Chapter 2 Where Silence Is Broken Correctly
992 Words
No one spoke at first.
The forest did not allow it.
Datu Ilyaon stood at the edge of the clearing as if he had always been there, his presence folding into the space with practiced restraint. He did not reach for his weapon. He did not bow. He did not look away.
That was his first offence.
Amihan felt the shift immediately. The forest did not like men who entered without announcement, but it respected those who did not pretend to be harmless.
Silawán, on the other hand, looked delighted.
“Well,” the Tikbalang king said again, softer now, tasting the moment. “The wind has brought company.”
Ilyaon’s gaze remained fixed on him. “You stand too close to her.”
Silawán glanced down, as if only now noticing the narrow distance between himself and Amihan. He stepped back half a pace, exaggerated and theatrical.
“Better?” he asked.
“No,” Ilyaon replied. His voice was calm, but something beneath it pressed forward, dense and controlled. “Worse.”
Amihan found her breath. “Datu—“
“You should leave,” Ilyaon said, still not looking at her.
Silawán laughed quietly. “You see? Already giving orders. Humans are so efficient when they’re frightened.”
Ilyaon finally shifted his attention to Amihan then, and she felt it like a weight placed carefully on her shoulders.
“Go,” he said again, this time to her. “Now.”
She did not move.
Something in her resisted. Not defiance. Not pride. A simple, aching refusal to be directed away from a moment that had already claimed her.
Silawán noticed.
His smile sharpened.
“She doesn’t want to,” he said pleasantly.
“That,” Ilyaon replied, “is exactly the problem.”
The forest stirred at that. Leaves whispered against bark. A low sound traveled through the roots like a warning passed mouth to mouth.
Amihan stepped forward before she could stop herself. “I came here on my own.”
Ilyaon’s jaw tightened. “You should not have.”
“Do not speak as if she were a child,” Silawán said. “She carries her wanting honestly. That is rare.”
Ilyaon’s eyes darkened. “And you exploit rarity.”
“I curate it.”
The air grew heavier. Amihan could feel the forest watching now, not curious but alert. Old attention. Dangerous attention.
“You have no claim here,” Ilyaon said.
Silawán tilted his head. “On the contrary. This clearing lies on a threshold path. Which makes it mine.”
“That path was sealed.”
“Paths do not stay sealed,” Silawán replied. “They wait.”
Amihan felt a familiar pressure behind her eyes. A knowing she did not ask for, blooming painfully. Desire flowed strangely here, pooling around Silawán like heat and tightening sharply around Ilyaon like a drawn cord.
And somewhere deeper, something else stirred.
A footstep sounded to her left.
Soft. Barely there.
She turned.
A young woman stood between the trees, slight and sharp-eyed, her hair bound high, a short blade resting openly at her hip. She wore a faded patadyong and a bare stained with resin and dirt. Her gaze flicked quickly between the three of them, taking inventory.
“Amihan,” she hissed under her breath. “You were not supposed to be here this long.”
“Kisê,” Amihan breathed, relief cutting through the tension like a blade. “You followed me.”
“Someone had to,” Kisê replied. Her eyes landed on Silawán, and she stiffened. “And apparently I was right.”
Silawán’s attention shifted to the newcomer, bright and amused. “And who is this brave little anchor?”
Kisê lifted her chin. “Someone who knows when a forest is about to turn.”
The Tikbalang king studied her with renewed interest. “Ah. You can feel it too.”
She said nothing. That was answer enough.
Ilyaon exhaled slowly. “Kisê. Take her back.”
Kisê hesitated. Her gaze flicked to Amihan, questioning.
Before Amihan could answer, the forest made the decision for them.
The ground pulsed.
Not shook. Pulsed. Like a heartbeat felt through soil and bone.
Silawán went very still.
“Oh,” he murmured. “That’s new.”
The balete tree groaned, roots tightening, bark darkening as if soaked in shadow. From beneath its arching limbs, something slid forward, low and fluid.
Amihan’s breath caught.
A woman emerged from the roots, her body pale and elongated, hair trailing like wet silk along the earth. Her eyes were dark hollows that reflected too much light. She smiled with a mouth full of promise or rot.
A Dalaketnon.
Ancient. Courtly. Hungry.
Silawán posture shifted subtly, respect threading his amusement. “Lady Liraya,” he greeted. “You walk far from your mirrors.”
The Dalaketnon’s gaze slid to Amihan and lingered there, appreciative and covetous. “The forest called,” she said, her voice layered, many voices wearing one shape. “It said something precious was being mishandled.”
Ilyaon stepped forward, protective without touching. “She is under my care.”
Liraya laughed softly. “Care is such a human word.”
Her attention returned to Silawán. “You play a dangerous game, young king.”
Silawán smiled, unrepentant. “All worthwhile games are.”
The Dalaketnon leaned closer to Amihan, inhaling as if scenting her. “Wind-daughter,” she crooned. “Your wanting has reached us. Do you know what happens when too many eyes turn at once?”
Amihan swallowed. “No.”
Liraya’s smile widened.
“Someone is taken.”
The forest shuddered in agreement.
Kisê’s hand went to her blade.
Silawán’s gaze flicked sharply to Amihan, something like warning cutting through his pleasure for the first time.
Ilyaon reached for her then.
Not gently.
Urgently.
“Run,” he said.
The Dalaketnon laughed.
And the forest closed its paths.
- Writer
