Narra

Chapter 1

The storm rages, relentless, as black clouds coil over the village, pouring rain in torrents that transform the streets into rivers of thick, muddy water. Roofs creak under the constant assault, and the wind wails, animal-like in its fury. For days now, the storm has not let up, and the villagers, huddled in their homes, murmur anxious prayers for it to end.

Inside the council hut, a circle of worried faces surround the village chief. He stands at the window, staring out at the storm with a frown carved deep into his brow, fingers pressed to his chin. The dim light of candles casts flickering shadows around the room. Behind him are the babaylans—three women draped in beads and feathers, their eyes clouded with glimpses of things unseen.

"The storm will not stop unless the Diwata, Narra, is appeased," the eldest babaylan declares, her voice worn and raspy with age. Despite her frailty, her golden eyes are sharp, reflecting visions only she can see. "This is no natural storm. It is the anger of a wronged spirit."

The chief turns to her, his face tense. "Our village has followed every tradition," he insists. "What offense could we have given to warrant a curse like this?"

The eldest babaylan exchanges glances with her sisters, her lips pressed tightly. "It may not be the village as a whole... but something has disturbed the balance. Narra will not relent until she is satisfied, or..." Her voice trails off, heavy with implication.

"Or what?" the chief asks.

"Or her heart is taken," the head babaylan states coldly.

The chief's face darkens. "Her heart? You mean to kill her?"

The eldest babaylan inclines her head. "It is the only way to end this curse. If she is not stopped, the storm will consume us all."

Silence descends upon the room, thick with fear and tension. The chief massages his temples, feeling the weight of this decision heavy upon him. He glances from the babaylans to the hunters gathered there, all of them ashen-faced. No one wants to volunteer for the task—hunting a Diwata, a spirit, is a sacrilege, a path to curses that can span generations.

"Send Severino," the eldest babaylan suggests quietly, her voice cutting through the stillness.

All eyes shift toward Severino, who stands at the back of the room. Tall and broad-shouldered, he has a quiet, unflinching presence that commands respect. His dark hair shadows his eyes, sharp and discerning. More than just a hunter, he possesses a rare gift: his third-eye is open; he has the ability to see the unseen, to track spirits and sense their presence.

Severino stands in silence, his jaw clenched. He's had his share of encounters with Narra, the once-protective spirit of the village who has since turned vengeful, though he can't help but wonder what caused her sudden wrath. The thought of taking her heart leaves a bitter taste, yet he knows the weight of what is being asked of him.

The chief approaches, voice quiet. "Severino, you are our best bet. If anyone can end this storm, it's you."

Severino meets his gaze, expression unreadable. "And if I fail?" His thoughts drift to Adelfa, his lover—her safety, his foremost priority.

The chief's eyes harden. "We hope it doesn't come to that. But if this storm doesn't end, none of us will survive."

After a long pause, Severino nods. "I'll go," he says steadily. "For the sake of Adelfa—for the sake of the village."

Severino has been planning to propose to Adelfa, to marry her. Now, more than ever, he's resolute in his mission to end this storm. He envisions a bright future for them, for the family they might one day have, and this storm is an obstacle in their path. It has to end.

The chief's relief is evident. "Thank you, Severino. May the spirits guide you."

Severino turns to the babaylans. "Where is she right now?"

The eldest babaylan's gaze glints with an unreadable intensity. "She hides in the heart of the forest, where the trees bend to her will. You'll know when you're close—the air thickens, the ground changes. Be cautious."

With a final nod, Severino steps outside, into the raging storm. The wind tears at his cloak, rain lashing his skin, yet he presses on toward the forest at the village's edge.

The forest is alive with shadows, the storm's fury more concentrated within its depths. The trees creak, their branches swaying like the arms of some spectral creature. With his third eye open, Severino scans the shadows between the trees, his senses sharp. The Diwata's presence is unmistakable—the air around him is thick, each breath labored, as though the forest itself is watching.

Deeper in the forest, the storm wanes to an eerie calm, fog hanging thick among the trees and casting strange, shifting shadows. Severino presses on, every step weighed with purpose. Then, out of the mist, a soft voice drifts toward him, carrying an unsettling familiarity.

"You seek Narra, the Diwata who rules this land."

Severino tenses, hand instinctively reaching for his blade. Emerging from the mist is a bird, her golden eyes luminous, emanating a timeless, ancient power.

"Who are you?" he demands, his voice low.

"I am not your enemy, hunter," the being replies calmly, her voice carrying an authority that sends a chill through him. "I am another guardian of these lands—a Diwata, like Narra, but one who seeks to keep the balance."

Severino lowers his blade slightly, still wary.

"I'm here to warn you," she adds, flying closer, her form ethereal as the fog itself. "You think you understand Narra, but her power... it is far more insidious than you realize."

Severino's brow furrows. "I know enough. I've... encountered her before. She was kind then. It baffles me—why is she suddenly cursing our land? Why this storm?"

The Diwata shakes her head. "It's not just a storm. Narra seeks to ensnare you, draw you into her grasp, bind you to her will. Her power seeps into the minds of mortals, warping their thoughts, twisting emotions. Not even you, with your third eye, are safe."

"Ensnare me?" Severino tenses. "Well... I won't let her control me."

"You underestimate her," the Diwata cautions, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Narra's power is like the roots of an ancient tree—once she ensnares you, escape is nearly impossible."

The ground shifts beneath his feet, revealing a small silver vial filled with a softly glowing liquid. "This will shield your mind from her influence, but only for a limited time. You must act quickly."

Severino takes the vial, eyes narrowing. "And after? How do I end this?"

The Diwata's gaze darkens. "You must forge a weapon—a dagger infused with her very essence. Use her own power against her. When she is vulnerable, use this vial to capture her essence and imbue the dagger with it. This will take time, patience, and secrecy; Narra must not suspect a thing." Her voice softens. "Remember, Severino, time is both your ally and your enemy."

The mist thickens, and the Diwata's form vanishes.

As Severino approaches the heart of the forest, he senses Narra's presence. The air is heavy, the ground seeming to pull at his feet, thick with her magic. At a clearing, he sees her—Narra, her dark hair spilling down her back, eyes glowing faintly.

"Severino," she whispers, her voice a soft lure. "You've come."

Heart pounding, he steps forward, mind shielded by the vial's protection. "The storm must end."

Narra tilts her head, studying him with a faint, unsettling smile. "The storm is part of me. But... I could make it gentle, for you."

Her words are like tendrils reaching for his thoughts, yet he stands firm, allowing her to believe she's ensnaring him. He masks his thoughts, his voice low. "I'm not strong enough to fight you, Narra."

Her smile widens, hand resting on his arm. "Then don't fight. Let me show you what we could be together."

As she draws him further into her web, Severino smiles to himself. The road ahead will be long, but now he knows he has what he needs to end this, once and for all.

"Alright," he whispers, his voice soft, but his resolve harder than steel. "Show me."