Chapter 4
Morning came slowly, the first streaks of sunlight spilling through the bamboo slats of the small room. Nille stirred, blinking against the warm glow, and felt the familiar pull of responsibility settle over him. Even though school was off today, he moved with the same careful precision as any other morning. The broom swept the courtyard, the dry leaves gathering in neat piles. The dishes were washed and stacked, the corridors tidied, each motion deliberate, almost ritualistic.
Grandma Amparo, is seen weaker with each passing day, sat by the kitchen window, her shawl draped loosely over her shoulders. The lines on her face had deepened, and her breathing was shallow but steady. Nille's heart tightened with quiet worry. He had learned, early, that even in a household of love and care, some burdens were his alone to shoulder.
"I'll make sure everything's ready before you even need to ask," he whispered, as if speaking to the house itself.
Chores completed, he wiped his hands on his worn pants and peered out toward the backyard. His eyes searched for the figure he had named Luna, the stray cat that had captured a small part of his attention days ago. The little creature had disappeared after the heavy rains and the chaos of the past weeks, and Nille had worried it might never return.
To his relief, a flicker of gray moved among the bushes near the back fence. Luna, lean and wary but alive, emerged cautiously, her tail flicking. Nille crouched, letting his movements be slow and deliberate, his connection to the world of the streets, his instincts, guiding him. "You really did come back," he murmured, smiling faintly. The cat approached, rubbing against his legs before settling near the shade of the tree, and Nille felt a quiet reassurance in the presence of the small, living creature.
Nille's gaze drifted to Grandma Amparo, sitting frail yet steadfast in her chair, the morning light catching the silver strands in her hair. A surge of determination ran through him. He would protect her, care for her, and honor the lessons she had imparted. No matter how weak she grew, no matter how unpredictable the world outside became, he would not abandon the routine that grounded them both.
"Grandma," he said politely, bowing slightly as was his habit, "I'll go and look for Luna."
Amparo's lips curved into a small, affectionate smile, her eyes still sharp despite her weakness. "Be careful, anak. Don't go wandering into the forest at night, and make sure the cat is safe. You know how tricky she can be."
Nille nodded, his small hands already readying the basket for Luna.
"And remember," Amparo added with a gentle firmness, "our little house is just a few meters from the school. Don't dawdle. Hurry back once you've found her."
"Understood, Grandma," Nille replied, a resolute glint in his eyes. "I'll bring her back safely."
With that, he set off, moving lightly across the courtyard, his every step measured and careful, already scanning the surrounding area for any sign of the small, gray cat that had become his companion.
Nille moved slowly through the narrow path leading toward the school backyard, his feet was silent on the damp earth. Every shadow seemed to stretch longer than it should, every rustle of leaves a possible threat. But his mind was focused, every sense alert, honed from years of surviving streets, alleys, and abandoned corners. the school front courtyard grounds were keep tidy and the plants were taken cared by the school janitor , but the backyard was a different story.
as the school was establish after the war, is was funded by local wealthy business men and one of them was Amparo late parents, the fact she is still alive and secretly hiding her true self was not that hard to understand , she is nearly reaching 100 years old. Nille cherish every moment she was with him, as he said earlier he already knew who she was and just remain silent, he never like that grandiose moments , as he belive not all events needs to be loud and big.
As he reached the overgrown fence bordering the school, the overgrown weeds and grass, wild foliage was really beyond reason and somewhat amazing, considering beyond that mini forest was a factory of soy souce, the backyard of the school really looked like they have a mini forest , he spotted her, Luna, crouched low among the weeds, a thin trail of blood marking the way she had limped. Nille crouched beside her, careful not to startle her further.
"Hey, Luna… it's okay," he whispered, his voice steady and calm. "I've got you."
The cat's eyes, wide and wary, flicked up at him. She winced as she tried to stretch her paw. Nille's hands were gentle, but firm, cradling her small body as he examined the wound. Despite the pain, she pressed herself closer, as if recognizing the one person she could trust.
Nille's brow furrowed. "You've been through quite a scrape, haven't you?" He brushed the matted fur away from the wound, inspecting it carefully. Blood had already started to dry, but he could still see the cut on her leg.
He whispered softly, almost to himself, "Don't worry… we'll fix this. I won't let anything happen to you."
With careful precision, Nille lifted Luna into his arms. Her tiny body trembled, but he felt the faint warmth of her trust, the same steady loyalty that had guided him through hardships. Keeping her close, he rose slowly, scanning the surrounding courtyard for any hazards. Every movement was deliberate; he couldn't afford a stumble or a sudden scare.
As he made his way back toward the makeshift house, Nille's mind was already planning: clean the wound, tend to her, and keep her hidden until she was strong enough to move freely again. In that quiet, tense morning, the bond between boy and cat, both survivors in their own right, grew stronger, a fragile light in the shadow of a world that had given them neither mercy nor reprieve.
Nille carefully stepped inside the small, house, keeping Luna close against his chest. Grandma Amparo sat by the window, her thin frame hunched but alert, a soft smile on her lips as she watched him approach.
"Morning, apo," she said, her voice gentle. "Did you find her?"
"Yes, Lola," Nille replied, setting Luna down on the old wooden table. "She's hurt… but I got her before anything worse could happen."
He unpacked a small cloth, dipped it in warm water, and began gently cleaning the wound on Luna's leg. The cat flinched at first, but Nille's calm, steady hands reassured her.
"There now… easy," he murmured softly, speaking as if Luna could understand every word. "You're going to be okay. I'll make sure of it. You don't have to be afraid of anything."
Luna blinked up at him, tilting her head, her small body trembling slightly. Nille smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his own face. "I know you've been through a lot… just like me, huh? But we're survivors, aren't we?"
As he worked, he kept up a gentle rhythm, humming quietly, and carefully bandaging the wound. Every movement was precise; no rush, no hesitation. Even at ten years old, his hands moved with the experience and calm of someone much older, molded by hardship and a lifetime of responsibility.
Glancing at Grandma Amparo, he saw her watching him, concern etched in the lines of her face. "Lola… I'll take care of her. You just rest, okay?" he said softly, shifting Luna so she could lie more comfortably on the table.
He paused for a moment, speaking to the cat again.
"You're lucky you found me, Luna. I won't let anything happen to you, just like I won't let anything happen to Lola. so rest and recover, and stay her as long a you like,"
Even as he tied the last knot in the bandage, Nille's mind was already running through the rest of his day: sweeping the floors, washing the dishes, making sure the small house stayed in order, checking on Grandma Amparo, and then… keeping an eye on Luna. He had learned long ago that care wasn't just about surviving, it was about responsibility, trust, and devotion.
Luna purred faintly, and though Nille had no way of knowing it, the cat's soft, steady vibrations seemed to answer him. He smiled faintly, sitting beside her, brushing her fur with gentle fingers.
"You'll be okay," he whispered again. "I promise. We'll get through this together. Lola, Luna… we'll make it. I won't let anything harm us."
In that quiet, sunlit room, with a cat resting on the table and Grandma Amparo watching from the window, Nille's world was small but steady. His routine, his discipline, and his heart, so full of care and devotion, were all threads weaving him into the person he was becoming: resilient, compassionate, and unshakably determined.
And as he worked, Nille didn't notice that Luna's ears twitched toward him in a way that seemed almost… like understanding.
Following Grandma Amparo's advice, Nille made sure the cat was safe first. He carefully adjusted the cloth around Luna's wound and placed her inside the small basket beside the table, where she could rest without moving too much.
Only after he was certain she was comfortable did he turn his attention to the strange thought still lingering in his mind.
Nille walked over to his bamboo bed and picked up the scarf he had folded neatly the night before. He laid it on the wooden table and stared at it for a moment.
Then he slowly pulled the jungle bolo from within it.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.
"…Did that really happen?" he muttered under his breath.
For a moment, he honestly wondered if yesterday had only been a dream.
But the weight of the bolo in his hand felt real.
Too real.
Nille suddenly laughed softly to himself, shaking his head.
"How could I even doubt it?" he said quietly.
Yesterday had happened. Every strange moment of it.
Nille returned the jungle bolo to the place where he had taken it. Just like the last time, it vanished.
He still couldn't wrap his mind around it.
Nille understood that there were strange things in the world—things that lurked quietly in the dark. Even when he was five years old, he could already see things that most people had no idea existed.
But he was never afraid.
To him, it was more curiosity than fear.
Sometimes he could even touch these creatures. They looked blurry, almost like a glitching hologram. Their shapes flickered as if they were not fully part of this world.
The ones he saw most often looked like tiny people wearing strange old clothing. Later in life, he learned they were called duwende, or dwarfs.
But these weren't the friendly dwarfs from Hollywood movies like Lord of the Rings or Snow White.
These duwende were different.
They were mischievous, hot-tempered, and they hated being seen by humans. Most of the time, they avoided people completely. And when they did interact with humans, it rarely ended well. Instead of blessings, they often brought trouble.
That was one of the reasons Nille rarely made friends with other children his age.
These creatures often watched him from a distance, as if they somehow knew that he could see them.
Seeing them was already unusual.
But touching them? Grabbing them?
To the duwende, that was a serious offense.
So while other kids ran around the dusty streets playing games and shouting with laughter, Nille often wandered alone. To anyone watching, his actions looked random and strange.
But to Nille, they were training exercises.
He practiced his movements quietly, sharpening his reflexes and awareness.
Luckily, Nille had never been the type to waste time running around with the other kids in the neighborhood.
He had always been a little different.
A loner—though mostly by choice.
Many children his age spent their days chasing each other down dirt roads or inventing loud games that drained all their energy. Whenever Nille watched them from a distance, it always looked exhausting.
Not because he disliked them.
He simply didn't feel the need to join.
Maybe he had matured earlier than most children.
Or maybe living with Grandma Amparo had quietly taught him different priorities.
Whatever the reason, Nille had found a strange kind of peace in solitude.
He preferred quiet mornings, simple chores, and moments where he could think clearly without noise around him.
Being alone never made him feel lonely.
In fact, it made him feel more like himself.
And as he stood there, slowly turning the jungle bolo in his hand, Nille didn't notice Luna's ears twitch again.
This time, they tilted toward him more deliberately.
As if she were listening.
As if she understood every word he had just said.
But to Nille, she was still just a wounded stray cat resting inside his home.
Nothing more.
For now.
Granny Amparo began telling her story again, her voice soft but steady as she looked out the window, as if the past were waiting somewhere beyond the trees. Nille had heard this story many times before—so many that he had quietly counted them. If his memory was right, this was the seventy-eighth time she had told it since the day they met at the orphanage, a meeting that was supposed to look like a simple coincidence.
She spoke about the time when she was young, when people in her village whispered that she was a Babaylan, a woman who could see and feel things others could not. According to her story, the change began slowly. At first it was small things: dreams that felt too real, shadows that moved even when nothing touched them, and whispers that drifted through the quiet nights. Her parents thought she was only imagining things, but the villagers began to notice. Soon the rumors spread that she could see the unseen world.
Nille listened quietly while she spoke, resting his chin on his hand. He already understood why Granny Amparo repeated these stories so often. Age had a way of making old memories return again and again, like waves washing back to shore. But today, something felt slightly different.
There were new details in her story.
Small ones.
As she spoke, Granny Amparo slowly raised her fingers over the kerosene lamp on the table. For a brief second, the tiny flame bent toward her hand as if pulled by an invisible thread before returning to its normal shape.
She continued talking as if nothing unusual had happened.
But Nille noticed.
And the moment she mentioned how the change first came to her, a quiet memory stirred inside him.
Her experience had begun inside the comfort of her parents' home.
His had not.
When Nille was five years old, he lived in a crowded orphanage where fifty children were forced into a room meant for only thirty. Beds ran out quickly, so he slept on a piece of cardboard laid over the cold cement floor. An old curtain was the only thing he had to keep himself warm at night.
He still remembered the damp smell of the room.
The quiet coughing of other children.
The cold that made his bones ache.
That was the night he first saw them.
Small shapes moving along the edges of the walls.
Blurry figures that flickered like broken light.
Little people watching him from the shadows.
At first he thought he was dreaming. But when one of them reached out and brushed his arm with a tiny, icy hand, Nille knew it was real.
Now, years later, he sat across from Granny Amparo while she calmly spoke about the same strange awakening.
Their stories were similar.
But the way they had lived through them… was very different.
Granny Amparo's voice slowly changed as she continued her story. The gentle tone she used when talking about spirits and strange visions faded, replaced by something heavier. Something older.
Her eyes no longer looked dreamy.
They looked sharp.
"There was a time," she said quietly, "when the mountain itself almost buried us alive."
Nille sat a little straighter. This part of the story didn't come often.
"It was during the war," Granny Amparo continued. "The Japanese army had begun pushing deeper into the mountains. They were hunting our unit. Someone must have told them where we were hiding."
Her wrinkled hands slowly folded together on the table.
"We were crossing a narrow mountain pass at dawn. The fog was thick that morning, covering the ridges and trees like a blanket. It should have been the perfect place for us to move unseen."
She paused for a moment.
"But the first artillery shell fell before we even reached the ridge."
Nille imagined the scene in his mind.
The mountains shaking.
The sound of metal screaming through the sky.
"The ground exploded beside us," she said. "Rocks and dirt flew everywhere. Some of the younger fighters froze in fear. They had never heard artillery before."
Her voice lowered.
"The Imperial Army had already positioned their cannons on the far side of the valley. They were bombarding the entire pass."
Another shell.
Then another.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
"We weren't soldiers like them," Granny Amparo said, shaking her head slightly. "We had old rifles, a few homemade explosives, and knives. Our strength was never in fighting them head-on."
Her eyes met Nille's.
"Our strength was the shadows."
She leaned back in her chair slightly.
"Guerrilla fighters survive by disappearing. By striking where the enemy doesn't expect it. Quick ambushes. Silent movement. Hit them and vanish before they understand what happened."
She tapped the table softly.
"But artillery…"
She let out a quiet breath.
"You cannot hide from artillery when they decide to turn the whole mountain into fire."
The bombardment had been relentless.
Trees snapped like sticks.
Rocks rolled down the slopes.
Smoke and dust filled the air until breathing became difficult.
"So we retreated," she said calmly. "It was the only choice."
Her voice carried no shame.
Only experience.
"A good guerrilla knows when to fight… and when to disappear."
She looked at the small lamp between them. For a moment the flame flickered again, bending slightly toward her as if responding to the quiet power in her words.
"If we stayed," she said softly, "none of us would have survived that mountain."
Nille watched her carefully.
This wasn't just a story about war.
It was a memory.
One that still lived clearly inside her.
Granny Amparo fell silent after finishing the story. The small kerosene lamp between them flickered softly, casting long shadows along the walls of their worn wooden house.
For a moment, the only sound inside the room was the faint creaking of old wood and the distant chirping of night insects.
Then something strange happened.
A spoon resting beside the plate began to tremble.
At first it was so slight that Nille thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But the spoon slowly slid across the table… then lifted.
It rose into the air.
Quietly.
A fork followed.
Then another spoon.
The metal utensils floated a few inches above the table, turning slowly as if carried by an invisible current.
Nille's eyes widened, but he didn't panic. Strange things had always happened around him. Still, this was different.
Behind him, one of the wooden chairs gave a soft scrape.
The legs lifted off the floor.
Across the room, a plate drifted upward from the shelf, wobbling slightly as if unsure of its balance. Even the small wooden table beside the wall trembled before its legs slowly separated from the ground.
Granny Amparo hadn't moved.
She sat still in her chair, staring quietly at the flame of the lamp.
Her breathing had grown deeper.
Her story… her memories… had stirred something inside her.
The air inside the house felt heavier now, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
Nille slowly turned his head toward her.
"Granny…"
She blinked.
The moment her focus broke, everything dropped.
Clink.
Clatter.
The spoons and forks fell back onto the table. The plate wobbled loudly before settling. The wooden chair thumped back onto the floor, followed by the small table shaking slightly as its legs returned to the ground.
Silence filled the house again.
Granny Amparo looked around, confused for a moment, before letting out a small tired laugh.
"Ah… looks like my old bones still remember a few tricks," she said gently.
But Nille didn't laugh.
He stared at the utensils on the table, his mind racing.
Because what had just happened…
Looked exactly like something he had done once before.
Granny Amparo's eyes remained fixed on the small flame of the kerosene lamp. The light reflected in her pupils, making them look deeper than usual—almost as if they held shadows moving far beneath the surface.
For a moment, the room felt strangely distant.
The air grew thick, heavy with something Nille couldn't explain. The night outside seemed to quiet itself, as if even the insects had stopped to listen.
When Granny Amparo finally spoke, her voice sounded different.
Slower.
Older.
"I had to train…" she murmured softly, her gaze unfocused. "Considering I was carrying your grandfather in my belly."
As the words left her lips, the flame of the lamp stretched upward like a thin golden thread. The floating utensils trembled again, not rising this time, but vibrating softly against the wood of the table.
"Those creatures…" she continued, her voice almost like a whisper carried by the wind. "The ones lurking between our world and theirs…"
Her fingers slowly curled against the table.
"They saw me too."
For a brief moment, the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to shift.
Not like normal shadows.
They moved slowly, like living silhouettes sliding across the walls.
"They see those who can see them," Granny Amparo said. "And to them… we are not invisible."
Her head slowly tilted toward Nille, though her eyes still looked far away.
"Opo…" she whispered.
"The Sarangay you saw… the one that nearly killed that stray cat…"
The kerosene lamp flickered violently.
For an instant, Nille thought he saw something enormous moving beyond the thin wooden walls of the house, like the faint outline of horns forming within the darkness outside.
"It saw you."
Her voice dropped lower.
"And once such a creature notices you…"
The wooden floor beneath them creaked softly, as if something heavy had shifted somewhere beyond the house.
"…it will come for you."
The words hung in the air like a warning carved into stone.
"You need to be prepared," she said slowly.
Her hand lifted slightly, pointing toward the corner of the room where the weapons she had given him rested quietly.
"The weapons I gave you… they are useless if you do not learn how to use them."
The flame of the lamp suddenly steadied.
The shadows stopped moving.
And just like that, the strange heaviness inside the house vanished.
Granny Amparo's shoulders relaxed.
Her head slowly leaned to the side.
Within seconds, a soft, steady breathing escaped her lips.
She had fallen asleep.
Nille sat frozen in his chair.
The utensils were no longer moving.
The chair and table were firmly on the ground.
The house had returned to normal.
But the warning she had spoken still echoed in his mind.
The room had barely settled back into silence when Luna, the stray cat, stirred. Slowly, almost unnaturally, she sat upright, the bandages still wrapped around her wounds. She purred softly, her small body trembling with quiet energy. Then she began to meow—a gentle, hesitant sound at first—but something strange happened.
The meowing began to shape itself into words.
At first, it was awkward, shocking, almost impossible. Nille froze, staring at the small creature as his mind struggled to process it. He rubbed his eyes, hoping it was some trick of the lamplight, but his vision only grew hazy. The room seemed to ripple around him, the walls swaying softly as if the world itself were melting into a dream.
Granny Amparo slept peacefully in her chair, completely unaware. Yet Luna continued to meow, insistently, softly, but now the sound filled Nille's ears not as noise, but as language, tangible and deliberate.
A sentence formed:
"Hey, kid… stop staring at me. Focus your mind. You are gifted, like your great-grandmother here… but you carry the seed."
Nille's heart thudded in his chest. His brain tried to grasp the impossible, the voice curling around his consciousness like smoke. The cat's words continued, flowing smoothly now, calm yet commanding:
"Thank you for healing me… and I think I need your help. Seeing what you are capable of doing… you just need a certain amount of guidance. I will help you. In return, you can help me go back home… to my family."
Nille's eyes widened. His mind raced. He wanted to speak, to question, to refuse, but his body felt heavy, weighed down by the strange, vibrating energy in the room. He tried to remain awake, to anchor himself to reality, but the room began to blur further. The lamp's flame stretched like molten gold, the shadows stretched long and thin, and the soft vibrations of Luna's purrs mingled with the words echoing in his head.
No matter how hard he tried, sleep crept over him like a tide he could not hold back. His eyelids grew heavier, the world spinning gently around him, and the last thing he felt before slipping into the dreamlike haze was the cat's gaze, wise, knowing, and filled with something older than him, older than the world itself.
And then, softly, everything went black.