Chapter 28
Natty did not hesitate. The moment she left the outskirts of the mirrored realm, her wings carried her swiftly toward the heart of the central garden, the sacred ground where the eleven elders convened. The air there felt heavier than before, thick with tension and something far more troubling. The once harmonious flow of energy now pulsed unevenly, as if the land itself struggled to breathe. She landed just beyond the gathering circle, her glow dim but steady, gathering what resolve she had left before stepping forward.
"Father," she called, her voice soft but firm.
The elder representing the fairy kind turned to her, his presence towering despite his smaller form. Once, his aura had been gentle, balanced, wise, but now it carried a sharp edge, something rigid and unyielding. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Natty. You should not be here. You have already acted beyond your place."
Natty swallowed but did not back down. "Then I will act again if it means saving the Kinabalu." Her wings trembled, but her voice did not. "The Babaylan I called… he is not our enemy. He may be the only one who can help us."
A murmur rippled through the gathered elders. Some scoffed. Others remained silent, their thoughts unreadable.
"The Kinabalu is suffering," Natty continued, her voice rising now with urgency. "You can feel it. The toxic sludge from the human complex is poisoning the soil. It's overwhelming its natural function. It was meant to nurture the land, to keep it fertile, alive, but now it's being forced to endure what it was never meant to cleanse alone."
Her father's expression hardened. "And you believe a human can fix what humans have broken?"
"He is not just a human!" Natty insisted. "He has faced entities none of us would dare approach, creatures born from fear, from imagination, from dread itself. He hunts what even we avoid. He understands things beyond both worlds. If we refuse his help now…" Her voice faltered for a moment, then steadied again. "Then we are choosing pride over survival."
Another elder stepped forward, voice cold. "That same 'Babaylan' you speak of has already trespassed into our realm. That alone is an offense under our law."
"And what of the Kinabalu?" Natty shot back. "Will you enforce law over a dying foundation? Over the very thing that allows us to live here?"
Silence followed.
But it was not agreement.
It was resistance.
"The law exists to preserve order," her father said at last, his tone final. "And that man… is a disruption. We know of him. A hunter of Encantos. A destroyer of those deemed 'evil.' And yet, who decides what is evil?" His gaze sharpened. "Today, it is the Gabunan. Tomorrow… it could be us."
Natty felt the weight of those words, but she refused to yield. "No. He chooses with reason. I've seen it. He doesn't destroy without cause."
"And yet," another elder added, "he has already entered our realm without permission. That alone proves he does not respect our boundaries."
The discussion shifted then, not toward the Kinabalu, not toward the poisoning of the land—but toward Nille himself. His presence. His actions. His existence.
To them, he was no longer a potential ally.
He was a threat.
"The law will be upheld," her father declared. "If the Babaylan enters again, he will be seized and confined within the underground tombs. This is our decision."
Natty's glow dimmed sharply, her heart sinking. She had failed. Not because she was wrong, but because they refused to see.
Behind their words, she could feel it now, what Nille must have already sensed.
It wasn't just fear.
It wasn't just pride.
It was something deeper… darker.
A creeping corruption.
The elders, beings who had once stood above human flaws, were now beginning to mirror them. Greed. Control. Distrust. The very things they once avoided were now guiding their judgment.
And far beneath them, the Kinabalu stirred.
Not in anger.
But in pain.
Nille waited in silence, his senses stretched toward the mirrored realm, watching for any sign of Natty's return. Even now, knowing he could enter freely, he held himself back. Acting too soon, too openly, would only worsen the situation. The elders were already on edge, one wrong move, and whatever chance remained for cooperation would be gone.
A soft creak broke the stillness.
Nille turned.
Granny Amparo sat gently on her tumba-tumba, rocking lightly, a quiet smile on her face as if she had been there all along. Her presence brought a strange calm, grounding the tension that had been building in his chest.
"Lola…" Nille greeted, walking toward her. "I need your advice."
Granny Amparo nodded slowly, her eyes warm but knowing. "About the Kinabalu," she said, as if finishing his thought for him.
Nille paused, surprised. "You… already know?"
She chuckled softly. "Anak, not everything needs to be seen to be understood. The land speaks… and I listen."
Nille sat beside her, his expression serious. "Then tell me, how do I deal with it? The elders are turning against me, and the Kinabalu… it's suffering."
Granny Amparo's smile faded slightly, replaced with a thoughtful look. She shook her head. "I have heard of the Kinabalu, yes… but I have never faced it myself. It is older than most of the beings you've encountered. A keeper of the land. A nurturer."
Nille frowned. "Then I'm dealing with something even the elders barely understand…"
"Perhaps," she replied gently. "But remember this, every Encanto, every creature in that realm, has a purpose. A task tied to the balance of the world. The Kinabalu's role is to nourish the soil, to keep it fertile, alive. But many… have forgotten their purpose." Her gaze hardened slightly. "They gave in to their own desires. Their iniquities. Some even began to reflect the worst traits of humans."
Nille exhaled quietly. "Yeah… I've seen that."
Granny Amparo leaned forward slightly, her rocking chair slowing. "If the Kinabalu is suffering, then think of it not as an enemy… but as a living body."
Nille looked at her, listening closely.
"When a body is poisoned," she continued, "what do we do?"
"…We cleanse it," Nille answered.
She nodded. "Yes. We remove the toxins. But more importantly, we give it what it needs to heal. Clean nutrients. Water. Balance. You don't fight the body… you help it recover."
Nille's mind began to connect the pieces. "So instead of stopping it… I should help it cleanse itself?"
Granny Amparo smiled again, softer this time. "Exactly. The Kinabalu has been forced to absorb too much, chemicals, waste, imbalance. It's overwhelmed. If you want to help it… then give it what it lacks. Clean energy. Pure elements. Restore the balance it was meant to maintain."
Nille lowered his gaze, thinking deeply. "Like how people drink water to flush out toxins…"
"Yes," she said warmly. "Simple, but true. Even the oldest beings follow the same principles of life."
Silence settled between them for a moment, but it was no longer heavy. It was… clear.
Nille stood slowly, a new understanding forming in his mind. "Then I don't need to fight the Kinabalu… or even confront the elders directly."
Granny Amparo gave a small nod. "Sometimes, the best solution is the quietest one."
Nille looked toward the unseen boundary of the mirrored realm, his eyes steady.
"I just need to help it heal… without them even realizing it."
Behind him, the soft creak of the tumba-tumba continued, steady and calm.
Nille understood now, more clearly than ever, that not all Encanto's were vile or evil. Like humans, they acted based on choice, on circumstance, on what they had become over time. And so, he chose the same principle, he would judge them not by what they were… but by what they did.
Harming people, however, was different. That was a line he never allowed to be crossed. To Nille, it was a capital offense.
Because he had seen it.
He had seen what happened to those who survived encounters with truly malevolent Encanto's. Their bodies might live… but their minds rarely did. Fear took root, deep and unrelenting. Sleep became impossible. Reality blurred. Some lost themselves completely, trapped in nightmares that did not end, haunted by things no one else could see or understand.
Humans were not built for that kind of truth.
They were not resilient in the face of the unseen.
And once their minds broke… there was no simple way to bring them back.
Nille's expression hardened slightly, his resolve sharpening.
"That's why I act," he murmured to himself. "Not to hunt… not to destroy without reason… but to protect what can't protect itself."
The scarf tightened faintly around him, as if in agreement.
And in that quiet moment, Nille stood between two worlds, not as a conqueror, not as a judge…
…but as a necessary balance.
Nille stood still, piecing everything together. The pipes beneath the commercial complex continued to flush contaminated water deep into the soil, feeding poison directly into the Kinabalu's domain. Fixing it from the source would mean digging through tons of concrete, rock, and earth, something he couldn't do without destroying private property and drawing attention he could not afford.
He exhaled slowly.
So that option… is out.
Relocation was still on the table. Convince the Kinabalu to move, offer it a cleaner space, somewhere it could continue its purpose without interference. But even that wasn't simple. The creature was rooted not just physically, but metaphysically. Moving it would take time… and trust.
Then there was healing.
Nille glanced at the scarf, feeling the faint presence of the herbs stored within it. He could try to ease the Kinabalu's suffering, stabilize it, maybe even slow the damage. But without removing the source of the toxins, or giving it a clean place to exist, it would only be temporary relief.
"A patch, not a solution…" he murmured.
The worst part was the silence.
Through his senses, he could feel the Kinabalu, but only faintly. Not its thoughts. Not its will. Only its pain. A deep, constant suffering that distorted everything around it, making communication nearly impossible.
"I can't wait any longer…" Nille said under his breath.
Natty still hadn't returned.
And that alone told him something had gone wrong.
Elsewhere, within the mirrored realm, at the heart of the mini garden…
Natty struggled.
Her wings flickered weakly as she was held in place, surrounded by the other elders. Their presence pressed down on her like a weight, their authority absolute within their domain. Even her father stood among them, not as her protector, but as one bound by their law.
"Release me," Natty pleaded, her voice trembling. "You don't understand, he's trying to help!"
"The mortal has already violated our realm," one elder said coldly. "That alone is enough."
"He is not like the others!" Natty insisted. "The Kinabalu is dying, can't you feel it?!"
"We feel it," another replied. "And we will handle it… our way."
Natty's glow dimmed further. "Your way will kill it…"
A silence followed, but it was not doubt.
It was decision.
Her father finally spoke, his voice heavy. "Natty… enough. You have done more than what was allowed. You will remain here until this matter is resolved."
Her eyes widened. "Father… you can't"
"I must," he said, though something in his tone faltered. "The law binds us all."
Energy tightened around her, sealing her in place. Not a prison of walls, but of will.
Natty lowered her head, her light flickering weakly.
She had tried, and failed.
The scarf shifted slightly around his shoulders, its threads tightening as if sensing the urgency building within him. This time, its voice carried no sarcasm—only warning.
"Nille… there is no more time."
He stilled.
"If the Kinabalu succumbs to the toxins," the scarf continued, its tone sharp and absolute, "it will not simply die. It will collapse into itself… and what it releases will not be life."
Nille's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Toxic sludge," the scarf replied. "Concentrated. Corrupted. Everything it has absorbed, chemicals, decay, imbalance, will be expelled all at once. It will spread through the soil, the water systems… it will poison everything in its path."
A brief pause.
"Plants will die. The land will rot. And humans…"
The scarf's threads tightened further.
"They will not survive exposure."
Silence fell.
Nille clenched his fist slowly, the weight of the situation settling in. This was no longer just about the mirrored realm, or the elders, or even the Kinabalu itself.
This was a disaster waiting to happen.
"They think I won't enter again," Nille said quietly.
The scarf pulsed once.
"Then they are wrong."
Nille quickly checked the supplies spread across the warehouse floor, rows of medicinal herbs stored in jars, dried leaves carefully labeled, and the additional reserves tucked inside the scarf's storage space.
He frowned slightly. It wasn't enough to fully heal the Kinabalu. Not even close. At best, it would stabilize it, buy time, nothing more.
His psychokinesis ability might help, but it was still unreliable. Moving objects with his mind required intense focus, and even a slight distraction could send things tumbling out of control. He exhaled slowly. Too unstable… I need precision, not guesswork.
Before he could sink deeper into thought, Granny Amparo suddenly stood from her tumba-tumba again, pointing lightly toward the side of the warehouse.
"We still have that compost pit," she said casually. "It's not that large or deep, but it's a good place to start."
Nille blinked. "Wait… Granny, how do you even know about that?"
She smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I am your grandmother, iho. I know many things."
Nille tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Okay… but serious question, why can I still see you even when my third eye is closed?"
Granny Amparo laughed immediately, waving a hand at him. "Ay naku, this boy. Because I want you to see me, of course."
Nille frowned. "That's not how perception works…"
"Oh?" she leaned forward slightly, still smiling. "And since when do you understand how spirits choose to be seen?"
Nille opened his mouth, then closed it again. "…Fair point."
"And iho," she continued, tapping her chest lightly, "you are my kin. Of course you can see me. That's how family works."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "This is the first time you've ever asked me that. All this time I've been appearing, talking, advising you… and now, suddenly, you're questioning it? After all your missions?"
Nille scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I just… never thought about it before. It felt normal."
Granny Amparo laughed louder this time. "Normal? Me appearing out of nowhere in your warehouse, giving life advice while you're planning supernatural missions, that is your normal?"
"…When you say it like that, it sounds worse."
"Of course it sounds worse!" she said, still laughing. "But you accepted it anyway. Very brave. Or very confused. I haven't decided yet."
Nille let out a small, embarrassed smile. "Probably both."
"Good answer," she nodded approvingly. "Now come on, brave-confused boy, before your Kinabalu starts turning into soup, let's go look at that compost pit."
As Nille stepped out into the wide, dense backyard of his warehouse, the air shifted into something quieter, heavier with life. Tall grass, nearly a foot high, swayed gently across the ground, blending the space between cultivated land and wild growth. It reminded him, faintly, of the vacant lot beside the hospital building, except this one was still young, still incomplete, still learning how to breathe.
Granny Amparo walked beside him.
Or rather… she floated.
In Nille's eyes, she looked alive as ever, present, warm, familiar. But as the sun dipped lower into the horizon, her form became hazier, like a soft hologram woven from gray light and memory. Semi-transparent, drifting slightly above the grass as though the earth no longer fully anchored her. Still, her face remained the same, old, kind, and carrying that quiet, knowing smile that always made Nille feel safe.
The scarf silently gathered medicinal plants as they walked, its threads weaving through the greenery with careful precision, storing everything it deemed useful.
Nille's awareness shifted naturally now. He no longer struggled with his third eye, it opened and closed like a second instinct, filtering spirits in and out of perception without conscious effort. He could sense them, acknowledge them… or simply ignore them when needed.
Granny Amparo noticed his silence and spoke gently.
"You've made a decision, haven't you?"
Nille nodded slightly. "Yeah."
She glanced at him, her voice calm but curious. "And you don't mind leaving this place?"
"I don't mind," Nille replied honestly. "I'm not tied to it. I'm tied to people… not land."
Granny Amparo's expression softened.
"But you built memories here," she said quietly. "Good ones."
"I did," Nille admitted. "That's why I want whatever happens here to benefit everyone. If I leave, it shouldn't just become empty space again."
They walked a few more steps in silence before Granny Amparo spoke again.
"What about the warehouse, iho? The land itself. The future of it."
Nille exhaled slowly. "That part… is up to Lin Yue Meiying and her family."
He glanced ahead at the darkening field. "If they decide to reclaim it, I can't stop them. I'm just making sure everything is stable for now. Covering all possible outcomes."
Granny Amparo hummed softly. "You always think like that. So careful… even when your heart already knows what it wants."
Nille gave a small, restrained shrug. "I just don't want surprises I can't handle later."
"And the academy?" she asked.
Nille's eyes lifted slightly. "I'm going. The assessment from the Japanese academy is real."
A faint certainty entered his voice. "Miyako Ueda's name was on the letter. That alone makes it legitimate."
He paused, then added, "And Lin… Lin Yue Meiying… we still talk. Not much, but enough. Calls, emails, messages. I'm not good at talking often, but I never ignore updates from people who matter."
Granny Amparo smiled knowingly. "So you are not as distant as you pretend to be."
Nille looked away slightly. "I'm just… consistent."
She laughed softly. "Ay, consistent. That's what you call it now?"
Before he could reply, they reached a small cleared area in the grass. The compost pit Nille had made, simple, functional, hidden within the natural growth.
Granny Amparo stopped beside it, her form flickering faintly as the last light of sunset touched her edges.
"This is where I was still alive," she said gently, almost to herself. "I remember it… you working quietly, thinking no one noticed how much effort you put into everything."
Nille stood beside her, silent for a moment.
"Yeah," he said softly. "You were still here then."
Granny Amparo turned to him, her smile returning, gentle, but layered with something bittersweet.
"And now I am still here," she said, tapping lightly at his chest. "Just in a different way."
Nille didn't answer immediately. He only nodded once, accepting it without argument.
Above them, the wind moved through the grass like a quiet breath. And for a moment, the boundary between memory and presence felt thin enough to touch, but neither of them tried to cross it.
Granny Amparo stood near the compost pit, watching as Nille examined it closely. The pit was simple, about three feet wide and two feet deep, filled with decomposing leaves, rich soil, and damp organic matter slowly breaking down into fertile earth. It sat in the middle of his warehouse backyard, surrounded by tall grass that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Beyond it, the space stretched outward into a semi-wild garden, where medicinal plants, herbs, and untrimmed vegetation blended together like a living boundary between cultivated land and untamed nature.
Nille scratched his head, crouching slightly as he studied the pit.
"Too small," he said bluntly. "It needs to be at least twice as big… and a lot deeper."
Granny Amparo gave a soft chuckle. "Then why not ask for help?"
Nille straightened slightly, shaking his head. "The people I know who could do manual work are already old, Granny. Frail. This isn't easy labor."
She smiled knowingly, shaking her head slowly. "Heaven forbid I would suggest them."
Nille paused. "Then who"
Granny Amparo tilted her head slightly toward the far edge of the yard, where the grass grew thicker and the soil appeared untouched, almost undisturbed by human hands.
"I am talking about him."
Nille followed her gaze.
That was when he felt it.
A subtle shift in the earth. Not movement exactly, but presence, ancient, patient, and deeply rooted.
A Nuno sa Punso.
A small mound of earth rose slightly from beneath the grass, almost blending into the landscape unless one knew what to look for. It was not just dirt, it was structured, intentional, like a home shaped by something far older than human construction. Moss clung to its surface, tiny roots intertwined through it like veins, and faint traces of energy pulsed within it, barely visible to ordinary senses.
The surrounding environment seemed to quiet as Nille approached. Even the wind felt softer here, as though respecting the boundary of something living beneath the soil. The tall grass leaned subtly away from the mound, forming a natural circle of space around it. it was a few feet away from where the compost pit was located. Nille land was somewhat also dense but it hardly have any trees on it, unlike the rest of the land next to it, the wire fence was still surrounding his area it was crated to last ten years.
Nille narrowed his eyes slightly. "A Nuno…" he murmured.
Granny Amparo nodded. "A guardian of the land. Old, but not gone. You have one here, quietly watching over your soil."
Nille stepped closer, cautious but calm. He understood the rules, nothing from the unseen world gave without balance. Everything required exchange, respect, acknowledgment.
"I'll need permission," he said quietly.
"Of course," Granny Amparo replied. "You don't take from them. You ask."
Nille stopped a few steps from the mound. The air felt heavier here, but not hostile, more like awareness, as if something beneath the soil had already noticed him.
Then he saw it.
The Nuno sa Punso was already there.
Kneeling.
Its small form bowed forward atop its own mound, as if it had been waiting long before Nille arrived. The posture was not fear, but recognition.
It knew who stood before it.
The warehouse garden seemed to fade into silence, leaving only the soft rustle of grass and the quiet, grounded presence of the land spirit acknowledging the babaylan who walked between worlds.
Nille stood still in front of the mound, letting the silence settle first. He didn't force his third eye open fully, just enough to feel the presence rather than overwhelm it. The air around the Nuno sa Punso was dense, like the ground itself was breathing slowly.
"Are you the one maintaining this place?" Nille asked quietly.
The mound shifted faintly. Not physically like moving soil, but like awareness responding. A presence rose from beneath it, forming a low, grounded voice that felt more like vibration than sound.
"Yes… human who walks with spirit sight."
("Oo… tawo nga naglakaw nga naay panan-aw sa espiritu.")
Nille didn't flinch. "I need help expanding the compost pit. Twice the size. Deeper. It will be used to restore the soil and nourish the land."
A pause followed. The grass around the mound rustled slightly, though no wind passed through.
"You ask to change the body of the land I guard."
("Gipangayo nimo nga usbon ang lawas sa yuta nga akong gibantayan.")
Nille nodded once. "I'm not taking from it. I'm trying to heal it. The land around here has been disturbed. I need balance restored."
The presence lingered again, as if studying him.
"Humans take… and rarely return."
("Ang mga tawo mokuha… ug panagsa ra mobalik.")
Nille's gaze softened slightly. "I understand why you would think that. But I'm not asking blindly. I'm offering this in exchange."
He gently placed a small pouch of sugar on the ground as an offering.
A faint shift in energy followed. The tone of the Nuno became less rigid.
"Exchange is law."
("Ang baylo mao ang balaod.")
Granny Amparo, standing a few steps behind, remained silent. Her expression was calm, almost proud—but she did not interfere. This was not her negotiation.
Nille exhaled slowly. "What do you want in return?"
A long pause followed.
Then the Nuno responded.
"Clean soil. No poison. No plastic beneath the ground."
("Limpyo nga yuta. Walay hilo. Walay plastik ilalom sa yuta.")
Nille's eyes narrowed slightly as he understood immediately. The contamination from deeper pipes. The hidden waste. The same problem affecting the Kinabalu.
"I can't remove the pipes myself," he said honestly. "But I can reduce the spread. I can redirect, filter, and purify what reaches this land."
The mound vibrated faintly, considering.
"You speak carefully… not like the others."
("Matarong ka'g istorya… dili sama sa uban.")
Nille gave a small nod. "I don't want to break your home. I want to expand it safely."
Another pause. Longer this time.
The grass around the mound slowly relaxed, as if tension was easing from the soil itself.
"Then I will help," the Nuno said at last. "But I will not move alone. The land must agree."
("Tabangan tika. Pero dili ko molihok nga ako ra. Ang yuta kinahanglan mouyon.")
Nille stepped slightly closer, lowering his voice. "Then let's work with it. Not against it."
("Dayon, magtinabangay ta niini. Dili kontra sa yuta.")
The energy around the mound shifted, subtle, but accepting. The soil beneath began to darken and loosen, not collapsing, but preparing, like muscles relaxing before movement.
Granny Amparo finally smiled faintly from behind. Still silent. Still watching.
Nille straightened slightly. "Thank you," he said.
The Nuno responded simply.
"Do not betray the soil."
("Ayaw tawn iluwa ang yuta.")
Nille nodded once. "I won't."
And as the agreement settled into the ground itself, the backyard no longer felt like just a warehouse space, it felt like a shared threshold between worlds, where land, spirits, and intent quietly aligned.
Nille turned away from the Nuno sa Punso, his steps slow and deliberate as he walked back toward the warehouse back door. The tall grass behind him rustled softly, as if acknowledging the pact had been made and sealed into the soil itself. Granny Amparo remained for a moment longer, her faint, hazy form watching him with that familiar, gentle smile before she slowly faded into the evening air like drifting mist.
Inside, the warehouse felt different, quieter, but more focused, as if it too understood what was about to happen. Nille stepped in and exhaled once, steadying himself.
"Scarf," he called quietly, "prepare everything. The herbal storage. The medicinal sets. All of it. We're moving."
The scarf responded immediately, its threads shifting and tightening with precision around his shoulders.
"All collected herbs are already catalogued and stabilized," it replied. "Storage integrity is intact. I will compress and synchronize them for rapid deployment. You are preparing for full transition into the mirrored realm, correct?"
Nille nodded once. "Yeah. We're going back to the Kinabalu's location."
A brief pause followed. The scarf's tone grew more focused.
"Understood. I will also align your energy signature for smoother passage. However, note this, entry into the mirror realm at your current state will be more stable than before. Your previous fragmented resonance has been corrected by recent spell integration."
Nille flexed his hand slightly, feeling the faint hum of energy beneath his skin. "Good. I don't want delays."
The scarf tightened gently, almost like a final seal.
"All systems prepared. Herbal reserves synchronized. Spell memory bank stabilized. Entry point to mirrored realm can be accessed at your command."
Nille closed his eyes for a brief moment. In his mind, he saw it again, the Kinabalu, buried beneath layers of corruption, suffering silently, unable to express its intent beyond pain. Natty still unaccounted for. The elders tightening their control. The imbalance growing worse with every passing hour.
He opened his eyes.
"Then let's go," he said quietly.
The scarf pulsed once, sharp, deliberate.
And in that instant, the boundary between the mortal world and the mirrored realm began to thin, responding to his presence as Nille prepared to step back into a place where nature, spirits, and consequences all waited for him to return.