The Balintataw Oracle

The Burden of Knowing

The days that followed Kleng's first vision were a blur of anxiety and sleepless nights. She couldn't escape the images of the bridge collapse, replaying in her mind like a relentless loop. The fear and helplessness she felt in The Balintataw lingered, casting a shadow over her waking hours. She tried to go about her daily routine, but everything felt different now, as if she were caught between two worlds—the familiar streets of the city and the surreal, ever-shifting landscape of the dream realm.

Kleng's shop, once her sanctuary, had become a place of constant distraction. Each time the doorbell chimed, signaling a new customer, she would plaster on a polite smile and try to focus on their needs. But her heart wasn't in it anymore. During readings, her mind would wander back to The Balintataw, making it difficult to concentrate on the questions her clients asked about love, career, and destiny. She found herself shuffling the Tarot cards mechanically, barely paying attention to the spreads.

One afternoon, an elderly woman named Clara sat across from her, seeking guidance on a family matter. Kleng's eyes were heavy, and her thoughts were miles away. She drew the cards—The Five of Cups, The Ten of Wands, and The Moon. Clara's voice wavered as she asked what the cards meant for her troubled relationship with her estranged son, but Kleng could barely muster a coherent response. Instead of offering insights, she saw only glimpses of the bridge, the crumbling stone, and the terrified faces.

"Are you alright, dear? "Clara asked gently, noticing Kleng's vacant expression.

Kleng snapped back to the present, forcing herself to smile. "I'm sorry. It's just... I've been a bit distracted lately."

She rushed through the rest of the reading, barely listening to Clara's concerns, and offered the usual advice: patience, communication, hope. But the words felt hollow. After Clara left, Kleng sank into her chair, overwhelmed by guilt. She was failing at the one thing she had always been good at—helping others.

That night, Kleng once again found herself drawn into The Balintataw. The dream realm felt colder, more oppressive than before, as if it were reacting to her growing unease. This time, she stood on a fog-shrouded hill, overlooking a sprawling cityscape below. The skyline was familiar; it was her city, but distorted—skewed buildings loomed at impossible angles, and the streets were unnaturally quiet, devoid of life.

As she wandered through the eerie scene, she spotted a woman sitting alone at a bus stop. The woman's face was hidden behind a veil, and her posture was slumped as if she were carrying the weight of the world. Kleng approached her cautiously, feeling an inexplicable pull toward this solitary figure.

"Are you alright? "Kleng asked, her voice echoing strangely in the stillness.

The woman slowly lifted her head, revealing eyes that were hollow and lifeless. Kleng gasped, realizing she was staring into a mirror image of herself—a version of her future, worn down by endless visions and burdens. The sight filled her with dread. Was this what she was destined to become? A ghost of her former self, trapped forever between reality and The Balintataw?

The scene shifted abruptly, and Kleng found herself back at the bridge. This time, she was closer to the chaos—so close that she could feel the tremors under her feet as the structure began to collapse once more. She watched helplessly as people fell into the river, their screams piercing the silence of the dream realm. Kleng wanted to turn away, but something forced her to stay, to witness every agonizing detail.

She awoke with a start, gasping for breath, her sheets tangled around her. It was 3 AM, and the city outside was shrouded in darkness. Kleng sat up, clutching her head as if trying to squeeze out the terrible images. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through the news, half-expecting to see headlines confirming her vision. But there was nothing. The bridge was still intact; no accidents had occurred.

The relief was fleeting. Kleng knew it was only a matter of time before her visions came true. She couldn't just sit back and wait for the inevitable. Desperate to warn others, she opened her laptop and began writing a blog post, detailing what she had seen in The Balintataw. She described the bridge collapse with as much clarity as she could muster, urging anyone reading to avoid that area and to be cautious. She hit publish, hoping her words would reach the right people, but she knew deep down that it wouldn't be enough.

Hours passed, and the post garnered little attention. A handful of views, a few dismissive comments, and a flood of skepticism. Most readers brushed her off as a fear-mongering fraud. Some mocked her, suggesting she was just another conspiracy theorist with too much time on her hands. Kleng's heart sank as she read the comments, each one a reminder of how isolated she was in her quest.

But what hurt the most was knowing that the people she was trying to protect couldn't see the danger until it was too late. Kleng closed her laptop, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on her. She stared at her Tarot deck, shuffling the cards mindlessly, seeking solace in their familiar touch. She pulled The Hermit, a card that symbolized solitude and inner guidance. Kleng couldn't help but feel that the card was speaking directly to her, reminding her that she was alone in this battle.

As the sun rose, Kleng made a decision: she couldn't rely on others to understand her gift. She would continue to watch over her city, even if no one believed her. The Balintataw had chosen her, and she had a responsibility to bear witness, no matter how painful it was. But the burden of knowing—of seeing futures she couldn't change—was already taking its toll. And as Kleng prepared for another day in her shop, she couldn't shake the feeling that her visions were just the beginning of something far darker.