Daylight broke over the horizon, illuminating the sky and concealing the stars. The sleepy town of Dava came alive as merchants set up shop on the grassy fields. Tables were draped with the finest fabrics and wares were polished until reflections could be seen. The shop keepers busied themselves with laying down their best merchandise, for once every thousand years, esteemed immortals from all over the realm of Kaliha gathered for the Tribulation of Lords.

The millennium gathering was a tournament of immense importance to immortals and demons alike. It took place at the realm’s highest peak, Mount Sandawa. Due to Dava’s location at the hilly west of the southeastern shore, it was the closest town to the mountain and the locals played host to the tournament participants. They prided themselves at being the first to serve the would-be future lords of the realm.

Raya marveled at the products on display as he made his way to the town center in search of suitable lodgings. He had arrived earlier than expected. The tournament not for another two days, when the moon and sun aligned.

To an onlooker, he looked like a young master from a noble household. He was dressed in expensive silk robes of amethyst and his walking boots were made of quality tan leather. Under his cloak, his hair was bound in a top knot secured by a jeweled sapphire turban. Aside from his ostentatious choice of colors, which showed an affinity to water, he carried no emblem that would identify his origins. Even his spiritual aura was low and indistinctive.

Holding his knapsack tightly in one arm, Raya strolled through the marketplace with disinterest. His eyes skimmed through a variety of amulets, talismans, and charms. They appeared to be the popular merchandise and came in all shapes and sizes: from the beautiful ruby rings, crystal swords, and rainbow-colored cloaks; to the unpalatable: fisheyes, dragon scrotum and rabbit tongue.

Shopkeepers called out to him, hell-bent on making a sale.

“Liquid drop of a banana’s heart, my lord. Premium quality harvested at midnight!”

“High-grade lightning essence! Ridiculously cheap, just one silver coin!”

“Two for one: cat and dog ears!”

Raya avoided making eye contact and pulled the hood of his cloak around his face. He had made it this far without incident. It was not the time to let down his guard.

A fortnight ago, when he had made the decision to join the tournament, he had expected his master to give chase. However, not only did he make it out of the Desolate Grounds unscathed, but his journey had also been surprisingly uneventful that he made it to Dava in good time.

The inn was on a secluded patch of land not far from the marketplace. It stood slightly higher than the neighboring trees at four stories. The first level walls were made entirely of stone, while the succeeding floors various wood.

Raya tilted his head, examining the building. Given its external structure, he estimated it had no more than thirty rooms.

He frowned.

Two days was not early.

It was late.

Extremely late.

Raya marched the steps with trepidation. Knowing what he did of the Davanian’s entrepreneurial nature, any remaining rooms would cost him all his silver. The façade of wealth, an illusion that would eat into his nonexistent coffers.

A frown appeared on his thin lips. A costly miscalculation.

Raya did not have to wait long. The inn’s doors opened punctually at the hour of the snake.

“Good day esteemed one, how may I help you?” a sole immortal greeted Raya behind the mahogany counter inside.

Raya gawked at the woman. Her hair was styled in an elaborate ornate style with golden hair pins very unlike the women in his region who chose their attire for comfort than style. He could almost picture a bird nesting somewhere inside the tangled web. When Raya got past the monstrosity on the immortals head, he discovered she had a pleasant face.

“Esteemed one?”

Raya cleared his throat. “I need a room.”

The immortal smiled. “I am sorry, we have no vacancy.”

Raya nodded absently. He had expected as much. “Are there any other inns in town?”

The immortal shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

Raya found himself in a pickle. He had no trouble sleeping rough. What he feared however were the nature spirits like old mangrove.

Old mangrove spirit was a ninety-thousand-year-old tree that gained awareness but had not cultivated a human form. She was a dream eater, obtaining information from the unsuspecting birds that landed on her branches; fishes that hid behind her roots, immortals that dozed on her trunk. The secrets she stole kept them safe while also painting a picture of the world outside beyond their reach. It had been entertaining, stealing the secrets of others not so much if one’s secrets were exposed in the same manner.

Raya heard some chatter from a room down the hall. “Is your dining room for guests only?”

“Please,” the immortal motioned with her hands.

Raya strode to the dining hall. If he could not get a warm bed, he could at least have a warm meal until he decided on his best course of action.

Raya found an empty table near the window behind a small group of immortals. Raya could not see their faces for light silk curtain screens separated the diners for privacy. However, the outline of three individuals were undeniable.

A steward brought him a warm cup of tea. “What can I get you,” he asked.

“Stir fried kang kung, braised pork and two bowls of rice, please.”

The steward bowed and disappeared to the back room.

Raya placed a hand on his chin as he contemplated his options. He could cast a barrier spell to protect his mind, however, having never performed the spell under disguise, he was unconfident as to how well he could maintain the enchantment.

A cool breeze entered the room. The earth had not quite warmed up yet. The chime overhead sang a pleasant melody that Raya looked out the window to the marketplace. He thought of the shops he passed earlier. Perhaps one of them sold an artifact that could protect his mind. Or he could rent a room in one of the stalls. An event this grand, there should be other options available to him. Pacified by this new possibility, his appetite returned just as the steward returned with his food.

Raya sank his teeth into the tender meat in ravenous hunger. His current form bore the same appetency as the humans of the mortal realm. The hot rice and succulent pork were a welcome change from the fruit and stale bread he had been surviving on the last few days. He had traveled at a breakneck pace, without a spiritual beast, the journey had been taxing on his body.

Halfway through his meal, when his hunger had been sated and his awareness had returned, the conversation from the next table drifted into his ears.

“I hear the second prince is joining the tournament this year.”

“Really?”

“My friends, you are behind on the news. Not only is his second highness attending, so is the general.”

Fist pounded on the table. “Drat, then we hardly stand a chance!”

Raya dropped his spoon on the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, only his eyes were focused inches away, at the group of immortals. The screen did not cover their feet and he spotted the hem of three identical cinnabar robes.

Raya straightened and resumed the machinations of eating. He put a spoonful of rice in his mouth, using the very same cutlery he picked off the floor, as his mind collated the new information.

The fire clan, he deduced. Only immortals serving the fire lord would wear such red robes.           

“Control yourself brother,” the oldest sounding of the trio said. His voice was deep and raspy. “The general is still at the northern sea, guarding the border against the Merfolk. Our friend is misinformed.”

“But I heard his highness has reserved a room here,” said the immortal with a squeaky voice.

“It doesn’t mean he would be here to use it,” the raspy voiced one retorted.

Raya racked his brain. If they were from the fire clan, then the general they spoke of would be…he coughed, spitting the rice back out.

Agila!

Even thousands of miles away, the stories of his mighty conquests had reached Raya’s ears. The stories of immortals who have done great and deplorable things always do.  

It had been said he defeated a legion of frost beasts—one of the realm’s most vicious creatures—single handedly he came out of battle dripping with their blood. In another story, he had torched an entire village of land demons, the smell of the burning corpses carried through to the neighboring villages for days. But in all the stories of gore, no clear description could be given on his appearance. He could only be identified by the malevolent iron war mask he wore. Many speculated the face hiding behind it was just as grotesque.

Raya shuddered. It was heaven’s blessing Agila was detained fighting the Merfolk. It meant he would miss the tournament and he would not have to meet him on the battlefield.

The thought struck him then.

A room was available. And it was a place no one would dare to disturb.

Raya smiled into his cup. The tea had gone cold. He wanted something stronger to celebrate his good fortune.

Raya signaled for the steward and ordered some liquor. When it arrived, he filled his cup to the brim, toasting in the direction of the northern sea, in honor of his unwitting host.

 

Half an hour later, Raya settled his bill. He did not overindulge for he required his wits if he was to accomplish his next task seamlessly. He exited the hotel only to return minutes later in spirit form.

Raya flew to the top floor and hid in the shadows. He listened to the conversations of the unwitting attendants as they went about their business of cleaning and tending to guests. It was all he could do to find the room he required without jumping from wall to wall. Afterall, doing so would risk being discovered if the occupant detected his aura.

One room to the east stood out. No attendant entered or left. Footsteps quickened in front of it. Raya stationed himself in front of its doors and waited. When he was satisfied that he had found the right one, he let himself in and wasted no time in making himself at home.

The room was furnished with pieces made of bamboo and hardwood. The colors bright and whimsical. Raya took off his boots and offloaded his belongings at the edge of the room’s singular bed before collapsing atop its soft blankets. He let out a satisfied sigh. The bed was exactly to his liking.  Not too hard, not too soft.

His eyelids grew heavy, yet he did not let himself drift to sleep. Instead, he stared at the dark brown ceiling, watching the lights in the room change as the sun set in the horizon. In just two sleeps, he would have his chance. The chance to protect his home. To protect his family.

A soft smile appeared on his lips. Family. His master would recoil at the use of the word. Nevertheless, that was what they were. A family. Not one formed by blood or birth. But fate and circumstance. A stronger bond brought by choice.

The people of the Desolate Grounds were castaways. Its inhabitants held no allegiance to any clans although at some point, they had an affiliation to them. Geographically, the swampy mass was the natural border that separated the realm of demons and immortals which meant they were caught in the crossfire whenever a war erupted between the two sides. With also no representative in the house of lords, no one willingly spoke on their behalf. It was why Raya was determined. For only when an impartial figure of power protected the region could they be safe.

Raya sat up momentarily. From inside his sleeve, he took out a pill box. He fished for one of the yellow pills inside, swallowing it whole without drinking. Then he rummaged through his knapsack for an incense stick. He cast a barrier around the room before lighting it. He watched the smoke rise, covering the room in a haze within the invisible box. Satisfied, he laid back down. He buried himself under the blankets, allowing sleep to overtake his senses.

 

The next day, Raya found himself in a more congenial mood he decided to explore the town. The amulets and weapons on sale still did not interest him. Instead, he moved around food stalls sampling the local delicacies. He particularly liked the sticky rice cake topped with caramelized coconut. He was munching at his third serving when a stall across the bridge caught his eye. It was unlike the others. There were no goods on display rather it housed a small stage. The words: ‘The Origin of the High Gods’ emblazoned on top. It seemed to capture the attention of other immortals as well for one by one they congregated around it.

Raya moved forward to get a better view. A face poked out from behind the curtain. It vanished as quickly as it came, Raya had no time to make out the features. Then, the curtains drew back, and the performance began.

A marionette twice the size of Raya’s palm appeared on stage. It had a great long white hair and beard. It wore elegant ivory robes and carried a staff the same length as its wooden body.

Raya’s eyes widened in fascination. He had never seen such a puppet. It moved independently without any visible wires or strings. He concluded the puppeteer was a very skilled immortal.

“At the dawn of time,” the unseen narrator began, “before the earth came to be, ancient gods existed ruling the world beyond the reach of the sky and sea. The most powerful of them was Bathala, the supreme god and emperor of the Sky world.”

Marionette Bathala looked down at the crowd, his eyes fixed.

Unblinking.

Scrutinizing. 

“He was a just ruler, benevolent with his rewards and equally unforgiving with his punishments. The lesser deities obeyed him with a mixture of fear and reverence, although not all willingly submitted to his will. The most defiant of them was Sitan.”

A second marionette appeared on stage, this one dressed in raven black. It had two massive horns on its head and a wooden serpent slithered by its side.

A few onlookers backed away from the stage in fear, the puppet convincingly lifelike.

“Sitan grew jealous of all that Bathala created and sought to destroy it. A deity of conflict, he fed on the darkest desires of others. He gave shape to heart demons that incited endless warfare, plunging the Sky World into chaos.”

A small, controlled fire erupted on the stage. The two puppets engaged in battle. Sparks of lightning flew when their weapons collided. Raya surmised it was a stage trick for no immortal in the realm could control lightning.

“Angered by Sitan’s insolence, Bathala stripped him of his divinity and banished him to the Netherworld of infinite void to be doomed for eternity.”

Marionette Sitan disappeared from the stage, leaving a cloud of smoke. Three new wooden faces took its place. Dressed in pearl-colored robes, the new group drew tiny energies from their wooden heart’s core. One by one, they offered it to the raven cloaked puppet, lurking at the stage’s shadow.

“However, immortals blinded by their obsessions willingly sought Sitan in his prison. They bolstered his schemes and sacrificed their sprits to forge his kingdom. Thus, he continued to wreak havoc on the weaker mortals of the Middle World for Bathala held tender affection for man.”

Marionette Bathala took the stage once more. Its eyes were downcast. Its lips were frowning.

“As Bathala could not leave the Sky world, due to the force of his essence unbalancing the realms, he sent his trusted deities and nature spirits in his stead to watch over mankind from the encompassing realm of Kaliha.”

All puppets disappeared from the stage replaced by the narrator. For a second time, Raya found himself pleasantly surprised. The narrator looked younger than his voice suggested. He had jet-black hair plated behind his nape. His eyes friendly at odds with his words. He was not dressed in any costume, only plain brown robes.

The staff the first puppet held earlier floated on stage next to him.

“A century after their descent to Kaliha, the immortal guardians encountered their first tribulation in the form of the Staff of Power. The staff appeared on the highest summit of the land, Mount Sandawa. Many coveted its energy and fancied themselves worthy of it. Blood shed ensued as immortals fought to possess the weapon that would make them ruler of the realm. But not all were blinded by its force. Four notable deities stood before the staff and unified to destroy it.”

Four brightly dressed marionettes stood tall before the crowd. 

“Red, the Fire Lord,” the narrator announced.

The fire lord marionette made a spectacle of swinging his sword, the crowd laughed.

“Blue, the Water Lord.”

A bit more restrained with its exhibition, the water lord marionette switched the trident in its hand from one hand to the other.

“Purple, the Wind Lord.”

The wind lord marionette aimed his arrow at the crowd. A few heads ducked instinctively that Raya caught an unscripted grin from the narrator.

“Green, the Earth Lord.”

The earth lord marionette could barely lift his spear, its thin limbs buckling at the weight. Raya chuckled.

The puppets circled around the staff, pointing their weapons.

The narrator continued. “Thunder clouds covered the realm and lightning bolts rained from the heavens. The immortals were struck incessantly, their bodies charred black. Nevertheless, they never wavered. Using all that was left of their cultivation, they encased the staff inside a tomb made of their flesh. But as their primordial spirit was about to dissipate into ash, the clouds parted, and the supreme god Bathala spoke through the mist”.

Marionette Bathala levitated above the stage. “You have fought valiantly, my sons. With my life’s breath, your bodies will heal and by virtue of your loyalty, you shall reign over this world.”

Vibrations rocked the stage. The puppets illuminated.

“The deities ascended to high gods – the very first outside of the Sky world. They became the rulers of Kaliha, occupying land in each cardinal direction of the realm. Together, they carried out Bathala’s will, maintaining peace over the three realms.”

The stage current closed.

The narrator addressed the crowd a final time. “Tomorrow, the sun and moon shall align, revealing the path to Sandawa. Only the strong shall prevail. May the land be kind to you and your loyalty to the supreme god bless you.”

The crowd cheered.

Fireworks erupted.

And the fear Raya had been keeping at bay, settled over him. The path to glory riddled with calamity.

 

Raya found himself back at the inn moments later. Filling his stomach had lost its appeal, the food tasted like sawdust. He decided to have a bath to calm his senses. He conjured water and fire; the steam filled the tub until the temperature was right. Before he took off his clothes, he stuck a finger inside his mouth scooping at the back of his throat. He coughed out a small green scale. The finger that was once dark and rough turned slender and fair, examining the scale.

Raya set the scale aside before disrobing. Immortals did not need to bathe as often as humans did but on the occasions Raya did, he did so in his true form.

He had just finished washing when he sensed his barrier break. Instinctively, he flew out of the tub, ripples of water landing on the bathroom floor in his haste. He had no time to dress for a cold blade touched his throat immediately after, cornering him.

“Who are you?”

Raya lifted his eyes slowly. Standing a sword’s length away, he saw himself staring into one of the most handsome faces he had ever seen.

Like a moth to a flame, he had never known death could look so beautiful.