Maharlika

CHAPTER 2

That night, while the village slept, Kalas lingered outside their hut. Nanang’s snores reached him through thin walls and the warmth of torches touched his skin.

He wanted to say goodbye.

He almost did.

But as soon as he tried, Nanang’s soft voice echoed in his mind and the words ‘we need you’ haunt him. He feared that if he did say goodbye, he’d think Sulay was right— that this life was enough.

He clenched his jaw and his hands gripped his spear tight. Enough had never sat right with him.

So, when the wind carried the faint sound of drums from the distant forest, drums that seemed to echo the beat of his heart…

Kalas made a choice.

He took one last look at their hut, at the faint glow that felt too much like home, and whispered,

“I’ll come back, I promise…”

Then he ran with nothing but his spear— past the torches, past the sleeping huts, past the quiet fields that stretched under the moonlight— and into the dark.

He could feel the wind on his face as he ran, the faint burn in his legs— but not the sting of pain that suddenly came crashing on his face.

“Argh! What in the—” He exclaimed as he felt a hard surface hit his face, the impact was so strong, it made him stagger.

“You could've at least said goodbye, you bastard.”

He froze. The voice was rough, familiar— definitely pissed.

He looked up to face dark, brown eyes that shined gold with the firelight, the same eyes that mirrored his. Sulay stood there, fist still raised, looking like he’d been waiting just to hit him.

“Did you really think I wouldn't know?” Sulay said, his tone bordering between anger and disappointment.

Kalas groaned, rubbing his jaw. “You didn’t have to punch me.”

“You deserved it.”

Kalas scowled. “You’ve got a real problem using your fists for everything, you know that?”

Sulay crossed his arms, unimpressed. “You would too, if you had a brother as stubborn as a damn rock.”

Kalas scoffed. “If you already knew that, why are you out here stopping me?”

“You’re a slave, Kalas,” Sulay shot back, voice sharp but shaking, “did you really think they’d just let you waltz in there? They’ll kill you even before Sandugo begins.”

“I’d rather die than rot here,” Kalas muttered.

He braces for another punch—

But Sulay just exhales, tosses a small bundle at his chest.

“You’ll need this, idiot.”

Inside: a folded bahag woven in deep indigo, a simple baro, a few strips of dried meat, and a Kris wrapped in cloth. At the bottom, something glinted — a gold emblem carved with a serpent devouring the sun.

The Datu's Emblem.

The proof of his authority.

Kalas blinks. “The Datu’s—?”

Sulay looked away, jaw tight.

“He didn’t say it out loud,” he began, voice low, almost careful. “But he left it on our doorstep this afternoon. Said it was for someone who refused to be a slave.”

The air was still.

Kalas stared at the emblem, the words sinking in. “Since when has he ever—”

Sulay’s brows furrowed, his gaze steady now, full of something between pride and warning.

“He may be our master,” he said, “but before he is that, he is our chieftain.”

Sulay’s eyes fell to the bag, to the woven cloth and the glint of gold.

“He’s seen you train before dawn. He’s seen you fight when no one was watching. Don’t think he hasn’t.”

He met Kalas’s gaze again, firm.

“We owe him our lives, Kalas. So don’t waste what he’s given. Make it mean something.”

Sulay's eyes burned— with worry, fear and maybe even envy. He too, could be more but instead chose what he does best. safety.

Kalas clutches the bag tight. “You could come with me.”

Sulay looks at him intently, “Your way isn't the only way, Kalas.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them said anything. Just the torches, the night wind, and the unspoken ache between brothers who wanted different things.

Finally, Sulay muttered, “Go. Before I change my mind and drag you back.”

Kalas hesitated— then smiled, faint and sincere. “Tell Nanang and Aryas, I’ll come back stronger.”

“Tell them yourself.” Sulay turned away, voice breaking just slightly. “When you do.”

Kalas nodded, gripping his spear tighter. Then, with one last look at the brother who had always hit first but loved hardest, he ran into the dark.

And this time, Sulay didn’t stop him.

Kalas ran.

Through the wet grass, the mist, through the thorns that clawed at his skin.

Each breath burned his chest, each step felt like tearing himself away from everything that tethered him to home.

The world outside the village was quiet— too quiet. The kind that made every whisper of wind sound like a warning.

But he didn't stop.

The forest loomed ahead, ancient and watchful. Fireflies drifted like faint stars among the trees.

It was always known that the trees were wise—ancient beings that kept silent watch over all who entered.

They knew things.

They’d been here long before man.

Kalas knew to run, but to always be careful. The woods weren’t an enemy anyone could conquer.

The faint tumble of the drums began to grow louder with each step— closer now.

The Sandugo

He followed the sound until the trees thinned and the night opened up before him.

There—beyond the rise of the hill—he saw it.

Hundreds gathered in the clearing, torches forming a ring of light around an altar carved from stone. Warriors, nobles, sons of Lakans and Sultans, all bearing banners and blades.

Dug.Dug.Dug.

The drums thunder louder than he remembered it, that night on the shore and the kudyapi started playing its melody once again.

He was here.

Kalas stood at the edge of it all—barefoot, carrying nothing but a crude spear, a ragged bag and the Datu’s emblem in his pocket.

For a moment, he hesitated. His heart pounded so loud he thought the gods themselves could hear it.

Would he even be able to stand equal with all these people? Children of Lakans, Sultans and Warriors, the few chosen.

The drums started again. Faint, but growing.

Then, he took a step forward.

Kalas turned toward the mountains, where the moon bled red across the horizon.

The Sandugo had begun.