Apostles' War

Location: Tagaytay City, Philippines

It started with a flicker.

Not of light, but sound.

Elian Reyes stood outside the small convenience store near the ridge, the wind carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. He rubbed the back of his hand for the hundredth time since morning, where a faint sigil, like burning glass etched in light, now pulsed quietly beneath his skin.

He hadn't shown anyone.

Could not.

What would he even say?

"Hey, I woke up with a glowing mark on my hand and now the world feels...off"?

No. He barely believed it himself.

Not until the whispers started.

At first, they were soft. Faint cries beneath the rustle of leaves.

He thought they were birds. Then wind.

Then maybe the echoes of Tagaytay's infamous fog playing tricks on him.

But they kept following him.

At the park. In the marketplace. Even during the jeep ride home, nestled among passengers and silence. Whenever no one was speaking, something else was.

"Elian…"

The first time he heard his name from the mist, he'd laughed.

Nervous. Hollow.

Now he wasn't laughing.

Now he was afraid to be alone.

-------

That evening, the fog rolled in thicker than usual.

The entire ridgeline sank into a milk-white silence.

Elian walked home slowly, every step dragging. He clutched the strap of his sling bag like it might protect him.

Halfway down the road, the air shifted.

He stopped.

The silence wasn't normal anymore. It felt… heavy. Like something was pressing in on his ears. His lungs.

Then—

"Why did you leave me, Elian?"

He froze.

The voice wasn't his.

It wasn't in his head.

It was hers.

"You said you'd come back."

A girl's voice—one he knew, or thought he knew—echoed from somewhere in the fog. Familiar, but impossible.

He turned slowly.

No one. Just the mist.

He walked faster.

"Elian, why didn't you help me?"

"I waited."

"You weren't there."

Voices came from the left, the right, behind him.

A boy's cry.

His grandfather's sigh.

His childhood best friend's laugh, twisted into something sharp.

Each step quickened until he was running, the bag thudding against his back.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

His shoes scraped against the asphalt as he stumbled down the slope, nearly slipping on the moss-slick road.

"You abandoned us."

"You lied."

"You don't deserve the light."

He collapsed near the overlook railing, the city below shrouded in nothing but white.

He clutched his hand—his left hand—as the sigil pulsed violently, like a second heartbeat.

"Stop," he whispered. "Please…"

But the voices only multiplied.

Layered. Screaming.

Laughter and sobbing—sometimes his own.

And somewhere beyond it all, a deeper presence watched.

Something waiting.

No, someone...

Elian curled inward, the fog closing tighter around him.

He didn't know what he was.

Didn't know what this mark meant.

All he knew was that he was no longer alone—and not in any comforting way.

From the shadows of the mist, the Wailing Hordes encircled unseen, their mouths open, borrowing memories and voices not their own.

And far away, in the Sanctuary of Eidalein—

Minato Kai was already on his way.