In the middle of feasting, Kolupati suckling on a patawan moonflower, Batala's voice boomed over the cacophony. 

“Maliya, my dear Moon.” Anuk Buwan tensed, finishing his shot of wine before answering. Most Gods were still eating, but their attention had been drawn to Batala’s voice. “I am glad to see you in good health,” he continued. “Only blessings and prayers could offer the chance that your original form will be returned before the ceremony begins. Wouldn’t that be kind?”

Anuk Buwan’s eye narrowed. With utter disdain not hidden in his voice, he spat, “It would be a blessing to be freed of the samang pagtulog, Batala.”

The God of Death continued chewing, minding her own business. Anuk Buwan stayed as the active Moon for almost two hundred years—or was it three hundred, now?—and he showed no sign of illness. Kolupati guessed that he stayed alive just to spite Batala, and Kolupati watched as the Sun God’s eyes fell to his food, then nervously darted around at the others. She wouldn’t have wanted to be at the receiving end of Maliya’s rage, either.

Arangwa had reason to be afraid. 

Kolupati wouldn’t blame the Moon Goddess if upon returning, she took both her daggers to Arangwa’s face and slashed both his eyes as revenge.

“I hate that cocky bastard!” Kana, the God of Childbirth, complained a little too loudly. “He’s worse than Maliya.”

“Tama na!” Batala ordered. “We are all connected in some way. I meant no harm by asking how Maliya has been in light of recent events. Let us worry later and prepare for the day ahead tomorrow.” When all of the Gods finished, drunk and spirited away on cabo tabs, they were instructed to sleep in the shrines, the first homes of all of Batala’s offspring. 

Kolupati did not arrive at her shrine, first, but to Anuk Buwan’s. As she walked through the Moon’s garden hall, a feeling of nostalgia overwhelmed her and she could not help but be forced back into the memory of Anuk Buwan’s first salukolu, three hundred years ago.

Batala’s residence, hidden deep in the highest point of the mountain, was nothing less than a palace, overlooking the heavens and the entirety of his kingdom. Just underneath, but never equal; the other Gods’ domains, settled comfortably above pillows of clouds and below, the realm of the Gods who ascended via followers or prayers. Every God was in attendance in Batala’s Court, loud and boisterous amongst themselves until, up the stairs and on the alcove decorated in anahuo leaves the Lord Maker appeared. Kolupati had never seen it so full before. 

The circle of Gods stood, falling silent as Batala descended the staircase, hushed by the mere power of his presence. The followers of Batala, who were all stationed in rows against the pale yellow wall, now kneeled and welcomed their god.

“I’m delighted to see every one of you gathered here today, anuk.” When he uttered the honorific, it brought a sense of community and affection from the other deities. They were all his beloved anuk, his children, and he was their ama. 

“Ama, salamat.” He waved a hand and smiled and the group sat once more, but some of the gods could sense Batala’s tense stance, his furrowed brow. This meeting was not called in goodwill.

Although Batala had said that they were all gathered, there was no ignoring the one empty seat right next to Arangwa. Lost Gods were one thing, Batala might have turned a blind eye if the Ascension Gods failed to appear, but the Origin Gods had to come to a salukolu called by their Almighty Creator. There was an obvious disturbance, and Batala looked between each of his children and said, “There is no ignoring the Moon’s absence and the Sun’s guilt. Arangwa, rise.” The entirety of the heavens bursted out in thunderous booms as Arangwa’s name was used.

“It was an accident, Ama.”

Arangwa was not what one would call hot-tempered, but he was passionate. A favorite amongst humans and Gods alike, others treated him as a true elder brother. He breathed the sun into everything he created, and he loved his job of moving the sun. But now, he looked like a guilty child, ready for a scolding from his creator. Misery flashed in his eyes. His earrings, blazed in gold and sunlight, made a light ringing sound as he moved his head, utter refusal to look Batala in the eye only proved to be a sign of his own disobedience. 

“Children are bound to lose their tempers from time to time. All of you are aware by now that our dear Moon, Maliya, is not in attendance.” The heavens, roaring just moments before, now shuddered and quaked into stillness.

“The Moon has been gone for four nights!” 

Maliya was the most faithful of servants to Batala and it was unlike her not to bring the moon out, but she had neglected to take over the last four nights, resulting in strange hours within the human realm. The days were longer and hotter. Humans could not navigate themselves safely through the night. A small comment resulted in many of the Gods questioning if Maliya had been killed, and if it was the result of Arangwa’s jealousy, or the unlikely possibility that she had grown lazy and abandoned her duties, though this was less likely. 

All of the Gods knew of the animosity between the Sun and the Moon and how they wanted to shine the brightest, always besting the other.

“Do not speak ill of family so easily. Any of you, with your petty arguments, could easily be in his place. Arangwa, will you go fetch her for us?”

“Why didn’t you just say she was alive, Ama?”

Arangwa stood there stiffly before walking over to one of the open doors and pulling someone forward, arm first. This being was not Maliya. They looked like they had been blessed by her, kissed by her moonlight. This was a human body, dressed poorly in her clothes. His lightless eyes followed each God in the room. Drapes of blue and purple hung loose around this child’s body. A hood concealed part of his head and face, though bits of streaked silver hair spilled out. Where the Moon Goddess’s left eye once was now was a dark blue eyepatch with a glowing crescent moon, steeped in blood.

“Maliya has been gravely injured due to an argument with Arangwa. Make no mistake that this was an act of self defense by the Sun.” Batala explained quickly, and beckoned the confused ‘Maliya’ over to his side. “Now, as a result of her injuries, we have a second case of samang pagtulog.” A gasp came from none other than Byuhan, who had a case of the ritual happen to her twenty years ago. It was a short case, and Byuhan returned only a few months after. "Please continue to respect her as an Origin God."

“This human has taken over Maliya’s body?” Kalu Tyan laughed. He leaned over in the chair to get a better look at the human. 

“My name is Anuk Buwan.” The man spoke clearly, lifting up his eyepatch to expose a gaping hole, shocking the other gods when blood began pouring from it until he placed it over the hole once more. The blood moved as if it had its own mind, being sucked back underneath the eyepatch. “I am the son of the Moon God, Maliya, and I know what sins have been placed upon my shoulders.” When he spoke, he coughed and blood shot past his lips onto the floor. “Kuya Arangwa, we demand in front of Batala that you provide us an equal amount of time to rule over the realm. Your carelessness caused this,” he pointed to his eyepatch, “and this is the only agreement I’ve come to that doesn’t end in me gouging your eye out myself.”

“I’d rather you take my eye!” Arangwa fought back with his teeth bared. Both raised their spiritual weapons at once.

“Now, let’s not result in violent acts between each other. Look what you’ve done already. My darling Sun, does this proposition seem fair to you?” 

“I work the hardest to bring sunlight to the people, and I’ve been worshiped for almost as long as you have, Ama. Without me, how do they work in order to bring you offerings?” The humans adored the sun, and often worked tirelessly for hours under it, providing more offerings for Batala as a whole.

“If the sun does not rest, the people refuse to. It is important for them to take breaks. Without the moon telling when it is time to rest, they’d run themselves ragged. They’d grow to resent and curse us, and where would that leave the world? The end would be near for us all.”

“You don’t have any say in this—” Arangwa interjected.

“You’re being a selfish elder, Kuya.”

“Selfish?!”

The two argued back and forth, and the group had been put in a sense of deja vu once again. Arangwa and Maliya often tore at each other’s throats during the rare salukolu. They summoned each other to their separate realms in order to bicker like children. No matter the skin, it was still the same arguments. To prevent another war between Gods, the conflict between the Moon and the Sun was quickly settled. Batala declared that it would be punishment for Arangwa for injuring another God, although he himself did not get away unscathed. 

The end result ended up being that Anuk Buwan would be given half the day, providing moonlight and relief to the humans after the harshness of the sunlight. 

This saluloku lasted many hours, and Maliya, or the new Anuk Buwan, was given the shift immediately after. No one expected Anuk Buwan to stay alive much longer, due to the fact that his injury proved to be extensive.

He often could feel it, and talked about it pulsing beneath the eyepatch, wanting to tear off his own head, and how this—the human’s body, took the brunt of the pain. All the Gods knew Maliya was asleep somewhere in Anuk Buwan’s consciousness, using his body in order to heal herself. Anuk Buwan knew the fate that he was subjected to, but he had no idea when it would come.

Anuk Buwan would take over the night after the sun used up its energy, and the two would be forced to share. 

When all was said and done, Batala spoke: “I’m beyond blessed with children who have learned from their mistakes and no longer immediately escalate to war between themselves.” He turned to the rest of the Gods, saying in a pleasant tone, “It is so rare these days that we are all gathered and it does not end in more bloodshed. Let’s have a feast. Maliya.” Batala did not address this new being by his name, and it blindsided Anuk Buwan if only for a moment. “You may take over your allotted time while we feast, isn’t that right?”

Anuk Buwan expected this, but his eye twitched. He breathed a deep sigh before responding, “Yes, Batala.” Anuk Buwan had no way of knowing what he was being punished for: Maliya’s coma or the crime of being a human in a world where humans didn’t fully belong. 

The Lord Maker’s eyes narrowed, not hiding his displeasure, and shocked faces fell upon the crowd. When Anuk Buwan departed, and the moon pulled across the sky to illuminate the night in a dimmed heavenly glow, a feast was prepared for the gods, all gathered around the table on banana leaves, their hands reaching for bits of rice, fish, coconut, and vegetables. 

Arangwa ate defensively, trying to snatch every dish he could and stuff it into his mouth, his chewing growing aggressively louder if someone tried to speak over him. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he muttered. “It wasn’t on purpose. When Maliya returns, I’ll buy her a drink and we can put this behind us.”