It had been two days since the sky was torn open.
The entire Philippines now lay beneath an Orange Rainfall Warning, a signal for relentless downpour and possible flooding. Thunder echoed across the archipelago like distant drums, and lightning danced behind the clouds like silent streaks of war.
Above Cebu, the Gate still hovered—massive, unmoving, and watching.
It hung in the sky like a divine judgment, a swirling black mass crowned with crackling arcs of lightning. To the people on the ground, it looked like an eye—an eye that refused to blink.
Around the area, Agents of the Gate Association worked tirelessly. Despite the constant rain, they secured the perimeter, patrolled rooftops, and guided citizens to safety. Some were soaked to the bone, but none complained. The tension in the
