The Balintataw Oracle

The Quiet Catastrophe

The days following Ms. Reyes's confession were tense and uncertain. The air in their meetings was thick with distrust, and the weight of betrayal lingered like a shadow over everything they did. Kleng knew they needed to keep moving forward, but her mind was clouded with doubts. How many more betrayals lay hidden beneath the surface? How many more secrets had The Balintataw yet to reveal?

Kleng tried to maintain her focus, burying herself in research and Tarot readings, hoping to find some guidance amidst the chaos. But no matter how many times she consulted the cards, the message remained cryptic, cloaked in symbols that pointed to danger without giving clear directions. She couldn't afford to make a wrong move—not when the watchers were closing in.

One evening, as Kleng prepared for another journey into The Balintataw, she felt a strange stillness in the air. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. She set up her altar, lighting the candles and placing the tarot deck in front of her. The cards felt cool and unyielding, resisting her touch. Kleng hesitated, sensing that tonight's journey would be different.

As she drifted into the dream realm, the familiar fog of The Balintataw greeted her, swirling around her like a living entity. But the realm was quieter than usual; the whispers that often accompanied her steps now hushed. Kleng walked cautiously, her senses alert. The landscape seemed muted, washed in shades of gray that gave everything a ghostly, dreamlike quality.

Kleng reached a clearing where she had seen visions before, but this time, it was empty, save for a lone figure standing at the center—a child, no older than ten, with wide eyes and a solemn expression. Kleng approached cautiously, her heart pounding. The child looked familiar, and as Kleng drew closer, she realized with a jolt that it was a younger version of herself.

The child stared up at her, silent and still. Kleng felt a chill run through her as she tried to piece together the meaning of this vision. Was it a warning? A reminder of her own innocence lost? She kneeled down to meet the child's gaze, searching for answers. But the child offered none, only pointing silently to the ground.

Kleng followed the gesture and saw a single Tarot card lying in the dirt: The Tower. The card depicted a tall structure struck by lightning, its top exploding in flames as figures tumbled from its heights. It was a symbol of sudden upheaval, destruction, and unavoidable change—a catastrophe that could not be stopped. Kleng's hands trembled as she picked up the card, its edges worn and frayed as if it had been handled a thousand times.

Before she could fully absorb the significance, the ground beneath her feet began to quake. The realm shifted violently, and Kleng watched in horror as the landscape crumbled around her. Buildings she had never seen before rose from the ground, only to collapse into rubble moments later. The sky darkened, and a deafening silence filled the air, more unsettling than any noise.

Kleng ran through the crumbling world, desperately seeking something—anything—that would give her a clue about what this vision meant. She stumbled upon a familiar scene: the bridge. It loomed ahead, but unlike in her previous visions, it was eerily still. There were no people, no cars, no signs of life. Just the bridge, standing alone in the quiet, as if waiting for its inevitable end.

Kleng stepped onto the bridge, feeling the cold concrete beneath her feet. She knew something was coming, but she couldn't see it—couldn't feel it. The silence was oppressive, weighing down on her like a lead blanket. She reached the center of the bridge and looked out over the river, its waters unusually calm, reflecting the dull sky above.

Then, without warning, the calm shattered. Kleng saw faint ripples in the water, growing stronger and more erratic. A low rumble echoed from below, and Kleng's breath hitched. The bridge groaned, the sound of metal straining against an unseen force. Kleng's heart raced as she realized what was happening. This was the quiet catastrophe—the one that no one would see coming until it was too late.

Suddenly, the water surged violently, and Kleng watched in horror as the supports of the bridge began to buckle, one by one. The structure swayed, creaking and shuddering, and Kleng knew it was only a matter of time before it collapsed. She looked around desperately for anyone to warn, but she was alone. The vision was a chilling reminder: the disaster was not a distant future; it was already in motion, hidden beneath the surface, unnoticed by those who trusted the safety of the world around them.

The quiet catastrophe was not a sudden, explosive event—it was a slow, creeping failure, the kind that went undetected until the final moment when it all came crashing down.

Kleng woke up with a start, drenched in sweat, the sound of the bridge collapsing still ringing in her ears. She sat up, her mind racing. The Tower card's warning was clear: the watchers' influence was not just a threat to be exposed; it was a ticking time bomb, and Kleng was running out of time to stop it. The quiet catastrophe was already unfolding, and it was only a matter of time before the world saw its impact.

Kleng hurried to Miguel's apartment, pounding on his door until he let her in, bleary-eyed and concerned. "What's wrong? "He asked, seeing the urgency in her expression.

"It's happening now, Miguel. The bridge—it's failing. We don't have weeks or days. It's happening right now, and no one's even looking."

Miguel's face paled. "How do you know? "

Kleng pulled out the Tower card; its image now burned into her mind. "The Balintataw showed me. The damage isn't obvious, but it's there. And when it goes, it's going to be catastrophic."

They called Ms. Reyes, her voice wavering as Kleng described the vision. "We need to get people off that bridge," Ms. Reyes said urgently. "If what you saw is true, we can't wait for proof. We have to act."

But acting on a vision was easier said than done. They had no evidence, no official report, only Kleng's word and the weight of her dreams. The authorities wouldn't listen, and the media wouldn't touch a story without solid facts. The watchers had done their job well—keeping the real danger quiet, masked beneath layers of bureaucracy and indifference.

Kleng stared at The Tower card, feeling the burden of the future she had glimpsed. She had always known that being The Balintataw's oracle would come with sacrifices, but the weight of carrying the truth alone was crushing. She would need to find a way to make them see, to make them understand, before the quiet catastrophe became a loud and irreversible disaster.

With time running out, Kleng, Miguel, and Ms. Reyes set out with a single mission: to sound the alarm no one else would. They would face the watchers, the skeptics, and the doubters, but they couldn't let fear silence them. The quiet catastrophe was unfolding beneath the surface, and Kleng would not stop until the truth was heard—even if it meant standing alone against the coming storm.