Have You Been Waiting? (LizQuen One-shot)

Have You Been Waiting?

Disclaimer: This piece is fiction. While events, names, and places may depict reality, none of them must be construed true unless grounded upon factual evidence. Trigger warnings: blood, death, gore, implied sex.

Hi, there! I usually write my notes after the fic but as this is my longest one-shot to date (novella-length whoops), I figured I'd warn you of the arduous journey you're about to embark on. While LizQuen is my muse, the first few parts would seem off and not related to them at all (which is why I filed it under General Fiction category instead of Fanfiction—well, apparently Wattpad thinks I should really file it under Fanfiction, so, anyway). But do know that the names I've chosen for the different timelines were chosen for a reason, with meaning, and that the first few parts were written to provide context and to grate on your nerves (I'm kidding).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this colossal fic! Bear with me, this is pretty self-indulgent and it took me ages and I love it. And by the way, unless you see the number sign, then you must be not done yet. Haha. Off you go! :)

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i. Panay, Prehistory

The world is not without light with the sun and seven moons shining in the sky. Villages built by man worship the night as much as the day, the earth lit and never dim, darkness an abstract concept akin to shut windows and sea-deep scavenging. No time is any duskier than the last or the next, except perhaps when thick rain clouds shift so skylight is veiled.

Man and woman prowl the ground without wear. The moons, settled amongst the stars, brighten the lands below with equal brawn as the sun, without hurting the skin or the eyes of the mortals who revere their beacons by fishing, hunting, and offering sizeable portions of their bounties.

"The gods bring us prosperity, in gratifying them we accomplish our duty!"

The chiefs hold festivities to celebrate the power and blessings bestowed by the gods of the moons and the sun, the villagers singing and dancing and sharing stories under the constant light. There is annual all-day, all-night merrymaking and drinking, and nine months later the midwives are busy and babes are shrieking.

Communities are productive and no one is poor, slaves included. There is an abundance of everything, and scarcity is hardly a concept to any. The world is radiant and brimming with ceaseless energy, and the people are happy.

But soon men begin to spend longer days and even longer nights out at sea to fill their boats. Soon hunters return with fewer, smaller games that sustain their families for shorter days. The people are dogged, they do as they always have, but neither the fish nor the game can keep abreast of the humans who assiduously toil day in and day out.

Prayers increase in frequency and intensity, and to uphold the tradition of gifting gods with their best meat and fish the poorest have begun to famish. The sun and moon gods, alarmed by the circumstances of their people, arrive at a conclusion that men must remember the significance of respite, despite patient labor's prodigious earns.

"Repose is for the night, travail for the day," they say, and they enlist the help of the gods of the seas and the mountains.

Together they call upon the Bakunawa whose scales glimmer in gold and silver, eyes astute and focused, wings sturdy and powerful.

"Swallow the moons so the people may know of the dark and their limitations alike to that of earthlings they command. Remember, however, that excess is inexcusable; be mindful of your charge, or else comes the struggle."

Wherefore the Bakunawa emerges from the sea and flies to the sky, devouring one-seventh of the nightly beacon to everyone's surprise. The humans are distraught by the loss of one of the moons, and the chieftains demand dialogues with their towns' elders and lamentations they croon.