Chapter 1: The Gift
The Mindanao expansion meeting started at eleven in the morning.
The conference room overlooked the loading yard. Below the glass wall, two electric trucks charged under the shade structure while warehouse staff moved crates into a cold-storage trailer. On the projector screen, a road map of northern Mindanao glowed against the wall. Green lines marked possible expansion routes. Yellow markers showed cooperatives still under negotiation. Red circles marked communities that no longer trusted another company visit.
Aurelian Reyes sat near the top center of the long table with his suit jacket folded over the back of his chair. A copy of the proposal lay open in front of him, but his attention stayed on the red circles across the map.
Camille, the head of regional operations, stood beside the projector with her tablet in one hand. "The Bukidnon cooperatives are interested, sir, but they do not want another company visit where people take pictures, promise storage, then leave after the first bad quarter."
One of the directors near the end of the table clicked his pen twice. "Then we start with the farms that can pay. Bigger clients first. Smaller farms can join later when the route is stable."
Mateo Dizon leaned back in his chair and looked at him across the table. The look was enough to make two junior managers lower their eyes to their notes.
"If we do that, we become the same people they complain about," Mateo said.
The director frowned. "I am talking about cost control."
"And I am talking about trust." Mateo clicked his tongue and turned a page in the proposal. "We keep sending people who sound like they came from an outside office to sell a solution. Let the local staff explain it in their own language. No suit for the first visit. Sit down with the cooperative heads first. If they see us trying to understand their problem, then we can talk about trucks."
Aurelian looked from Mateo to the other directors. Mateo was his co-founder, his oldest friend in the company, and the only man in the room who could interrupt a board meeting and make it sound normal.
"He is right," Aurelian said.
Mateo spread one hand toward the room. "At least one of us knows how to build trust."
Aurelian pinched the bridge of his nose, then shook his head. "We start small, not with a full hub. Two solar-assisted cold rooms near the cooperatives. Low electricity cost, low maintenance, enough space for one harvest cycle. If they see less spoilage after one season, then we talk about a bigger hub."
Camille started typing. "Trial period?"
"One season," Aurelian said. "No long lock-in. If the numbers are bad, we remove the unit. If the losses drop, they will ask for stage two themselves."
The older director tapped his pen against the folder. "And if the smaller farms still cannot afford it?"
"Then we do cooperative billing instead of individual billing," Aurelian said. "Do not punish small farms for being small. Group the risk. Group the payment. Group the schedule."
Mateo pointed his pen at the screen. "Put that in the proposal. It sounds less cold when he says it."
"Do not put that in the proposal," Aurelian said.
The room laughed, but the laughter was short. Most of them were still watching Aurelian because the numbers were not easy. New routes meant new batteries, new charging points, new warehouses, more drivers, and more ways to lose money before the system started working.
Camille raised her tablet slightly. "There is also the local staffing issue. We can send people from Manila for setup, but after that—"
"Hire local," Aurelian said. "Train local. Promote local if they perform. If we are moving goods through their province, they should not feel like strangers inside our own warehouses."
No one argued with that. Even the older director stopped tapping his pen.
The meeting lasted another twenty minutes. They discussed charging stations, driver rest stops, road damage after rain, and which storage site would be useless during harvest season because trucks could not reach it without wasting half a day. Aurelian said little unless the answer became too clean. Clean answers usually meant someone had not gone to the field.
When the meeting finally ended, the directors left in pairs, still talking about budgets. Camille stayed long enough to collect the marked proposal, then went after them. Mateo remained in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.
"You know," Mateo said, "for a man trying to help farmers, you have the face of someone preparing to invade a country."
Aurelian stacked the reports and slid them into a folder. "Expansion without planning is just gambling with better clothes."
Mateo stood and lifted both hands, palms out, as if surrendering to the room. "See? That. Normal people say, 'Let us help.' You sound like you are about to sign a military order."
Aurelian closed the folder and looked toward the door. "Lunch?"
Mateo's grin came back at once. "Now you sound human."
They did not eat in the company dining area. Two streets behind the office, between a printing shop and an auto-supply store, stood a small eatery with a faded red sign that read Kusina ni Aling Nida. The place had a glass food counter, blue plastic chairs, a wall calendar with a saint's picture, and a television above the counter showing a basketball replay with the volume low. A pot of sinigang steamed near the counter. Beside it were trays of grilled liempo, adobo, fried tilapia, monggo, and pinakbet already shining under the light.
Aling Nida saw them enter and lifted her chin. "Sir Aurelian, same?"
"Yes, po," Aurelian said.
Mateo stepped beside him with the confidence of a regular who owed no one shame. "Ate, extra rice for me. And if he says I do not need it, please remember he has no joy in life."
Aling Nida laughed and grabbed a plate. "Sir Mateo, you always need extra rice."
Mateo pointed at her like she had testified in court. "See? The people have spoken."
Aurelian glanced at the food trays. "They are selling you rice. Of course they support you."
They sat near the side wall, close enough to the door to catch some moving air. Around them, warehouse staff ate quickly before their break ended. Two delivery riders argued over basketball. A man in a paint-stained shirt mixed soup into his rice while watching the street.
Aurelian had grilled liempo, monggo, rice, and bottled water. Mateo came back with pork adobo, fried chicken, pinakbet, two cups of rice, and a soft drink already sweating down the side of the bottle.
Aurelian looked at Mateo's plate, then at Mateo's stomach, then back at the plate. He smiled faintly. "Always hungry, huh?"
Mateo paused with his spoon in the air. "What?"
Aurelian leaned back in his chair and let the smile stay. "If you keep this up, you are going to die before losing your virginity."
A delivery rider at the next table overheard it and almost choked on his food.
Mateo slowly placed his spoon down, leaned back, and put one hand on his chest. "Said by a virgin himself. I inform you, sir, that you are also virgin."
Aurelian's face stopped moving.
From the counter, Aling Nida laughed with two of her staff. "Sir Mateo, you two are really talking about that here?" A few people at the nearby tables laughed with them.
Mateo pointed at Aurelian's flat expression. "Look at that. Billionaire. Cannot deny."
Aurelian picked up his spoon. "Eat."
Mateo picked up his spoon again, still looking pleased with himself. "That is not a denial."
Aurelian pointed his spoon at him. "Eat before I buy this place and ban you."
Mateo scooped rice onto his spoon. "Try it and I report you to DTI for invasion of privacy."
Aurelian paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth and looked at him like the sentence had offended logic itself. "Invasion of privacy? Why did you add that? And why would DTI handle it?"
Mateo shrugged and took a bite. "I will think of the reason later." After that, they continued eating.
After a few minutes, Mateo reached into his bag and placed a paperback on the table beside the soy sauce bottle. The cover showed a young man holding a sword in front of a glowing gate. The title was so long it almost reached the bottom of the cover.
Aurelian looked at it once. "Again?"
Mateo slid the paperback farther into the middle of the table, clearly proud of it. "New release."
Aurelian wiped his spoon against the edge of his plate and gave him a dry look. "You are thirty-eight."
"And literate." Mateo tapped the cover. "This one is about a man sent to another world who becomes a cursed sword repairman."
Aurelian stared at him.
Mateo lifted both hands. "Wait. The swords have souls. Some are queens, some are demons, maybe some are future wives. I am not far enough yet."
Aurelian looked at the cover again, then at Mateo. "You paid money for that?"
Mateo placed a hand over the book as if protecting it. "Entertainment is important."
Aurelian pushed a piece of liempo through the monggo. "That sounds like a legal problem."
Mateo leaned back and spread both hands. "It is fantasy, relax. Not everything has to pass your risk committee."
Aurelian returned to his food.
Mateo leaned forward. "You should read one. Just one."
Aurelian kept eating. "I would rather join the military than die from cringe."
Mateo tapped the book twice with one finger. "One chapter."
Aurelian glanced up. "The one you gave me before almost sent me to the hospital."
Mateo laughed and tapped the cover again. "That means it made you feel something."
Aurelian ignored him, but Mateo knew him too well to stop there.
After lunch, they walked back toward the office. At the corner, a small secondhand bookstore sat under a cracked blue awning. Sun-faded comics were clipped to a string near the entrance, old textbooks were stacked by the door, and one plastic crate held translated light novels with covers too bright for the dusty sidewalk.
"Birthday gift," Mateo said, pushing one book toward him.
Aurelian looked at the book in Mateo's hand and frowned. "My birthday was three days ago."
Mateo gave the book a small shake, like that solved the problem. "Then the book is also late. Perfect match."
Aurelian looked at the cover. Another gate. Another young man with too much confidence. "I am not reading this."
"You will put it somewhere, get bored one night, read three pages, and message me that the main character is stupid."
Aurelian said nothing.
Mateo smiled. "See? Accurate."
For reasons he did not care to defend, Aurelian bought the book himself and placed it inside his briefcase.
Mateo clapped once. "Progress."
Aurelian slid the book into his briefcase without looking at Mateo. "If I die of boredom, this is evidence."
Mateo walked beside him with a smug smile. "Good. You are already dramatic."
That evening, Aurelian went home late. His residence sat inside a guarded private subdivision, quiet and secure, but it did not look like a house built to impress strangers. No fountain, no marble lions, no long driveway pretending to be royal. Solar panels covered most of the roof. The water recovery system hummed behind the service area. Near the kitchen extension, the sealed biodigester worked without smell or attention, turning waste into fuel for cooking.
Aurelian liked systems that did their work without begging to be admired.
He placed his briefcase on the dining chair, removed his suit jacket, and checked the wall panel out of habit. The battery reserve, water storage, and perimeter security all showed green. He loosened his tie while reading the small status notes, more out of routine than concern, then stopped when his phone rang on the table.
The screen showed Lucio Reyes before Aurelian could decide whether to ignore it.
Aurelian answered the video call. His brother's face appeared under yellow balcony light, wind pushing loose hair across his forehead. Behind Lucio, Athens moved in pieces: a narrow street, white walls, a passing scooter, and a café table crowded with papers. He looked thinner than the last time Aurelian saw him, and more sunburned.
"Oh... you are still alive. Impressive," Aurelian said.
Lucio laughed and turned the camera away from a passing group of tourists. "Bro, that hurts."
Aurelian leaned his hip against the dining table and narrowed his eyes at the screen. "Where are you now?"
Lucio turned the camera slightly, showing a line of white balconies behind him. "Athens. Back in the city for cataloguing."
"Still in Greece."
Lucio smiled as if he had been waiting to say it. "That is usually where Athens is."
Aurelian stared at the screen long enough for the smile to leave Lucio's face.
Lucio raised a hand, dusty fingers in full view of the camera. "Sorry. Bad joke. I am tired."
Aurelian loosened his tie with one hand. "The family reunion is next Sunday."
Lucio's shoulders dropped. "I know."
Aurelian looked at him over the phone screen. "Tita Maribel thinks you are coming."
Lucio's mouth tightened. He looked away from the camera for a moment, toward the papers on the table. "I told her maybe."
"Tita Maribel already told everyone you are coming."
Lucio winced. "I said I would try."
"To Tita Maribel, try means yes with drama."
"Then protect me."
"Call her yourself. I survived her questions once today. It is your turn."
Lucio laughed, but this time it did not last. Aurelian watched him rub the side of his face with dirty fingers, then wipe them on his trousers like he had forgotten he was on video.
"Are you eating properly?" Aurelian asked.
"Yes."
"What did you eat?"
"Lamb."
"That is an animal, not a meal."
"With bread and something sour. There. Complete."
"You are calling that complete?"
"It had bread. That is structure."
Aurelian leaned against the dining table. "Why did you call?"
Lucio reached off-screen and brought a notebook into view. Its cover stained with dust. He tapped the edge twice, then looked back at the camera.
"Money problem?"
"No."
"Customs problem?"
"No."
"Legal problem?"
"Why are those always first?"
"Because last time I had to bail you out in Egypt after you entered a pyramid you were not supposed to enter. Do you know how much I paid for that?"
Lucio rubbed his face with one hand. "Yeah, yeah. By the way, I sent you something. Birthday gift."
"My birthday was three days ago."
"I sent it earlier. Courier delay, Greek paperwork, Philippine customs. You know how shipping works better than I do."
"What is it?"
"A sealed relic. Small. Black. Not pretty, but interesting."
Aurelian lowered his gaze for a second. "Legal?"
"It has papers."
"That did not answer me."
"Legal enough for academic custody and private examination."
"Lucio."
"Bro, relax. I am not sending you a stolen statue. I just want you to look at it. You notice things. Weight, seams, material, how something was packed or moved. I need another pair of eyes."
"I move trucks."
"You move everything." Lucio smiled, but his eyes stayed tired. "Just look at it when it arrives. If you hate it, put it in storage and scold me when I come home."
Aurelian watched his brother on the small screen. For all Lucio's jokes, there was something careful in his voice. Not fear exactly. More like he did not want to say too much where others might hear.
"When are you coming home?" Aurelian asked.
"I will try before the reunion."
"No. When?"
Lucio looked down at the notebook again. "I do not know yet."
Aurelian let the silence sit until Lucio looked back at him.
"Come home alive," Aurelian said.
Lucio smiled weakly. "Happy late birthday, Bro."
The call ended with Lucio still smiling weakly on the frozen frame before the screen went black.
The package arrived the next morning while Aurelian was already dressed for work. The guard called from the gate at 8:17 and said an international courier needed his signature. Aurelian went down himself because Lucio's packages had taught the household staff not to accept anything strange without asking.
The outer box had been opened and resealed for inspection. Greek labels sat under Philippine customs tape. One corner carried Lucio's handwriting, rushed and slanted, the same ugly script he had used since college.
Aurelian signed, carried the box to the dining table, and checked the time. His car would arrive in less than fifteen minutes. He should have left the package there and gone to work.
The sensible choice was to leave it unopened until evening. Aurelian looked once at the clock, then opened it anyway.
Inside the shipping box was a smaller case wrapped in cloth. The wrapping was careful in a way Lucio rarely was, and that made Aurelian pause. He untied the cloth, opened the case, and found a black object no longer than his palm. It had no gold, no jewels, and no attempt to look important. Thin bands of dark metal crossed over it like restraints. The surface looked smooth in some places and rough in others, as if two different things had been forced to become one.
Aurelian touched one of the bands and pulled his hand back at once because the metal held warmth it should not have had.
Before he could decide whether the heat came from the room or from the object itself, pain drove into the space behind his eyes. He grabbed the edge of the table and dragged the cloth under the case. The dining room bent at the edges. The white wall, the glass of water, the quiet dashboard light, and the black object in front of him folded into images that did not belong there: kneeling figures on a stone floor, hands wet with red, a chapel split down the middle, and something large enough to make the sky seem too low. He saw no full shape, only pieces, each one gone before his mind could hold it. A mouth where there should not have been one. A sound like breathing under earth. A darkness moving as if it had weight.
Aurelian tried to step back. His legs failed before he made it half a pace.
The object opened with a soft wet movement, and the clean floor of his dining room vanished under him.
When Aurelian opened his eyes again, cold stone pressed against his cheek. He remained still, not because he was calm, but because every part of his mind had stopped at once. The ceiling above him was low, cracked, and blackened by old smoke. Dust moved in the weak light from a broken window. A few benches lay overturned near the wall, and at the far end of the room stood a small altar split through the center.
It was a chapel, old enough that even the silence inside seemed abandoned.
It was not his house. Cold air touched the sweat at the back of his neck as he pushed himself up.
Aurelian pushed himself up too quickly and almost fell back to the floor. His suit was still on him. Dust marked the sleeves. His shoes scraped against grit and dried leaves. His watch remained on his wrist, but the screen was dead. He searched his pockets with shaking hands and found his phone, keys, and wallet still there. The phone lit for half a second, showed no signal, then went dark again.
The air smelled of damp stone, rotten wood, and grass after rain.
He rose slowly and walked to the doorway. Outside, grey clouds covered the sky from end to end. There were no buildings he recognized, no wires, no engines, no road noise. Only dead grass, crooked trees, and a narrow path leading away from the chapel.
He reached the doorway, and only then saw the men waiting outside.
Ten of them stood beyond the broken path. Their armor was not costume metal or parade polish. It was scratched, mud-marked plate worn over dark cloth and leather. Some carried blades. Several had powder horns and bandoliers. The weapons aimed at Aurelian were muskets, held steady enough to show the men had used them before.
Aurelian stopped at the doorway. His hand stayed on the broken frame.
One of the armored men shouted. Aurelian did not understand the language, but the tone was easy to understand. Stop. Show hands. Move wrong and die.
Aurelian froze with one hand still near the cracked frame. After a moment, he raised both hands slowly, palms open. "I-I don't understand."
The line tightened. A younger knight shifted his musket upward until the barrel pointed at Aurelian's chest.
"I don't understand," Aurelian repeated, his voice shaking as he tried to speak clearly. "I do not know where I am."
The older man near the center gave a short command.
The first shot struck Aurelian in the chest and drove him back into the chapel doorway. It did not feel like the movies made gunshots look. It was blunt, hot, and ugly, stealing breath before pain fully arrived.
The second shot hit his shoulder and turned him sideways against the stone. The third struck lower, folding his legs under him. Smoke rolled from the muskets while Aurelian dropped inside the chapel and hit the floor hard enough to taste his own blood.
He tried to push himself up. His right arm slipped. His suit caught on broken wood, and he dragged himself backward behind the nearest bench because it was the only direction his body still obeyed. Warm blood spread under his shirt, then cooled as the chapel air touched it.
Boots entered the chapel. Metal shifted. Leather creaked. Aurelian forced his eyes open enough to see blurred shapes around him. The men spoke above him, but the words were still hard sounds. He could not understand what they were saying.
One knight stepped closer and lifted his musket again.
Another caught his arm. "Wait. Look at it."
"I am looking."
"It is still breathing."
"Then shoot again."
"And if it bursts?"
That question made the armed line hesitate, not long enough to lower their weapons, but long enough for their fear to show through discipline.
The older knight came inside last. A strip of red cloth hung near his shoulder, tied under a battered pauldron. He looked at Aurelian from several steps away and did not lower his weapon.
"No one touches it barehanded," he said.
A man crouched near Aurelian, careful to keep his gauntlets clear of the blood. "Chest wound. Shoulder wound. Lower belly. The blood is red."
"So was Harrow Mill," another said.
"Harrow Mill smiled at us."
"This one talked."
"In what tongue?"
The question left a hard silence between them because none of the men had an answer ready.
Aurelian coughed. Blood moved up his throat and spilled onto the stone. Several muskets rose at once.
"Hold," the older knight said.
The crouching man stepped back anyway. "Still alive."
"Burn it here," said a broad-shouldered knight near the doorway.
Another snapped, "Inside a chapel?"
"It is a ruin."
"A ruin can still be blessed."
The older knight pointed to one of the men near the door. "Dalen, write. Humanoid shape. Foreign clothing. Unknown tongue. Survived three shots. Possible mimic. Possible abomination beast."
Dalen pulled a small writing board from his satchel. His hands moved fast despite the mud on his gloves. "Possible mimic. Possible beast."
The broad-shouldered knight kept his musket aimed at Aurelian's head. "Captain, if it is a mimic, we should cut it apart before it stands."
"And if cutting it spreads something?" the captain asked.
The broad-shouldered man's mouth tightened.
"No trophies," the captain continued. "No skinning. No dragging it through the village. No villagers near the chapel. We follow cleansing procedure."
Someone outside the doorway said, "Then we need White Mercy."
Several men looked at him.
"You want to bring a Maiden Nurse here?" Dalen asked.
"We need prayer before disposal."
"We do not know how strong it is."
"It is bleeding on the floor."
"It was standing after the first shot."
The captain looked toward the path beyond the chapel. "Dalen. Maric. Ride to the village. Bring the Maiden Nurse and her kit. Tell her there is an unknown body for cleansing and preparation. Say nothing to civilians."
Dalen looked at Aurelian, then back at the captain. "Two riders?"
The broad-shouldered knight stepped forward. "Captain, with respect, that leaves fewer loaded barrels here."
"Reload outside."
"Against something we have not classified?"
The captain's voice stayed low. "If you have a better procedure, speak it."
No one gave him a better procedure, and that settled the argument more cleanly than shouting would have.
"Eight men hold the chapel," the captain said. "One watches the windows. One watches the door. Two reload at all times. If it moves with purpose, shoot the legs first. If it changes shape, fall back to the stones and burn the entrance. If it speaks again, no one answers."
Dalen swallowed and nodded. "And if the Maiden Nurse refuses?"
"White Mercy does not refuse bodies."
Two men left at a run. The rest spread through the chapel and outside the doorway with the nervous discipline of soldiers who had seen enough wrong things to know fear was useful only when organized. One checked the broken windows. Another reloaded behind the wall. No one came too close to Aurelian's blood.
Aurelian's fingers curled against the stone and opened again. The movement left a red smear near his hand. His lips parted, but only a wet breath came out. The soldiers kept their distance from the blood while their voices moved above him in sharp, useless pieces.
His dark suit no longer looked like something meant for an office. The jacket had torn at the shoulder. The white shirt beneath it was soaked across the chest and stomach. Dust stuck to his cheek, his hair had fallen over one eye, and his left hand twitched once near the pocket where his phone should have been useful.
Near the doorway, one knight made a sign across his chest and looked away. Another kept his musket aimed at Aurelian's legs while reloading. Outside, the sound of hooves faded down the path.
Aurelian tried to lift his head. It rose less than an inch before dropping back to the stone. The chapel roof spread into a grey blur above him, and the voices around him did not become clearer. They only moved farther away while his hand closed over nothing but grit.
The cold floor, the musket smoke, and the armored shapes thinned together until the room lost its edges. His eyes closed before he could stop them, and the chapel went dark.