Night enveloped the highlands of northern Luzon like a heavy, impenetrable blanket. The dense fog clung to the pine trees, their gnarled branches stretching toward the darkened sky like ancient hands reaching for a forgotten world. A faint breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and the distant call of nocturnal creatures. The mountains had always been silent guardians, but tonight they seemed to hum with an energy Edil could not fully grasp. The mountain spirits whispered to him as if urging him forward.
In the heart of this vast, untouched wilderness lay the village of San Lakan—home to the Val family, whose ancient lineage of alchemists had long been shrouded in mystery. Edil Val, the youngest of his line, knelt in the dimly lit family chamber, his hands trembling as he pressed them to the cold stone of the altar. The room was steeped in both reverence and secrecy. Torches flickered with a soft glow, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The ceiling was adorned with intricate carvings of ancestral symbols, their meanings lost to time but still holding the weight of centuries of tradition.
Edil's heart beat in rhythm with the slow, deliberate breaths he took. He had come here tonight with a singular purpose—to prove himself worthy of his lineage. The Val family had been entrusted with an ancient secret, a gift from the gods themselves: the art of alchemy. Passed down through generations, this knowledge had made his family revered and feared. Now, it was his turn to embrace that power.
A vial of golden elixir rested before him, its contents glowing faintly in the dim light. It was a mixture of rare herbs and elements, distilled over countless hours by his father, Lakan Valdez, the patriarch of the family. His father had always been distant, a man more focused on the alchemical arts than on his own son, but Edil had always admired him. Tonight, Edil was not just performing a rite—he was preparing to take the first steps into a legacy far older and more dangerous than he could ever imagine.
"Tonight," Edil whispered to the empty room, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "I dedicate myself to the Val lineage. I will prove I am worthy of our power. I will make my father proud."
With a final deep breath, Edil uncorked the flask. The scent of rare herbs and an undercurrent of burning incense filled the air as he tilted the flask to his lips. The liquid was warm, like the very essence of the earth itself, flowing down his throat and spreading a sense of heat through his chest. The moment the elixir hit his bloodstream, his vision blurred for a moment. His mind felt as though it was lifting from his body, and his senses sharpened. He could feel the pulse of the mountain beneath his feet, the faint stir of the wind around him, and the hum of power that surged through the air.
For a moment, he thought he could hear voices—the soft murmurs of his ancestors guiding him. The flames of the torches flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the chamber. Edil closed his eyes, allowing the feeling of transcendence to wash over him.
But then—a crack, like the sound of wood splitting under great pressure, shattered the moment.
Edil's eyes snapped open. The air grew heavy, suffocating. He felt an unfamiliar chill creep down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The faint glow of the runes carved into the altar flickered, and a sense of foreboding flooded the room.
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and unyielding. The sound echoed from above, vibrating the very ground beneath him. Edil's heart skipped a beat as the door to the chamber burst open, its hinges groaning under the pressure. The light from outside flooded the dark room, casting long, menacing shadows.
Several figures dressed in crimson robes stormed into the chamber, their movements precise and practiced. Edil's gaze hardened as his eyes flicked over each of them, noting their sharp, angular features hidden behind masks. At their lead stood a woman, her bearing commanding and regal. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight knot, and her eyes—cold and unyielding—locked onto Edil with a gaze that sent a shiver through his soul.
"Val house!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "You stand accused of the murder of the noble family of Manlalaban. Their blood cries out for justice, and your blood will answer for it."
Edil's heart stilled in his chest. The words hit him like a physical blow. His family, his honor, his life—ruined in an instant. He stood, unsteadily at first, the weight of the accusation pressing down on him. "What are you talking about? We did nothing. My father—"
"Your father is a traitor," the woman interrupted, her voice colder than ice. "The Val family's time has come to an end."
Before Edil could respond, one of the masked figures stepped forward, his hand raised. With a swift motion, he plunged a jagged spear into the altar stone, shattering the flask of golden elixir Edil had just consumed. The contents spilled across the surface of the altar, sizzling as it made contact with the carved runes, causing them to glow with an unnatural light.
"A false salvation," the woman sneered. "Your rituals end now."
Edil's blood ran cold. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. "You're making a mistake. This is a lie—this is all lies."
Before he could react, the woman's voice rang out again, cold and final: "Justice is blind."
The masked figures lunged forward, weapons drawn, and Edil had no choice but to defend himself. His mind raced, trying to recall the techniques his father had taught him, but there was no time. He barely managed to avoid the first strike—a curved blade that slashed through the air with deadly precision. He dodged, his body moving on instinct, but a second strike came, faster than he could react. The blade cut across his shoulder, the pain searing him like fire.
Edil staggered back, his vision blurring with pain. He raised his hand, drawing on the remnants of the elixir's power, and summoned the energy of his ancestors. With a loud shout, he released a burst of force, pushing the attackers back.
"Enough!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but filled with newfound strength. "I will not fall this easily."
The woman sneered, stepping forward with a calmness that belied the chaos around her. "You will, Edil Val. You will."
The battle raged on, but Edil's heart was no longer in it. His thoughts raced, and with each strike, each dodge, he realized that this was no ordinary attack—it was a planned betrayal. His father, his house, and everything he had worked for were being torn apart in front of his eyes.
As the smoke filled the room and the chamber was reduced to rubble, Edil stumbled to his feet, his hand clutching the amulet his father had worn—a symbol of their family's legacy. His grip tightened around it, and he made a silent vow.
"My name … my honor … shattered," he whispered to the wind.
The sky outside darkened as dawn approached, casting the world in blood-red hues. Edil's heart burned with vengeance. He had been betrayed. But the fire within him had not been extinguished.
With his resolve firm, Edil turned and disappeared into the shadows of the mountains, ready to begin a journey that would take him far beyond the broken ruins of his home.