The rain had stopped just before midnight, leaving the summit grounds wrapped in a damp, glassy stillness. Manila's city lights glittered beyond the walls, their reflections trembling faintly on the wet pavement.
Cess moved quietly through the veranda outside her quarters, her spear slung across her back. She had been restless all evening, the same way she had the night before. The sensation was back — that faint, invisible tug at the stars and moon. It hadn't faded since she first noticed it; if anything, it had grown heavier, more insistent.
She had told herself she would try to ignore it. Sleep. Let the others rest. But the pull gnawed at her until she could not stand it anymore. She stepped into the hall, meaning to check the southern wall where she could get a better view of the bay.
She didn't expect to find Sena already there.
The Egyptian warrior stood by the shadowed archway, her chakrams crossed loosely in her hands. She didn't startle when Cess approached — her gaze was fixed on the far edge of the courtyard.
"You feel it too?" Sena asked without turning.
Cess hesitated. "…You mean the moon?"
"I mean the wrongness," Sena replied. Her voice was steady, but her eyes tracked something beyond the courtyard's torches. "Someone's moving out there."
Cess followed her gaze. In the dim light, she saw the faintest flicker of motion — a hooded silhouette slipping between the pillars along the eastern wall. The figure's steps were deliberate, their path avoiding the pools of lamplight.
Then, from the corner of her vision, she caught another movement.
Her head snapped toward the northern stairs — a second hooded figure, moving in the opposite direction, toward the old storage wing that had been closed since before the summit began.
"That's two," Sena murmured. "And I doubt they're just out for air."
Cess's grip tightened on the Spear of Tala. Her instincts screamed that they should follow, but before she could decide, the faint creak of a door echoed from somewhere above them. Both women turned their heads upward.
A third hooded shape crossed the upper gallery — just for a moment, backlit by the pale gleam of moonlight through the high windows. The hem of their cloak shifted just enough to show the outline of something strapped to their hip — long, narrow, metallic. A relic, unmistakably.
The three figures were moving independently, but their timing was too precise to be coincidence.
Sena's eyes met Cess's. No words were needed.
They split to cover more ground — Cess moving after the eastern figure, Sena slipping into the shadows toward the northern stairs.
Cess followed at a distance, keeping her steps light against the wet stone. The hooded figure ahead of her walked with the measured pace of someone who knew the patrol routes — avoiding guards, taking blind corners without hesitation.
They stopped at the far edge of the courtyard where a low section of wall overlooked the dark waters of the bay. The figure rested a hand on the stone, head tilted toward the sea. For an instant, Cess thought they might remove the hood.
Instead, they produced a small pouch and upended its contents into the water. The Spear of Tala pulsed faintly on her back, reacting — not violently, but in warning.
Cess pressed herself against the wall, willing herself to remain silent.
The figure lingered only a moment longer before turning and retracing their path. Cess slipped behind one of the broad pillars, letting them pass. In the moment they drew nearest, she caught a glimpse beneath the hood — only a jawline, a shadow of cheek, but something about the stride was… familiar.
Too familiar.
Sena's path led her to the northern storage wing. The air here was colder, the shadows thicker. The hooded figure ahead of her carried a small lantern — shuttered, its light barely enough to see by. They unlocked the old door with a key that shouldn't exist, slipped inside, and shut it quietly behind them.
Sena waited several breaths before approaching. She pressed her ear to the wood. Inside, faint metallic clinks and the low scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor.
She risked a glance through a thin gap in the warped frame — enough to see the edge of a crate marked with the seal of the summit armory.
Her eyes narrowed. No one outside the appointed guardians should have that key.
Above them, the figure on the gallery slowed as they approached the wing where the summit's visiting delegates were quartered. Their steps were soundless.
They paused before one particular door — Kael's.
For a long moment, the figure simply stood there, head tilted slightly, as if listening. The faint moonlight caught the curve of a blade at their side. Then, without knocking, without a sound, they moved on, vanishing into the far shadows of the gallery.
Cess and Sena regrouped near the central stairwell, both tense, both carrying the same realization: this wasn't one spy. This was a coordinated movement inside the summit walls.
"How many saw us?" Cess asked quietly.
"None," Sena said. "But I saw something I shouldn't have — an armory crate in the old storage wing. Locked, guarded… and someone with a key."
Cess glanced toward the upper gallery. "One of them was near Kael's room. I think they were just watching, but…" She trailed off, eyes drawn instinctively to the high windows.
The moon hung lower now, its light faint and strangely muted. And for the first time, she could almost swear she saw the shape of something vast curling just beneath its glow, far away but moving.
Out past the breakwater, the hooded figure who had poured something into the water stood on the stones again. The tide lapped higher now, each wave carrying with it the faintest rumble from below.
The moon's reflection stretched and broke, as though the sea itself were bending toward it.
The Bakunawa was listening. And the traitors within the summit were giving it every reason to wake.