Chapter 15: Sewn Into Mess

The high ridges of Hapilanda stretched endlessly beyond, veiled in morning fog and crowned with the song of birds weaving through the canopies. The mountains breathed under their feet. Sunlight filtered through the tall Balete and Narra trees, pooling in soft golden patches.

By a narrow stream, Silayan crouched, washing his hands with the cold, clear water. His dark brown eyes reflected fragments of the sky above. Solemn, curious, filled with that relentless wonder the spirits always whispered about. 

His long hair, the color of deep earth, was tied neatly behind his head with woven fiber. He wore a simple hablon in faded white with hints of purple along the edges, a cloth dyed with the pukingan flowers from the hills, marking him quietly as a child of the Luan clan.

Perched nearby on the rocks, Dumakulem watched him. His form shimmered faintly, half-veiled by the mountain’s blessing, the way only those attuned to spirits could see him. His skin bore the deep hue of river stone and forest soil, his hair left unbound, falling over broad shoulders like untamed vines. The faint marks of ancestral script curled along his arms, glowing faintly when the light caught them.

“You wait still,” Dumakulem remarked, voice steady as the roots underfoot. His eyes, flecked with specks of amber like sunlight in deep caves, narrowed thoughtfully. “For the next Saliw Kalikas to be born?”

Silayan, still crouched by the stream, nodded, lifting his gaze. “Yes.”

“You may be dead long before that life comes to this world,” Dumakulem warned, though his tone betrayed an undertone of worry, not scorn.

Silayan only smiled, standing upright and wiping his hands dry against his cloth. “That is unfortunate indeed.”

Dumakulem’s brows furrowed. “Why long for it? A spirit born of Darahi and Ilaya… Is it not enough that I—?” His voice faltered, unfamiliar frustration creeping in. “You seek completion from another?”

The human turned, amused. “Hm… my dreams told me, a part of my existence will be completed by that life.”

Dumakulem’s jaw tightened. 

The mortal noticed the divine beings worry and was more than perplexed as he genuinely asked, “Whence springs such a question? Thee, insecure? You, of all beings? Thou art of otherworldly make.”

The god’s hands, carved strong as the mountain slopes, curled slightly by his sides. “Answer me properly. Are you not fond of me, that is why you are searching for another?”

Silayan tilted his head, teasing but sincere. “I am fond of you, dear guardian. How could I not be? You shelter these lands, guide the rivers, calm the winds in this mountain. You are one of our gods. I worship you.”

Dumakulem exhaled sharply, stepping down from the rocks. The earth barely made a sound beneath his feet, yet his presence weighed heavy, solid as stone. He stopped only inches from Silayan.

“That is not what I desire from you,” Dumakulem confessed, his voice softer now but raw as mountain rain. “Not worship. Not distance.”

Silayan blinked, the quiet in his chest momentarily replaced with a thrum of complicated feelings as he comprehended. When he was young, Darahi and Ilaya enabled his innocent wants of befriending a God. As he grew, the young man realized that a mortal would only be able to worship beings not be their companions.

“I want to stand beside you,” Dumakulem pressed, his hand hovering briefly near Silayan’s ear, close but not touching. “Not above. Not beneath.”

Silayan leaned closer to the hand near his face, apologetic as he lowered his gaze, “I fear that which thou dost desire of me is impossible. I do not, nor shall I ever, trespass the bounds set between mortality and divinity.”

The man’s words faded like the mist curling around the mountain peaks, swallowed by the hum of memory.

“Please go back to Anagolay before she scorns me.” Silayan jested.

Click.

Li’s eyes opened to the low glow of the dashboard and the quiet hum of the engine. Silay had taken off his seatbelt, twisting around to face him with that familiar, unreadable expression.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Silay’s voice was calm, teasing the edges of fatigue. “You must be worn out from all the surgeries. Do… you still want to come with me?”

Li rubbed his eyes, his hand running over his face as he glanced out the window.

“We’re in Cavite?” His voice was still rough from sleep.

Silay nodded, already reaching for the door handle.

Li straightened his posture, brushing off the haze of exhaustion. “I’m going with you.”

* * *

There are many kinds of humans in this world.

First Soul Dwellers, the vast majority, souls who walk the Daigdig for the first time. New to life, free from karmic debts, untouched by past sins. Welcomed by both the land and spirits alike.

Blood Memory Carriers, those mistaken as reincarnations. They bear the echo of their ancestors; their faces, their gestures, even fragments of forgotten dreams. Not true reincarnators, yet marked by lineage so strongly that history itself clings to them.

Reincarnators, rarer than the former. Souls too restless to remain in Maka, yet undeserving of Kasanaan’s abyss. Or those who met an end so noble, so tragic, that even Bathala grants them another life. They return in new mortal flesh. The same soul, perhaps fragmented, perhaps whole. Sometimes recalling fragments of their old lives, sometimes starting anew.

And lastly, those marked by divine wrath, the Cursed.

Punishment from Kaluwalhatian itself. For breaching spiritual contracts, desecrating the sacred, or sins too grave to name. Their sentence: to live, die, and live again. Not as a gift, but as torment. Their souls, stripped of rest, forced to wither across endless lifetimes. Only through endless suffering, perhaps, comes forgiveness.

For Suliyao, these things were easy to distinguish, as long as the soul was fundamentally human. Silay was one of the cursed ones. And Suliyao wanted, in his own quiet way, to help him lift that burden.

But bringing it up was another matter entirely. The man was only beginning to dip his feet into this side of life, the world of Spirits, the quiet rules etched by Kaluwalhatian.

Yet, the Creator’s mind was too vast to comprehend fully. The threads of fate too tangled, the answers often withheld.

Itel and Li, for example. Suliyao couldn’t tell what they were.

Their souls, in this life, were human. That much he could sense. But beyond that… a thick fog coiled around their previous existences. Unreadable. Blurred beyond his reach.

There were guesses. They might’ve been animals once, or trees rooted deep in sacred grounds. Perhaps they were spirits, anito, engkanto or even forgotten deities, who had shed their forms and now walked as mortals.

In any case, the sleeping woman on his long wooden chair had no trouble regulating the natural energy of the forest. Unlike Silay, she didn’t react negatively to it.

Suliyao slumped onto another chair nearby.

He couldn’t leave Silay’s friend here alone.

A quiet yawn escaped him. His eyes stripped of their faint, golden glow blinked slowly, heavy with exhaustion. The earlier teleportation, carrying Itel inside the house, and using his power had worn him down more than expected.

Still, as courtesy to a guest, especially one he accidentally dragged here, he slipped a small pillow behind her head and pulled a fresh blanket over her shoulders.

I still need to find the culprit behind the breach, he thought, his eyes fluttering shut. But… might as well catch some rest while he isn’t here yet.

He tried to fight his tired body.

No… wait… I need to…

But it was no use.

Suliyao slumped completely, his body giving in.

…fetch the Doctor at the entrance…

* * *

“Suli…”

“...yao?”

“...Suliyao!”

“...yao…”

“...Suli…”

Silay arrived at the door, panting, sleeves stained faintly with blood. He was no longer wearing his glasses yet somehow, he managed to enter the hidden village, step past its barriers, and reach Suliyao's home with Li.

“Suliyao?” his voice called out again, echoing through the quiet.

A few steps behind, Li pressed himself against the half-open door, breath uneven, still shaken. “What… were those things…” he rasped, clutching the doorframe as his eyes followed Silay inside.

The staircase that wound up the cliffs to the village still lingered in his mind; jagged, eerie, leading toward a place that shouldn't exist. Once they reached the path, shadows clawed at them, twisting out of nothing, trying to pull them under.

Silay had only shouted to run, and fought their way up, stumbling toward safety.

Li stared down at his hand, trembling faintly, skin marred with bruises and shallow scrapes. His voice dropped to a groan. “I have surgery scheduled tomorrow… critical patient, too…” He exhaled heavily, forcing his legs forward. “Hope someone can cover my shift.”

They entered the dim room that seemed to serve as a living area, sparse but ancient in its aesthetic. Two figures lay still within it.

Itel rested on an old wooden couch, blanket tucked neatly over her, a pillow behind her head. Her breathing was calm, undisturbed.

Suliyao, however, was slumped awkwardly in a smaller chair nearby, his posture strained, head tilted, completely still.

Silay’s brows furrowed in alarm. He rushed to the younger man’s side, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Hey, wake up-”

No response.

Silay’s concern only deepened as he glanced at Li for support. “He’s not waking…” His eyes dropped, widening in panic. “Your hand, you're injured!”

Li dismissed it with a tilt of his head, pointing casually toward the sleeping Itel. “I’ll live. She’s out cold too…”

Before Silay could react further, a sharp force slammed down between his shoulder blades.

Thud!

In an instant, both he and Li were pinned to the wooden floorboards, chests pressed harshly against the ground.

“What the—!” Li grunted, struggling as his cheek scraped against the cool wood.

A suffocating presence filled the room, heavy as soil. From the dimness, the only thing visible… were those unmistakable golden eyes.

Suliyao.

His eyes were wide, predatory, unfocused from sleep, raw instinct pulsing through him. The golden irises gleamed like molten metal under the shadows.

Silay’s breath caught. His hand twitched against the floor. 

“It’s—!” Silay gasped under the weight, his words strained, “It’s us!”

Li hissed beside him, still wrestling beneath the unseen pressure, muscles taut, “Damn it, get off!”

The force pressed harder for a fleeting second before it vanished.

Suliyao’s gold-lit gaze sharpened, recognition flickering back into his expression as he inhaled sharply, pulling away.

Silay coughed, rolling onto his side as the suffocating weight lifted. Li shoved himself upright, glaring, breath heaving.

What inhuman strength…

Suliyao suddenly looked normal, fetching his phone out of his pocket. Its brightly lit screen reflected his light eyes as he turned it to them.

(Apologies, I thought you were trespassers.)

Li’s breathing finally slowed, rubbing his sore nape as realization settled over him.

…He really can’t talk? For once Itel did not blunder. Fortunately, his hearing seemed perfectly fine.

Silay, still seated on the floor, dusted his clothes and lifted both hands. His fingers moved with controlled ease, every flick of his wrist was relaxed. His signing had improved over the past few weeks but it was not the point where he's able to communicate with complete sentences just yet.

[It’s okay,] he gestures, fingers tapping his chest, then sweeping forward with both palms. His brows softened as he continued, [Sorry. About Li. He was concerned. Upset?]

Suliyao, still kneeling beside them, tilted his head slightly, eyes steady. He shook his head once, loose strands of his dark hair falling near his cheekbones. He felt proud about Silay’s immense improvements.

[No,] Suliyao signed, one hand cutting a sharp motion in front of him. [I left the car because I thought we weren’t going anywhere at that point.] His fingers curled slightly as his hand lowered. [There were pressing matters.]

Li stared at them, blinking in silence. Their gestures were fluid, deliberate, but the meaning was beyond him. Yet… somehow, the exchange carried the same weight as a private conversation. There was rhythm, a familiarity.

He’d met people like that before. Communicating in ways outsiders couldn’t crack, speaking entire worlds without a sound.

And now, his friend was one of them.

Suddenly, Suliyao turned toward Li, giving him a simple thumbs up.

Silay chuckled, translating easily, “He said he wasn’t mad. He understood why you reacted like that… and yeah, he knows this whole setup looks strange.”

Li looked from Suliyao, to Silay, to the thumbs-up hand, completely baffled. “A single gesture carries that much meaning?”

“Obviously not,” Silay laughed under his breath, shoulders relaxing.

Suliyao, meanwhile, studied the faint bloodstains on both of them. He stood, walked toward an old wooden cabinet tucked beside the wall, and rummaged through it. Despite his old-fashioned house, the strange way he sometimes spoke, and his antique furniture, Suliyao clearly kept up with the times. His first aid kit was modern, fully stocked.

Silay had half-expected leaves, roots, and herbs. Just like what his father does.

But in minutes, Suliyao efficiently cleaned and patched the small wounds on both their hands, and arms.

Without a word, he disappeared into the adjacent room.

Moments later, his head popped out adorably, blinking with his usual sleepy expression. In his hands, neatly folded, was another set of woven clothes he handed to Silay.

Then, Suliyao turned his gaze to Li. His eyes quietly scanned him, head tilting.

Li stiffened under the stare.

Before he could speak, Suliyao walked right up, lightly pinched the fabric of Li’s sleeve and subtly measured his shoulders, wrist, and waist with practiced gestures. Satisfied, he nodded to himself and slipped back into the room.

The hum of a sewing machine began almost instantly behind the door.

Silay covered his mouth, holding in a laugh. “Oh no… what do we even do with him? He acted like there was an emergency, but now listen to that, he’s in there tailoring clothes, again.”

“Again?” Li cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes lingering on the closed door. “I… think I finally understand why you defended him.”

Author’s Note:

Hablon - A traditional handwoven textile that has been part of Filipino culture since before the Spanish arrived. While it flourished during the Spanish colonial period, particularly in Iloilo, its origins trace back to indigenous weaving practices.

Pukingan -  a Filipino term, primarily referring to the plant Clitoria ternatea, also known as butterfly pea or blue pea. It's called "pukingan" due to the resemblance of its flower to female genitalia. The term is also sometimes used for other plants like Centrosema pubescens, which is also known as butterfly pea.