The Song of the Forgotten

Chapter 1: Yasmin’s Long Night It was nearing three in the morning, and a researcher named Yasmin had not yet slept. Since the morning, she had been tirelessly scouring the internet and repeatedly visiting the library to find references for her current research. By tomorrow afternoon, she needed to submit her findings to her professor for approval of her research. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, her eyelids growing increasingly heavy as she consumed several cups of coffee to sustain her through her investigation. Her room was in disarray, littered with remnants of noodle cups, Piatos chip bags, and more. Her bed was cluttered with books and papers she hadn’t managed to organize the day before. Her body refused to return to her bed, so she rested her head beside her laptop and finally fell asleep. Yasmin’s POV I awoke to the sound of an unusual melody and unfamiliar singing. “What the! It’s so noisy, can’t they see someone’s trying to sleep here? Isn’t there a rule in this dormitory against making noise since students are studying or sleeping?” But wait, this isn’t my room… Where am I? My room is usually a mess, not this pristine and orderly, adorned with designs that are expensive in this era. I’ll describe everything here later, but first, I need to see what’s happening outside. I remember there’s no occasion today; it’s crunch time for submitting class requirements. “Yasmin, good that you’re out, dear. Come join the women singing while the warriors dance,” said a middle-aged woman who greeted me. Her skin was tanned, and she wore a costume with tattoos on her arms, resembling the attire of Northern Luzon tribes I saw in the museum last week. “Wait, what are you talking about? Warriors? Are we in a theater play? I should be in my dorm, not part of your group; you must be mistaken…” I was startled when the woman playfully smacked my head, not hard enough to hurt. “Oh, child, you must have overslept and are dreaming. Don’t you remember? Today is the celebration of our tribe’s victory in battle,” she said. Confused, I followed her outside to where the music I heard earlier was coming from. They were playing instruments made from bamboo cuts, metal discs, and small pieces of wood, creating a beautiful sound I had only seen in museums, known as “tungatung.” My attention drifted from the musicians when someone took my hand and led me to the women on the side. I didn’t recognize their song, but it was pleasing to the ear. The tattoos on the arms and backs of the dancing men were unique, mostly zigzag patterns and symbols of rivers and water. Everything around me felt real, including the people and their belongings. This couldn’t be a dream. I pricked my fingertip with a sharp object to test reality. Blood oozed from the puncture, the pain confirming the sharpness of the object and the reality of my bleeding finger. “Ouch… this can’t be real…” I wanted to scream, but only air escaped my lips. So I ran, not caring where I was headed. I heard someone calling my name, but I ignored it and kept running. Yasmin ran, her heart pounding in her chest, the lush greenery of the forest blurring past her as she darted between the trees. The calls of her name grew distant, replaced by the sounds of nature and her own heavy breathing. She didn't know where she was going, but the need to escape, to understand what was happening, drove her forward. As the sun began to rise, casting a warm golden light through the canopy, Yasmin slowed to a stop, her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. That's when she noticed the silence — no more music, no more voices, just the quiet of the forest and the occasional bird song. She looked around, trying to recognize anything that could tell her where she was or how she got there. But it was all unfamiliar, the trees towering and ancient, the air fresh with the scent of moss and earth. It was beautiful but so alien. Then she saw it, a small, clear stream with water so pure she could see the pebbles at the bottom. Yasmin approached cautiously, her reflection on the water's surface looking back at her — the same, yet different. Her hair was longer, her clothes were not her own, but the traditional garb of the tribe she had seen in her... dream? Was it a dream? She touched her face, half expecting her hand to pass through the reflection, but it was solid and real. A sudden splash from the stream caught her attention, and she looked up to see a deer drinking from the water. It lifted its head, locking eyes with her, and in that moment, Yasmin felt a connection, a sense of belonging to this strange place. The deer bounded away, and Yasmin made a decision. She would follow the stream, find her way back to the village, and figure out what was happening to her. Maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn't, but she couldn't run forever. She needed answers, and the only way to find them was to face whatever this world had in store for her. With a newfound resolve, Yasmin started walking along the stream, the light of the rising sun guiding her way and the mystery of her situation fueling her determination to uncover the truth. The landscape that enveloped Yasmin was a tapestry of nature's finest work. The forest was a cathedral of towering trees, their canopies interlocking high above to form a verdant ceiling that filtered the sunlight into a kaleidoscope of greens. Sunbeams pierced through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that danced upon the forest floor, which was carpeted with a soft layer of fallen leaves and moss. The air was alive with the symphony of the wilderness; the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze, the distant call of birds conversing in their secret language, and the soft murmur of the stream as it wound its way through the woods. The water was crystal clear, revealing smooth stones that lay in the shallow bed, and occasionally, a fish would dart by, its scales glinting like a flash of liquid silver. As Yasmin walked, she noticed the subtle details that made the forest unique—the way the ferns unfurled their fronds like green scrolls, the patterns of bark on the trees, each one telling a story of time and life, and the occasional flower that dared to bloom in the understory, adding a splash of color to the green expanse. The forest was not silent, yet it was peaceful. There was a sense of ancient wisdom in the way the trees stood, stoic and serene, as if they were the guardians of the land, watching over every creature that called this place home. The further Yasmin ventured, the more she felt the profound connection between all living things, an intricate web of existence that she was now a part of. In the distance, the forest gave way to rolling hills, their contours painted with the soft hues of the morning light. Beyond them, majestic mountains stood guard, their peaks reaching for the sky, shrouded in a mist that veiled their true majesty. This was a world untouched by time, a sanctuary where nature reigned supreme, and Yasmin, despite the uncertainty of her situation, couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and reverence for the beauty that surrounded her. It was a place that seemed both familiar and otherworldly, a place that beckoned her to explore its mysteries and discover its secrets. As Yasmin followed the stream, she found that it served as a natural guide through the forest. The water flowed steadily, suggesting it was leading to a larger body of water or perhaps the heart of the tribe's territory. In many ancient cultures and stories, rivers and streams are often seen as paths of life and civilization, so it would be wise for Yasmin to use the stream as her compass. The stream's direction could lead her downstream, where the water would eventually meet a river or a lake, which are often gathering places for wildlife and humans alike. Alternatively, following the stream upstream could bring her to its source, which might be a spring or mountain runoff, possibly near the tribe's settlement. Given the celebratory event she had just left, it's likely that the stream would flow towards the village, as water is a vital resource for any community. Yasmin's best course of action would be to follow the stream and stay alert for any signs of human activity, such as footpaths, structures, or even the distant sound of the tribe's celebrations, which could guide her back to the village and help her unravel the mystery of her situation.