The Balintataw Oracle

The First Vision

Kleng Isidro sat in her tiny shop, surrounded by the comforting scent of sandalwood incense and the soft flicker of candles. Shelves lined with crystals, tarot decks, and small statues of deities filled the dimly lit space. Outside, the city buzzed with the noise of traffic and hurried footsteps, but inside, it was a sanctuary of quiet reflection. It was late in the evening, and business had been slow. Kleng had spent most of the day reading for a few clients, offering gentle guidance and reassurance through the cards.

As she began closing the shop, fatigue weighed heavily on her shoulders. It had been weeks since she last slept peacefully, her nights consumed by restless dreams that she could never quite remember. She locked the door, turned off the lights, and made her way to the small room at the back where she kept a makeshift bed—a space that felt more like home than her real apartment.

That night, Kleng lay down and closed her eyes, expecting the usual fitful sleep. Instead, she was pulled into a different kind of darkness. The air around her thickened, and she felt herself sinking, deeper and deeper, as if she were falling into an ocean of shadows. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her room.

She stood on the edge of a vast, dreamlike landscape—the Balintataw. It was an eerie, otherworldly realm, where the sky was a swirling mix of purple and silver and the ground beneath her feet was shrouded in a mist that shifted and coiled like living smoke. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation, as though the realm itself was alive, watching her every move.

Kleng took a cautious step forward; her senses heightened. The colors around her seemed to pulsate with every breath she took, and strange sounds echoed in the distance—whispers she couldn't quite understand. She looked ahead and saw a bridge stretching across a wide, turbulent river. It was an old, weathered structure, made of stone and iron, and it groaned under the strain of time and weight.

Suddenly, she saw people on the bridge—dozens of them. Families, commuters, and children with backpacks, all moving in slow motion, unaware of the impending danger. Althea's heart pounded as she watched the scene unfold. She wanted to call out to them to warn them, but no sound escaped her lips. A sense of helplessness gripped her as the vision played out like a tragic movie she was powerless to stop.

The bridge began to shake. It started with a faint tremor, barely noticeable, but then grew into a violent quake. The supports cracked, sending chunks of stone into the churning river below. Kleng's breath caught in her throat as the bridge began to collapse. She watched in horror as people screamed, some desperately trying to run back, others clinging to the railing, their faces twisted in terror. Within moments, the bridge gave way entirely, plunging cars, bicycles, and people into the water.

Kleng's legs felt weak, and she sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She tried to reach out, to do something, but the Balintataw was unforgiving. It was as though she were trapped behind an invisible barrier, condemned to witness without the power to intervene. The cries of the drowning echoed in her ears, and the scene faded into a swirling mist once more, leaving her alone on the edge of the dream realm.

With a sudden jolt, Kleng woke up in her shop, gasping for breath. She sat up, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing. The vividness of the vision left her shaken, as if the events she'd witnessed had actually happened. She glanced at the clock—it was barely past midnight. Unable to shake the dread, she stumbled to her Tarot table and shuffled the cards with trembling hands, seeking answers.

She drew three cards: the tower, the eight of swords, and the ten of swords. The message was clear—disaster, entrapment, and inevitable ruin. It was as if the cards were confirming what she had seen but offering no solution. Althea stared at the cards, feeling the weight of her own helplessness.

The next morning, Kleng tried to dismiss the vision as just another bad dream, but the images haunted her. She couldn't get the sound of the collapsing bridge out of her mind or the terrified faces of the people she had seen. She called the local authorities, desperate to stop what she now thought was a prediction, and tried to explain her dream as rationally as she could.

But the response was predictable: polite disinterest. The dispatcher thanked her for her concern and assured her that the bridge was inspected regularly. When Kleng pushed further, trying to explain the urgency, the call abruptly ended.

Kleng sat back in her chair, staring at her phone, the dial tone echoing in her ear. She felt foolish and angry—angry at herself for not knowing what more she could do and angry at the world for dismissing her warnings. She resolved that she would not ignore The Balintataw's visions again. If no one would listen, she would find another way.

Kleng's first vision marked the beginning of a lonely battle—not just against the dark futures she saw but against a world unwilling to believe in the unseen. And as she prepared to close her shop for the day, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.