"And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not." - John 1:5
Before the wars, before the rise of shadows and the clash of Guardians, there was only love.
Aldrin and Faith had just been married—a quiet ceremony under the warm skies of Lipa City. The air had been filled with the scent of fresh flowers, the soft hum of laughter, and the sweet whispers of promises made forever. Their vows had been simple, but they carried a weight all their own—a weight that felt untouchable, as though the world outside had no power to change what they had.
Their beginning had felt untouched by the heavy burdens of life, where hope was enough to carry them, and love was the foundation of everything they did.
But as time passed, life led them south to Davao City, where Faith's aging parents still lived. They came with little: two suitcases, wedding gifts, and each other. Their apartment was small, tucked above a noisy marketplace that never seemed to quiet down. The walls were thin, and the pipes in the bathroom groaned in protest whenever the water was turned on. Still, it was home.
Aldrin found work in short bursts—construction, deliveries, anything that paid. The hours were long, and the work was hard, but he never complained. Faith tried her hand at selling handmade goods—bracelets, earrings, knitted scarves—but the buyers were fewer each week. Even so, she never complained either.
Their strength came from each other.
One evening, after a particularly tiring day of selling, they sat together in the small living room, a single bulb dangling above their heads. Faith leaned against Aldrin, her fingers gently tracing the pattern of his worn shirt.
"Do you ever think about how different it is here?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aldrin sighed, his arm slipping around her. "I think about it every day." He paused, the weight of their lives together settling on his shoulders. "But we're making it work. We always do."
Faith smiled up at him, her eyes tired but filled with warmth. "And as long as we have each other, nothing else matters."
They had been living on these quiet assurances for months—small moments, gentle smiles, and promises whispered in the night. Every Sunday service at church was a lifeline, a moment where they could forget about the world and let the light of their faith warm them, even as everything around them grew colder.
But something began to shift in Davao.
It started slowly, like the creeping of dusk. The streets, once bustling with life, became quieter, even in the daytime. The market no longer echoed with the voices of vendors calling out to passersby. The air, once warm and comforting, seemed to hang heavier with each passing day, as if the weight of something unseen was pressing down on the city.
Faith was the first to say it aloud one evening, her eyes following the wind as it tossed their laundry on the rooftop, the clothes flapping wildly in the growing breeze. "It's getting darker here," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Not just the sky... the city."
Aldrin, who had been standing in the doorway, watched her with a furrowed brow. He had felt it too—the way the light in the city seemed to fade just a little each day, the way the people had stopped looking each other in the eye. He could feel it in his bones, a subtle, growing dread.
"I've seen it too," Aldrin said, stepping closer to her. "I saw a man on the jeepney the other day. His eyes were wild. He was clawing at the air like something was there, but it wasn't. No one seemed to notice."
Faith turned to him, her eyes wide, and for the first time in months, Aldrin saw the fear in her gaze. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped, as if the words had been swallowed by the weight of the silence that filled the room.
That night, their dreams grew darker.
Faith woke up crying, her body trembling as if from a cold, her sheets tangled around her like chains. Aldrin sat up beside her, his chest tight, the taste of ash thick in his mouth, though there was nothing he could point to as the source.
The shadows, which had always been a quiet part of their world, began to shift. At first, it was subtle. Figures moved at the edges of their vision—nothing distinct, nothing they could catch in the corner of their eye, but always enough to make them pause, to make their hearts race.
And then, the lights began to dim.
Whole neighborhoods would black out without warning, the power flickering as though the city itself were losing its will to stay awake. Churches would lose power just as the congregation began to sing, the air suddenly cold as the words of the hymns faltered and died. Preachers would stammer in the middle of their sermons, their voices strangled, as if some invisible force was choking the words out of them.
It was a slow, creeping terror.
Cracks began to appear in their apartment walls, not deep, not threatening to crumble the building, but enough to make them look twice. Aldrin ran his fingers over them one evening, his brow furrowed in concern. "These weren't here before," he muttered, though neither of them had any answer.
The city was changing. It was as though the very air had thickened, drawing the life out of everything it touched. Suffering began to seep into Davao like a poison, and though they clung to each other, tighter with each passing day, they both knew—deep in their bones—that something terrible was coming.
Faith squeezed Aldrin's hand as they walked down the street one evening, the dim light of the lampposts casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. "We can't ignore it anymore," she whispered.
Aldrin nodded, his eyes scanning the streets, where people now hurried past, their eyes downcast. The air was thick with unease. He had never felt such a weight in all his life.
"I know," he said quietly. "But we're not alone in this. We'll face it together."
And together, they walked through the streets, the quiet hum of the city now a dull, unsettling noise beneath their feet. They knew they weren't the only ones who felt it—everyone could sense it. Something dark had crossed into Davao, and its grip was tightening with each passing day.
It had been months since Aldrin and Faith moved to Davao City, and though they had hoped for a fresh start, life had been anything but easy.
Aldrin had quickly settled into his new routine, working long hours at a bustling construction site. The heavy hum of machines and the steady rhythm of the laborers became his second home. As the team's supervisor, he managed tasks, ensured safety, and did his best to keep everyone motivated. But in recent weeks, a change had come over his boss, one that sent ripples of unease through Aldrin's bones. The man who had once been patient and kind, who had greeted each day with a gentle word, was now a stranger.
The boss became colder and more demanding. His presence loomed over the workers like a storm cloud, unpredictable and threatening. His voice, once calm, now barked orders, filled with harshness and irritation. His eyes, once warm, had turned a cold, dark shade that burned with anger, a kind of rage Aldrin had never seen before. The workers, who once felt safe under his guidance, now flinched at his approach. He treated them like expendable objects—no care for their safety, no concern for their well-being.
Aldrin couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. One afternoon, during a brief break, Aldrin witnessed his boss, furious, scolding a young laborer who had made a minor mistake. The words that spilled from the man's mouth were venomous, and poisonous, each one a jagged blade meant to cut the worker down. The young man's face paled as he trembled beneath the barrage, and Aldrin couldn't stand to watch.
Without thinking, he stepped forward, his instincts kicking in. His protective nature flared, and he positioned himself between the two men, blocking his boss's rage. His boss's eyes flashed with fury, his hands clenched into fists. The air was thick with tension. Aldrin didn't flinch, despite the growing storm in the other man's gaze.
"Enough." Aldrin's voice was steady, though his heart hammered in his chest. "Don't do this."
But the boss wasn't listening. With a sudden, swift movement, his fist shot forward, landing with force across Aldrin's face. The pain flared up instantly—a sharp sting that split his lip open, and blood welled up from the wound. A bruise bloomed on his cheek as the others watched in stunned silence.
The workers stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear, unsure whether to intervene or shrink back. Aldrin, though hurt, didn't move. His gaze was unwavering as he raised a hand to silence them.
"Don't," Aldrin spoke through gritted teeth, his voice calm despite the blood trickling down his chin. "Don't let the anger spread."
The workers murmured uneasily, a few exchanging nervous glances, but they held back, too terrified to act. Aldrin's courage steadied them, though the discomfort in the air was palpable. Reluctantly, the situation dissolved, and Aldrin remained standing, his gaze still locked on his boss, who now wore a twisted grin—a smile that didn't belong to him.
But something had changed. Aldrin knew it. He could feel it deep in his gut—something dark was creeping in, and it wasn't just in his boss. It was in the city.
As the evening approached, the weight in the air grew thicker.
The last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and the once-vibrant streets of Davao were now swallowed by darkness. The city, which Aldrin had hoped would be a sanctuary, now felt more like a prison. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, growing too long, moving too quickly, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Aldrin's thoughts churned with unease as he made his way home, the bruises on his face a constant reminder of what had just transpired. His mind raced with questions, but all he could hear was the echo of his boss's venomous words. The darkness felt closer now, as though it was watching him, waiting for him to slip.
A cold shiver ran down Aldrin's spine as he turned down a familiar street. He felt it. The air seemed to grow even colder, pressing in on him from all sides. His heart hammered faster as he glanced over his shoulder.
His boss.
He was walking right behind him. The man's presence felt wrong as if his every step disturbed the very fabric of reality. The streets, once lit by street lamps, now seemed dim, like the lights had been drained of their power. Shadows twisted and coiled around the man like an extension of his being, unnatural and alive. Aldrin's pulse quickened.
Panic surged through him, raw and unrelenting. His breath became shallow, and his legs suddenly heavy. His mind screamed for him to run, but his body didn't obey. The shadows behind him were stretching, reaching for him, pulling at the edges of his vision.
"No... no, no, no!" Aldrin whispered under his breath, each word a prayer. He looked around desperately, but the street seemed to close in on him. The world was distorted, the edges of his vision warping, like the ground was shifting beneath him.
He turned down an alley, a place he didn't recognize, his mind clouded with fear. The alley was dark, almost suffocating. The flickering light of a distant streetlamp cast weak shadows, but the darkness around him seemed to grow. The air was thick, almost suffocating. He had never been here before—they had just moved to this part of the city. This alley shouldn't even exist in his memory.
He turned, and there it was again—his boss. No longer human, the darkness clung to him like a second skin, and his eyes glowed with an unnatural light.
Aldrin's legs gave way beneath him, his body trembling. "God, help me!" he muttered desperately, his voice barely a whisper. "What is this? What is happening?"
The shadows were everywhere now, closing in, suffocating him. But just as he was about to turn and run further into the alley, he collided with someone.
A man.
He stumbled backward but didn't fall, as strong hands gripped his shoulders, steadying him.
"Aldrin, are you alright?" The voice was calm, deep, and familiar. Aldrin's panic-stricken mind struggled to process it.
"Pastor Anthony...?"
The man in front of him smiled gently, and with a firm, steady hand, Pastor Anthony Von helped him regain his balance.
Aldrin turned to look back down the alley—and the shadows had vanished. The darkness that had consumed the space was gone. The streetlight glowed bright, casting a warm, safe light over the pavement.
"What happened?" Aldrin's voice cracked as he looked up, bewildered. "I—I was running... I thought I was being followed... by him... the shadows..."
Pastor Anthony placed a hand on his shoulder, a comforting weight. "You're safe now, Aldrin. You don't have to fear the darkness anymore."
Aldrin turned, looking one last time down the alley, his breath coming in uneven gasps. His boss, the shadows—everything was gone.
"You saw them, didn't you?" Aldrin asked, his voice trembling.
"Not tonight, son," Pastor Anthony replied quietly. "But remember this: the darkness never stays hidden long. Just know that there's more light in you than you realize."
Aldrin nodded slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He didn't fully understand what had happened, but a strange sense of peace washed over him. For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe again.
The darkness may have retreated, but deep down, Aldrin knew.