CHAPTER ONE
The Blind
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
He could smell the sting of smoke, sharp and thin. It had only just begun drifting in from the center of the village. It clung low to the ground at twilight, brushing against his skin as it wove between huts, warm and acrid in the back of his throat. The sounds of the village were fading—quiet footsteps, low voices, the last clatter of kindling as people settled in for the night. The dirt path was cracked and dry; stones pressed into the soles of his feet, and the roots scraped his skin. Behind the thin walls of their homes, people moved and murmured to each other, finishing their meals.
He could feel the dying light of the sky on his skin, the patches on his arms, and the sting behind his eyes. His condition didn't have a name, or if it did, no one here had bothered to learn it. All he knew was that it hurt, less at night, worse during the day. Right now, it was tolerable, though not gone.
He focused on his sister, the only good thing left in his life and the only kind of light that did not cause him pain. She was singing again, and he recognized the tune even before the words reached him, because it was the lullaby their mother used to hum.
"Agiw!" he called softly, a smile tugging at his lips as he pictured her waiting by the tree. "I found food! I'm almost there!" She couldn't hear him: she never really did when she was scared. Whenever that song came out, it meant she was trying to feel safe, like their mother was still nearby.
Sleep now, little blaze,
Then his focus scattered. Part of him stayed with his sister, still listening to her voice, but something else pulled his attention away. Behind him, a footstep landed—too hard. Then silence. Then another. He stopped walking and listened. At night, the air was layered with the buzz of insects, the crackle of fire, and the faint sounds of people nearby. But this was different, this one followed his steps.
born in the black of dying hearth
A cold sweat rose on his skin as he tried to separate the sound of footsteps behind him from his sister's lullaby and the background noise. The fish in his hand was already starting to dry out, its skin turning tacky. Oil from it had soaked into his fingers earlier, the trader hadn't even bothered to wrap it. He hadn't eaten; he was saving it for her. The man had given it to him in exchange for nothing more than a scrap of cloth. That alone was strange. He tried to brush it off as a simple act of kindness, but even that made him uneasy. Kindness wasn't something he or his sister ever received.
the gods stole your eyes,
After his brief pause, the footsteps behind him suddenly broke into a run. It felt like the sweat on his skin froze. His heart jumped, and he bolted forward. The man wasn't coming for him, he had veered off, heading straight for his sister, still waiting by the tree where he had left her. Panic surged. With every ounce of strength his small body had, he pushed harder, feet pounding the dirt, but the man was too fast. Then, just as suddenly, the footsteps ahead stopped.
but gave you the spark that eats the dark.
Her voice cut off, then a muffled sound, as if the man had covered her mouth. He wanted his racing heart to slow, its pounding drowned out his senses. Back at the beach, when he'd traded a strip of cloth, he'd sensed something off, like someone had been watching him. He'd felt a presence trailing him. Now he knew he hadn't been wrong.
"The gold, boy. Now."
The voice came from his left, it was close. The man's breath smelled of betel nut, bitter and earthy. He didn't sound right, the nut had been messing with his head.
"Gold? I don't understand." He was confused, he didn't have any gold. The elders had left them nothing, just the clothes they wore.
"Don't play dumb."
There was the sound of cloth shifting, then metal, a knife being drawn. "I saw you with it. Give it to me, or your sister dies."
A small sound, a whimper. Her voice, but strained. "It hurts... Brother, please help..."
His hands shook as he patted his clothes, but there was nothing, just fabric, no gold. "I'll give it! Just don't hurt her!"
He heard the man's foot catch on one of the tree's roots, followed by the faint shift of the blade.
"Stop stalling!"
"I'm not! I'm looking!" His voice cracked. His hands, still trembling, searched faster. He checked everywhere, even ran his fingers over the ripped part of the cloth. Yet he found nothing.
"Brother, I'm scared..." She was barely audible now; her neck was already bleeding. When the man's foot had stumbled against the root earlier, the knife he held against her soft neck slipped, and cut deep.
He started crying. He had been holding it in, afraid it might get her killed. "Help! Help us!" he shouted. "Please! Someone!" But he already knew no one would come. They were orphans from another land, with strange hair and eyes. To the villagers, what else could that mean but a curse from the gods? Then everything went quiet. A wet sound followed, something dripping onto the ground. The man swore under his breath, then his footsteps moved away, fast, toward the dark edge of the village.
Something fell, a soft thump. The boy crawled forward, hands searching blindly through dirt, then fabric, then something wet and warm, the smell of blood.
"Agiw?" His voice trembled.
There was no answer.
He stayed there, for a long time. The warm blood soaked into his clothes, his tears mixed with it. The ground was cold, the world was quiet, and the light was drained completely.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Fifteen years had carved a hard edge into the world since the night Agiw died. Now, the sky was dark gray; lightning cracked through the clouds, followed by thunder that shook his chest. His hands, slick with blood, clung to a length of rope tangled around the boat's overturned outrigger. The lightning showed the scared faces of the few men still alive before darkness returned. Most had died when the boat flipped, crushed underneath it. Another lightning streak revealed the huge wave coming toward them. When it hit, the force tore his hands from the rope. Water filled his lungs as he went under. His vision blurred, then went black.
Kalayo squinted as he opened his eyes. The harsh sunlight burned after the darkness he'd just escaped. The salty breeze stung his face, and the scent of the sea filled his lungs. Slowly, his vision adjusted; then he saw nothing, just endless ocean, no other boats in sight.
He was alive, somehow. The last thing he remembered was the wave, then nothing. Now he was in another boat, drifting aimlessly under a pale, punishing sky. This was meant to be a raid, one of Rayo's. A push south, toward richer islands. Word was, the Datu's people had gone hungry after failed harvests and lost trade; he must've thrown everything into this.
Kalayo sat up and looked around. He still didn't understand how Rayo had pulled it off, how he had managed to gather these bastards in one place. Five others shared the boat, all soaked and silent. Most were familiar: men whose names came up in old battles or half-true stories passed around fires. One was the reckless fool, another was the lone woman who fought better than most men. The rest were the kind you remembered only if you survived meeting them.
Their presence made no sense; they came from different islands. Warriors like them didn't fight for scraps. Gold was the only reason anyone bled for a distant chief, and Rayo didn't have enough of it.
That meant every person in this boat had their own reason for being here.
Same as him.
And especially him.
The one whose gaze always drifted to the horizon, as if he were staring past the world itself. His fingertips trailed the water beside the boat; he was too calm, eerily so. That calm didn't match the rest of him, the kind that unsettled people.
"We're lost," Baybay's tired voice broke the silence. His arms moved in slow, weary strokes.
Kalayo groaned, propping himself up on the boat's edge. "Hate to say it Baybay, but for once, you might be right. Can't see a damn thing out here." Kalayo's words cut both ways... Half agreement, half insult.
He glanced at Abo. "Not that I'd admit it to the freak here."
Silence filled the air, broken only by the lapping waves and the creaking of wood. Everyone's eyes drifted to Abo, who sat calm at the center of the boat, his fingers still trailing lazy spirals through the water.
"Was that necessary?" Dayang leaned toward Kalayo, her voice low and clipped. "He can hear you, you know."
"If you don't want all of us dead," Dagan snapped, his arms heavy from rowing, "keep your mouth shut."
Kalayo glared at Abo. "We dragged the cursed bastard with us. No wonder the Gods hurled a storm at us—they saw him on board and pissed fire from the sky." He said cursed like he meant it, as if daring Abo to flinch. But Abo only smirked. "Hope they aim better than last time."
"Do you not even care who pulled you from the water?" Dayang asked, her voice edged with dry amusement.
But of course Kalayo knew. Who else would be crazy enough to wade through that storm and still make it out alive? The thought twisted in his gut. Not from shame, but fury; he would've rather drowned than owe that bastard anything. Before he could respond, someone else cut in.
"Are you out of your mind?" Dagan grabbed Kalayo by the shoulders.
Kalayo chuckled, noticing the tremble in Dagan's grip "Remember that fool in the village who called Abo's mother a whore?"
"What about him?" Kalayo asked.
"Abo ripped out the bastard's spine and rammed it back down through his throat, skewered until his mouth was kissing his own arsehole." Dagan's face twisted in horror at the memory.
Kalayo grinned wider. "Have to give him credit. For someone who can't see, he sure found the right end to attach it to. Lucky guess?"
Dayang glanced toward Tuglaw, still at the stern. A quiet, heavyset warrior with wide wrists and a dead man's stare. His hand rested loosely on the hilt of his axe, but not idly. Always ready.
Baybay said nothing. Just kept paddling, eyes on the horizon. He looked like a man who'd been paid just enough to regret saying yes.
"Look, I know you're scared shitless of him, but take a good look around." Kalayo swept his arm at the endless blue. "I'd rather take my chances with the blind bastard than rot here." His voice rose. "Besides," Kalayo sneered and knocked Dagan's hands off with a sharp twist. "That bastard's a coward. He wouldn't kill me even if the world begged him to."
He leaned closer to Abo, voice low, teeth bared. Almost a whisper, almost a dare. "And look at me, Abo. I'm begging."
"For once, don't vanish. Don't go crawling into the dark like you always do. Fight me. Right here, right now." He spread his arms wide, grinning like a lunatic. "Come on, blind bastard. You can't run this time."
Dagan stepped in, close enough their foreheads nearly touched. "You want to die, fine. But that thing sits right behind me, and if he snaps, I'll be the first one he guts." His voice was low, steady. "So shut up and think."
Dagan looked at Abo. The scar across Abo's eyes, the ruptured vessels and raw flesh, made him shiver. Abo's skin was a patchwork of pale bone-white and scorched red, blistered in places, peeling in others, as if fire had once claimed him.
"We're nearing land," Abo said suddenly.
Kalayo scoffed. "And how'd you figure that out? The water whisper it to you?" Even after Dagan's warning, he wouldn't stop. With a sigh, Dagan dragged a hand down his face from frustration.
"Currents follow a pattern," Abo explained. "Near land, it shifts. Shallower water pushes the boat differently."
"Are we really close to land?" Baybay muttered. "Or just going in circles?"
"I'm blind, not stupid," Abo snapped. "The currents told me more than your eyes did."
"Let's hope he's right," Dayang said quietly. "I don't fancy another night out here."
Kalayo shook his head.
Abo smirked. "If you'd rather breathe water than air, be my guest. Otherwise, paddle."
Kalayo stared at him, his chest tight with the pull of old anger and memory, but he gripped his paddle and dug into the water. The others followed—Baybay, Dayang, Dagan, even Tuglaw, who didn't say a word. The boat moved steadily, cutting through the waves as the mist began to thin. Land emerged, a faint outline at first, then sharpening into a jagged shore. Datu Rayo's party waited near the water's edge, some standing knee-deep, guiding the canoes in. The hull scraped against sand and rock as they reached the beach.
Abo's group had made it. Rayo stepped forward, scanning the arrivals, his expression eased when he saw the faces. "Kalayo the Fearless. What kept you?"
Kalayo climbed out of the boat. His clothes were soaked, and his arms shook from the cold. He stepped onto the wet sand and stood straight.
"Storm hit us hard, Datu. My boat capsized, I nearly drowned to death. Dayang and the others pulled me out."
Rayo gave a slow nod. "We'd have lost a fine warrior. Well done, Dayang."
"It was Abo," Dayang said. She stepped down from the boat behind Kalayo. "He kept us alive, and heard Kalayo's call. We just pulled him back."
Baybay followed, dragging a coil of rope behind him. "Couldn't hear a thing over Kaptan's thunder."
Rayo's eyes moved to Abo, who was the last to climb out. His feet hit the shore with a wet slap, sand clung to his legs.
It was a weird thing to say, that Abo saved someone, it is as unusual as someone taking a crap in a dirt trail. He gave Kalayo a quick glance, then looked straight at Abo. "Seems Katio's crazy bastard isn't as mad as they say. How'd you read the waters…?"
Abo smiled. "It's quite simple. Being blind means I rely on senses others ignore."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The beach was tense as twilight settled in. The sky turned deep purple and gold, casting long shadows across the sand. Abo couldn't see it, but he could feel the change. The sting on his skin, always worse in daylight, began to ease. It was the one part of the day when the pain lifted—just enough to notice what remained underneath. The dying of light always brought a different kind of ache. He stood a short distance from the others, still, silent, unreadable, his fingers brushing the peeled surfaces of his skin. The group moved around him, sharpening bolos, securing ropes tightly, and whispering prayers to ancestral spirits. Datu Rayo stood at the edge of the shore, his back to them, staring out over the water.
Rayo stepped closer.
"Admiring the view, are we?"
"Oh yes, Datu. The sunset is breathtaking today," Abo smirked.
Rayo chuckled. "If only your eyes were as sharp as your wit." But his smile didn't last. His expression darkened as he stepped in close.
"While you and the others were stranded," Rayo said, "my scouts swept the land."
Abo tilted his head. "And?"
Rayo grabbed him by the neck. The grip was sudden, firm. Not quite hostile, but just shy of it. Abo's expression didn't change. His milky, ruptured eyes twitched, pupils never still.
"The path you described," Rayo said. "It's not what you claimed. The delta's too narrow, the banks are steep, and the patrols have doubled. The village is fortified. Watchfires burning all night, guards posted in towers. You told me this would be easy."
His voice dropped. "You lied."
Abo's brow twitched. He didn't flinch, didn't struggle. He simply reached up, wrapped his fingers around Rayo's wrist, and peeled the hand from his throat. The grip was steady—not violent, but it left Rayo's forearm aching.
"I didn't lie," Abo said quietly. "You asked for a way in, and I gave you the one most would expect. I never said it was the only one."
Rayo's glare lingered, but greed began to rise behind it.
"You worry too much," Abo added. "There's always a path. The tighter the net, the fatter the catch."
Rayo exhaled. "We don't have many options. The delta's the only clear approach. Everything else is too thick to cut through before dawn. If we're attacking tonight, we go up the river."
Abo turned slightly, not quite facing him. "What about the passages surrounding the village?"
Rayo sighed. "It's marshland. The whole place is waterlogged. That's where the mangroves meet the delta. Roots, mud, black silt."
"Treacherous ground."
"Exactly. Nearly impassable."
Abo's fingers brushed the edge of his bolo. "Nearly... but not entirely. Let me take the swamp. I'll lead a small strike team around the rear. While your men draw them out, we hit from behind."
Rayo didn't even hesitate. "No."
Abo turned now, facing him fully. "Why not?"
"You're coming with us," Rayo said. "To the front."
Silence stretched between them.
"You need someone to draw their attention," Rayo continued. "Someone the defenders will see and recognize. That has to be you. If they don't believe the threat's coming from the shore, they'll focus on the rear. And your shadows will be cut down before they can reach the gates."
Abo's jaw tightened. "Then give me both. I strike from the front, but I still pick who goes through the swamp."
Rayo held his gaze. Then gave a short, reluctant nod. "Fine. Choose your shadows, but you don't go with them."
✦ ✦ ✦
End of Chapter