Chapter 2: The Forest of Amihan
The thrum of the activated bracelet pulsed steadily against my skin—a warm, living counterpoint to the impossible invitation of the starlight shimmering in the aparador.
My arms were crossed, a useless defense.
Lola's words echoed in my mind:
Your first journey... to the Forest of Amihan.
This was it, then.
I stood at the threshold of her bedroom, taking one last look down the familiar hallway. The faint, sweet smell of old wood. The silence of the sleeping house. The portrait on the wall downstairs whose eyes now seemed to offer a mischievous wink.
I gave a small, two-fingered salute.
Time to chase a ghost, Lola.
Turning my back on Pasig, I faced the gateway. My heart hammered an Ati-Atihan beat against my ribs. With a final breath that did nothing to calm the parade, I clutched the phone in my pocket like a rosary...
...and walked past the lacquered door into the bruised purple light.
It wasn't like walking at all.
One moment, the worn hardwood of the ancestral house was under my sneakers.
The next—everything dissolved in a dizzying, violent whoosh.
The pressure in my ears popped. Solid ground vanished.
It felt like being squeezed through a straw while colors bled into each other and a high-pitched whine filled my head.
My phone buzzed once in my hand, the screen flaring to life:
[Linguistic Sync: Active. Bracelet calibrated.]
[Dimensional Storage: Active. Phone inventory synced.]
[Currency Conversion: Active. Pitaka standing by.]
Before I could fully register my new "chosen one" status—or more accurately, my "colossal idiot who walked into a haunted closet" status—the universe spat me out.
I tumbled face-first into moss.
Oof.
For a moment, I just lay there. The world spun.
Slowly, groaning, I pushed myself up.
Not just moss. A forest.
A real one.
Towering trees with bark like hammered silver stretched overhead, dappling the ground with green-gold light. The air smelled of sharp pine, rich damp earth, and that faint electric scent—like ozone after a lightning strike.
A breeze stirred around my ears.
And for a second—I swear—it carried a whisper. Not a word. Just… presence.
Curious. Waiting.
This was the Forest of Amihan.
And it felt awake.
First instinct: panic.
Second: check my phone. (Yes, I know. In the zombie apocalypse, I'll die Googling how to outrun zombies in tsinelas.)
I scrambled to my feet, brushing off dirt and moss, and tapped the screen.
Full battery.
No service. (Thanks, Lola.)
Still, the magical app worked.
I tapped the glowing tampipi icon and switched to the Map tab.
It loaded instantly—not GPS, more like a hand-drawn treasure map sketched by a drunk wizard. Most of the screen was swallowed by swirling, digital fog of war.
At the center: a golden dot.
Me.
Yay.
Around me: trees, a winding creek, and to the north... a small house icon.
A label glowed softly in Lola's handwriting:
Apo's First Stop
For a flicker—barely long enough to be real—I saw another dot on the map. Not golden.
Moving.
Then it vanished.
I zoomed out. Far at the map's edge, clustered along a coastline, faint silhouettes of buildings. A town.
Magical cottage now. Civilization eventually.
Not ideal.
But better than zero.
My stomach growled—long, loud, dramatic.
The kind that said: Yes, we might die here. But can we die with rice and something grilled first?
The golden dot pulsed like a heartbeat.
I glanced back once.
The portal was gone.
Swallowed by shifting trees.
A cold knot formed in my gut.
No save file. No turning back.
I was well and truly in the Forest of Amihan.
Leaves crunched under my sneakers.
The silver-barked trees loomed like sentinels, their limbs arching into a cathedral of light and shadow. The breeze moved with purpose. The leaves rustled in rhythm—almost… conversational.
Like the forest was watching.
A branch creaked behind me. I spun.
Nothing.
I picked up the pace.
After what felt like half an hour of pretending I knew what I was doing, I saw it—a clearing.
And in the middle of that clearing:
A perfectly arranged picnic.
Checkered cloth over mossy stone. Platters of steaming roast meat.
Sticky rice cakes that shimmered like they had LED backlights.
A glass pitcher of glowing amber drink.
My stomach roared.
"Lola," I muttered. "Please tell me this is one of those magical refueling stations you forgot to mention."
A rustle to my right.
I turned—and froze.
A tarsier, toddler-sized, sat on a low branch. Its eyes were too big. Too knowing.
Glowing.
"Eat if you want," it said.
In Tagalog.
I blinked. "Sorry, what now?"
"You were invited," the tarsier said calmly. "The forest made the effort. Few get that."
I stepped back. "And the price? My voice? My memories? My kidney?"
It tilted its head.
"Your name."
Hard pass. "I'm good," I said quickly. "Super full, actually. Just had... tocilog."
The tarsier grinned. All teeth. All moonlight.
"Wise. The forest feeds with one hand, steals with the other."
Then—gone. No poof. No sparkle.
Just… blinked out of existence.
I checked the phone.
Map still up.
The mysterious dot?
Nowhere.
I didn't linger.
The moment I stepped past the clearing, the forest changed.
The wind picked up. The hum turned guttural.
Something shifted—fast.
Branches snapped.
I ran.
Trees blurred past. The map glowed. I didn't look back.
The air pulsed with pressure. Like something massive was stalking just out of reach.
Just when my legs threatened to mutiny—
The trees parted.
A low stone fence.
Beyond it: a crooked, moss-covered cottage, humming with warmth.
I crashed through the gate and nearly face-planted into the door.
It opened.
Inside: firelight. Hanging herbs. A cot. And a note in Lola's handwriting.
If you're reading this, good. You didn't eat the forest's offering.
I slumped into the chair by the fire, every limb shaking.
First rule of magical survival:
Never trust free snacks.