"The world does not end in silence, only in the fading of its pulse."
The Siege's Aftermath
The echo of Gregorio's voice still trembled in the air long after the last Anino dissolved.
The clouds above Manila thinned to ribbons of gray, letting through the first hesitant light since the siege began. The violet haze that had cloaked the city pulsed once more, then faded into the kind of silence that tests the living.
Gregorio lowered his fists. Kamay ni Bathala dimmed around his wrists, runes contracting like the final breath of a furnace. The warmth receded, leaving only the faint throb of blood and smoke. He looked over the ruins of the avenue that once led to the bay—the asphalt cracked, lamp posts twisted into question marks, jeepneys overturned like empty shells. Yet the city still breathed.
He turned. Marian stood a few meters behind him, her form outlined by the soft mist still rising from her Sundang ni Makiling. The blade's glow had softened to a pale silver; the goddess's wrath had returned to stillness. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on the skyline where the silhouette of Kristel had appeared moments earlier—a shape in flame and rain that defied explanation.
"Was it really her? In the Ravenus?" Marian asked, barely above a whisper.
Gregorio's reply came after a long silence. "I know. The Kamay also recognized her. Whether she walks among us or through memory, the light allowed her to be seen. For now, focus on the task at hand."
Marian nodded once, uncertain whether comfort or dread followed such words.
A few blocks away, the prismatic shimmer of Kalasag ni Bernardo Carpio caught the dawn. Renato stood at the edge of a collapsed overpass, its rebar exposed like ribs. He raised his shield slowly, inspecting the web of fractures lacing its surface. Each mark bore witness to what the city had demanded of him. The Kalasag pulsed faintly in response—not broken, only scarred. He breathed out through clenched teeth.
From the far end of the street came the low rumble of an engine.
A convoy of Philippine Military vehicles—scarred and soot-covered—crept through the debris. Agosto walked beside them, Kampilan ni Lam-ang resting on his shoulder, the blade's fire reduced to embers that smoked but did not die. He signaled for the drivers to halt near a cluster of civilians sheltering beneath a shattered flyover.
"Move them fast," he ordered. "Anything that twitches, shoot it. Load your glyph rifles and keep them down."
One of the soldiers hesitated. Agosto's glare cut through the dust.
"You heard me. If it moves without breathing, put it down."
The men obeyed, sweeping the area with glyph flares while the engines idled. Agosto turned away, scanning the skyline for any sign of resurgence—his stance that of a man who trusted nothing that stayed quiet too long.
Picking Up the Pieces
Gregorio joined them, stepping carefully around the fragments of voidsteel littering the street. Each piece still whispered faintly—relic fragments trying to remember what they had been. He knelt, scooped one into his gloved hand, and felt a tremor pass through the bracer. Kamay ni Bathala recognized its own echo.
"This isn't over," he said quietly. "These shards are still alive."
Marian approached, wiping soot from her cheek. "They'll fade. The last of the Anino scattered when your pulse struck. Whatever's left will lose form soon."
The Post-Battle Update
[REPUBLIC COMMAND SIGMA // INTERCEPT SUMMARY — MANILA OPS / 00:14Z]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
00:14:03 — GRID SIGMA OPS
> "Battlefield scan complete. Civilian zones stabilized. Initiating cross-faction data merge."
00:14:09 — INTERCEPT / ENEMY BAND — AHAS (SOURCE: PUTIK / Balisong ng Dahas)
> "Manila National Hospital sector clear… daughter secured. Glyph ready… pulling out."
00:14:14 — INTERCEPT / ENEMY BAND — AHAS (SOURCE: N. SAAVEDRA / Karambit ni Kain)
> "City Hall perimeter clean. We're done here—initiating escape."
00:14:20 — MID-ZETA RELAY / SOURCE: RICARDO MAGNO (Alab ng Tala)
> "Copy intercept. Ahas frequencies dropping off-grid. Hospital secured; survivors stable."
00:14:25 — MID-ZETA RELAY / SOURCE: SYBILL LUCERO (Kandila ng Dilim)
> "City Hall confirmed clear. Mayor Saavedra's signal terminated via glyph transit. No hostile signatures remaining."
00:14:31 — COMMAND SIGMA SUMMARY
> "Intercept verified. Ahas Enforcers Putik and Saavedra withdrew post-Anino collapse. MID-Zeta Elites Magno and Lucero maintaining overwatch. Kamay activation registered across central districts — Sandata Unit presence confirmed."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
[END FEED LOG]
---
A Heartbreaking Promise
Smoke still hung over the eastern wing of Manila National Hospital, a thin veil curling through shattered windows and the ghostlight of extinguished wards. The ground trembled faintly as if remembering the weight of the horde that had broken there hours earlier.
Putik stepped through the ruined corridor, the Balisong ng Dahas folded at his side, its twin edges breathing heat in silence. The air smelled of iron and disinfectant. Every step left a shallow print in the soot, the same mark that had carved through the Anino until none remained.
He passed rooms filled with survivors, nurses whispering prayers over cracked glyph screens. None of them looked up; they knew the man walking there was not one of theirs. He moved like smoke—here, then gone.
In a small ward near the inner courtyard lay a single bed surrounded by flickering lamps. His daughter, Sandra, pale and breathing softly, was asleep beneath a sheet stitched with old ward sigils. The glyphs dimmed as he approached, recognizing his relic's heat and parting to let him closer.
Putik knelt beside her. For a moment the weight in his hands trembled—the blades wanting to unfurl, to keep cutting, as if battle had become a reflex. He forced them still and reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Matulog ka lang, Sandra," he whispered in the mother tongue. His voice rasped from smoke and ash. "Tapusin ko muna 'to. Babalik ako."
Sandra's eyelids fluttered, then settled again.
He waited until her breathing steadied, then placed a small clay pendant—cracked but whole—on the table beside her bed. It bore the faint symbol of the old earth glyph, the same one he had etched for her before the siege.
When he rose, the Balisong ng Dahas hissed once, tasting the air. Outside the ward, the last of the Anino ash drifted away into dawn.
He turned toward the hall, the glow of a forming Escape Glyph beginning to circle beneath his boots. Before the light swallowed him, he looked back once more.
"I'll come back soon," he said quietly. "You just wait for the ground to stop shaking."
Then the glyph flared—a ripple of molten ochre—and he was gone, leaving only the hum of cooling steel and the slow heartbeat of the hospital.
Counting Survivors
A gust of wind carried the smell of salt and ozone—the echo of the storm that had raged above Manila Bay, where Juan Luciano and the Bakunawa had driven back the Anito armadas. The horizon still glowed faintly, its light flickering against the fractured skyline of the city.
The air trembled again—not the quake of battle, but the faint pressure of reality resetting its rhythm. Overhead, the last smoke trails drifted apart, exposing the broken outline of the capital's skyline. The faint glow of collapsed wards shimmered, then blinked out one by one. Somewhere far north, thunder rolled without rain.
Renato rejoined them, dragging a half-intact road sign into the open. He planted it upright like a temporary standard. "This'll have to mark the line we held," he said. "Command will want coordinates when they come sniffing around."
"Command can wait," Marian replied. "Manila isn't theirs to measure anymore."
Agosto scoffed softly, kicking a piece of twisted armor aside. "Then let's make sure they don't forget who measured it first."
A moment passed—long enough for a siren to echo through the ruins, long enough for the first stretchers to emerge from the smoke. The unit helped load the wounded into the carriers, their movements practiced but subdued. Every face they lifted bore the same quiet disbelief: they were alive.
When the last vehicle pulled away, Gregorio surveyed the battered intersection that had been their battleground. The walls nearby shimmered faintly where the Kamay's energy had struck—no glyphs this time, only lines of light threading through the cracks like veins of living stone. Each pulse faded, then glowed again, as though the city itself refused to go dark.
Marian came to his side. "It's still moving," she said, watching the slow rhythm crawl along the wall."
Renato stepped closer, running a hand across the fractured surface. The glow followed his touch, soft and steady. "Manila's still alive," he murmured. "Even after all this."
Agosto looked up at the skyline where dawn tried to break through the haze. "Then that's our proof," he said quietly. "They hit us hard, and the city still answers back."
Gregorio watched the light ebb until it became a dull warmth beneath the ash. "Let it remember this," he said. "That it can still breathe."
No one spoke after that. The glow faded, but it didn't die—it lingered just enough to remind them that what had fallen could still rise again.
"Gather what you can," Gregorio said finally. "When the next wave comes, we move again."
Marian turned to him. "You think there'll be another tonight?"
He met her gaze, the faint glow of the bracers reflected in his eyes. "There always is."
They fell into motion—silent, efficient, burdened yet unbroken. The Sandata Unit moved through the wounded city like caretakers of a living spirit, sealing what fractures they could, marking what could not yet be healed. Overhead, the first rays of daylight caught the glass of shattered towers and turned them briefly into mirrors. In those reflections, the four warriors saw themselves not as soldiers but as remnants of something older than the Republic—living echoes of an ancient covenant that refused to fade.
When they reached the foot of the ruined bridge leading toward the bay, Gregorio paused. The water below shimmered with violet residue, swirling in slow spirals that traced the same glyphs once etched into the Kamay. He clenched his fists, and for a heartbeat the glow answered him.
Behind him, Marian's voice was soft. "If the light remains, then this city will not sleep for long."
Gregorio did not look back. "Then we stay awake with it."
Checkmate
The wind rose again, scattering ash into the river. For the first time since the battle began, the horizon carried color—not fire this time, but the pale gold of returning light. Manila exhaled, and the Sandata Unit stood to listen.
Then their comm-beads pulsed once—three short bursts, the encrypted pattern of MID-Zeta.
Static rolled in, followed by the low, steady voice of Commander Joaquin Santillan.
"This is Santillan, MID-Zeta Command Node. Sandata Unit, confirm receipt."
Gregorio raised a hand to his collar. "Confirmed, Commander. Manila front secure. Casualty sweep ongoing."
A pause followed. The silence was heavier than the static that preceded it.
When Joaquin spoke again, his tone carried the weight of something broken.
"Bulakan has fallen."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Marian's hand froze over her Sundang's hilt. Renato's shield lowered a fraction. Even Agosto's eyes lost their fire for a moment.
Joaquin continued, voice steady but hollow. "We lost the capital before sunrise. The Anito breached the eastern gates. No signal from the 3rd Division. Command infrastructure is gone."
He drew in a sharp breath through the comm—a sound too human for protocol.
Every operative still standing is to regroup. You'll receive coordinates once the debris field clears."
Static returned, softer now, almost hesitant. "I know you've done all you could in Manila," Joaquin said quietly. "But this isn't victory. This is only the part where the survivors start counting."
The transmission cut.
The wind carried nothing but the faint hum of the Kamay's residue, the same rhythm that had once sounded like hope. Gregorio stood motionless, eyes on the northern skyline. Beyond the haze, the horizon above Bulakan burned faintly red.
He clenched his fists, the bracers answering with a muted glow.
"Then we move," he said. "Before what's left of that pulse dies."
The others turned toward him—no words, no salute, just the silent acknowledgment of soldiers who understood that rest was a luxury.
The glow from the river dimmed behind them. Ahead, the light of a distant fire flickered across the clouds.
The Convergence had not ended.
It had only caught its breath.