THE ROOM WAS deeper than it looked. They stepped through a narrow opening barely carved into the stone, a tunnel that dipped and then rose slightly before opening into a chamber lit by fungus orbs clustered high along the ceiling. Their glow was soft and pale, casting the room in hues of blue and green, like they had stumbled into a pocket of underwater light. The air was thicker here, heavier with the smell of oil, dust, and something metallic—old blood, maybe. But it wasn't empty.
A single katau stood at the far end of the armory, his trident planted lazily against the floor as he watched over the racks of weapons with all the boredom of a guard who hadn't seen action in years.
Troy didn't hesitate.
He moved like a shadow with muscle, smooth and quiet, steps soft but certain. One hand gripped the hilt of a blade he had scavenged earlier, the other steadying his stride against the stone floor. Gray barely had time to process what was happening when Troy was already behind the guard, arm sweeping around the katau's neck like a hook forged in silence. The guard struggled for half a heartbeat, eyes wide, mouth parting to yell—but nothing came out. Just a sharp jerk and a dull thud. The body slumped silently to the ground.
Troy let it fall without ceremony and glanced over his shoulder. "We're clear."
The others spilled into the room behind him, their footsteps quick now, a quiet urgency in every movement. The place was dense with gear. Weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the walls and lay inside stacked wooden crates. Spears carved from whale bone and volcanic glass. Bolos with curved ivory handles. Broad kalasags of thick carabao hide stretched across wooden frames. Tridents blackened with sea-ash. Kampilans wrapped in leather, their blades chipped from long use but still gleaming with edge.
It was a vault of stories. Of battles fought and forgotten.
Gray stood just past the doorway, taking it in but not moving. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. His hands had never known steel. His life had been spent slipping through alleyways and shadows, not drawing blades and facing down monsters. All this—the war-forged tools, the weight of history hanging from walls—none of it felt like his.
He watched as Amara moved swiftly between racks, eyes scanning, fingers brushing over hilts with the precision of memory. She stopped at a smaller chest near the far wall, opened it, and let out a breath he could barely hear. Then she pulled them free. A pair of krises, their blades long and sinuous like twin flames frozen in steel.
She turned and tossed a spear toward Agta, who caught it in one hand without looking. The shaft was as tall as him, the metal tip carved like a shark's maw. He grunted once, the sound of a man welcoming back a limb he had learned to live without.
Then Troy found it. Tucked beneath a rack of dull, generic blades, wrapped in dark cloth and bound with three strips of frayed rope. He unwrapped it slowly, reverently, like something sacred. The kampilan inside was long and brutal, but somehow elegant. Its blade curved slightly near the tip, widening toward the end like it had been forged to cut not just through flesh but through time itself. Intricate baybayins were etched faintly along the flat of the steel, some faded, some still catching the light like living script. The hilt was blackened bone, its pommel shaped into the stylized maw of a crocodile, mouth open in silent roar.
Troy held it up to the fungal light, the glow washing over the steel.
Gray blinked. For a second, he forgot to be snide. "That's kind of badass," he admitted.
Troy glanced at him sideways. "It's not a toy."
"Yeah, thanks, Dad."
Troy turned back toward the wall, already searching again.
That was when Gray noticed the smaller crates. Carved differently. Marked with symbols that pulsed faintly when touched. Amulets. Anting-anting. Amara opened one and immediately pulled out a bracelet. Gold and majestic. She slipped it on without hesitation.
Troy found his near the bottom of the box—a plain keychain with a rough obsidian pendant shaped like a fang. He tossed it once in his hand, caught it, and clipped it to his belt like it was nothing.
Gray raised an eyebrow. "You know, I still don't get how those things work," he said.
Troy didn't even look up. "That's because your skull's thicker than this kampilan."
Gray narrowed his eyes. "Cute. Did you learn that line in demigod daycare?"
Amara sighed behind them, muttering something about brain damage, but neither of them heard her.
Troy tapped the obsidian pendant lightly. "Anting-antings aren't just trinkets. They're anchors. Most of us aren't born knowing how to focus whatever power we've got. These help. They carry memory. Blood. Will. They give shape to something raw. Without them, even an anito's magic scatters."
Gray gave a skeptical look. "So... magic rocks."
Troy's eyes narrowed like a blade narrowing to a point. "They're spell anchors, dickhead. They keep our magic from blowing up in our faces."
They stared at each other again, their usual silent war resuming as easily as breath. Then the sound came again. It started low. Like the earth groaning in its sleep. A shift in pressure. A dull weight settling in the bones. Then it grew louder. A deep, guttural thud followed by the wrenching of coral bars and the soft whine of something ancient moving through waterlogged stone.
Agta turned, his spear already in hand. Gray felt it vibrate through the floor.
Lamad.
The name wasn't spoken aloud this time. It didn't have to be. They all knew. The sound wasn't rage. It was grief. Contained. Collared. Buried. But not for long.
They reached the tunnel's mouth opened into a cavern so wide and echoing that the air changed with every step they took forward. Dampness clung to their skin like sweat that didn't belong to them, and the light was dim—just enough to see, just enough to feel watched. Stalactites hung overhead like the jagged teeth of some slumbering beast, and in the middle of the stone basin ahead was a pool of still, dark water. The surface shimmered faintly with bioluminescent algae, giving off a sickly teal glow that pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own.
And in the center of it all, chained at the neck and wrists, was Lamad.
The berberoka barely moved. His massive frame curled in the shallow center of the water like some ancient leviathan forced into fetal position. Kelp-like tendrils floated around his shoulders and spine like drowned hair, while his long, scaled tail drifted lazily in the depths. The sound of his breath—deep and slow—echoed faintly against the stone, steady like waves breaking beneath the surface of the earth. But it wasn't peace. It was exhaustion.
Around the pool, twelve kataus stood posted in uneven formation. Some leaned on their tridents. Others were pacing. One sharpened the edge of a blade with methodical precision. They didn't talk. They just watched. Watched Lamad. Watched each other. Eyes flicking. Waiting for something.
Gray ducked lower behind the stone outcrop where they had taken cover, knees bent and breath held. "Gods," he whispered, voice barely audible. "That many guards just to babysit one exhausted creature?"
Troy stood just behind him, squinting out at the scene. He crossed his arms, brow furrowed with more caution than usual. "You haven't seen what a berberoka can do. It's just that your friend here is an unusual case."
"He was raised by me," Agta replied, looking at the poor creature as well. "His parents were killed during a war between katau angkans."
"He's not a monster," Gray said softly, without looking away.
Troy didn't reply, but the silence that followed wasn't argumentative. Just thoughtful.
Gray's eyes scanned the space. His heart thumped louder than it should. The tridents the kataus held gleamed faintly in the algae light. No chance of sneaking across without being spotted. No cover in the open. Too many eyes. Too many weapons. The pool itself was like a trap. Even if they got close, Lamad was submerged, half-restrained, and those chains looked more ceremonial than functional. Etched with sigils. Probably cursed. Maybe worse.
Then Troy shifted. "I can take the left flank," he whispered. "Draw them out. You take the center. We cut them down before they know what hit them."
Gray turned, blinking slowly at him. "Are you being serious right now?"
Troy shrugged. "You got a better idea?"
"Yeah," Gray said, still staring at him like he'd grown a third eye. "How about not sprinting into a circle of trident-wielding fish-men with a death wish?"
"They're not that fast."
"They don't have to be. There are twelve of them. One of you."
"Two, counting the dog."
"Oh, well then. That changes everything. The twelve guards should be terrified."
Troy's expression soured. He looked like he wanted to argue. He then muttered under his breath, "If I could shake this whole damn place like a quake, maybe we'd have a shot. Get them panicking, scatter their formation..."
Gray's eyes turned slowly, locking on him. "Wait. You can do that?"
Troy blinked. "What?"
"That. Shake the place. Like an earthquake."
"I know you're new to this, but I am the son of Dumakulem," Troy said.
"He's the god of the mountain. I don't remember him being the god of earthquake."
Gray turned back toward the open cavern. His eyes moved across the terrain, the water, the guards, and finally landed on the ceiling. There, high above the middle quadrant of the chamber, a loose cluster of stalactites hung from the stone. Large, misshapen, and jagged like half-formed blades of stone, they didn't look stable. And in that moment, something sparked in Gray's eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Huh," he muttered.
Troy frowned. "You wanna say something smart this time, dickhead?"
Gray turned to the group. "Look, we are not taking them head-on. I don't care how many triceps you've got tucked into that jacket, thickhead. Twelve trident-happy kataus in formation around a god-sized friend chained underwater? That's not a battle. That's suicide." Troy opened his mouth, but Gray steamrolled over him. "We bait them to be clustered in a specific area."
"And the rest?" Amara asked.
Gray pointed up. "They get the ceiling." All eyes followed. The stalactites above looked more fragile by the second. Amara tilted her head, considering. Agta gave a low grunt of approval. Even Kanye West gave a soft, knowing huff.
"So the plan is..." Troy began.
"We bait them," Gray continued. "You do your magic or something. Lamad is submerged in the water. He's safe when we drop the ceiling. Chaos erupts. Some of them will try to move towards the only exit where we're standing, but we'll stand our ground and make sure they won't leave the place. Then, when all the stalactites rained on them, we free Lamad. Knock out whoever's still conscious. If done right, we barely have to break a sweat."
"You make it sound simple," Troy muttered.
Gray flashed a crooked grin. "Because it is. If you don't mess it up."
Amara gave a short nod. "He's right. It's better than charging in."
Troy scoffed. "Better than charging in is not exactly high praise."
"And yet, here we are," Gray said, clapping his hands quietly together once. "Alright. Troy, you're the epicenter. One good stomp, aim for a shallow pulse."
The dog gave one short bark.
Troy stepped forward and rolled his neck. "Don't say I never did anything for you, Dickhead."
Gray grinned. "Just don't bring the cave down on our heads, Thickhead."
Troy scoffed and reached for the keychain that hung from the loop of his belt, the one that looked like a piece of cheap metal to anyone not paying attention. But Gray noticed it now—the way the small chain pulsed like a heartbeat, how its rings glimmered faintly with heat despite the cold. Troy's hand curled around it, and for a moment, he stood still, shoulders squared as if bracing not just for battle, but for invocation.
He muttered something under his breath. Soft, but sharp. A string of Tagalog words wrapped in something older, something ceremonial. "Yumanig ka't sumunod, lupa ng mga diwata."
Then, like a calligrapher drawing on air, Troy crouched low and swept his fingers across the stone floor. Each motion left glowing traces in its wake, baybayin characters trailing from his fingertips like smoke made of fire. The letters curved and danced in perfect rhythm, forming a ring of light on the ground beneath him. The moment the last symbol was drawn, Troy stood and brought his foot down—hard—onto the center.
The cavern roared. The ground trembled like it was angry. Deep fractures ran through the stone like lightning veins. The air vibrated, and above them, the ceiling cracked. A second later, the stalactites dropped.
Stone teeth tore from above and crashed down into the kataus formation like a divine punishment. One was split through the chest, another flung across the pool, trident flying from his grip. Two were instantly buried beneath jagged rocks, their bodies twisted into silence before they could even scream. Those who weren't crushed broke formation and ran. Some toward the tunnel they had entered through, others toward the pool, panic overtaking training.
But Amara and Agta were already moving.
Agta sprang from his crouch, silent as a thrown harpoon. He lunged at the nearest fleeing katau, the spear in his hand thrusting clean into the gut with a wet crunch. The guard folded like broken cloth, and Agta spun, using the momentum to jab the butt of the spear into the next one's throat. They crumpled.
Amara swept in like a falling blade. Two kataus ran toward her, flanking her sides, but she turned on one foot, lifted her leg, and slammed her heel hard between the legs of one. He folded forward in a sharp wheeze of pain. The other tried to pivot behind her, but she was already spinning. Her elbow struck his chin before his dagger could rise. His body hit the ground, limp and dazed.
But one made it past them. One katau, small but quick, dove straight into the pool. A flash of scales and silver trailed him down into the dark water, disappearing from sight. Lamad shifted slightly, his massive form still slumped in exhaustion, chains rattling faintly.
Gray's eyes shot toward the center of the pool. "Oh, hell no."
"Go!" Amara barked.
Without a second of hesitation, Agta leapt in.
Water splashed high into the air, steam hissing off his skin as he plunged into the pool. For a moment, nothing. Then movement. A struggle. Bubbles erupting from below. Chains grinding as if something enormous had twisted its weight. Then a body floated to the surface—limp, half-conscious. The katau. Behind him, Lamad rose like a waking mountain, eyes slowly glowing beneath the murky green, freed of his chains.
Agta emerged beside him, soaked but unharmed, a ring of keys in his fist. "He said we can escape through this," Agta said, dragging himself out of the water and pointing to the far side of the pool, where the water sloped downward into a long submerged tunnel barely visible from the surface. "It connects to the underground river. Leads out to the edge of the mountain."
Gray blinked. "He talks to you?"
Agta nodded, catching his breath. "I'm a siokoy. We aquatic creatures can talk to fish."
Gray squinted. "Of course."
Troy was already gathering his things, nodding to Amara to move. Kanye stood beside him, tongue lolling slightly, tail low and alert. They were just starting toward the water when Gray noticed something. A subtle shift. A shimmer in his peripheral vision. Something that didn't fit the rhythm of retreat. Movement above the far edge of the pool. Fast. Too fast.
He turned his head.
A figure crouched on a ledge, bloodied but breathing. The same katau who had dived earlier, the one who slipped beneath the chaos like a knife into water. Now he stood near the fallen edge of the pool, one arm raised, bow drawn. Blood streaked the side of his face, and his stance was shaky, but he was alive and aiming with brutal purpose. His target wasn't Gray.
It was Amara.
There was no time to shout. Gray dove.
The air split as the arrow released, slicing through the space they had just been standing in. Gray collided into her just before it struck, their bodies hitting the ground hard. The stone slammed into his back, his breath escaping in a grunt. Amara landed squarely on top of him, one hand braced against his chest.
And for the smallest second, everything paused.
She was close. Eyes sharp and wide, not in fear but in startled stillness. Like something had misfired in her brain, and she couldn't quite place what this moment was supposed to be. Her breath was shallow, hair spilling around her face, and Gray, flat on his back, looked up at her with equal parts shock and... something else. Not desire. Not even attraction, maybe. Just that strange moment when two people unexpectedly see each other. Not as teammates, or liabilities, or burdens, but just... people.
Then, just as quickly, it was over. Amara pulled herself up in a single motion. Dignified. Controlled. Like nothing had happened. Gray, on the other hand, lay there a second longer before groaning.
"Well," he said to the ceiling, "I don't wanna say I'm the hero of this group, but I'm also not... not saying it."
Troy raised an eyebrow from where he stood, one hand on his kampilan. Gray heard Agta's voice on one side and asked, "You okay?"
Gray sat up with exaggerated effort, rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah. Just got body-slammed by our local goddess of perpetual frowning. I think I'm concussed with dignity."
Troy was already dragging the archer katau out from the shadows, the creature's limbs limp, bow broken. "He aimed wrong," Agta said flatly, shoving the captive to his knees. "Should've gone for someone slower."
"Hey," Gray said, pushing himself upright, "if I'm gonna go down, at least let it be under someone terrifyingly competent." Kanye barked once, which Gray decided to interpret as agreement. He dusted himself off and threw a look toward Troy, then Agta, then Amara—
And stopped.
She was staring at him.
Not in the typical Amara way, where her gaze was sharper than her knives and twice as cold. This one was different. Still, still as a held breath. Her eyes weren't narrowed or rolling or annoyed. Just... watching. Something unreadable behind them, like she hadn't expected what just happened and was still figuring out what to do with it. Then, as soon as she saw him looking back, she blinked and turned away. Just like that. As if the moment had never existed at all.
Gray scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. He glanced at the others. "Anyway," he said, "if anyone else wants to throw themselves at me, please form a line. One at a time. I bruise easy."
Troy's head pushed back. "Pretty sure you dent easy, too."
"Jealousy doesn't look good on you."
"Neither does dirt, but here we are."
Agta snorted as he stepped toward the water's edge. "Now come on. Lamad's waiting."
Kanye let out a low bark, tail swishing once as he paced beside Troy. The waters below shimmered faintly, Lamad's vast shape circling just beneath the surface like a god-sized promise of escape. Gray followed, glancing once more over his shoulder.
Amara didn't look back.