then slung the man over his shoulder like a sack of rice. With the last of his strength, he managed to lay him gently across the long wooden chair.

Then, he collapsed.

For thirty minutes, he lay on the ground, unmoving. Not even a finger twitched. His limbs then trembled violently, his spirit rioting inside him. His energy, already near its limits, frayed further—gnawing at his awareness until he hovered at the edge of fainting too.

Thankfully, Silay had stayed asleep. For a long while at that.

An hour later, the unbearable pain ebbed to something survivable. Still trembling, Suliyao forced himself to stand and prepare the dusty guest room; changing the sheets, fluffing the pillows, sweeping corners no one had touched in months. Every part of his body screamed in protest.

And then the clothes.

He sat at the sewing machine for forty-five minutes, piecing together something comfortable, and practical based on how Silay moved, and what suited his frame. By the end, his hands felt numb, but at least the results pleased him.

He owed him this.

Bringing Silay here… just to show the village… what a reckless decision. The least he could do was ease the consequence.

The bathroom door creaked open. Silay stepped out, freshly dressed and fiddling with the unfamiliar necklace around his neck. His eyes met Suliyao’s, and then that smile bloomed.

“Ah, I forgot to ask,” Silay said, tilting his head slightly. “What flowers were those outside?”

That forsaken smile, Suliyao thought. It’ll drag me straight to Kasanaan one of these days.

But the pain lessened just seeing his face that radiant.

“Salingbobog,” he replied simply.

Author’s Note:

Salingbobog - Balai Lamok / Sacred Garlic Pear / Crateva religiosa. A native flower in the Philippines, and also found in other parts of Southeast and South Asia.