Grim's footsteps echoed through the hallowed halls of the library's deepest wing—the restricted archives, reserved only for the highest-ranked students and faculty of Philippine Hunter University. The air grew colder the farther they walked, the scent of ancient parchment and old magic thickening with every step. Shelves loomed overhead like sleeping giants, weighed down with books bound in dragonskin, scrolls sealed with wax, and relics humming with forgotten power.
Dean Rizalde led them in silence, his presence heavy with something unspoken. Behind him, Grim and Elyse exchanged glances, the tension between curiosity and caution thick in the air. It wasn't often the dean personally invited anyone to this place.
They reached a locked alcove protected by a shimmering ward. With a simple flick of his fingers, Rizalde unraveled the spell. "This place," he said, "hasn't been walked in by students for a long time. Not even faculty dare linger unless necessary."
As the door creaked open, a gust of dry, stale wind whispered past them. Grim stepped in, eyes drawn to a pedestal at the center of the room. Upon it lay a single, weathered tome—bound in what looked like darkened fish scale, glimmering faintly under the moonlight pouring through a narrow stained-glass window.
Rizalde didn't hesitate. He flipped open the book, revealing pages etched with silver ink. A massive serpent coiled across the parchment, encircling seven moons, each inscribed with strange sigils that pulsed with lingering magic.
"She was not always a devourer," the dean said quietly, eyes fixed on the page. "The Bakunawa was once a guardian—keeper of balance, harmony, and the silent tides of fate. Long before the age of blessings, before dungeons tore our skies open, she watched over the heavens."
Grim stepped closer, his gaze locked on the serpent. Something stirred within him—a low hum in his veins. His arm tingled faintly, the scaled tattoo embedded in his skin reacting as if recognizing the image.
"She swam through the Celestial Sea," Rizalde continued, "balancing the orbits of the moons and guiding the pull of destiny. But mortals grew greedy. The gods, in their arrogance, turned away. And the moons—once perfect—were tainted by ambition and chaos."
Grim could hardly breathe. "So… she ate them?"
"To save us," Rizalde answered. "To seal away their corruption before it swallowed the world. She devoured their essence, storing it within herself. But their madness was too much, even for her. So, she birthed celestial servants—living fragments of moonlight and shadow—each tethered to a moon she had swallowed."
The air trembled slightly. The ink on the page shimmered, and silver light rose from it like smoke. Visions danced around them—phantoms of the servants.
The first was a serpent of silver bones and white fire, its jaws wide enough to consume illusions. It burned corruption wherever it hid. Another emerged, a blind prophet whose eyes glowed like frozen stars, speaking riddles in dreams. A third, a warrior clad in obsidian armor, wielded a blade that cleaved both shadow and light. Then came a leviathan of sorrow and storms, waves rising with her breath, emotions stirring with each thrash of her tail. A spectral mother walked beside her, wrapped in dreams and fog, weaving illusions with every step. A burning spirit burst forth next, wreathed in silver flame and fury, her wrath reserved for those who sought harm. And the last—a figure cloaked in twilight, watching in silence, eyes unfathomable, glimpsing across time itself.
"They are the Lunar Shadows," Rizalde said solemnly. "They sleep within the Bakunawa, fragments of her power made flesh. Most don't even believe they exist anymore. They've been wiped from records. But I've seen one... and so have you."
Grim's breath caught. He remembered the dream—the darkness, the celestial sea, the enormous serpent half-submerged beneath broken stars. A single eye opening. A voice speaking without sound.
"She called to me," Grim whispered.
Rizalde gave a knowing nod. "She still slumbers. But the seal has cracked. And your bond... it's deepening."
Later that night, the dream returned.
Grim floated weightless through an endless void. Stars hung shattered in the sky, drifting like forgotten thoughts. The Bakunawa loomed before him, her massive form curled in slumber. Her scales glittered like galaxies, and beneath her coiled body were fragments of shattered moons. One eye opened—a pale, sorrowful slit glowing with moonlight.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. A blind woman, cloaked in starlight, eyes like empty comets. Her voice was neither kind nor cruel—only inevitable.
"You are the echo... and the origin," she said. "We watch. We wait. The seals weaken."
Grim jolted awake, drenched in sweat. The tattoo on his arm pulsed with warmth, light flickering beneath his skin like trapped lightning.
The following morning, unable to shake the dream, Grim returned alone to the archives. There, hidden behind a dusty shelf, he discovered a scroll sealed with layers of old magic. Wax cracked under his fingers. The parchment unfurled, revealing drawings of chained moons, a summoner marked with a serpentine brand, and faded ink scrawled with warnings.
One phrase repeated again and again:
**"The Eighth Moon shall rise when silence meets shadow."**
He barely had time to process the meaning before a whisper cut through the quiet.
"So… you found it."
A hunched figure stepped from the corner—a man cloaked in faded robes. His left arm bore the same mark Grim did, though his was broken, scarred, corrupted.
"I tried once," the old man rasped. "She chose me... and cast me aside when I failed. I saw things no man should see. Heard the Maw's true name. It changed me."
Grim swallowed, stepping back instinctively. "Who are you?"
"A relic," the man replied with a cracked smile. "A warning. The servants don't obey. They test. They consume."
Then he vanished—dissolving into mist before Grim could speak again.
In class the next day, Professor Malonzo gave a lecture on Celestial Constructs. Grim barely paid attention until the professor, almost in passing, referenced entities similar to the Bakunawa—long-extinct myths that might have once rivaled her power.
There was mention of Hananmukid, the Dawn Drifter, who once heralded sunrise across worlds. Of Panagbalay, the triple-headed wolf who guided the lost to safety. And of Buwan-Apoy, the Moon of Fire, whose rage burned so hot that she vanished during a celestial war—possibly devoured by Siklaban herself.
Grim's thoughts raced. There were more than seven once. But now... only silence.
After class, Rizalde pulled him aside.
"There were others," he said. "But they're gone now. Destroyed in ancient wars, their names erased. Only the Bakunawa remains intact through the bond. The rest... just echoes."
Grim stared down at his arm, the mark glowing faintly beneath his sleeve. "What happens when they all awaken?"
Rizalde didn't answer.
That night, Grim stood alone at the edge of the training cliffs, wind brushing his hair as the moonlight bathed the ocean below. His thoughts were a storm.
Elyse found him there. She didn't speak at first, just stood beside him, staring out at the sea.
"I had a dream," she said finally. "She whispered your name."
Grim turned to her. "Talaaya?"
Elyse nodded. "She told me I was a tether. That we're all threads in something bigger."
He looked down, and between them, a feather drifted through the air—dark as space, yet glowing with a soft, lunar pulse. It landed gently in his open palm.
Grim closed his fingers around it.
"I think they're waking up," he said. "One by one."
Far beyond the veil of mortal realms, in a sea where stars whispered and moons bled silver, something ancient stirred. The stillness broke—not with sound, but with presence. A shiver rippled across forgotten constellations as a slumbering will exhaled its first breath in centuries.
Not just watching.
Beginning to remember.