NIGHT HUNG over the cave system like a thick, wet shroud, pressing into skin and bone. The tunnels whispered with the kind of quiet that made you feel watched, even if the watchers had long turned to dust. Torch-orbs flickered faintly in the distance, their glow barely reaching the rough, coral-veined stone as Gray pulled himself through the vent shaft, his palms scraping against the edges of the rock. His breath hitched as his shoulder squeezed through the narrowest section, then finally, air.
The moment he landed on solid ground, he turned to help the others up. Troy followed next, grunting as he shoved himself through the tight shaft, landing with an athletic thud.
Then came the dog.
It slid out of the vent like it had done this a thousand times, paws making barely a sound as it landed beside them, shoulders rolling in practiced quiet. Still massive. Still matte black. Still radiating the same hunting energy that made Gray feel like it could tear out a man's throat before breakfast and use his ribs as toothpicks. It sniffed the air once, padded a slow circle around the room's perimeter, and then sat calmly by Troy's side.
Troy gave it a pat on the head and muttered, "Good boy, Kanye."
Gray blinked. "What?"
Troy looked around and found himself being stared at by the people around. "Oh. Meet my dog," he bent low to play with the dog, "Kanye West."
Amara froze halfway through crouching beside a rock and turned slowly. Agta squinted like the name itself caused him physical pain. "You named the hound Kanye West?"
Troy shrugged without shame. "What?"
The three of them stared at him. The dog did not. The dog stared off into the dark, ears twitching, like it was still listening to something none of them could hear. One of its paws twitched against the stone. Ready.
Gray rubbed his temples. "We're gonna die down here. And it's going to be your fault, West."
Troy ignored him. "His name is Kanye. Or Ye. He responds to both."
Agta muttered, "I'd respect this more if I understood it less."
And then, just like that, the moment passed. The humor drained, leaving behind the heavier silence of the cave around them. Gray looked up again and saw the vent shaft had led them into a wider hollow chamber. The air here was clearer, cooler. There was a large opening above them, just out of reach, and another tunnel entrance opposite—wide, dark, and pulsing faintly with the scent of algae and something older.
But they weren't alone.
Two kataus stood guard at the far side of the room, half-hidden behind a column of spiraled stone. They weren't talking. They didn't look bored. Their tridents gleamed faintly in the dark like teeth, and they stood with the stillness of predators who had already heard something out of place. One turned slightly, head tilting, nostrils flaring.
Gray's hand went instinctively to the nearest chunk of broken basin at his feet. His knees bent. His heart started beating like a war drum. He didn't breathe. That was when he noticed something strange. Amara wasn't moving. She was crouched behind the outcropping next to him, back against the wall, her eyes tracking the kataus with clinical interest. Not fear. Not tension. Just... observation. She wasn't readying herself. She didn't even reach for a weapon.
Gray's brows drew together. Then came the sound of someone cracking their knuckles.
Troy walked forward. No crouch. No silence. Just the steady weight of bootsteps scraping on stone. The kataus heard him and turned, tridents raised, eyes flaring in recognition, but it was already too late.
Troy didn't hesitate. He closed the distance like a wave crashing forward, no flourish, no warning. Just violence. He ducked under the first trident swing and drove his shoulder into the creature's gut, lifting it clean off the ground and slamming it into the stone wall with a thud that echoed through the chamber like a slammed door. The second katau lunged at him from the side, teeth bared, but Troy turned into the strike. He caught the weapon arm under his own and twisted, the snap of bone muffled by a shout. The katau stumbled. Troy brought an elbow down across its skull so hard the body crumpled instantly, falling limp beside its partner.
It was quick. Brutal. Efficient.
Gray stared, blinking once, twice. Amara, still crouched, stood calmly and stepped over the bodies as if she'd just waited for a door to open. She didn't even look at Troy. Gray let out a breath and muttered, "Okay. So that's why she didn't lift a finger."
Troy turned, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "You're welcome."
Gray raised an eyebrow, stepping past one of the unconscious kataus. "Still not impressed. You just fight like someone who lifts fridges for fun."
Troy snorted. "And you fight like someone who's afraid of stairs."
"You haven't even seen me fight, thickhead."
"Dickhead."
Their voices overlapped and cut off, like a script they were both tired of reading but couldn't resist quoting.
Then something shifted.
A sound. Heavy. Wet. From the tunnel on the far side of the chamber, something groaned. Not mechanical. Not man-made. A sound of weight. Of something massive and alive dragging itself forward.
Agta was already moving. He stepped past them all and walked straight toward the tunnel mouth, not hurried, but with intent. Like a soldier answering a familiar call. "Lamad," he said simply.
Troy turned. "Who's Lamad?"
Without waiting for an answer, Agta vanished into the dark of the tunnel.
Gray didn't look back. "Apparently, his berberoka friend." He followed, stepping into the black like he had always known it would call him.
Troy stood frozen for a beat longer, eyes narrowing. "A berberoka? Are we seriously talking about the big—"
Amara's voice drifted past him like mist.
Troy sighed. "Okay. Alright. Fine." He ran a hand down his face, gave one last look at the downed guards, and muttered under his breath, "Great." Then he followed. The tunnel swallowed them whole.
The tunnel was narrow at first, but it opened as they went deeper. Not into anything comforting. Just more shadows, more turns. The air hung heavier here, thick with wet stone and moss, the scent of lichen and time pressing into their lungs like an unseen weight. Their steps echoed differently in this part of the underworld. Not sharp like stone-on-stone, but cushioned by something more primal. Like the earth was listening now, not just holding them.
Then the path split. Not once. Not twice. At least five separate tunnel mouths yawned before them in a half-circle, each as dark and silent as the next. The group stopped instinctively, eyes shifting from one black hole to the other. Gray squinted, then glanced around. No markings. No signs. Just damp rock and the whisper of water from somewhere deep behind them.
"Now what?" Gray said, voice low. He wasn't really asking anyone in particular, just naming the weight in the room.
Troy brushed past both him and Amara like he had always been leading. "Excuse me. Expert coming through." He didn't just walk between them—he shouldered Gray on purpose.
Gray scoffed. "What, you sniffed a clue out of the damp?"
Troy ignored him completely. "Kanye," he said.
At the name, the black hound padded forward. Its massive frame moved with that same terrifying grace, each pawstep silent and sure. Kanye sniffed at the air once, then lowered his head and began pacing in tight circles. The group watched in silence as the dog inspected the various tunnel mouths, moving between each like he was flipping through pages only he could read. Then he stopped. One tunnel. One direction. Kanye turned his head, locked eyes with Troy, and gave a single, sharp bark.
Troy nodded. No drama. No theatrics. Just walked straight toward the marked tunnel like the dog had confirmed something already obvious.
Behind him, Gray raised his hand with sarcastic reverence. "Right. All hail the dark shepherd." Then, louder, "Hey, for the record, it wasn't your doing. It's this little ninja down here who actually has the scent—"
Troy didn't even turn around. "You want to keep talking, or do you want to find your weapons?"
That shut Gray up. Briefly.
They followed.
The tunnel Kanye led them through was tighter than the others, but not uncomfortably so. What made it difficult was the incline. The path rose gradually, and the deeper they went, the more the air changed—dryer, less dense. Like they were moving toward a space the Kataus didn't want people finding.
"Storage," Troy muttered after a few minutes. "Not guarded heavily. Katau hunters don't need armor, but they keep relics. Tools. Things stolen from surface raids. If your stuff's anywhere, it's there."
Gray blinked. For once, he didn't have a comeback. For a few seconds, he just watched the back of Troy's head, caught between curiosity and actual, reluctant respect.
It was Amara who filled the silence. "His father is Dumakulem."
Gray's head turned. "The god of the mountains?" He didn't even realize he had said it out loud.
Amara kept walking. Her eyes stayed forward, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she were reciting someone else's tragedy. "And hunting. Dumakulem walks between cliffs and prey. And yes. His actual father."
Gray lingered. The name hung in the air like fog. Dumakulem. A god. That made Troy—
Gray caught up slowly, walking in silence next to her now. "You said his father's Dumakulem. Like... his father-father?"
"The gods still mingle with mortals," Amara replied without looking at him. "If that's what you're asking."
Gray didn't answer.
His mind wandered, deeper than the tunnel could ever take him. For the first time in a long while, he thought of his own father. Or the idea of him. The silhouette of a man who never existed in his life, never held a form beyond the faintest sketch of a shadow. His grandmother had told him stories of his mother's bravery. Her strength. How she had walked into things people ran from. But none of those stories ever included a man. No names. No clues. Not even the usual bitterness that came with abandonment. Just silence.
Which, now that he was thinking about it, was worse. And suddenly, walking beside a girl who knew gods and a guy who was born from one, Gray couldn't help but feel like he was still stumbling around with no real past. Just guesses. Just echoes. Just questions that never stopped knocking.
Behind them, the tunnel exhaled cold air.
They kept walking. The tunnel curved like a ribcage around them, the walls sweating faint beads of moisture that caught the light in dull glints. Kanye padded ahead, silent except for the soft scratch of claw against stone. Agta's heavy footfalls rumbled behind them, the sound more felt than heard. Troy stayed a few paces in front, still moving with that same quiet sense of purpose, as if the dark around him was nothing more than routine.
But Gray's mind had wandered. And it stayed wandering.
He barely noticed how far his silence had stretched until Amara's presence beside him shifted slightly. Her gaze wasn't on him, not directly, but he could feel it. That quiet, curious attention. Not intrusive. Just... there. Like a hand that hadn't reached out yet, but might.
So he spoke.
"Where are we going, anyway?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, like something had been sitting in his throat for too long. "You keep mentioning this city. Is that where we're headed?"
Amara didn't answer immediately. For a moment, she just kept walking. The torch-glow behind them bounced gently across her face, catching in the lines of her jaw, the furrow of her brow. She looked like she wasn't sure whether to answer or how much to give. But finally, she did. "Malaya," she said. "City of Malaya. The home of thousands of anitos and halimaws. It's where the Tagalog tribe built their seat after the Dakilang Hiwalayan."
Gray frowned slightly. "The Great Divide thing?"
She nodded. "Malaya was built from what remained. The different tagalog angkans came together. Some were forced. Others came willingly. An alliance of necessity. Peace, maybe. But maybe order."
Gray let that settle for a moment. The air felt cooler the further they walked, or maybe it was the way the walls breathed now—wider spaces, older stones. He could almost feel the weight of history pressing on the rock around them. "And the gods?" he asked.
Amara didn't pause, but her voice took on a different tone. Not quite bitter. Not reverent either. Just something older than her age should've allowed. "Up in the heavens," she said. "We call it Kalualhatian. That's where they dwell now. After the Divide, they made a vow. For peace to last, they wouldn't intervene in mortal conflicts. Not in wars between tribes. Not in the petty messes of mortals and anitos. Because they know. They remember. Their hands started the great war that almost tore our world apart. They know what they're capable of."
"So... no gods on thrones down here," Gray muttered. "No sky-father pulling the strings."
"No," Amara said. "Just us. Just the ones left behind. Malaya isn't ruled by deities. It's governed by a council. Anitos, halimaws, chosen datus, babaylans from every major bloodline. They make the laws. They hold the peace. As much as peace can be held."
Gray didn't reply. Not at first. They kept walking, the silence stretching again, but heavier now. Not awkward. Just full. Because Gray was thinking. About himself.
About what kind of creature he was.
The truth was, he had never been much of anything worth remembering. In the mortal world, he was a thief. A liar. A kid who had figured out how to make himself forgettable because being remembered had never worked out well. Always the one in trouble. Always the one who got caught. Detentions. Run-ins. A juvenile record with just enough ink to make the grown-ups whisper. He wore it like armor. Like a joke. Because jokes were better than shame. Or fear.
And now here he was. Among monsters and spirits. Creatures from his grandmother's stories. Warriors. Demigods.
And him.
Still a liar. Still an outsider. Still walking in shadows and not knowing where they led. He wondered if that was just who he was. If this world, for all its magic and madness, would simply be another backdrop for him to mess up. Another place to screw over. Another arena to lose in.