Prologue: Silayan of Luan Clan and His Death

600 years ago. 

“A divine truth it is: those chosen by Kaluwalhatian may wield great power, yet they are bound by the frailties of their flesh. Even a revered Katalonan is not exempt. No gift, no favor, no strength bestowed by Bathala Himself can absolve a soul from the price of transgression.”

The Hapilanda forest screamed.

“I came to this truth long ago.”

Roots tore from the earth, ash and soil flying as a golden arrow split the heart of an ancient tree. Flames licked the edges of sacred leaves; the acrid scent of burning bark and blood filled the air.

“For glory doth blind the mortal eye. For reverence doth stroke the ego. For the unknown doth rouse curiosity.”

Darahi, the guardian deity of Hapilanda Forest, shielded her beloved Ilaya with her own battered form. Around them, the Saliw Kalikas—spirits of nature—cried in anguish. The gentle voice that guided the lost, healed the weary but bewitches the evil was snuffed one by one beneath the relentless advance of men. 

Men of Lipol Clan, the Katalonans whose creed declared humanity’s dominion over all, severed every tree, vine, and spirit in their path. The land burned and cracked beneath their wrath.

They had returned.

And this time, they would not leave until Hapilanda was broken.

“Ilaya, run!” Darahi’s voice cracked, her command shaking the very earth beneath them. “Find Silayan. Call upon him, so that he might come to our aid!”

Not far from Hapilanda, in the village of Luan Clan, Silayan Luan and his sister Saniha Luan sat on the ground, large leaves serving as their resting place. They sat in quiet stillness, yet the moment Silayan reached for the vessel of alcohol, Saniha swiftly seized it from his grasp.

“Thou should not drink, brother,” she chided. “For our Mother’s teachings forbid it. The vessel must remain pure, for thou art called to perform many rituals.”

Saniha’s voice carried the weight of their rules, her every word a reflection of the role she was destined to carry. She was the one born to be Katalonan, the one who was supposed to have vast spiritual affinity, the one with the vision to see into the world of spirits and the unseen realms.

Yet here, on the ground of Luan, she was unable to fulfill her duty consistently. There was no other choice but to give it to her brother, Silayan.

Silayan clicked his tongue in frustration, his hand brushing away the fruit he had been peeling.

Others passed by, seeing the siblings’ exchange and laughing at his scolding. Though born mere minutes apart, they were labeled differently. Silayan, the older twin by a hair, was the one deemed suited to lead sacred rites. Yet, when it came to matters of spirituality—the interpretation of prophecy, the communication with the deities, the rites of passage—it was Saniha who stood out, though her body was frail and weak.

She could not endure the long rites, nor the exhausting ceremonies, yet what of it? Wasn't the rest a gift from Bathala?

“Why doth thy face wear such sorrow, Kuya?”

“We are both…” Silayan’s voice faltered. “Bound to perform this rite together. Yet I, who am no greater than thee, am called to fulfill it alone.”

It was said that the twins, born on the same day, would walk parallel paths, and yet they were so different. Silayan, despite his ability to channel spiritual energy, was a male among the village leaders. Katalonans are mostly women. He was supposed to be a Mandirigma, a warrior, one meant to protect—not to lead the rituals, not to interpret the will of Bathala. That was Saniha’s destined role.

However fate had dictated otherwise.

He felt like had taken away something and did not belong to him.

“Why must this fall upon me?” Silayan said, low and almost to himself, his hands tightening upon the leaf he had been peeling. “What makes me worthy?”

Saniha simply looked at the vast ocean beside them, “Do not forsake this responsibility. You wouldn't have been chosen if you were not worthy.”

“Saniha…” Silayan sighed about to retort but his inner turmoil was interrupted as Ilaya’s broken voice echoed in his mind.

“Silay!”

The voice was thin, shaking with fear, yet it carried a weight of urgency. Silayan’s gaze shot towards the smoke rising from the depths of Hapilanda. For it to reach the village, the forest must be dying. Silayan immediately stood up without explanation. 

“What is it? The spirits call to thee? Hast thou received an oracle?”

But Silayan did not answer. His steps were already swift, his white robe billowing as he fastened it upon his body.

“Stay here. Apprise the Lakambini to order the men to fetch water. The whole village must stay alert, there’s fire and it might reach us.”

Saniha was about to open her mouth but her brother had already fled. She immediately tried to stand but her legs refused to work again. With her illness, she was most immobilized, even the prophecy from Kaluwalhatian, the sayings of their Ancestors from Maka, and the messages of the Spirits rarely reached her ears now. Unlike Silayan who grew in harmony with the existence of this world and many of its creations—alive or dead. Humans and spirits. How could he not be worthy?

* * *

Hapilanda Forest. 

A shadow cleaved through the smoke. A figure in white and purple with hair woven of wood and sunlight, emerged between the dying trees. Silayan Luan watched the wretched world of Saliw Kalikas, the heat baring its fangs.

Looking at the barren land, he kicked a branch up. As it floated, he grabbed it with his hand, and used it as the medium to gather energy around him. He gathered force. The elements surrounding him howling.

“Silay!” Ilaya appeared behind him, her golden blood oozing from everywhere, there’s even a golden arrow stuck still in her arm. “It is them.. The Lipol Katalonans and Mandirigma—they have returned. They threaten the forest with fire, with steel, and with malice. And even stranger weapons to keep us!”

“I shall take care of it.” Silayan glanced at Ilay who’s pale colored eyes widened. “Tell Darahi to not attack humans, incurring the wrath of Kaluwalhatian is harsher in your kind.”

Seeing the genuine look on the mortal’s face, Ilaya’s lips trembled, realizing what the man said, “If you strike back using your ability, you’ll face punishment. You are chosen to exterminate us, to serve fellow humans. Siding with us would—”

“Ah? That is unfair.” Silayan even had the guts to laugh, as the world in front of him slowly changed. Flowers that wilted grew, the burnt grass turned lush under his feet. “They have attacked this serene abode countless times yet they aren’t punished. Ilaya, hast thou ever pondered why Bathala permits such things to pass?”

With a deep breath, Silayan severed the path of the Lipol Mandirigma who tried to shoot them down, his will shaping the very earth to rise in defense of the forest.

“Why would there be a rule that humans can destroy spirits’ dwelling, and yet we stand idle, forbidden to defend it? I say none shall pass. You aren’t evil. To me, none of the spirits are. So why must you be exterminated?” Silayan’s face turned to the front, seeing a figure. His expression hardened. “Lipol just refuses to understand that all of you deserve to live in the world Bathala created. Purification? This is a massacre of life.”

The Lipol warriors, sensing an impending clash, drew their weapons. Among them stood Lakan Atar Lipol, his form tall and imposing. His eyes burned not with anger, but with the cold conviction of one who believes himself divinely justified.

The forest would fall.

And they would carve a kingdom from its corpse.

“This fight is equal, mortal against mortal.” Silayan’s hand touched the center of Ilaya’s forehead, commanding under the pact forged between Saliw Kalikas and an ancestor that is also a Luan Katalonan from long ago, “I order thee, leave at once!”

Ilaya was forced to dissipate, sent to Darahi and the other beings that needed their attention and help.

Lakan Atar laughed, “We are doing what the Deities foretold. To wipe these bewitching devils disguised as nature spirits. You, Luans, are foolish to no end. Breaking his will out of your own greed, sinful!”

Silayan only sighed. With a swift, sorrowful motion, he hurled the branch in his hand that suddenly turned agile full of spiritual energy of the spirits and the worldly force toward Atar Lipol.

“If I cannot bend the will of Kaluwalhatian, then I shall move the world of man, Maka and Kasanaan alike.”

As Silayan raised his hand again, the air shimmered.

Patterns, woven like ancient talismans and the old Baybayin scripts… burst into life, forming a radiant circle of flowing symbols and sacred shape. The visible manifestation of bisa — the spiritual energy that bound all living things.

From the center of spirit sigils, the force of Silayan’s will surged outward.

And in that instant — as blood met sacred ground — the heavens shuddered.

A crack opened in the sky.

Kaluwalhatian gazed down.

And Silayan dared to face it as it showed, his eyes reflecting its heavenly light.

A deafening sound of gong resounded around the world.

Silayan Luan staggered, as chains unseen coiled around his soul. The Lipol fell back even though in awe, confusion rippling through their ranks. They grabbed Lakan Atar and called a healer on their teams, retreating. Even Darahi, even Ilaya, stared in horror as the light of heaven itself condemned their protector.

No mortal, no matter how beloved by the spirits, could harm a fellow human without reaping the wrath of the gods.

Silayan Luan’s knees hit the earth.

To be torn from the body again and again.

To be reborn weaker with each life.

To watch his light fade, life after life, until it was no more than a flicker in the dark.

He fell.

Darahi’s screams echoed through as they reached the scene. Ilaya informed her that Silayan wanted to take all responsibility for this never ending war. They hurried to this side of Hapilanda yet it was too late. Ilaya’s grip loosened, running to cradle his body, her sobs shaking the sky itself.

And from the trees, a second figure came running — Saniha Luan, his twin sister. 

“Kuya?”

What a small voice. Seeing her brother lying there without anyone by his side. Lifeless, and damped as the sky light closed. The rain poured. She could feel that the spirits were weeping yet she could not see them grieving.

“For the sin of raising my hand against my own kind, even if borne from devotion to the spirits… I, too, was not spared.”

The forest survived.

“However,”

But one of its treasured children was lost.

“Do I regret my actions?”

And far above, in the cold halls of Kaluwalhatian, the judgment of gods was already set into motion.

“No.”

Then so be it.

Author’s Note:

Bathala – The Creator of Universe

Baybayin – An ancient Philippine writing system used before the Spanish colonization.

Bisa – the spiritual energy that binds all living things, the framework of power.

Kasanaan – Underworld, Spirit Abyss

Katalonan – Shamans, Spiritual Leaders

Kuya – Older Brother

Lakan – Usually Male, a title of nobility or a high-ranking leader, often used to refer to those who lead larger territories or have significant power.

Lakambini – Usually Female, a term that historically referred to the queen or the woman of nobility in a community. It is often associated with someone revered for her wisdom, leadership, and guiding influence. 

Maka – Paradise of Souls, the good afterlife

Mandirigma – Warrior

Saliw Kalikas – A race of ancient spirits born from the living soul of nature itself. Enchanting voice that either guides or bewitches listeners.

Kaluwalhatian – Skyworld, Heaven, Realm of the Gods