Chapter 3: The Man Who Smiled Like a Blade
915 Words
Morning arrived without mercy.
The sun didn’t creep in politely—it claimed the longhouse, flooding it with gold light and heat that made sleep impossible to cling to. I lay there for a moment, staring at the woven ceiling, listening to life stir outside: footsteps, voices, the rhythmic thunk of wood against wood.
A kingdom waking up.
And apparently, so was I—inside it.
Lila appeared with a change of clothing before I could spiral too deeply. A simple wrap skirt, light and breathable, and a loose top that tied at the side.
“You’ll need to look… less like a vision and more like a woman,” she said briskly.
“That’s ominous.”
“The court is awake,” she replied. “And so is he.”
That narrowed my focus. “Rajah Alon?”
“Yes,” she said. “And unfortunately—him.”
I paused mid-tie. “That tone suggests I should be worried.”
“You should be alert,” she corrected. “Datu Kalas enjoys puzzles.”
“Is he… friendly?”
She winced. “To his own reflection.”
Great.
We stepped outside into controlled chaos. Warriors trained in the open clearing—bare torsos slick with sweat, muscles coiling and releasing as blades flashed in the sun. The sound of metal striking metal rang sharp and intimate, like the language of violence spoken fluently.
My attention snagged instantly.
Not on Rajah Alon—though he stood near the training ring, arms folded, watching with an unreadable expression—but on the man sparring at the center.
He moved like he was enjoying himself.
Where Alon was controlled, precise, economical—this man was fluid, almost playful. His blade danced rather than struck, teasing his opponent into mistakes before punishing them swiftly. He smiled as he fought.
And something about that smile made my instincts whisper danger.
He disarmed his opponent with a neat twist, the wooden blade flying from the man’s grip. Laughter broke out among the watching warriors.
The smiling man turned—and his gaze landed on me.
It lingered.
Then his smile widened.
“Oh no,” I murmured.
Lila sighed. “That’s Datu Kalas.”
He strode toward us without waiting for permission, wiping sweat from his neck with a cloth. Up close, he was striking in a very different way from Rajah Alon—leaner, sharp-eyed, his confidence worn openly instead of contained.
His eyes flicked over me, unapologetic and curious.
“So,” he said. “You’re real.”
I crossed my arms. “That’s usually my line.”
He laughed, delighted. “She speaks boldly. I like that.”
Rajah Alon stepped forward then, his presence shifting the air like a storm front.
“Kalas,” he said evenly.
“Rajah,” Kalas replied, dipping his head in the barest acknowledgment. “You’ve been hiding interesting things.”
“I don’t hide,” Alon said. “I guard.”
Kalas’s eyes never left me. “A pity.”
I felt it then—the invisible tension snapping tight between them. This wasn’t rivalry born of ambition alone.
This was history.
“And you are?” Kalas asked me.
I met his gaze steadily. “Unimpressed.”
His laughter rang out again. “Ah. She wounds cleanly.”
Alon’s jaw tightened.
“She will meet the babaylan,” the rajah said. “That is all.”
“But the forest chose her,” Kalas replied lightly. “And the forest lies partly within my lands.”
I stiffened. “I’m not property.”
Kalas looked pleased. “No. You’re a complication.”
That word again.
We were interrupted by a low, resonant chant drifting through the clearing. An older woman approached, staff in hand, her hair silvered but her eyes bright and sharp.
The babaylan.
She stopped in front of me and studied my face like she was reading something written beneath my skin.
“You came through the root,” she said. “Not the branch.”
“That’s… bad?”
“It is rare,” she replied. “And costly.”
Rajah Alon watched me carefully now. “What does it mean?”
The babaylan’s gaze flicked between the two men.
“It means,” she said slowly, “that her presence will draw out what is hidden.”
Kalas’s smile sharpened. “How fortunate.”
The babaylan continued, “Desires. Fears. Blood debts.”
I swallowed.
“Someone will try to claim her,” the old woman said calmly. “Someone will try to use her. And the forest will decide who survives the attempt.”
Silence fell like a blade dropped between us.
Rajah Alon moved first.
“She remains under my protection.”
Kalas tilted his head. “For now.”
Their gazes locked—and something primal passed between them. Challenge. Ownership. Warning.
I suddenly understood.
This wasn’t just about me.
I was the spark in something already soaked in oil.
Later, as Lila led me away, I felt eyes on my back. I glanced over my shoulder.
Kalas was watching me openly now, his smile gone, his expression intent.
Rajah Alon stood beside him, unreadable—but his hands were clenched.
Attraction wasn’t a quiet thing anymore.
It was visible.
And in a world like this, visibility was dangerous.
As the forest rustled beyond the walls, I had the unsettling sense that it wasn’t just watching.
It was waiting.
- Writer
